 
An Accidental God

The Evolution of Religion, or How a Boy from the Dawn of Civilization Became the God of Jews, Christians, and Muslims

Aleron Zemplin

with illustrations by **Aspen Anadore**

Cover artwork by **Robert Lee**

Maps by **Aleron Zemplin**

Published by the Double Triangle Press LLC

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Double Triangle Press LLC

Text, Illustrations & Cover Art

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 9780984104529

Through a fortuitous series of events a person who lived at the dawn of civilization became a god, then became God, and today is the focus of the thoughts and prayers of billions: Jews, Christians and Muslims. Given all the people who have lived and all of the random events that have occurred to each of them, the number of possible outcomes is staggering. Everything that could possibly happen has happened to someone, at some place, and at some time, including becoming God.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOREWORD

ABRAM

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, ELEVEN, TWELVE, THIRTEEN, FOURTEEN, FIFTEEN, SIXTEEN, SEVENTEEN

YEHHI

EIGHTEEN, NINETEEN, TWENTY, TWENTY-ONE, TWENTY-TWO, TWENTY-THREE, TWENTY-FOUR, TWENTY-FIVE, TWENTY-SIX, TWENTY-SEVEN, TWENTY-EIGHT, TWENTY-NINE, THIRTY, THIRTY-ONE

ABRAHAM

THIRTY-TWO, THIRTY-THREE, THIRTY-FOUR, THIRTY-FIVE, THIRTY-SIX, THIRTY-SEVEN, THIRTY-EIGHT, THIRTY-NINE, FORTY, FORTY-ONE, FORTY-TWO, FORTY-THREE, FORTY-FOUR, FORTY-FIVE, FORTY-SIX, FORTY-SEVEN, FORTY-EIGHT, FORTY-NINE, FIFTY

MAPS

TRAVELS OF ABRAM, ABRAM IN CANAAN, TRAVELS OF YEHHI, CITY OF UR

ESSAYS

FLUCTUATIONS, CUBIST HISTORY, GOD'S WILL OR MAN'S, AN ABSTRACT GOD, CHINESE BOXES, THE DOUBLE TRIANGLE

NOTES

BIBLIOGRAPHY

## FOREWORD

Look at the news on any given day; it is remarkable how much of it is driven by intolerance and fanaticism based on slightly different interpretations of the God of a Bronze Age nomad named Abraham. How ironic it would be if all of this human energy has been wasted on a long dead person who had no idea that he would become God. If we discount the existence of magical beings, and I certainly do, then religious beliefs must have human origins rather than supernatural. Throughout the ages, humans have deified forces of nature (wind, rain, sky), geography (mountains, sea, rivers), and other people (rulers and dead ancestors). We cannot blame intelligent people from three to four thousand years ago for seeing magic in nature, the landscape, and in death since they had no better knowledge. Although the book of _Genesis_ sometimes conflates Abraham's God with the Canaanite sky god El and associates Him with high places in the geography, the origins of this God are unknown. So, it is possible that he was a deified ancestor.

It then occurred to me that at the time of Abraham, every other clan in the world had its own deified ancestors and family gods. How was it that the god of this one family out-competed those of every other to become the God of the Western World? The answer must be an evolution of religious thought, which is in many ways analogous to biological evolution. As people experience life's constantly changing and often seemingly random challenges, they develop new ideas and solutions. Unworkable approaches are discarded while people hold onto the best ideas—those that solve their problems or provide some advantage. They spread these ideas to others and pass them on to their children. This process can be looked at as the mutation and natural selection of ideas, which over time, led to one religious tradition's rise to dominance. Of course, this process of religious evolution took thousands of years, but _An Accidental God_ only looks at its very beginnings: The life of a boy named Yehhi, who would eventually become our God, and the thought-evolution of his descendant Abraham as he confronts a life of challenges and misfortunes. In my opinion, the height of irony is that modern-day religious people deny the truth of biological evolution and do so because of their belief in a God, which is itself the product of an evolution of ideas. This observation is true independent of whether or not there is any truth to the fictionalized events in _An Accidental God_.

In the sections of the book focusing on Abraham, the dead ancestor, Yehhi is presented as a disembodied presence contemplating the actions of Abraham and his clan. This would seem to contradict the secular point of view outlined above. However, Yehhi is present after his physical death only as the collective thoughts of all of the living people focusing their minds upon him. The disembodied Yehhi character in _An Accidental God_ is a symbolic representation of this dynamic. Yehhi's opinions and ideas evolve throughout history as the thoughts of those who think about him evolve. Why is it that the Old Testament God is wrathful and obsessed with sacrifices and ritual, while the New Testament God is a God of love and forgiveness? Could it be that it was the people who had changed and dreamed themselves up a changed God? The mental energy flows from the people to the God and defines the will of the God. What the people interpret as the will of God is, in fact, the aggregate of ideas of the people regarding God. The people deceive themselves into believing that the will of the God originates with the God and He imposes His will upon the people. It is exactly the opposite.

This volume includes a series of essays as well as extensive notes on the text. The essays discuss the philosophical underpinnings of _An Accidental God_ in depth. In some cases, the notes tell the reader the author's intended meaning or interpretation of parts of the text. Other notes give historical, archeological, or biblical commentary related to the text or they identify sources of information. The casual reader might want to ignore the notes unless something really strikes them as interesting, troubling, or downright wrong. If this is the case, please look at the note and see what I have to say on that point. Otherwise, enjoy a good story and draw your own meaning from it. However, since _An Accidental God_ includes some unconventional interpretations of topics that many people deem sacred, it is bound to push somebody's buttons. If you find this work offensive, inaccurate or misguided and wish to criticize me, I welcome your feedback in the spirit of free and open discussion. I ask, though, that you first read the relevant explanatory notes and essays to make sure that your criticism is based on what was actually said and what I mean, and not based on a misunderstanding.

Aleron Zemplin 2013

# ABRAM

[I.1]

## ONE

A soft natural light filtered through the doorway of the beehive-domed room, touching a small patch of the floor. In the semi-darkness beyond, Abram lay on a mat, tossing, turning and mumbling in his sleep. The night before, there had been a raucous party celebrating his upcoming wedding. The young man had wildly overindulged in drink and in the prostitutes that his brothers had brought to him. The guests had eventually gone home a few hours ago and his brothers had been able to stumble back to their quarters in adjacent wings of the compound. But, as the life of the party, Abram had passed out on the floor in the central room where the gathering had been held.

He dreamed that a giant hand had grabbed the side of the house and was lifting it up and down. He was annoyed, "Now stop that!" he said in his dream, "I'm trying to sleep." A sharp crashing noise woke him with a start and he was confused by the bright beam of sunlight shining directly into his eyes.

Above his head, a small, jagged crack let the morning light in through the beehive-domed ceiling, but otherwise the dome remained intact. He sat up and glanced around the room. Various baskets and bowls had fallen over. Then he felt water; he was sitting in a puddle that had flowed out of a broken earthenware jar. There, right in front of him, was the niche with the altar to the family gods and ancestors. The figures had toppled over. Some had fallen on the floor; some had shattered. Abram stared wide-eyed at the one and only idol that remained standing amidst the wreckage. It was the figure of Yehhi!

Cries from outside wrenched Abram around. He found himself peering out from the door of the central section of the house, which was the only part left standing. The rest of the mud brick walls and buildings in their compound, and much of the neighborhood as far as he could see, had crumbled due to the violent shaking of the earth. Abram dashed out among the toppled walls and began to pull away rubble where he heard cries or saw protruding arms or legs. He worked desperately and was soon joined by his brother, Nahor, who was battered but had escaped serious injury. They dragged sisters, cousins, children, and elders one by one from beneath the wreckage. Some were only stunned and shaken, but there were many grievous injuries. Those who were able joined the search for others. Those who could not help just sat or lay alone or in groups, some silent, some weeping and moaning. The few who had escaped serious injury were too busy searching the rubble for others to tend to those that had already been freed. Broken limbs with bones protruding through the skin, crushed skulls—many lives had been extinguished. The scene was similar across all of Ur. Even the massive Ziggurat, the Temple of the Moon that dominated the city, had been badly damaged; a ramp up its front had collapsed.[1.1]

Their grim toil continued throughout the day. As the sun was getting low in the sky, most family members had been accounted for, living or dead; all except for Abram's older brother, Haran. Then, finally, as Abram pulled back the bricks of another collapsed wall, he lifted away one more block and there beneath was the face of Haran, peaceful as in sleep. Abram knew immediately that he was dead. As he looked at his brother's face, tears welling up in his eyes, Abram sensed someone behind him. He turned and there was Terah, their father, ashen, utterly shattered at the loss of his first-born son.[1.2]

Evening fell. All of their lamps were buried, broken, lost; all of their oil had been spilled. Earlier, Abram had pulled his bride-to-be, Sarai, from the rubble. She had been scraped up but not seriously hurt so he had left her and continued the search for others. Now, they were together again, huddling in the dark. Abram was exhausted. He was a city dweller from a good family, accustomed to others doing the hard physical labor for him. Those others were most likely dead now. Today he had used reserves of strength and endurance that he never realized he possessed. But, used they were; he had nothing left.

"Perhaps we can find a light inside," said Sarai, gesturing toward the beehive-domed Old House, the only structure left standing.

Her words took a few seconds to register before Abram rose slowly and the two of them, arm in arm, labored across the uneven piles of collapsed brick and debris, back toward the beehive dome. Through the door, in the blackness, Abram stepped in the puddle of water. Ages had passed and the world had changed since he had last felt that water. By touch, he found his way to the table that he knew was in the corner; there was a small lamp with oil and the stone with which to light it. A few strikes, sparks, and the lamp was lit.

As the sputtering light pushed back the darkness, it glinted off the figure of Yehhi standing resplendent on the little altar among all the other toppled deities. All day, in a corner of his mind, even as he had been occupied with so much desperate struggle and so much grief, Abram had been turning over the memory of this image. Here it was again, the first thing to meet his eyes. He shook his head and leaving the lamp inside the room, he rushed to the door. Holding Sarai's hand, the two of them went out into the devastated compound. They tried to gather the survivors and persuade them to take shelter, pointing to the dim light flickering from the door of the Old House. Many resisted for fear that the earth would shake again and they would be buried under more collapsing walls and ceilings.

But, Terah, sitting on a pile of bricks, weeping bitterly in the dark for the loss of his son, Haran, looked up and realized what was happening.

"Abram is right. We must go inside," he said so that all could hear. "The Old House has not fallen, and it will not fall for its construction is of the ancient wisdom of Yehhi and of his far off town up the River. If we had been inside the Old House, this disaster would not have touched us. We must all go in now."

Hovering above them, under the domed ceiling, Yehhi watched his clan struggle back into the room, some under their own power and others helped or carried. They sat against the walls or lay on the floor as the able began tending to the injured. Some jars were unbroken, leaving water, a bit of food, and enough oil to keep the tiny lamp going. Wounds were bound with strips torn from clothing and other linens. In the midst of this scene, Terah sat on the floor and contemplated the statue of Yehhi standing among the fallen idols. Abram came and sat beside him.

"What does it mean?" he asked his father in a soft voice. He did not want to alarm the women and children, but clearly the obvious physical destruction was just the beginning. Something more awesome and frightening was at hand.

"Yehhi has cast down the other gods. He, alone, now rules our destiny. But, he has also punished us with this great misfortune . . . How shall we regain his favor?"

Nahor came to join them and all three sat silently before Yehhi.

Exhaustion swept over Abram and he began to nod, his head lolling forward as he fell asleep sitting up.

A commotion over by the door woke Abram with a start. His brother and father were shouting and blocking the entrance. Strangers were trying to force their way through the door.

"Give us your silver!"

"No, no! Go away!"

"Let us at your women! We will kill you and have them anyway!"

Abram jumped up and grabbed a staff that was leaning against the wall. He was already swinging the heavy piece of wood as he bounded the few steps to engage the intruders. These were hard-bitten and scruffy marauders, criminals out to take whatever could be had in the wake of the disaster. The vigor of Nahor and Terah's defense and the ferocity of Abram's counterattack caught them by surprise, as they had not encountered such stiff resistance from earlier victims. They quickly withdrew; there were much easier pickings to be had elsewhere.

The able-bodied men took turns guarding the door throughout the night while the rest slept.

Yehhi, watching over them all, felt power flow through his being.

## TWO

The next morning, Abram and Nahor decided that they needed to walk around and investigate the extent of the destruction. After the previous night's episode, they realized that they were likely to encounter desperate and dangerous people, so they brought three of their strapping young cousins along, each carrying a stout wooden pole. Most of the houses in their neighborhood had collapsed completely, something they found to be the case universally as they ranged further afield. They saw firsthand the damage to the Temple and to the Palace of the King.[2.1]

Sitting on a pile of tumbled down bricks that used to be part of the outer wall of the palace courtyard, an effeminate young man in a soiled and torn white robe was plucking a lyre and singing snippets of song over and over, improvising the words and the accompaniment.

When I was grieving for that day of destruction . . . that day of . . . collapse . . . no, no . . . ruin.  
When I was grieving for that day of ruin,  
That day of ruin, destined for me, weighed upon me . . . no, no, laid upon me, heavy with tears,  
That day of ruin, destined for me, laid upon me heavy with tears, on me, The queen.

"Did he just say he was a queen?" snorted one of Abram's cousins as they walked by.

"I lament for Ur," the youth proclaimed importantly. "I sing in the voice of Ningal, wife of Nanna, the queen goddess of the City."[2.2]

"Of course you do," the cousins chortled.

"No use lamenting in my own voice, it is the lament of the goddess that will give listeners pause." The youth huffed and continued with his song:

Though I was shaking . . . no trembling,  
For that day of ruin, that day of ruin destined for me,  
I could not flee before that day's unhappiness . . . fatality.  
I could not flee before that day's fatality . . .

His voice faded as they continued on. Even Ur's massive outer walls were falling down in places. The scenes of devastation rolled past Abram's eyes, but his thoughts were focused on the loss of his brother. He and Haran had been drinking together the night before, just hours before the catastrophe. Why was it that Haran had been crushed to death and he had not?[2.3]

They made their way back to the ruins of the family compound by mid-afternoon and found that Terah and the surviving elders from other branches of the clan were conferring, sitting on piles of rubble in front of the beehive-domed Old House. With limited resources, the women were doing the best they could to wash and wrap the dead for burial. Some were digging through the piles of bricks to find remnants of cloth to be used for shrouds. After having witnessed similar sights in a hundred locations throughout the city, Abram wondered how the living would be able to bury so many dead. It was early spring and not yet too hot, but the smell would soon be overpowering.

Terah had already taken the other elders in to see the altar under the beehive dome. After, they came back outside to discuss the situation away from Yehhi's penetrating stare.

"Yehhi is ascendant!" declared Terah. "He has caused the earth to shake to punish us for squandering our attentions on other gods when we should have been focusing our worship on him alone. He has taken my beloved son, Haran, to punish me for not being true to him. We must redouble our devotion to Yehhi in order to regain his favor, so that he will let us live!"

"I don't know, Terah," interrupted Abiditan. "In our house, all of the gods fell down."

Terah was unwavering. "There is nothing more for me here! Yehhi has destroyed my house and my city. He is telling me to leave this place. He has taken my boy Haran as both a sign and a warning. He is telling us to go up the River to his city, the city after which I named my son, the city of Harran.[2.4] There we can focus on the veneration of Yehhi. There we can appease Yehhi, and thereby save ourselves. Yehhi will soon wipe what remains of this corrupted city of Ur from the face of the earth. We must get out, and get out now!"

Abram and Nahor approached their elders.

"Father, our Lord Yehhi is not punishing us!" Abram countered with passionate conviction. "He has protected and saved us! I have been throughout the city and have seen how others have suffered far worse than we have. I grieve for my brother and for all the dead of our family. But, Yehhi is looking after us. We could have all been killed. In many houses, all were killed. Even the Temple and the Palace of the King have fallen. Our Old House has stood because Yehhi dwells inside of it, and those who dwell with Yehhi will be protected."

"No! No! No! This is most certainly the wrath of Yehhi, not his charity," sputtered Terah as he gestured toward the destroyed compound with a slow sweep of this arm. "We must leave this place and go to the city of Harran, the city of Yehhi, there to regain his favor."

"We will go also—"

"No, no! This is madness! We will stay right here!"

The elders and heads of families within the clan continued to debate but could not reach agreement. In the end, about one in five resolved to leave with Terah and his family while the rest would stay in Ur.

Abram did not agree with his father. Yehhi was not punishing them. It was clear to Abram that Yehhi had spared his own life. He would devote himself to Yehhi, and a pilgrimage to the city of Harran fit in well with this devotion. He would accompany his father there.

## THREE

After centuries of dimness and confinement, Yehhi was freed from under the beehive dome. He was drifting in the clear, bright sky, looking down on a procession of over a hundred men, women and children snaking its way through the ruins of Ur.

At its head walked Terah, solemnly bearing a golden idol with both hands cupped under its base and the back of its head resting against his chest. Behind him was the body of his beloved son Haran, borne by Terah's two surviving sons, Abram and Nahor, along with Lot, a son of Haran, and three other young male relatives. The body was shrouded in white linen and resting upon a wood plank salvaged from the wreckage. The other folk of Terah's household followed, including Sarai, the daughter of one of Terah's lesser wives who was betrothed to Abram. There was also Milcah, a young daughter of Haran who was promised as a bride to her uncle Nahor. There were other wives, sons and daughters of Terah, living and dead. The injured hobbled along with the help of the able while the dead were carried on the shoulders of the living. There were male and female servants, young and old, and donkeys bearing baggage that included wooden chests containing the family's considerable wealth in silver and gold. There were armed men, family members and retainers to protect the persons and the goods of the house of Terah. After them followed, in procession, the members of other houses of the clan who had decided to depart with Terah, along with their servants and their goods.

"Punish them! Save them! Yes! Yes, I have done all these things." Yehhi was pleased. He was pleased but he also knew that the other households following Terah carried their own different idols with them, out of sight so as not to perturb Terah, out of sight but not out of mind. He had even seen individual members of Terah's own immediate family surreptitiously rescuing favorite deities and ancestors from the wreckage and secretly including them in their private baggage. The figure of Yehhi had stood with all the other gods and important ancestors for generations, an ever-increasing cohort. But now he saw these others were intruding upon the devotion due him from his people. Even the figure of his own father, Udish-ulak, and his personal god, Ulak—both had stood by him for centuries—he could no longer tolerate. However, no one bothered to pack Udish-ulak or Ulak. It was worse, far worse. Instead, Nahor had secretly added the figure of Kudiya, that vacuous pretender, to the gaggle of other unworthies tagging along in the baggage train. Yehhi wished that it was Nahor that he had smited rather than Haran.[3.1]

People on all sides looked up from their ruins, their dead and their misery, to stare blankly at this noble family marching off to no-one-knew-where. Since the end of the world was most certainly nigh, it didn't make any difference to them what these crazies were doing.

"Look, the queen is still there," sniped Abram's cousin. Sure enough, as they approached the broken down palace wall, the youth was sitting there playing his lyre, and he continued to sing and play as the whole procession labored past.[3.2]

"May Ur not be destroyed!" I pleaded to Enlil.  
"And may its people not be killed!" I said indeed to Enlil.  
But, Behold, he gave instruction that the city be destroyed,  
And its destiny was sealed.  
On that day of shaking, Ur was made a ruin.  
Oh husband Nanna, the town was left a ruin. The people mourn.  
The walls were gaping; the high gates, the roads were piled with dead.  
In the wide streets, where feasting crowds once gathered, jumbled they lay.  
In open fields that used to fill with dancers, the people lay in heaps.

The procession passed and the people of Ur returned to their ruins, to their dead, and to their misery. Terah who? Gone, he was, and forgotten before he reached what remained of the city gates.

## FOUR

The clan laid their dead in the family tombs outside of the city walls. The traditional Sumerian practice of burial under the floor of the family home, so that all the living and dead generations could reside under the same roof, had been abandoned long ago. As members of a prominent family, the dead of the clan of Terah occupied their own section of the necropolis. The people lingered by the graves and wept. They wept for their dead and they wept because they would not see these tombs again. Terah was inconsolable at the grave of Haran, holding the idol of Yehhi while swaying back and forth, muttering.

Nahor and Abram pulled themselves away and went to arrange passage for the family upriver. The market and dock areas were largely abandoned but a few boats and merchants remained. Desperate and increasingly hungry survivors from the city were fighting over a dwindling supply of spoiled goods at exorbitant prices.

The bargaining was long and difficult, but Nahor and Abram eventually hired two barges for the journey and arranged for supplies to be brought on board. By sundown, the family and their goods were on the boats and planning to set out the following morning. Only Terah remained at the tombs, weeping at the grave of Haran. Leaving the others asleep on the boats, Abram and Nahor set out to retrieve their father. They found him alone in the moonlight, still rocking and mumbling, still holding the idol of Yehhi, still inconsolable at the tomb of his son. They dragged him back to the boats and prodded him to drink from a jug of wine. He took a mouthful but then spat half of it out. Eventually, Terah fell asleep.

Early the next morning, the two barges got underway, heading out the canal to the Euphrates. The boats, the route, the men with long poles, and the surrounding fertile planes of Sumer were all new to these city dwellers, but Yehhi recognized it. To Yehhi, it felt as if he were a young man again on his trip up the River centuries before.

By mid-morning, they encountered a fleet of hundreds of large vessels, jammed with soldiers, their helmets gleaming in the sun. The two boats of Terah's party cowered along the shore, the people hoping not to be robbed or killed. Fortunately, the big flotilla plowed on past; a few soldiers even smiled and waved. Women and children waved back but Abram did not. He knew what this meant; it meant doom for what was left of Ur. News of the disaster that had befallen Ur would have reached her enemies by now. These soldiers were certainly from the rival city-states of southern Sumer. By the size of the fleet, it looked like a number of rivals had joined forces to take advantage of Ur's weakness in order to slaughter, conquer, pillage and subjugate. This realization seared like a hot poker in Abram's mind. Yehhi was his salvation, and the salvation of his family, for a second time. Not only had Yehhi delivered him from death when the ground shook, but by leading them out of Ur, Yehhi had delivered them from defeat and enslavement or death at the hands of their enemies. "Praise to Yehhi! Praise be to Yehhi!" thought Abram.

As the soldiers passed by, Abram once again felt the overpowering urge to urinate. He stole away to a secluded spot near the stern of the boat and tried again. He pushed and pushed but the flow would not start. A yellowish puss dripped from the end before the urine finally began to come, but oh, the pain and burning! Once it was flowing, however, he wanted to get it all out so he would have some relief for awhile. Abram gripped the side of boat tightly with one hand as he strained and winced to complete his business.[4.1]

As they sat on the deck of one of the boats in the late afternoon of their third day on the river, Abram entertained the children by reciting some of the old legends. He told the story of the Great Flood. Of course, they all knew how it went, but the real entertainment value was in Abram's lively interpretation of this old standard.

Near the head waters of this very River Euphrates on which we now journey,  
Long ago in a city called Shuruppak, lived a good and just man named Utnapishtim.[4.2]  
But all the other people of the world in that long ago time were wicked and displeasing to the gods.  
Enlil, father of the gods, resolved to send a great flood to destroy all the discordant people in the world.  
But Yehhi, who protects the righteous,  
Yehhi, who saves the good from disaster,  
Yehhi did resolve to defy Enlil and did speak in whispers through the roofing straw of Utnapishtim's house.

When he told a story, Abram always brought a smile to the faces of his audience with his voice characterizations. After all they had suffered through, they needed a reason to smile. Sarai sat among the children and watched Abram with big brown eyes full of admiration. Now he was attempting to portray the voice of Yehhi as both commanding and grand, but delivered as a whisper.

"Attend to what I say:  
Build a boat and abandon what you have, for your riches cannot save your life.  
Catch a mated pair of every living thing, which in your boat do put.  
Make watertight your boat.  
Protect it from the flood which comes.  
Make the boat wide and equally long, then tile the roof with slate. "

And so Utnapishtim the righteous did heed the word of Yehhi.  
He carried pitch, and he carried oil.  
He carried timber, and he carried nails.  
He cut wood, and he nailed wood.  
Sixty lengths by sixty lengths the boat did grow.  
Six decks below, six decks above, twelve decks in all.  
Three times he pitched the outside in the seams.  
Three times inside in the seams.  
And on the seventh day it was done.

Then, like waters escaping from a dam above, came rain pushing down.  
Nergal from his underground home did break the posts and up water from below did come.  
Watery chaos abound drowning cattle, trees, and all the people.

The audience shuddered.

The storm raged for seven days and then was still,  
And then Utnapishtim did break open the hatch and in the daylight poured.

Standing on the deck of their riverboat, Abram was Utnapishtim on the deck of the ark, squinting in the sun after seven days of rain.

As the water subsided the boat did run aground.  
Mt. Nishur was its stopping place.  
On the seventh day, Utnapishtim let loose a single dove,  
Which flew over the waters but could not land, and so returned to him.

To the delight of the children, Abram pantomimed tossing out the bird and then retrieving it.

So after seven more days had passed, Utnapishtim let loose a single raven,  
Which flew out over the waters and found a place to land, and so it returned not to him.  
Then, since the land had dried out, Utnapishtim and his family and all the beasts he had saved from the Flood went out from the boat.  
An offering did Utnapishtim make to Yehhi.  
He built a fire. Smoke of cedar, myrtle and cane wafted heavenward.  
He slaughtered a sheep, and roasted it for Yehhi.  
So pleased was Yehhi that He said to Utnapishtim:

Now, Abram portrayed the voice of Yehhi as grand and booming.

"I will establish my covenant with you,  
That never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of the Flood,  
Never again shall there be a Flood to destroy all the Earth.  
To symbolize this covenant between us, I send this sign."  
And, a necklace of lapis lazuli, gold, and amethyst, which we now call the rainbow,  
Did Yehhi cause to shine in the sky.

Abram made a great sweeping arc with his arms, and everyone clapped.[4.3]

That evening, Sarai and Abram sat hand in hand on the deck and watched the sun go down. Given the disasters and upheavals that had befallen the family, they knew that there would be no formal wedding feast. Where would they hold it? Anyway, with so many family members and friends killed, a joyous celebration would be impossible. But, they felt like man and wife and everyone treated them as if they were wed. So that was it, from then on they would be. They went below decks and consummated the marriage in a hidden space behind some baggage. Abram was in agony, but a young man can endure great pain to release his desire.

The days passed slowly as they crawled upriver pole-stroke by pole-stroke. Over the course of two months, the flat lands gave way to low rolling hills, and the dominant color of the scenery changed from green to brown. Terah spent his days sitting with the figure of Yehhi on the bow of the first of the two boats, gazing off ahead in the direction of Harran. Terah had named his first son Haran after the city up the river that figured so prominently in the founding legend of their family, and in the unique domed architecture of their now abandoned home. No living member of the family had ever been to Harran, and contact with their relations, the family of the first wife of their deified patriarch, Yehhi, had petered out generations ago. But, Terah held a particular fascination for these old tales and this mystical place up the river. He now spent his days on the boat daydreaming about Harran, imagining rolling golden hills with white-topped mountains in the distance. Terah had never seen mountains, but these also figured prominently in the founding tale of the clan.

Terah's mind drifted back to his first-born son's wedding. Haran married in a ceremony held under the beehive dome. So many relatives and friends crowded into the room, and in his speech, Terah had reminded them all that the groom's name was derived from the place where their great ancestor, Yehhi, had taken his wife and established the wealth of the clan. "Let us beseech our ancestor, Yehhi. Yehhi, of Ur and of Harran, we ask you to grant our son, Haran, prosperity and many sons of his own." Tears flowed gently down Terah's face; his favorite son's prosperity had been cut short. Sarai approached to offer her father food and a cushion to sit on, but he shooed her away with a wave of his hand. He was eating less and less and not sleeping much either.

Terah's second son, Nahor, often slipped off by himself to a cramped spot below deck at the back of the same boat where his father sat with Yehhi on the prow. There, Nahor would open a trunk and take out the idol of Kudiya to pay homage to him.

Abram's painful condition seemed to subside, and he and Sarai slept together every night. Something about Abram's flood story had stuck in Sarai's mind and continued to trouble her. Often when they were together, she asked Abram to repeat it. As they lay naked together on bundles of luggage under a dirty blanket, he whispered it to her again and again during their months on the River. He thought her fascination with the tale a bit strange, especially since she requested it repeatedly but never commented on it herself. But, he was happy to oblige her since she was obliging him physically.

They made a brief stop at the city of Mari on the upper Euphrates to replenish their supplies. Mari was like Ur: mud brick houses, a wide outer wall with a tall ziggurat in the center, and lush fields irrigated with river water all around. From there, they continued upriver until they made a turn to follow the smaller Balika, a tributary.

## FIVE

A day came when the boatmen moored the barges along the bank in what Abram considered to be a particularly dusty and forsaken spot.

"Harran!" shouted the captain, pointing to a cluster of walls and buildings dominated by a small ziggurat, just visible in the distance at the top of a rise.

It took some time for it to sink in: their journey was over. They had finally reached the fabled city of Harran, the city of Terah's daydreams; the city after which he had named his first-born son. But, the hills were not green, nor were they golden. They were dusty, dull and brown. Where were the white-topped mountains in the distance? There were no mountains to be seen, just a brooding, rolling landscape that stretched uninterrupted to the horizon.

By the time all the people, animals, and goods were unloaded and sitting in a mass on the riverbank, the people of the town had noticed their arrival. A delegation, including armed men and leading citizens, approached the newcomers on foot. Terah, a little wobbly, stood up as they drew near, his long grey hair and beard wild and unkempt. He cradled the figure of Yehhi in the crook of one arm and held his other hand aloft, palm outward.

"I am Terah of the clan of Yehhi, from the city of Ur. These are my people. We have come peacefully to live in your city of Harran."

"People of Ur? And, so many? Why would you come here? This is a dry and barren place. Life is difficult here," responded a middle-aged man who clearly spoke for the group.

"Our revered ancestor, Yehhi . . ." Terah lifted the statue slightly. "Many generations ago, Yehhi, the founder of our clan, lived in your city of Harran, and He took to wife the daughter of a leading family of your city. He was an important scribe in the Temple of the Moon in Harran. Now, Yehhi has spoken to us and commanded us to forsake Ur and come with everything we have to settle in his blessed city of Harran."

"I see," replied the man flatly. He turned to confer with his colleagues, rolling his eyes. One of the other men in the group tugged gently at the leader's sleeve and discretely pointed off to the side where Abram and Nahor were concluding their business with the boatmen. Out of the corners of their eyes, the townsmen watched Abram doling out weights of silver from a wooden chest as final payment for the journey.

"Welcome Terah! Welcome to Harran! A warm welcome to you and your kin!"

The long procession of people, animals and baggage that had marched out through the ruins of Ur now reorganized itself, legs wobbly after months on the boats. As they trudged over the sun-baked earth toward the gates of Harran, Abram noticed that most of the buildings in the town were of the same beehive-domed construction, which had made their home in Ur so unique in that city.[5.1] The spokesman for the men of Harran walked beside Terah.

"I'm Muknuk. I'm the one you need to know to make things happen in Harran. I am the trusted confidant of the king. Really. I advise him on most everything. As for the Temple . . . I have the ears of the priestesses as well as the scribes. Whatever it is you need in Harran, just ask old Muknuk and I'll see that you get it."

Word got around. The newcomers found that, of course, the people of Harran remembered their "Yehho"—or whatever his name was—remembered him, knew him well, and loved him.

## SIX

The family established itself in Harran, occupying a cluster of bee-hive houses. Terah's body and mind continued to deteriorate. He was called upon by residents of the town on a daily basis, claiming to be long lost relatives descended from the clan of the wife of his "most illustrious ancestor Yahho." Terah received them all warmly and listened with great enthusiasm as they recited their genealogies. When these visitors then revealed that they too were devoted to the worship of Yahho, Terah would weep with joy. He made sure that each of his newly discovered relatives received a parting gift of silver.

"If this nonsense continues," observed Nahor to Abram, "it will not be long before he has given away all that we have to these swindlers."

The two brothers began trying to intercept the visitors and shoo them away before they could get to Terah. Sometimes a scuffle or a shouting match ensued, and Terah, hearing the commotion, would come out of the back room. While inviting the guest to enter, he would berate his sons for their lack of hospitality.

One day, Muknuk himself showed up to see Terah. No doubt important business, thought Abram, allowing him to enter. But, as soon as Muknuk was with Terah, he launched into the same speech about how he was a distant relative and a devotee of Yahho. As he listened from outside of the room, Abram's anger built up rapidly. As Muknuk's oily-smooth pitch continued, it dawned on Abram that these words must have been originally devised by Muknuk and taught to the previous visitors who had come as his proxies to trick "crazy old Terah . . . filthy-rich, crazy old Terah." Muknuk had decided to try his luck in person either because the others were now being blocked by Terah's sons or because he no longer wanted to share the proceeds with collaborators.[6.1]

In a rage, Abram grabbed a grinding stone, burst into the room, and launched a furious attack on Muknuk. He dragged him out into the street while pummeling him about the head and chest. Semiconscious, Muknuk was cast face down in the dust when Abram kicked him in the groin.

## SEVEN

"Terah! Terah! Terah of Ur!"

That evening, twenty men with spears and clubs showed up outside of the residence. And they called out to Terah and said, "Where is your son, Abram? Bring him out to us so that we may do justice upon him."[7.1]

Inside the house, Abram was sullen and Sarai was hysterical with fear.

"Do not let them take him, Father!" she pleaded to Terah.

"Protect him, brother!" she implored Nahor.

"We cannot fight so many, and so well-armed. Yet, maybe something can be arranged," thought Nahor. He paused and touched Sarai's hand for a moment and then launched himself out the door into the midst of the angry men.

"Here is Abram! Seize the scoundrel!"

"I am not! I am Nahor!"

"It is the brother."

"Seize him anyway!"

"No! Let me speak! Let me speak!"

"What say you Nahor, brother of the criminal Abram?"

"I say that there is no need to shed blood here today. My brother regrets his actions and is ready to make amends."

"The insult upon the noble Muknuk is too grave for amends. It cries out for blood!"

"No! Stop! We also have strong men and weapons to defend ourselves." Nahor's arm flailed in an anxious gesture back toward the family compound. "You will pay for Abram's blood with much of your own." He looked hard into the eyes of the men surrounding him. "Which of you will be the first to be slain on account of my brother's temper? Which of you will be slain for Muknuk's pride?"

The men looked at each other, none meeting Nahor's gaze.

"You know, Muknuk was cheating silver out of my old, feeble-minded father? That is why Abram beat him. Has Muknuk shared this silver with you, those whom he sends to do the dirty . . . to do this bloody and dangerous business on his behalf?"

"Well—" Some of the men were shuffling their feet and looking down.

"I thought not. Let me propose a solution to our problem. Abram will leave Harran and never be seen in this town again. You can tell your boss that you have slain my brother; Muknuk should be pleased. That way, you don't have to fight us and none of you will be killed."

Most of the men were looking at their feet, kicking at the dust.

"Well . . . perhaps . . . but we would be taking a big chance," one finally said. "Muknuk said he wanted Abram's head. 'Bring me the head of the upstart Abram, son of Terah.' That's what he said."

"Yeah, yeah." The others nodded in agreement.

"We are going to need some proof of the deed even if it is not the head. If Muknuk smells a deception, we will pay the price. Perhaps our own heads."

"To take such a risk, we will require our own shares of that silver."

"Yes! Yes! The silver!" they all gasped.

"I see . . . Wait here." Nahor went back into the house.

"Well, Abram, my foolish, hot-headed brother, this is quite a mess you have gotten yourself into. They were sent here by Muknuk with orders to bring back your head. That's your head without the rest of you attached."

"If they want my head they will need to fight for it!"

"I have already pointed that out to them, and I think that they will agree to something less drastic. But . . . you, my brother, will need to leave Harran forever, and you will need to pay those gentlemen with silver."

"Leave? Leave Harran? But where will we go?!" wailed Sarai.

"I don't know, but it's better than Abram losing his head. Isn't it?"

"Ok . . . ok, tell them that it is agreed," sighed Abram.

Nahor went back outside to speak with the men. "My brother, Abram, will leave Harran before dawn, the day after tomorrow. He will not show himself on the street before he leaves, and he will not be seen as he leaves. He will forfeit to you his share of the inheritance from our father Terah. For this he asks that you spare his life."

The men put their heads together to confer among themselves, but then their attention was jolted away by Sarai, who came running out of the house with bright red blood on her arms and splashed down the front of her dress. In her hands she carried a cloak of Abram's covered in blood. She held it out to the men. They recoiled.

"Lamb's blood," she said.[7.2]

"Well perhaps we can put this over on Muknuk . . . perhaps. But we want the silver! Now!"

Abram appeared at the door of the house straining to carry a wooden chest of considerable weight. He set the chest down on the ground outside the door, took Sarai by her bloody hand, and the two of them went back inside.

## EIGHT

It was a sleepless night in the House of Terah.

"What will become of us?" Sarai moaned.

Abram sat unresponsive with a scared look in his eyes.

"You gave them our silver. How will we live?" she continued, raising her hand and shaking her bloody fist at him.

Without answering, Abram got up, went into the back room, and retrieved a chest similar to the one he had surrendered to the men. He plunked it down in front of Sarai.

"The value of my inheritance? How do they know? They got less than half. We do have silver, plenty of silver. But, as for the rest of it . . . What to do? Where to go?"

Yehhi could see Abram sitting alone in the tiny puddle of light from a dim oil lamp. The rest of the house was dark and the others were lying down, although apprehension kept them tossing and turning. Abram faced the idol of Yehhi, silently pleading for guidance and protection.

The next morning, Lot, accompanied by several of the household servants, was sent to the town bazaar with a fair piece of his uncle Abram's remaining fortune and orders to obtain goods—provisions, animals, slaves—for Abram and his household to take on their journey into exile. As he trudged through the streets, the intense nineteen-year-old realized that he was on a very important mission. Important, but loosely defined. Where would Abram go? What would he do? Abram's needs depended on answers that Lot didn't have. Abram himself had said that he did not know. Yet, at the same time, Lot knew that the survival of his uncle and his uncle's household would depend upon him making wise choices on their behalf. Contemplating the seriousness and urgency of the situation made him nauseous. In an attempt to rein in his disturbing thoughts, he told himself, "At least I don't have to go with them. Whatever I do, so long as I give it my best, things will be alright from where I sit because I don't need to see how it all turns out in the end."

The merchants were perplexed by this young man. Where would a boy such as this get so much silver? Why did he seem so determined to spend it all in one day? Lot cut a broad swath through the bazaar, accumulating pack animals, male and female slaves, and jars of oil, dates, and grain.

Finally, one toothless old trader asked him the question that everyone else was wondering, "What ya goin' ta do with all this stuff, boy? Goin' on a trip, are ya?"

"Well, yes I am. I am going on journey. A . . . a long journey."

"Where ya headin'ta?"

"I'm leaving Harran."

"Yeah, uv course ya are, but then where?"

Lot did not reply.

"Hum . . . I see." The merchant was sure he had Lot figured out. Clearly this boy had stolen his treasure from some nobles or from the Temple. He was trying to buy what he thought he would need to sustain himself in the wilderness before fleeing the town. Perhaps he would get away before the owner of the silver realized it was missing. The merchant cracked a broad grin. Best get his share of the loot and skip town himself before soldiers show up and the lad gets caught.

"M'boy, if you're heading off on a trip inta the wilds, then you're not buyin' the right stuff. Trust ol' Namzu. We travels aroun' and we knows how ta live on the land. What ya have here's all wrong. These slaves are city slaves, house servants. They know nothin' of survivin' in the wilds. They'll be a burden, just slowin' ya down and eatin' up yer food. And this food? This'll not do. It's city food. It's heavy to carry; it'll run out; it'll go bad. What ya need is food thut walks for i'self; food that replenishes i'self; food that's always fresh."

Lot nodded earnestly.

"M'boy, it is a good thang Namzu 's here ta help y'out. With what ya have here, you and all yer slaves and all yer animals will be dead out there, dead in a month's time . . . well, maybe three month's time. Anyway, dead is dead and that's what you'll be, just as sure as if the soldiers had got a hold of—"

"What?"

"Never mind. Ol' Namzu will take this here city food and these city slaves uff yer hands and provide you with sheep an' goats, and some shepherd boys ta tend 'em. They're good boys who know their way around the country . . . outside the city walls, ya know. They knows where ta find good pasture for the animals and they knows where ta find water."

Lot did not reply right away. He was thinking, thinking very hard. "Don't mess this up," he was saying to himself. There was some wisdom in what this old man was saying. City goods were the only goods he knew, the only goods Abram knew. Who knew what one needed outside of the city? Perhaps this old merchant did.

"Uf course I'll need everythin' ya gut here," Namzu waved his hand at Lot's previous purchases, "plus . . . um . . . thirty more weights a' silver to close the deal . . . see?"

"What? That's outrageous!"

"M'dear boy, ya havn' yet seen da sheep and da goats . . . a 'ole herd of 'em, an' fine animals th'are."

"I don't know. But, one thing is for sure, I can't give you all that you see here. I didn't buy these three today. They are servants from the household of my uncles. And this slave girl, yes, I did just buy her." Lot indicated a particularly attractive girl in her mid-teens. "But, um . . . you know—"

The old man took a look at the girl and then turned back and took a longer look at Lot's face. Then he cracked a big toothless grin. "Ya fancy her. I see. Ok . . . Ok . . . It's agreed. I'll leave you your uncles' three servants an tha girl. D' we 'av a deal?"

"I have not yet seen these goats, sheep or shepherd boys. Show me and perhaps we will have a deal." Lot's chest swelled with pride. He was negotiating like a man, shrewd and wise on his uncle's behalf.

Lot left the three household servants to look after the newly acquired slaves and other goods while he accompanied Namzu on a one hour hike outside the city gates and over the hills. They arrived in a broad valley where a herd of sheep and goats, about one hundred animals, grazed and were tended by three boys who appeared to range in age from nine to fifteen. An experienced and knowledgeable buyer would have inspected the animals carefully, but Lot was neither experienced nor knowledgeable.

"Fine lookin' animals th' are . . . aren't they?"

Lot continued to soak in the broad scene before him. It did look idyllic to his city eyes.

"Is it agreed then?"

"Alright, it's agreed."

The oldest shepherd boy accompanied Lot and Namzu back to the market in Harran. The other two and the animals remained in the field. The goods and silver changed hands, the deal was done, and Lot was pleased with himself.

## NINE

"You idiot! You fool! I trusted you with my silver and with the most important of tasks and look what you have done," bellowed Abram.

"Let me explain—"

"Explain what? You spent seventy weights of silver and all you brought me was one boy slave and one girl slave!"

"Actually, there are two more boys and a whole lot of sheep and goats."

"Sheep and goats? What do I want with sheep and goats?"

"Uncle Abram, if you are heading off into the wilderness, then you need to make sure you have the right things to survive. What you need is food that walks for itself; food that replenishes itself; food that is always fresh. That is sheep and goats. Plus, the shepherd boys know how to tend them."

"Who said anything about heading off into the wilderness?" sneered Abram. "I was thinking of going back down river to Mari or perhaps taking the caravan road over to Carchemish. While I am sure it is not like Ur, or even Harran, I hear Carchemish is not such a bad town."

Then there was a short silence, which seemed like an eternity to Lot.

"Where are these sheep and goats?" Abram finally asked with a sigh.

"They're outside the city walls being watched by the other two boys. This one here, his name is Ishmael, he will lead you to meet up with them on your way out of town."

"Why is this slave girl here?"

"Well. . . Ah . . . Her name is Salina. And ahh . . ."

There was a brief silence while Abram figured it out, then he lunged at Lot and began to beat him about the side of the head with a stick. "You little piece of shit! In my darkest hour, you used practically my last measure of silver to buy yourself a concubine? And for me you got a bunch of flea-bitten, smelly goats! Well one thing is for sure, this pretty girl of yours is not yours at all. She is mine, and she is coming with me. I will leave you . . . No, no, no, I will sell you one of the goats to use in her place."

## TEN

Before dawn the next morning, the household of Abram was assembled. The group included Abram's wife, Sarai, as well as the male and female servants belonging to Abram that had come with them from Ur. There was a baggage train of donkeys loaded down with the family's belongings. Additionally, the new boy, Ishmael, and new girl, Salina, were there. Abram, however, was not.

Abram was in the house arguing with his father.

"No, my son, you may not take Yehhi with you into exile!"

"But Father, Yehhi has shown me favor by saving me from disaster thrice! This last time, when he saved me from Muknuk's men, Yehhi was calling me to leave Harran. He has protected me before and I am sure he will continue to favor me. I need him with me."[10.1]

"Yehhi has commanded me to stay right here. Since I am still your father and still the head of this clan, Yehhi stays with me!"

Agitated, Abram finally emerged. "Let's go!"

As the small caravan of ten people and six donkeys began to move, Abram did not notice that Lot, who had been saying a heartfelt goodbye to his new friend Salina, did not let go of her hand. In fact, he began to walk along with the group. Abram covered his face with a hood as they made their way slowly and silently through the deserted streets in the predawn twilight. The guard at the town gate paid little attention. His concern was with the people who entered, not the people who left.[10.2]

Walking across the grassy hills outside of town, Ishmael took the lead to guide them to the rendezvous with his compatriots and the herd.

"Wait a moment," shouted Lot from the rear of the column. "This is not the way we went yesterday."

Abram wheeled around. "What is my asshole nephew doing here?"

Lot grinned sheepishly. Abram, seeing his nephew holding the girl's hand, shook his head and chuckled despite himself.

"Uncle, I was saying that this is not the way we went to the sheep and goats yesterday. I fear the boy is trying to trick us."

"No! No! No sir," protested Ishmael. "The herd has moved to a new spot. I am taking you there now."

"Moved? Why?"

"On account of old Namzu, our previous master. He went back out to the fields last night after concluding his business with you, intending to switch old animals for young, skinny animals for fat, sickly animals for healthy."

"How do you know that?" asked Lot. "You were with us last night."

"I know because I know Namzu. Anyway, we are with you now. The flock you eat of, we must eat of also. There is a special hiding place. We will meet the boys and the animals there."

As the sun came up, Ishmael led them onward. The Balikh River, a tributary of the Euphrates, was visible at a distance off to their right. They were heading upstream. Aware of the sharp looks he was getting from Lot and Abram, Ishmael kept turning and saying, "Just a little bit further, sirs, and we will be there. You'll see."

And, indeed, by the time the sun was full in the sky, they reached an eroded gully choked with brambles. Ishmael whistled three times in rapid succession and was answered in kind from among the bushes, which began to rustle. Up a steep path and out of the wadi came over a hundred and fifty sheep and a handful of goats. Nipping at their heels was a sheep dog followed by the two younger boys. Seeing the sheep, smelling the sheep, Abram wrinkled his nose and looked sideways at Lot.

"Good morning. I am Zimran," said the elder of the two boys. Indicating the youngest boy he continued, "and that is Isaac. We call him that because he is always laughing."

Isaac cracked a broad smile.[10.3]

Abram and Lot stood together on the grassy plain beside the lip of the gully talking to one another and gesturing with their hands in all directions. They looked back in the direction from which they had just come; Harran was no longer visible in the distance. The others sat around them all morning, watching and waiting for direction. But, direction was not forthcoming. The three shepherd boys were squatting over in the dust next to the flocks and were also talking among themselves.

Eventually, Ishmael got up and approached Abram and Lot while the other two disappeared back down into the wadi.

"Sirs," Ishmael whispered, directly meeting Lot's eyes. "You will notice that Isaac and Zimran have lifted a few more animals out from under Namzu's nose than were bargained for in the original deal. We had better high-tail it out of here before . . ."

Abram looked puzzled, but Lot smiled broadly.

"Anyway, we must move on to fresh pasture for the animals," Ishmael continued.

"Yes . . . yes, of course," Abram whispered back. Then he announced to all, in a commanding voice, "We must move on for the sake of the beasts." Everyone got to their feet as Zimran and Isaac popped back up out of the wadi, each carrying a medium-sized bundle wrapped in cloth. They indicated to the servant in charge of the baggage train that they wished to place these on donkeys with the rest of the luggage, and he nodded his approval.

Then they were off. The three shepherd boys and their dog drove the flocks in front and the family of Abram followed along behind with their servants and donkeys. They walked at a leisurely pace for about two hours and then paused while the animals grazed for most of the afternoon. In late afternoon, they continued on until they reached another gully that was lined with bushes, with a babbling creek running along its bottom. Here, they stopped for the evening. The flock was watered and a fire was built from dried scrub brush. The boys milked the goats and slaughtered a kid, which they dressed and roasted over the open coals. They had yogurt in their bags, which they had made from the goats' milk, and they shared it with Abram and his family.

"This shepherd's life is not so bad," thought Abram as he lay on his back by the roots of a twisted, stunted tree with the glowing coals of the fire in front of him. He listened to the gurgle of the stream and looked up at the stars. Pleasantly tired from the day's walking, he was warm and his belly was full.

The next day, they continued on to new pasture, a new water source and a new campsite. Day after day it was the same, as they made their way slowly across the grasslands paralleling the main caravan route, but always keeping their distance from it. Sometimes from a rise, they were able to see trains of pack animals moving along this track. But, they were a small party so it was best for them to stay out of sight lest they fall prey to bandits. Abram observed that Isaac did indeed laugh quite frequently. It was not silly laughter, but joyous. It seemed to be the way he expressed his wonder at the beauty of the rolling golden grasslands, and the broad, deep blue sky. It seemed to be the way Isaac expressed his wonder at being a nine-year-old boy alive in the world.

They continued on, grazing and moving little by little, day by day. The servants and the womenfolk of Abram learned from the boys how to milk the goats, tend the sheep, make yogurt, cut the fleece and spin yarn with a hanging bobbin. Sarai and Salina often spent the afternoon together twirling their yarn and chatting. Although Sarai was the mistress of the household and Salina was a servant girl, they were about the same age; Sarai was perhaps a year older. Here in the wilderness, the social barriers that would have separated women of such different station were impractical. Also, Salina was sleeping every night in a separate tent with Lot, who was, after all, a blood member of the clan. Abram continued to insist that Salina was his property rather than Lot's wife. But, little by little and day by day, Abram was losing that battle. The other servants began to show Salina the respect due a junior mistress. Sarai might have resisted this trend if she had not come to genuinely admire Salina's pluck and enjoy her wit.

The shepherd boys seemed to know where to go and where to find water and good pasture, so Abram let them lead on. They roughly followed the caravan road, and found themselves facing the setting sun every evening. Then, the season of rains descended upon them and there was a chill in the air, a chill like Abram had never felt back in the lands of Sumer. They suffered because their clothes were not warm enough, and their tents, which they had brought with them from Harran, were not sufficiently proofed against the weather. The shepherd boys had with them warm tunics woven from rough spun wool and waterproof tents sewn together from sheepskins. They were happy to share what they had with the folk of Abram, but not all could be accommodated.

And so, the women folk and servants of Abram set about constructing frames of branches and weaving on them heavy cloth, from the wool of their sheep. The work was laborious. Sarai cried because her fingers cramped from the cold and the repetitive strain, and she quietly cursed Abram under her breath for bringing her to such a low station. Salina held Sarai's hands and rubbed the blood back into her blue fingers, and then continued to complete the job for both of them.[10.4] They made the cloth into crude but effective clothes and blankets. But, they smelled strongly of sheep and even soaking them in a rushing stream for two days did not remove the smell. And, their tents still leaked.

## ELEVEN

One afternoon, as they drove the herd over a rise, they saw in the distance a shimmering ribbon of silver and beyond it, a rounded hillock. There was more than the normal small trickle of traffic on the road, which crossed the silver ribbon beside the hill.

The next morning, they went down onto the road and proceeded toward the famous ford of the Euphrates at Carchemish, a walled town on the hill overlooking the river.[11.1]

"Finally!" thought Abram, "We are back in the civilized world. It will be good to sleep with a proper roof over my head."

Since it was the rainy season, the river was high, although not as high as it would be a few months later when spring arrived and melted the snow of the Tarsus Mountains upstream. They waded through cold water, waist-deep in the middle. They struggled to keep the herd together but they made it across.

As they approached the town gates, two guards armed with spears blocked their way.

"You nomads may only pitch your tents and trade your wares outside the city walls. Your kind may not enter the city."

"My kind?" scoffed Abram. "I am a Sumerian of good family, of Harran, and of Ur."

"Yeah—" the guards snickered, and then burst out laughing. Abram protested but they just kept laughing and indicating with their spears that it was time for Abram to move along.

And so Abram and his family set up camp outside the walls of Carchemish. They traded some of their rough spun wool and spent some of their scant remaining silver to get warmer clothes and better tents. Once this business was completed, Abram moved his herd and his camp onto the grasslands further from town. He was stung by the scorn of the townspeople; he was stung by the realization of how fast and how far he had fallen.

That night, Abram, Lot, and Ishmael sat around their campfire. Ishmael periodically turned a lamb on a spit.

"All this time, I was hoping we might just go live in Carchemish," lamented Abram.

Lot smiled feebly.

"Ah, you stupid, horny boy. You don't care what becomes of us just as long as you can continue to spend your nights alone in a separate tent with my girl servant. This is all just a holiday for you. You just wait. The novelty will wear off, you'll grow up, and then what will you have? The same as me! Nothing! Shit! Sheep crap!"

"Sirs," interjected Ishmael, "I know a good land, a beautiful land. We could head there. It has good pasture and plenty of water. There is much open space, not many people. You could settle there and life would be much sweeter than it is here."

"Where is this land? How far?" asked Abram.

"It will take some time to get there, but there is pasture for the herd all along. I know the way."

Abram grunted in agreement.

## TWELVE

As they left Carchemish and continued in the direction of the setting sun, the hills started to get higher. One morning, Abram woke in Sarai's embrace. He left her under the blanket, and gazing out from the tent flap, Abram found the land covered with a dusting of whiteness. The whiteness was all around him, and its beauty and purity overwhelmed him. Now he truly understood that he had left the land of Sumeria, had left his home, and had gone into exile, for this white landscape could not be the work of Sumerian gods. He felt a strange exhilaration.

Abram sat for a long time just looking, but eventually his pristine vision was disturbed by the figure of Ishmael trudging across the camp on his way to milk the goats.

"Boy, Ishmael! What gods hold sway in this land?"

"Baal," grunted Ishmael, without stopping or turning his head.[12.1]

Abram soon discovered that the clean white snow became a brown mushy mess under the hooves of the sheep and goats. "One more example of the nastiness of the beasts," he thought.

Over the next few days, Ishmael led them down out of the hill country to get away from the snow. As they descended onto a broad plain, they saw a strange conically shaped hill rising in the distance. As they drew closer, they could see that there was another town on top of the hill. Abram was a bit apprehensive after their experience at Carchemish, but they continued on. There was no bustle of activity in front of the town gates as there had been at Carchemish, and as there always was at Harran and Ur. As they got closer, they still encountered no one and Abram and the others became uneasy. Then the hill, topped by towering walls of stone and mud-brick, stood imposingly above them, but still no sign of people.

Abram, Lot and Ishmael went ahead alone, climbing the winding path up to the town gate. The gate was open and unguarded, so they continued on inside. And then they understood. In the streets of the town they came across men and boys, even some womenfolk, slain, their blood in dried-up pools and flies swarming on their swelling, purple bodies. Buildings were burned out and the doors and ceilings had collapsed. They looked in some of the open doorways and found still more dead.

As Ishmael was looking around in one of the houses, he thought he saw a large woven basket move slightly in the corner. He went over to it and pulled open the lid. Inside, terrified and cowering, was a little boy about Isaac's age. Ishmael jumped back.

"Wha! Who . . . Who are you?" He stammered.

The child huddled down in the basket and did not speak.

"Sirs! Abram, Sir! Lot, Sir! Come quickly! See what I've found!"

When the other two arrived, they managed to coax the boy out of the basket. "What has happened here? What town is this? What's your name?" All he could muster in reply was one word:

"Hittites!"

Eventually, more people came out of baskets, wells, cisterns, trap doors, and other hiding places. They were mostly women and children, a few elderly. There were over one hundred people in total and they were all terrified. Their men had died defending the town and most of the inhabitants, many other women and children, had been carried off by the marauders. These people spoke with a strange accent [12.2] but as far as Abram could gather, the town, which they called Yamhad,[12.3] had been sacked only a day or two prior.

Sarai and Salina, with the help of their servants, milked the goats and fed milk and yogurt to some of the children who had had nothing to eat or drink for two days.[12.4] Survivors set about collecting their dead family members for burial, but many dead went unclaimed. These, for the most part, remained where they had fallen and were increasingly set upon by rats, dogs, and crows. Abram and his family helped the townspeople search through the ruins for other survivors and for anything that could be salvaged. The Hittites had picked the place pretty clean, but not completely. There were hidden caches of grain, shekels of silver, gold jewelry, and other valuables buried in hollowed out spaces under floors and within walls. The townspeople had an uncanny knowledge of where these hiding places might be in their dead neighbors' houses. They also rounded up quite a few sheep, goats and cattle, which they found wandering around both outside and inside the town walls. Although the Hittites had intended to make off with all the livestock, a fair number of animals had been missed.

In all of the abandoned houses, Abram noticed the shelves with the statues of the family gods and ancestors. Some of them were knocked over, some were still standing, but clearly none had performed their job of protecting the inhabitants. Yehhi had delivered him from disaster but these gods had clearly proved less potent. In the midst of this devastation, Abram longed for Yehhi's protection. But, his father had kept Yehhi, and he was a Sumerian god, anyway. After Carchemish, they had left the land between the two rivers behind. Now they truly were in the wilderness; wild lands full of wild people, and governed by the whims of wild gods. One thing was for sure, Abram needed to find the protection of some deity, and quickly. But, how would he know it was the right god, a god that could deliver the protection he needed? All of these dead people believed in their gods, not suspecting how weak and ineffective they were until it was too late.

Abram started to think that he should leave this place. The smell of death hung heavily in the air, its gods were weak or uncaring, and the Hittites, or some other group of armed marauders, would no doubt return. When he informed the townsfolk of his intention, they were distraught. However, it was clear to Abram that his small band could not help or defend these wretched survivors when all of their well-armed men had already failed. Some of the women pleaded with Abram to take them and their children away with him, but he resisted the idea. These were women, girls, and small boys. They would slow his progress, eat his food, and contribute nothing to the defense of his party. Abram had understood from the day he left Harran that they were in danger from bandits or hostile tribes. That is why they had stayed off the main road. But, the sight of this ruined town focused his thoughts more intently. What he needed were strong boys and men, armed boys and men, like the ones being eaten by rats in the streets.

An old, toothless woman with a leathery face tugged on Abram's tunic, "You should take in some of these young women and their children. They represent future strength for you and your clan. The little boys will soon be big boys, able to work and able to fight. The women and girls will bear more sons for your people. Look beyond today, look to your future. I have no future, only a past. Soon I will die with the rest of my people. You must look to your future."

Abram grunted and walked off. But that night, as he lay awake in his tent, the old woman's words came back to him over and over again. Sarai, lying beside him, also could not sleep; she was lost in her own unsettled thoughts. The scene at Yamhad—blotchy-faced, bloated bodies dancing in the blackness before her eyes—reconnected her to her earlier obsession with the story of the Great Flood, and with their own tragedy at Ur. How could the gods be so cruel and uncaring? How could they allow so many innocents to perish? Abram had his Yehhi, or maybe he did not have him here in the wilderness, but it seemed to Sarai that Yehhi was also part of this divine cruelty, or at least divine indifference. Sarai longed for the protection of her own goddess of love and compassion; a goddess that listened to her, a mere woman, and also maybe to her friend Salina. A goddess that was loving and compassionate, yes, but also strong enough to fight off the whimsical cruelty of other gods.

The next day, as Abram left the ruins of Yamhad behind, his tribe was doubled in number and prosperous with food, silver, other goods, and animals salvaged from the wreckage. Abram and his men had armed themselves with spears and swords taken from the slain defenders of Yamhad. The weapons felt strange in Abram's hands, the hands of the son of a scribe, but having them made him and everyone in the group feel more secure.

## THIRTEEN

They continued on out of Yamhad, grazing their herds and moving a little further each day. The hills rose again before them, and beyond in the distance, higher mountains still—Abram had never seen such mountains. They skirted the foothills and continued their slow progress. As the sun was setting to their right over the tops of the tall mountains, they passed a large town to their left, way off in the distance in the flatter lands below. The Yamhad survivors said it was a place called Ebla[13.1]; after his experiences in Carchemish and Yamhad, Abram decided to give it a wide berth.

The great mountains in the distance grew higher still, and they were crowned with white. One bright afternoon as they followed the herds, Abram walked beside Ishmael.

"So, Ishmael, who is this god, Baal?"

"He is an important god in this land," Ishmael answered flatly.

"What kind of power does he wield and where is the seat of his power?" Abram persisted.

"Baal is powerful in many ways, but he chiefly rides among the clouds to provide the rain for the land—growing things—you know. And, he likes to scare the people with his thunder and lightning."

"How do the people serve Baal?" asked Abram.

"There are priests of Baal whose work is to make sacrifices for the benefit of all of us. The people . . . well, the priests . . . make the sacrifices and Baal sends the rain. If they neglect the sacrifices then Baal might not return and neither will the rain."

"Return from where? Where does he go?"

"But, the sacrifices are the job of the priests, so you and I don't need to worry about it," Ishmael continued without answering Abram's questions.

They walked on in silence for some time. Later, clouds began to roll in across the tops of the mountains.

"See, look at that," said Ishmael. "Baal lives in a great house high up on the mountaintop. When it's time for him to ride the clouds and make rain, the clouds go to the mountaintop so he can climb on."

"Yes, I can see that," replied Abram. "But, can Baal help us? Can he do more for us than make rain? I mean, it's important to make rain so the land doesn't dry out—very important—but, can we rely on Baal to guide us and protect us from disasters and enemies? Like what happened to Yamhad, that sort of thing?"

"He pretty much just makes the rain, at least these days. In ancient times, it is said that Baal fought mighty battles to defeat the evil god of turbulent waters, Yam. Then he also battled with Mot, the god of famine, disease, and death. At first, Mot defeated Baal, killed Baal, and took Baal into the underworld. With Baal gone from the land, Mot held sway and there was drought and disease. Death came to plants, animals, and people alike. But then, Baal rose from the dead and defeated Mot. The return of Baal brought back the rains and the fertility of the land. Now, every year Baal dies and goes to the underworld and his absence causes the dry season when the plants wither. But if the sacrifices are good and pleasing to him, he will be resurrected. With his return comes the wet season, the season of growing things and of life."

The sky had begun to darken as Baal made ready to do his work.

"Sounds to me like Marduk," mused Abram.

"Marduk?"

"In Sumer, Marduk is a great and goodly god. He slew the sea monster, Tiamat. And, among other things, he is the god of the thunderstorms that bring fertility to the land. And, every new year begins with his death and resurrection. Yes, Marduk!"[13.2]

Ishmael rolled his eyes upward to look at the gathering storm clouds; he put a finger to his lips, indicating to Abram that he should hush up. Then in an urgent, forceful whisper: "We are not in Sumer. We are in Canaan now. Here, Baal is the lord of the rains and he might be angry if anyone suggested otherwise."

Ishmael shuffled to the side to open up a little more distance between himself and Abram. He jumped as a boom of thunder echoed out of the distant hills.

"Alright, alright," said Abram quickly, trying to reassure Ishmael, and perhaps Baal as well. "I really am more concerned about our own safety and prosperity. That we don't get killed by some Hittites."

Looking up at the dark sky, Abram continued. "Clearly the priests of Mar . . . I mean Baal, are doing a plenty good job on behalf of all of us with the rains. The god of my own clan, Yehhi, has protected me and helped me in the past, but I needed to leave him behind in Harran. Yehhi stayed with my father."

"Your god does not hear you in the land of Canaan?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. How could he? Yehhi . . . Yehhi is a figure, an idol, and he is far away in the house of Terah, my father. Even if he could hear me, how could he aid me from so far away?"

They stopped, set up camp, and got under their tents just as the downpour hit them.

## FOURTEEN

They were in a long valley with good grazing, hemmed in by tall mountains on either side.[14.1] The season of rains had passed and it was hot and dry, so they were glad to linger by a cool stream that ran along the valley floor.

One day, Abram was sitting on a boulder watching the herds. Isaac was off running about with the dog and laughing, as usual. Ishmael approached Abram.

"You know, I've been thinking about your problem."

"What?"

"I mean, your problem with your god, Yahew."

"Yehhi"

"Right. As I was saying, I've been thinking. I used to live in a village, in my father's house with my mother and little sister. We, of course, had our own family gods. They were idols just like your Yahew. When I was about the age Isaac is now, I was a ways outside of the village tending our family's sheep."

Ishmael looked at Isaac with the dog, over by the sheep.

"Like that. Yes, pretty much like that. My older cousin was with me. Some men approached; I think they were from the bigger town, a day's walk away. We could tell their intentions were evil. My cousin hurled stones at them with his sling, but they came on. Then they were upon my cousin and he fought them with his stick and, after they pulled it away from him, with his bare hands. He told me to run, and I did, but not before I saw them smash his head in with a rock. They ran after me, but I could not outrun them since I was just a small boy. They took me and our sheep, and left my cousin's body there in the hills for the jackals."

The anxious look on Abram's face suggested that Ishmael's story was not easing his persistent fears.

"They bound my arms with ropes and took me off to the slave market. I was terrified, of course, but I called out in my heart to Kirta for help. Kirta is a familiar god of my village and of my family. I did not have a figure of Kirta, and I dared not even speak aloud. So, I called out to him in my heart."

"So, you see," interjected Abram, "you had the same problem as I do. You did not have your god with you. And look! It did not work out so well for you. You are still a bondsman."

"Yes, I am your shepherd boy. But, this is not such a bad life–it's about the same as it would have been for me at home. I do miss my mother sometimes. I haven't seen her for six or seven years . . . but—"

"What?"

"Never mind. What I wanted to say was that things could have been worse, much worse. The priests of Baal were in the market that day buying boys for their holocausts, their burnt offerings to the god. They were wearing fine purple robes [14.2] and they had golden armbands and headdresses. I knew exactly what they were there for. Well, some boys do need to be burnt to satisfy Baal, that is for sure. I do not disagree with that. Baal gets his burnt flesh and the land gets its rain. I just never thought it would be me that got sacrificed. But then again, I had never thought much about how they got the boys. Now I knew. They were boys stolen from their families. I cried out to Kirta in my heart with all my might, cried out for deliverance. The priests of Baal walked right past me and chose some other boys."

"Some rich, fat old man could have bought me to satisfy his desires, but that did not happen either. Kirta must have heard me, because the man who did buy me put me to work herding his sheep. The one after him, who bought me from the first, did the same. I would not say that they were kindly masters, and I certainly would have preferred to be at home with my mother. Nonetheless, things could have been much worse. And, here I am still, herding sheep. I believe that your god can hear you and help you even if you do not have an idol, even if you only speak to him in your heart. You should try. Can't hurt."

Doubtful and hesitant at first, Abram, in his heart, tried to speak to Yehhi for the first time since leaving Sumer. "Yehhi! Yehhi! My god, do you see me here in this strange land? Yehhi! Do you hear me crying out to you from the wilderness?"

And Yehhi did hear Abram's cries from that wild and distant land.

## FIFTEEN

Abram and his band continued along the valley day after day, grazing their flocks. The stream disappeared up into the mountains, but another soon replaced it, which flowed with them in the direction of their slow migration. Abram had been speaking to Yehhi in his heart as Ishmael had suggested. He would be walking along, looking at the light on the mountains and the beauty of the land, and he would tell Yehhi of his hopes and fears. "Yehhi, how I long to find a land where I can settle down and be secure. Yehhi, make me prosperous. Yehhi, make me a chieftain in my own land, a land were I do not need to fear men like Muknuk. Yehhi, send me children to live with me in my land, for Sarai and I so far have none. Ishmael, Zimran, and Isaac are good boys but please, Lord Yehhi, honor your servant with sons of his own seed, his own flesh and blood."

Eventually, the flat valley flanked by high mountains gave way to a rugged country. The hills were not so high, but they went up and down relentlessly. Not a level piece of ground to be found. The trees, more trees than Abram had ever seen, were in dense stands across the countryside. Fortunately, there was also plenty of good pastureland, so they were able to continue on as the rainy season came around again.

One afternoon, as they climbed a steep hill, they saw a gathering of men robed in purple in the distance, at the top. As they got closer, they saw that the men were around a platform made of stones with a large flat stone for a top. Closer still, they saw that the men had a young boy of about eight years old bound with ropes; he was squirming and struggling. The men piled bundles of wood on the top of the platform, and then one of them smashed the boy across the head with a boulder. His body fell limp. They tossed him on top of the kindling and thrust a torch into it. As the offering burst into a torrent of flame, the purple-clad men chanted in unison. They were just barely inside Abram's hearing so he could not really understand the words of the strange incantation, but his attention was focused on what he thought was the repeated invocation of one name, "Baal." During the chant, a few of the men took metal cleavers, axes and knives and made cuts in their own arms, drawing blood.

Abram, Lot, Ishmael and the others stood at a distance, staring. Sarai and Salina pulled their shawls down over their eyes and turned their heads away. Abram, recalling Ishmael's story, was struck by the stoniness with which Ishmael stood and watched.

As the fire burned down and the chanting subsided, some of the purple-clad men noticed the sizeable party of onlookers. Three of them approached. Abram, Lot, and Ishmael stood at ease but with weapons in hand, just in case.

"Greetings, hebrews,[15.1] we are the Priests of Shechem."[15.2]

Abram leaned over and whispered in Ishmael's ear, "He called us hebrews? What are hebrews?"

"It is an expression used in this land," Ishmael whispered back. "It means a wanderer, someone from elsewhere."

"How can they tell?"

"It is not so hard to tell," Ishmael whispered back.

Abram smiled awkwardly at the priests. "I am Abram and this is my family. Indeed, we are wanderers from the land of Sumer, from Harran and Ur."

The priests smiled as if amused. "We have heard that Sumer is a great land of high culture, learning . . . wealth. We have heard that Harran and Ur—oh yes, Ur—are great cities, vast cities. But, look at you! You are just nomadic sheep herders—hebrews."

Abram's face flushed red with anger. "Why do you insult us so? We have no quarrel with you."

"Rightly so. Rightly so," replied one of the priests, smiling warmly and extending his hands toward them with palms upraised. "We have made a sacrifice to our Lord Baal. We would be happy to make a sacrifice for the welfare of you and your people as well."

"I thought Baal just brings rain and fertility to the land. What can he do for the welfare of my people?" asked Abram.

"You and your people do not rely on the rains and the fertility of the land?" asked the priest, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes, of course we do," replied Abram.

"But, it looks to me as if you have that covered," Lot interjected.

"But," said Abram, with a gleam in his eye, "I am very interested in seeing whether you can do anything to help me reach another god . . . I mean, our own special god."

The three priests looked puzzled and briefly conferred among themselves.

"We are priests of our Lord Baal; we are devoted to honoring him. What is this god that you wish to make sacrifice to?"

"My god is Yehhi."

"Yahweh?"

Abram winced at what their accent did to the name. "No, no! Yeh-hi. Yeh-hi!"

"That's what we said, 'Yahweh'."

"Alright, alright. I would like to make an offering to him."

The priests conferred again. Then they smiled warmly. "Yes, of course we know your Yahweh. He is a great and important god. He is a brother of our Lord Baal. Both are sons of El, the master of all, the father of the gods."[15.3] The priests gestured reverently toward a high pile of stones to the right of the altar,[15.4] where a charred leg bone was still discernable among the glowing embers. "Sons of El and his wife Asherah," they gestured toward a small twisted, terebinth tree to the left of the altar.[15.5]

"I really don't think so," said Abram. "Yehhi is a god of Sumer, and the founder of my clan."

"Of course he is," countered a priest. "You must understand. El, the master of all, and Asherah, the lady of the sea, had seventy children, gods and goddesses all. We are quite sure, very sure, in fact, that your Yahweh is one of them; a son of El and Asherah. Yes!"

"Yes, quite sure," added one of the other priests. All three smiled warmly.

"Maybe so," mused Abram.[15.6]

"The really wondrous thing," continued one of the priests, "is that Yahweh and Baal are friends. They do not battle one another like Baal battled with Yam and Mot. They love and support each other. Yes, we know this for a fact. Therefore, we would be happy to lend our services to the honor of Yahweh. Baal will not mind at all. What will you have for a sacrifice to your Lord Yahweh?"

"Well, I hadn't really thought about it beforehand."

"The best sacrifice, the sacrifice that will please your god the most, is a nice young boy, of course." The priests once again gestured toward the smoldering altar. "After that, the second best thing is a nice young girl."[15.7]

"That boy there," one of the priests gestured toward Isaac. "Baal . . . er . . . I mean Yahweh would be most pleased. Favor would surely be upon you and your clan from such a sacrifice."

Abram clamped his hands on the shoulders of a horrified Isaac and held him tight. Then, Abram looked into Ishmael's eyes, and Ishmael met his gaze. Abram loosened his grip on Isaac.

"Ah," said one of the priests with a knowing smile. "No bother, no bother. We have a boy for your sacrifice. We can let you have him for ten weights of silver."[15.8]

Relieved, Abram was about to strike the bargain when Ishmael caught his eye again.

"What else would be an appropriate sacrifice?" asked Abram.

"Paahhh—" the priests gasped, shaking their heads. "Well, you could sacrifice an animal, a ram or a sheep, such as that." They gestured toward Abram's flocks. "It's not the same. But . . . I suppose it might be worthy of your Yahweh if some of my priests added their own blood to the sacrifice. Yes, yes. For five weights of silver, you can have four priests cut their forearms. But, you supply the animal. What do you think?"

Even more relieved, Abram jumped for it. "Yes, of course. Ishmael, Lot! Fetch a ram for the sacrifice to Yehhi."

And, Yehhi beheld the blood of the ram. Yehhi smelled the burning flesh of the ram, and Yehhi beheld the blood of the priests. And, he knew that it was good. Never before had Yehhi received blood sacrifices, burnt sacrifices, and so he favored Abram above all others. But, Yehhi did not love Baal and he was fairly sure that he was not Baal's brother. He was jealous that Baal received the sacrifice of a nice young boy and he, Yehhi, only received an animal—an animal and some priest blood.

## SIXTEEN

Abram and his people moved on from Shechem, continuing their trek through the hill country and grazing their flocks as they went. There were small villages here and there and a few other people in the countryside, but Abram avoided them. Overall, the land seemed empty compared to the teaming populations back in Sumer. He turned Ishmael's words over and over in his mind during these days: A good land, a beautiful land. Good pasture and plenty of water. Much available land, not many people. "I could settle here," Abram thought. "A place in this land is mine for the taking. Once taken, this place will belong to me and after me, to my sons."

They came to a valley with good grazing and rugged hills all around, and here they stayed for many days. While the herd and the rest of his people stayed in the valley, Abram often wandered off by himself to spend the afternoon on the top of the highest surrounding hill, looking out at the land in all directions. One day, Abram asked Lot and Ishmael to join him on the hilltop. With their help, he began to drag, arrange and pile some of the many rocks and boulders that were available in the stony ground.

While the men stacked their rocks up on the hill, Sarai and Salina worked at a weaving frame set up in front of Sarai's tent.

"I still can't stop thinking about all the innocent people killed at Yamhad, killed at Ur," said Sarai.

"Killed at Ur?"

"Oh yes, I forgot you did not come with us from Ur. But, that's why we left and went to Harran in the first place. The gods caused the earth to shake so violently that all the buildings fell down on top of the people, so many were crushed to death."

"Well that is terrible, but at least you escaped." Salina touched Sarai's hand.

"That's not the point. The point is that I am still very troubled. So troubled that I lie awake at night thinking about it. I am troubled by the cruel and capricious ways of the gods. You can do everything right, honor the gods, be a good person, and they still might come and smite you for no good reason. It really scares me."

"Mistress," Salina began.

"Why do you call me mistress? Call me sister," said Sarai.

"Every slave girl knows something that her mistress does not."

"What's that?"

"That life is not always fair or just. In fact, it is mostly unfair," said Salina.

"So then what are we to do? Perhaps sacrifices?" Sarai turned her head and looked up toward the men working on the hilltop.

"Oh, I am repulsed by those horrible purple priests," spat Salina. "That boy they burned up was as innocent as any we found slain on the streets of Yamhad."

"Yes, but it is necessary," continued Sarai. "We know that the gods are capricious and cruel, that they must be satisfied with blood. If we ourselves give them a little bit of innocent blood with a sacrifice, then perhaps their need will be sated for a while. They will not come back for more blood quite so soon."

"Do you think this approach, the sacrifices, is working?" asked Salina.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe . . ."

"No! They are absolutely not working," Salina pounded her fist on the ground. "The world is as full of suffering and the spilling of innocent blood as ever. The sacrifices do not satisfy the gods. They do the opposite; they increase the gods' lust for innocent blood. Perhaps the gods did not have this desire for innocent blood in the beginning. Then, men came along with their sacrifices, and showed this bloodiness to the gods. Perhaps the bloodlust of the gods was an acquired taste. People are not born liking the taste of olives or beer. You have to get used to these tastes. It's the same with the gods. The more blood men showed them, the more they came to like it. I think we humans have brought more bloodshed into the world with our sacrifices."

Sarai sat looking at Salina with a contemplative scow on her face.

The next day, Abram, Lot and Ishmael were sore from the labor, but nonetheless, Abram led them to the hilltop and they continued for a second day. They built a platform of stones, and off to the right-hand side, another high pile of stones. It was, as near as they could make, a replica of the altar used by the Priests of Baal, the altar on which they had made their first sacrifice to Yehhi. However, this site lacked the tree, Asherah, on the right-hand side. What was to be done? El needed his wife.

"Ah, Ishmael! Such a bright boy," thought Abram as he spied the lad dragging a log toward the hilltop. They scratched a shallow hole in the rocky soil and erected their Asherah. It took a few extra rocks around her base to keep her stable. They then piled more brushwood on top of their new stone altar. It was getting on toward mid-afternoon of the second day, but now they were finished and ready to sacrifice to Yehhi.

The three of them bounded down the hill full of purpose, full of excitement.

"Ishmael! Lot! Fetch a ram for the sacrifice to Yehhi!"

The herds were spread out before them on the slopes of the hill tended by men and boys. There were the many tents of the camp; there were the womenfolk spinning, weaving, and preparing food. There was Isaac frolicking with the sheepdog, laughing.

Lot and Ishmael had the ram, and Abram shouted, "Boy, Isaac! Come and join us."

Isaac came running, overjoyed to be included in the doings of the grown up men, the leaders of the clan. The four of them marched purposefully back up to the hilltop, dragging the ram. When they reached the foot of the altar, they paused. Abram held Isaac firmly by the shoulders as he thought about the need to make a good sacrifice to Yehhi, the importance of pleasing Yehhi. Lot and Ishmael glanced at Abram. Abram hesitated.

After a short pause, Abram, without taking his hands off Isaac, nodded with his head toward the ram. Lot and Ishmael bound the struggling animal's legs and hoisted it on top of the piled wood. As the fire blazed up, Abram loosened his grip on Isaac, and the four of them watched the offering go up to the heavens, up to Yehhi, against the backdrop of a dramatic purple sunset. As Abram drank in the sight, he felt that by sacrificing to his god in this land, on an altar he had built himself from the stones of this land, that he was making his presence permanent.

"Yehhi, I am here! See me my Lord!" shouted Abram.[16.1]

Yehhi smelled the ram they were roasting for him, and he looked with favor on Abram and his clan.

## SEVENTEEN

"This is a goodly valley that Yehhi has led us to, and a goodly hilltop on which to make sacrifices to him," thought Abram. "If it pleases Yehhi, we will stay here." And they did. They stayed there for some months, grazing the herds, and making more sacrifices.

Then the season of cold and rain was upon them, and Ishmael said to Abram, "We should go down out of this hill country to a place where the grazing is good and the winds are not so chill."

"But," replied Abram, "I was thinking that we would stay in this valley . . . live here, graze our flocks and sacrifice to our god. It may be the best life we can hope for."

Ishmael shook his head. "No, we should move on. Give this valley and this grass a rest. We can come back here in the dry season. In the rainy season, it is better to go down to the Negev."[17.1]

"The what?"

"The Negev . . . not so far from here, ten days, about that. In the dry season, it is very hot there and nothing can grow. But, in this wet season, at least on the edges of the Negev, there is good grazing and a more pleasant climate than here. We should take advantage of the season to graze the flocks in different pasture."

"Perhaps, but we have built the altar to Yehhi, worked so hard to build it."

"It will still be here when we come back next year. We can build another one in the Negev."

"I suppose, but I was starting to think of this place as our own. I was hoping to raise children here and pass this land on to them and to all the future generations."

"Ah," replied Ishmael with a gleam in his eye. "Your descendants will someday be more numerous than the stars in the sky, and you will need far more land for them to settle in, more than this small valley. Best to walk about the land, through its length and its breadth to see what is there."[17.2]

Abram smiled wistfully and looked up at the overcast sky. "No stars in the sky tonight," he thought. Abram felt a growing sense of frustration at not yet having fathered a child with Sarai. Not for lack of trying! He shook his head. Then he recited aloud a passage which was known to all educated Sumerians, from the Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the hero, Gilgamesh, is asking the ghost of his best friend Enkidu what it is like in the land of the dead.

"In the world below, have you seen the man with no son?"  
"Yes, I have seen the man with no son."  
"How goes it with the man with no son in the world below?"  
"The man with no son sits by the wall in the world below and weeps."

The clan of Abram pulled up stakes and was on the move again. Fertility had not been a problem for the flocks of Abram, which had doubled in size, and doubled again since they had left Harran. Ishmael led them down out of the high hill country to flatter lands, and indeed it was warmer.

One day, from a low rise, they spied another town in the distance, making Abram apprehensive.

"That place is Gerar," Ishmael informed him.[17.3] "That is where I was sold into slavery. Dangerous people there. We must give this place a wide berth."

"Why do we need to go around it at all? Why not just head away from it in some other direction entirely?" suggested Abram.

"The place we are going, a very good place, is beyond Gerar. We must pass Gerar to get there. We must get around Gerar without being noticed. If they spot us, we could all end up in the slave market, and my own luck might not be so good next time."

Abram's face was filled with consternation.

They stayed where they were until nightfall and then began to move down onto the open plain around the town. In the darkness, they struggled for over an hour to cross the uneven ground and to keep all the people and flocks together. Then, as they were passing about two bowshots from the town walls, the full Moon rose over the horizon, illuminating the plain almost like day. They were at the most vulnerable point of their transit and there was nothing to be done except to press forward with all possible speed.

They knew they had been discovered when they heard shouts from the town. Soon, a large party of men, torches and spears in hand, came charging out of the gates. Abram, Lot, Ishmael, and several other bondsmen of Abram's stood in front of the women, children, and animals, clutching weapons of their own. But, they were not experienced fighters. Abram tensed his leg muscles to keep his knees from shaking, but this only made them shake more.

"Who is it that sneaks across my lands like a thief in the night?" demanded the leader of the townsmen, as his fighters arrayed themselves behind and on either side of him.

Abram did not know how to reply.

Finally Ishmael spoke up. "We are but hebrews, wandering shepherds, from afar. We are only passing through and we mean you and your people no harm."

The leader eyed Ishmael with suspicion. "You speak with the accent of this region. I do not believe that you are from elsewhere."

"My lord, you are correct. I was born not far from here in a small village where I lived as a little boy. I am guiding these people back there now. But, the rest truly are hebrews. I have guided them all the way from the land between the rivers. We mean no harm. We ask for nothing but safe passage."

"The land between the rivers," said the leader with a glint in his eye. "That is a legendary land of great power, great learning, and great wealth. Why is it then that these would-be-Sumerians are not traveling in a rich caravan guarded by soldiers? Why is it that these proud Sumerians do not approach my city openly by day to pay respect to Abimelech, king of this land?" The speaker puffed himself up a bit as he said the final words. Apparently, he was Abimelech. "Instead, they try to steal past in the night without offering Abimelech his due."

"Perhaps they are spies . . . or . . . insurgents," mused a tall man who stood at Abimelech's right. He said this more for his own benefit than for that of the king. This was a quiet man of clear authority, who seemed to be surveying the situation for his own independent reasons. While Abimelech and his men were dressed in colorfully dyed tunics, this man wore fine white linen and a chunky gold signet ring shone on his right hand.

"What does Abimelech require?" asked Lot.

"Abimelech will have to see," he replied as his men stepped forward, spears at the ready, and surrounded the men of Abram's clan. While the strange man with the gold ring stood off to the side and watched, Abimelech and a few henchmen proceeded to quickly survey the herds of sheep. They then headed toward the line of baggage-laden donkeys, stopping abruptly when their torchlight fell upon the womenfolk, huddled together. Abimelech stopped and walked up close to the women who hid their faces from him with their shawls and scarves. He walked among them, and one-by-one pulled back their scarves, looked at their faces, and judged them with comments like: "Eh," "Perhaps," "Oh, no!" and finally, "Ah, so lovely!" Abimelech was looking at Lot's young wife, Salina. He came to the woman beside her, pulled back her scarf and just looked, not saying a word. Then, he broke away and returned to where the bulk of his men were guarding Abram, Lot, Ishmael and the others.

"Take the herds to my pens. Take the baggage to my storehouse. Take the pretty young girls and boys and the young women to my house. The old women and the ugly ones . . . oh, take them for yourselves, any of you. As for these assholes," he indicated Abram and the other men with a curt wave of his arm, "Slay them!"

"No! My Lord! No!" shouted Lot. "Such an offense against defenseless people who meant you no harm is an affront to the gods for which you will bring down misfortune upon your town and your people."

Some of Abimelech's men exchanged concerned glances and a murmuring began among them. Abimelech went over to confer with the aloof stranger. Only snippets of the conversations were audible and understandable to Abram, Lot and Ishmael.

"Oh come on . . . need to have something for our trouble . . ."

The strange man cocked an eyebrow.

"But, Phicol, you cannot be suggesting—"

"Simply, watch."

"Oh, very well," sighed Abimelech, trudging back. "Take half the herds, and I only really want the one woman."

"Which woman, my Lord?" asked several of Abimelech's men in unison.

"You know which one. Go fetch her!"

They nodded and strode off toward the huddle of women. One of them pried Sarai from the others. Salina, wailing hysterically, would not let go of Sarai's hand until she was brutally slapped to the ground. Abimelech's men dragged Sarai, kicking and screaming, back to their leader. As a henchman held Sarai firmly by her arm, twisting it a little to keep her under control, Abimelech asked, "So, whom does this one belong to?"

They were silent, Lot and Ishmael looking fearfully at Abram.

"Sh . . . Sh . . . She's my sister," stammered Abram.

"Well then, you will be happy to see that she is marrying so well."

The stranger, Phicol, quietly shook his head, but did not intervene. Some of Abimelech's men had already cut out half of the herd and had begun driving the animals back toward Gerar.

"Move on, brother-in-law. Don't dwell on what you have lost. Think about what you still have." Abimelech and his men wheeled around and marched off with Sarai, who writhed in their grip, turning back and crying for Abram. Phicol disdainfully slapped the man who was twisting Sarai's arm across the side of the head with his gold ring. He shoved the man aside and took hold of Sarai himself, firmly but gently guiding her. He bent over and whispered something in her ear. Her struggling subsided and she went with him.[17.4]

Ishmael turned to Lot, "Quick thinking!"

"Yeah. I don't know what gods they worship or what they believe, but I had to try something, anything."

Now, Abram realized that he had wet himself. Although urinating was still painful for him, in his terror, he hadn't even noticed it happening. Then he collapsed.

Ishmael and Lot quickly dragged the distraught Abram to his feet and forced the whole party, and what was left of the herd, to press on through the night. Ishmael knew there were plenty of thugs in Gerar who would, once word got around, be eager to come out and collect any remaining booty that their king had left behind.

Just as the soft light of pre-dawn was creeping into the arid, reddish-brown landscape, they approached a village, a cluster of about ten squat stone buildings with no protective wall. All through the night, as they forced themselves to continue their march, Abram's face had been strained and dour. Now, although bone tired and broken hearted, he somehow managed to summon the energy to be fully terrified again as they approached yet another strange settlement, no doubt filled with new dangers. He glanced over at Ishmael and was surprised to see the lad bounding along with a spring in his step and a broad grin on his face. Abram let out a primal growl that in one syllable conveyed his fear, and his consternation on witnessing Ishmael's levity.

"Oh, don't worry Abram, Sir! This time we are safe."

Abram looked unconvinced.

"Don't worry. This village is my home! I have missed my mother all these years." Tears streamed down his face.

Yehhi, seeing the scene, recalled his own boyhood, his long journeys in the wilderness and the joy of coming home to his mother after a long absence.

# YEHHI

[II.1]

## EIGHTEEN

The desert night sky vaulted all around me, and countless stars shone and twinkled. It was ages ago when I was ten years old. I knew the lights above were the campfires of the ancestors and the gods, and I knew that they were beyond my reach. The soft rounded shapes of the dunes were barely visible in the darkness, and the other donkeys[18.1] in the train, laden with baggage and other riders, barely registered in my mind. It seemed that I was floating in the mist of the heavens. As the night wore on, the gentle swaying my donkey's gait lulled me into a trance. I must have been dreaming. I felt as if I was being drawn toward one star hanging low in the sky directly in front of me. If only I could continue on long enough, I would get there and then I would be among the revered ancestors and the gods. Greatly I desired it.

"Wake up, Yehhi! We're here!" shouted my father from behind me.

"Where?" I wondered as I shook myself awake.

"At the camp of Shekki, our kinsman. This is as far as we go tonight. It will be dawn soon and we need to get the tents up and some food into us."

I saw that the light I had been following on the horizon had fragmented into the lights of ten or more fires in front of twenty tents pitched on dusty ground at the outskirts of an oasis. With a few sharp commands from the lead man in the caravan, our train of forty donkeys came to a stop on a bare patch beside the established camp. Men and boys quickly dismounted and began to unload baggage and pitch tents.

"Yehhi! Yehhi!" my father shouted at me. "Yehhi, you and your brother go water the beasts."

I found my eight-year-old brother, Dohash, and once the men had the baggage off the donkeys' backs, the two of us accompanied the animals past a grove of date palms toward the large pool of water at the center of the oasis. The sky was glowing ever so slightly in the East. This was easy work; the donkeys would have made straight for the water with or without us. We two barefoot boys followed on behind holding our sticks, just in case we actually needed to do a little herding.

In the grayness of predawn, the donkeys jockeyed for position at the pool, straining their necks, grunting and slurping. Dohash stood by, periodically tapping his long stick on the ground, but I wandered slightly away down along the edge of the pool. I squatted with my toes in the shallow water in a place where some reeds were growing. Just then, the first rays of morning sun broke over a large dune and splashed vibrant color across the water in front of my eyes. The reeds were bright green and the deeper water was turquoise. When I looked down, I saw that the shallow water was opalescent as the sun's rays skipped across its rippling surface, and beneath were the loveliest sparkling gems. I reached to touch these jewels, but as my hand broke the surface of the water, the shimmering pattern vanished. I held up one of the gems between my thumb and forefinger and to my disappointment, found that it was only a dull pebble. I dropped it back into the water.

The donkeys had finally drunk their fill. My brother and I drove the animals back to the outskirts of the oasis where our camp was taking shape. I stooped slightly to enter our tent, carefully shaking the sand and dirt off my feet before I crossed the threshold. Inside was a shady space of six by eight paces with a floor of knotted carpet. Several boxes of goods were stacked in the back, but there was no furniture, not even cushions. A terracotta figurine of our family's own special god had been unpacked and set up atop the highest box. This was Ulak, who was worshiped as the founding ancestor of our clan. Dohash and I could stand fully erect in the tent, but my father had to stoop a little. The three of us squatted on the carpet and shared a stale disk of flat bread with water and dates. Then we lay down to sleep with our clothes on.

## NINETEEN

I slept soundly past midday. When I opened my eyes, my father was gone but my brother was still sleeping beside me. Ulak was busy watching over us. My eyes drooped shut again, and for the next few hours I drifted in and out of a light sleep, alternating between vivid dreams and periods of half wakefulness in which I saw my father coming and going several times.

Strangely, I could fly. I was above our tent looking down. I drifted lower toward it and then floated up higher and higher. How was I going to get back down? I was leaving the earth and now soaring into the blackness of the heavens, among the stars. It was as I had wished. But, the stars were pulling away from me; they seemed more remote than the night before in the desert. Then I could not see them anymore. I was in a vertical shaft of darkness. I was plummeting downward in this narrow blackness and seemed likely to do so forever, since there was nothing below me. There was no rush of air past me as I fell; I was falling in a void. Or, was I even falling? No, I was actually rising now, rising back up. It seemed I would rise forever since there was nothing above me. Then I was falling again; then rising. Up and down, endlessly in darkness, the darkness permeated by a deep pulsing that cut through me. I was not just rising a long way and then falling a long way. No, somehow I was actually falling forever and then rising forever, over and over, faster and faster.

Each time I shot along the dark shaft—I could no longer tell up from down—I passed a bright spot at the middle, the only light. This was the door, the way out. But, how to use the exit when each time it flashes by in less than an instant? Each time I reached for the door with my hand . . . with my mind. However, in the time it took to reach, to think, the door was gone again. I began to try to anticipate the door, to time my reach. It was impossible. As soon as the light from the door could first be glimpsed in the darkness ahead, it was out of sight behind. It was an impossible problem. Forever is a long time to work at something, so I tried again and again to grasp the door.

As I hurtled through the blackness, I reached out my hand. The light flashed and I had it. My father was shaking my shoulder.

"Wake up. We must pay our respects to Shekki tonight."[19.1]

The heat of the day had passed and it was getting on into late afternoon. I lay there for a moment, drenched with sweat, before hoisting myself up and wandering outside.

## TWENTY

I watched a man from Shekki's band slaughter a sheep. He performed the proscribed prayers and ritual purifications, the same as my father always did, before slitting the animal's throat and draining the blood.[20.1] Women of Shekki's camp bustled about cleaning, gathering, and scavenging dead tree branches and dried reeds.

The sun was going down, the fire was lit, lambs were roasting, and the men and boys reclined around the fire on rugs spread on the sandy ground. My brother, Dohash, and I sat with our father among other men from our band, but we were surrounded by many more that I had never seen before. My father was on familiar terms with many of them, and we all conversed in a warm and joking manner. Shekki, the guardian of the Oasis, sitting on a raised pile of cushions with his three grown sons at his feet, was the focal point of the feast. This was the first time I had set eyes on Shekki, a fat man with a pockmarked face, but I had heard enough about him and knew he was our kinsman.

Our caravan was returning to Sumer from a trading expedition and no women traveled with us. Shekki's group, while honoring the nomadic life, was attached to their oasis. They were a complete clan including women, girls, and small children. All but the men and boys, however, were out of sight in the surrounding tents. Periodically, girls or one of Shekki's slave boys would emerge bearing vessels of wood, terra cotta, or copper. They first contained water for the washing of hands and face, then came large bowls of beer. Other bowls and plates held dates or boiled grains mixed with fresh herbs. We ate with our hands from the serving plates and passed around common bowls of drink. One of Shekki's sons, who had been slowly rubbing a short bronze blade with a black stone, stood up and began to slice roasted meat from the spits, placing it on large platters.

The cool of the desert darkness had descended but the cracking fire illuminated our faces with its warm glow. After the initial round of eating and drinking had settled into a more relaxed pace, a thin, almost gaunt man got up and stood beside the fire. He was a mature man, but not yet old. He began to pluck a lyre and half sing, half chant in a flat tone:

Surpassing all kings, great in respect, a lord in his form,  
He is the hero, he is of Uruk, he, the foremost.

Of course I was already familiar with this tale; everyone was.[20.2]

Who is there to compare with him in kingship?  
His name was called Gilgamesh.  
From the very day of his birth,  
He was two-thirds god, one-third man.

This bard was by far the best I had ever heard. So, I ate some more lamb, drank a sip of beer and continued to listen as the Epic recounted that Gilgamesh, king of the City of Uruk, was the son of the noble virgin Ninsun who begat him at the behest of the gods.[20.3] Gilgamesh was arrogant and mistreated his people. He was so strong that none could stand up to him, so his subjects pleaded with the gods to deliver them from Gilgamesh's torments.

To the Goddess Aruru, cried all the gods:  
"You created this Gilgamesh!  
So, create an equal to challenge him!"  
The goddess then plunged her hands down into water and pinched off a bit of clay.  
She let it drop in the wilderness;  
Thus the noble Enkidu was made.  
This Enkidu was innocent of mankind.  
He was in the hills with the gazelles.

I listened intently as a woman, a temple priestess from the city of Uruk, set a trap for the wild man, Enkidu. Like everyone else, I longed for Enkidu to escape her clutches, but I knew he would not.

The gazelles came to drink,  
And Enkidu, with them.  
The priestess saw this wild man of the hills,  
She made herself naked,  
Welcomed his eagerness,  
Incited him to love.  
Six days, seven nights, lying together,  
Enkidu forgot his home in the hills.  
He was satisfied.  
Then he went back to the wild beasts,  
But the gazelles saw him and ran.  
Enkidu could not follow,  
But, wisdom was in him.

I thought how it must have been funny to have this wild man from the hills that had never worn or even seen cloths suddenly realize that he was naked, his face reddening with shame.[20.4] Of course, the woman who had civilized Enkidu took off some of her clothes and gave them to him so that he had something to wear. She then took him by the hand and led him to the city of civilized men, where Enkidu lost no time in challenging Gilgamesh the king. The two of them wrestled. I always imagined this to be like the wrestling bouts between Dohash and myself, rough and tumble, but ending up the best of friends.

Eating had waned, but drinking continued while the fire burned lower. The song described various exploits of the heroic friends, Gilgamesh and Enkidu, including their journey to the great cedar forest in the mountains, where they killed a fierce monster named Humbaba that guarded the trees at the behest of the gods.[20.5] Then, they slew the Bull of Heaven. A man whom I did not know was sitting beside us. He was not part of our band and he did not seem to belong to Shekki's group either. Although he wore an outer cloak of rough wool like the other nomads and traveling traders, I suspected he was a city person. He had smooth hands and when he smiled, there was a glint of gold visible in his teeth.

The singer recounted how the slayings of Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven offended the gods. They decreed that as punishment, one of the two heroes must die. It was Enkidu whose life was taken, and Gilgamesh was despondent with grief.

Gilgamesh did order artisans to make a statue of Enkidu.  
"You, Enkidu, sat in honor with the king.  
You, Enkidu, every person did bow to.  
You, Enkidu, had me as a friend.  
You, Enkidu, now have this statue so your fame will live on.  
You, Enkidu, receive these tears of Gilgamesh.  
You, Enkidu, now are gone."

Wearing rough animal skins,  
Through the wilderness did Gilgamesh wander.  
"It is for my friend, Enkidu, that I weep.  
He has died. Must I die too?  
I feel my fear of death now growing.  
I feel my guts twisting tight.  
I will seek out Ziusudra, the immortal.  
I will seek out Ziusudra to tell me how to avoid my death."

A ferryman, sitting with his boat,  
Agreed to take Gilgamesh over the sea,  
To the immortal, Ziusudra.  
Said the ferryman to Gilgamesh,  
"Touch not these deadly waters."[20.6]

"What is the sea? Have I ever seen the sea?" I whispered to my father. "And, why are its waters deadly?"

"You have never seen the sea, and neither have I," my father told me.

"I have seen the sea," the man with the gold tooth interjected. "If you follow the great river out through the marshes, you come to a vast expanse of water, far bigger than any river. This is the sea. You cannot see land across the sea, only more water. If you sail in a boat on the sea for many days, you can still not see land, only more water."

I repeated my question to Gold Tooth, "Are the waters deadly?"

"Yes, they are," he told me. "They are deadly because they are bitter, brackish and salty. If you drink them, these waters only cause more thirst. Drink too much and you will sicken. You can die of thirst in a boat in the middle of a sea of cool water as easily as you can die of thirst in this burning desert."

But of course, as we all knew, Gilgamesh did not drink or even touch the waters, making it safely to the undying shore where he met Ziusudra, the immortal. In response to Gilgamesh's lamentations over the loss of his friend, Ziusudra asked him:

"What surprise is it when a building finally falls?  
What surprise is it when rivers swell and flood?  
What surprise is it when a sun gazing eye goes blind?  
Sleep is but practice for the lying still of the dead.  
And both farmer and king will rot when their time is gone.  
The gods have decided together that first there is life,  
And then comes death to everything.  
It is decreed that no one shall know,  
When comes his time to sleep for evermore."

But Gilgamesh persisted:  
"I came to find how death could be avoided.  
So tell me how you came to wear immortality like a skin?"

"I would like to live forever," I said. "The gods have decreed that we must die, but why?"

"Ah . . ." Gold Tooth breathed out slowly before he answered me. "These are things which are beyond the mind of men to understand."

"What is it like to be dead?" I persisted.

"Dear boy," he told me, "I do not know what it is like to be dead. No one knows, and I doubt anyone living ever will know. In all the long ages of the world, from the Creation until now, no one has ever come back to tell the living. Not one!"[20.7]

I sat back and listened to the story although my mind was uneasy with thoughts of death.

Ziusudra[20.8] said to Gilgamesh:  
"Hear my secret tale.  
Enlil resolved to send a flood to quell the noisy babble of the people.[20.9]  
The gods Anunu, Anu, and Enlil gave no warning,  
But it was Ea who did speak in whispers through my roofing straw.  
Ea, ever vigilant among the gods, did speak,  
Saying, build a boat and abandon what you have, for your riches cannot save your life.  
Catch a mating pair of every living thing, which in your boat do put.  
Make watertight your boat; protect it from the flood that comes.  
Make the boat wide and equally long, then tile the roof with slate."

"Some carried timber, and some carried nails.  
Some cut wood, and some nailed wood.  
Sixty lengths by sixty lengths the boat did grow.  
Six decks below, six decks above, twelve decks in all  
Three times we pitched the seams.  
And on the seventh day it was done."

I imagined the huge boat resting on dry land, on the last sunny day of that long vanished Age.

"Then like waters escaping from a dam above rain pushed down.  
Nergal from the world below did break the posts and water gushed up.  
Watery chaos drowned babe, cattle, and then trees.  
South wind pushed water into eyes,  
So scrambling people could not see and were drowned."

"Then, on the seventh day, the squall did still.  
I, Ziusudra, did break open the hatch and in the daylight poured.  
Nothing moved. Humans were once more clay.  
The boat did run aground on Mt. Nishur.  
On the seventh day, I let loose a single dove,  
Which flew over the waters but could not land, and so returned to me.  
After seven more days, I let loose a swallow,  
Which flew over the waters but could not land, and so returned to me.  
After yet seven more days, I let loose a raven,  
Which flew over the waters and finding a place to land returned not to me."

"A libation and burnt offering did I give to the gods.  
Smoke of cedar, myrtle and cane wafted heavenward.  
I slaughtered a sheep, and roasted it for the gods.  
So pleased were they, that down came fertile Eanna  
With necklace of lapis lazuli, gold, and amethyst,  
Which thereafter we called the rainbow."

The image of the rainbow momentarily banished dark thoughts from my mind.

But when Enlil did see the boat and the altar, he spit in rage.  
"Why are these humans alive,  
When the flood I sent was to score all of them from my sight?"  
Ea spoke to Enlil with contempt:  
"For one man's crimes do you kill all the rest?  
A crime's punishment should match the act.  
For one offence you kill all, including the innocent.  
So, in the presence of this council, atone you now, Enlil,  
For your act's excess."

So, Enlil frowned, but he came down by my boat.  
He made me and my wife kneel on the deck, and said thus to us:  
"You mere humans are now immortal."

The night was getting very late. The song, which had been going on for almost four hours, was nearing its end. The fire was just glowing embers now, and the cool dark heavens with its great dome of stars pushed in on us. The bard related how Gilgamesh begged the gods to release his friend Enkidu from the land of the dead.

The gods heard Gilgamesh, and taking pity,  
Opened a hole in the roof of the underworld,  
From whence Enkidu wafted like smoke up from the hot fires below.  
Gilgamesh did see the spirit of his friend.  
The King of Uruk did try in vain to hug and kiss his dead companion.  
So in frustration did Gilgamesh ask,  
"How goes it with you in the world below?"  
Enkidu said: "You don't want to know."  
Gilgamesh said: "Tell me anyway, for I do want to know."  
Enkidu spoke: "Rats eat my flesh that you once touched in joy."  
At these words Gilgamesh did cry.

When Gilgamesh had recovered himself again, he spoke:  
"In the world below have you seen the man with no son?"  
Enkidu spoke: "Yes, I have seen the man with no son."  
Gilgamesh asked once more: "How goes it with the man with no son in the world below?"  
Enkidu replied: "The man with no son sits by the wall in the world below and weeps."

"Have you seen in the world below a man with two sons?"  
"Yes, I have seen the man with two sons in the world below."  
"How goes it in the world below with the man with two sons?"  
"The man with two sons in the world below sits on a stone and eats some bread."

"Have you seen in the world below a man with three sons?"  
"The man with three sons in the world below has one son to bring him water to quench his thirst."

I leaned over to Gold Tooth, "Enkidu came back from the land of the dead. I thought you said no one ever came back?" I was proud, as smart boys are when they catch an elder's mistake.

"Humm . . . Yes. So says the legend," Gold Tooth replied as the tale continued.

"Have you seen in the world below a man with four sons?"  
"The man with four sons in the world below has a farm and four oxen to pull his plow."  
"Have you seen in the world below a man with five sons?"  
"The man with five sons in the world below is treated like a scribe to a king."[20.10]

The song soon finished. With our bellies full and our minds clouded with drink, we all bowed our heads to the bard and to our host and shuffled back to our tents to sleep.

We woke up late, around midday. My father was not in the tent, having gone to make a final visit to Shekki. Our caravan was due to depart that afternoon once the sun's brutality had subsided. Tradition demanded payment of goods as tribute to the keeper of the Oasis.

When my father returned, he carried a small tablet of clay, the size of the palm of his hand. It was stiff, but not yet completely dry. On it were several rows of wedge-shaped markings. At the bottom was a stamped image of a crescent Moon rising behind a bull and more markings.

"What's that?" asked Dohash.

My father told us, "It was left for us by the gold-tooth man from last night. Shekki said that he is an important man, a messenger from the city. He has already traveled on. We are to show ourselves and present this at the Ekisnugal."

"The what?" I asked.

"Ekisnugal. Temple of the Moon God, Nanna," my father said.

I felt a strange chill as the hair on the back of my neck twinged. "What could it mean?" I wondered.

"I do not know what it's about," said my father. "Shekki seems to think that there's nothing to fear. But then again, the best way to ensure we have nothing to fear is to forget about this thing." He tossed the little clay cake into our baggage.

## TWENTY-ONE

After a week's travel, mostly in the cool of the night through the barren wastes, my father, Dohash and I, along with the rest of our caravan, arrived in green and watery marshlands. We followed a winding path that provided the only solid footing among pools of shallow water in which reeds grew taller than the tallest man. Sitting on my donkey in the middle of the line, I could only see a few animals in front and behind me due to the constant turning of the narrow path through the reeds. But, I did not need to see where I was going. I knew where I was; I was home.

Suddenly, the path opened out into a clearing of solid ground and our donkey train halted. In a circle around the clearing were about twenty buildings. The walls were made of bundles of dried reeds and the roofs were thatched with reeds.[21.1] There were huts for both people and storage. Chickens strutted in front of some of the houses and dogs slept in some of the doorways. For generations beyond remembering, the menfolk of our village had gone on trading expeditions across the vast deserts, and they had prospered. However, there was no visible sign of wealth in our out-of-the-way village, just reeds and dirt. "No need to draw the attention of tax collectors or bandits," my father always said.

The votive statue of Ningal, the goddess of reeds and wetlands, which presided over the single room of my family's hut, was made of unadorned wood. I had heard that in city temples she wore a dress of pure gold, but not in my house. We unpacked from our long journey, and my father put Ulak back up on the shelf next to Ningal. Ulak was smaller than Ningal, signifying his subservient status as a family deity. Ulak was the ancestor who had first found the route across the desert and taught it to his sons, way back at the dawn of time. Since then, Ulak and his way across the desert had been handed down from father to son in my family. Ningal, however, always stayed at home in the village in the midst of her watery realm. The dry desert would not have agreed with her. When Ningal's eyes fell upon me, I suddenly felt a twisting in my gut. Of course, she was also the wife of the Moon god, Nanna. What did Nanna and his temple in the city want with us? Would she, perhaps, report to her husband about us?

We were at home for the next ten days eating, relaxing, and chatting with our womenfolk. Dohash and I had not seen our mother in almost a year, and we loved to sit with her in front of the house. I was glad to be around the corner and out of Ningal's sight. My mother told us about our grandparents, whom we never knew, and about life back when she was a little girl. Well, life had been the same then as it was now, but after a year away, we really just liked to listen to her voice.

## TWENTY-TWO

All too soon, my time at home with my mother came to an end. We still needed to finish our journey into the marketplaces of the big city to sell our goods. Just after dawn, we picked up three medium-sized wooden boxes and headed out the door. A long, thin collection of dry reed bundles against the side of the house appeared to be a part of the building but was actually a boat, just the right size for my father, brother and me. My father grabbed it, walked a few paces, and tossed it among the green reeds growing in the shallow water lapping up behind our house. As Dohash and I climbed in and loaded the boxes, my father picked up a long wooden pole and a shorter paddle. We cast off, pushing a path through the dense reeds until we reached a deeper, clearer channel.

All day, we wove our way through a maze of reeds and small waterways. I worked the pole and our father steered with the paddle. He knew every bend, pool, and tributary, and Dohash and I would need to learn the way also. He kept asking us, "Which way now?" I got most of it right, but Dohash would need to pay closer attention on a few more trips before he had it down. He made light of his ignorance.

"Turn right at the water buffalo," Dohash proclaimed with mock pride. As we passed the animal, up to its belly in the swamp, it lifted its horned head, trailing vegetation from its mouth. Our father slapped my fool brother across the back of the head.

"Stupid! You wait until your old father is gone and you need to do this for yourself. If you turn right at every water buffalo you will go in endless circles." There were buffalo everywhere in the marshlands.

"Even when you are gone, papa, I will always have Yehhi," my brother said.

As dusk approached, the channels eventually merged, becoming broader and deeper. At this point, we pulled the boat up on a bank among the reeds and rested for the evening in a secret spot where we always stopped after the first day. For fear of bandits, we lit no fire and ate cold food that we had brought with us. We slept on piles of reeds.

We were awakened the next morning with the dawn and the songs of numerous waterfowl. Back in the boat, we soon rounded a bend and our small tributary joined the mighty river.

"This is Euphrates, mother of all rivers, which has its source in the Garden of Creation!" proclaimed our father.

"Why do you say that every time we reach the river?" I asked him.

"Because, it is the proper thing to say. It's what my own father, your grandfather, always said when I was a boy."

The direction of the city was against the current, so we labored upriver for two days, staying out of the current near the left bank, in water shallow enough for our pole to reach bottom. The first day, the banks of the river were all reeds and marshes, indistinguishable from the reeds and marshes from which we had emerged. On the second day, we began to pass irrigation canals leading off from the river into well-laid-out, rectangular fields punctuated with a scattering of reed buildings. These signs of civilization became more frequent until, eventually, we were passing through a landscape completely reshaped by men.

On the fourth day of our journey, we passed a large mud brick building surrounded by other smaller structures of reed, in the middle of a vast, irrigated plane of waving green.[22.1]

"Behold, the bountiful land of Sumer!" My father announced.

"Why do you say that every time we reach this place?" I asked.

"Because, it is the proper thing to say. It's what my own father always said."

"What is that place anyway?" Dohash asked.

"It belongs to the rich city people. That is one of their granaries, to store food." Father replied.[22.2]

We passed a crew of men working on the irrigation canals, digging the black earth with wooden spades and with their hands, and transporting it in woven reed baskets. I wondered how long it had taken men to dig all of these water channels; it looked like very slow work. Or, perhaps, men never dug them at all. Perhaps they had always been here, created by the gods at the beginning of time, and men were then created to maintain them. Or, maybe the canals came even before the gods. I had a feeling of permanence and eternity looking at this land, as if it had always been like this and always would remain so.[22.3]

The broad river headed straight for the city, and soon the ziggurat, the highest point in Ur, appeared on the horizon. We started to encounter more and more boats, some reed boats like ours, others much larger and made of wood. As we approached the city, buildings of mud brick were increasingly mixed in with the fields. Eventually, the river was teeming with craft of every size and description carrying every imaginable cargo: grain, lumber, cattle, rare birds in wicker cages, bricks, and more. This stream of commerce spilled up onto a dusty space before the walls of the city.

My father maneuvered our little boat deftly among much larger craft and then ran it up onto shore. We jumped out into ankle deep mud. Carrying our three boxes and dragging our boat behind us, we plunged right into the throng of people. Although the marketplace appeared chaotic, vendors were actually grouped together by their types of wares. We passed by baskets of grain, bundles of flax, pens of sheep, bolts of cloth, and found our place among other merchants squatting behind small wooden boxes. Our father threw the boat down on the ground for the three of us to sit on. We set our boxes at our feet.

Throughout the day, potential buyers stopped to haggle with us. We opened our boxes and showed them our goods—beige chunks of hardened tree sap. Some smelled it; others rubbed it between their thumb and forefinger. Some walked away, some bargained, and a few bought. One young man bargained long and hard, eventually deciding to buy. Like most of the men of the city, he wore a white linen loincloth and a loose fitting tunic. He also wore a silver band on his upper right arm; it looked expensive.

"Then it is agreed," he said. "I will take five measures of your best frankincense,[22.4] and I will pay you three times its weight in gold."

"Or twenty times in silver . . . If you wish,"[22.5] my father added.

"Yes, it is agreed," said the young man.

I quickly weighed out the transaction on my small hand scale.

"I must record this purchase in a receipt for our records," the man told us. He produced a small pad of firm clay from his tunic pocket along with a wooden stick. I watched with amazement as the man's hand moved with speed and clipped precision to produce a series of wedge-shaped imprints in the clay.[22.6] He then reached into his pocket again and produced a small, engraved stone cylinder, which he rolled across the clay to make his mark.[22.7]

"Please add your mark," he said extending the tablet toward my father.

My father was just about to place his thumbprint beside the man's seal when he froze and stared. He had seen a seal like this before, a bull with a rising crescent Moon. The buyer was puzzled by his hesitation.

"Everything is satisfactory, is it not?" he asked us.

"Yes . . . but . . . only, I have seen that before. Sir, let me show you something."

My father reached into one of our boxes and pulled out an object wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped the clay tablet and held it out. The young man's face lit up with amazement and partial disbelief.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"On our recent journey through the desert. On our way back from the land of frankincense, we met a man with a gold tooth. He left this for us with instructions to present it at the Temple of Nanna. Do you know what it means?"

"The man you met was an official of the Ekisnugal. He is an associate of mine; I also work for the Temple," the man said.

"You are a priest?" I asked him.

"Oh, no! No! No! I am a scribe. I record things with writing and do other jobs for the Temple, like procuring goods—your frankincense, for instance. There are many of us; we do all sorts of jobs—run things—so that the priestesses can focus on their duties, serving the god."

My father gave the man a strange and quizzical look.

"Oh yes," he continued, "the temple priests are priestesses . . . Women . . . Or, at least, the top ones that can enter the presence of the god."

My father shrugged as if satisfied with the explanation, but for some reason, the young scribe felt the need to elaborate.

"Nanna—the Moon—he goes through monthly cycles . . . waxes . . . wanes . . . vanishes . . . reappears . . . waxes again. The priestesses are closer to Nanna because they share in his cycles. So, this one must be Yehhi," said the man, gesturing toward my brother.

"I am Yehhi, he is Dohash," I corrected him.

The man looked puzzled again. "Well you are a big one," he told me. "Heftar sees something. I wonder what?" After recomposing his train of thought, the young scribe said: "All of you must come with me."

"Now?!" we all protested. "As you can see, we are here to sell—"

"That can wait. You must come with me now," he insisted.

My father asked the peddler squatting in the dirt next to us if he would like to set up shop on our boat instead. "Please just watch it for us while we're gone." The stranger eagerly agreed. Then my father, Dohash, and I, each of us carrying one of our boxes, headed off after the young scribe through the crowded market. We passed the posted guards and went through the great gates into the city. I had never entered the city itself before. The young man walked purposefully through winding streets and alleyways that seemed to me like the sheer walled wadis that crisscrossed the desert. We followed wadis whenever possible on our trading expeditions since they provided shelter from the sun and sometimes hid water. The light brown, mud brick houses on either side of the narrow streets were two and even three stories high. I had never imagined that such dwellings could even exist.

We emerged from side streets and passed through a gate into the broad plaza in front of the Temple of the Moon.[22.8] People were lined up across the plaza and up the steps to the first level of the Ziggurat, a colossal pyramid-shaped complex that towered over the buildings of the city.[22.9] With them, they carried jars of wine and oil; sheep, goats and even cattle were led up the steps. All three of us gazed in wonder at the huge structure, but we could not dwell on it for long. The young man marched right on past the queue of people and around the left side of the Ziggurat, down a narrow alleyway. He stopped in the alleyway and turned to us.

"Let me have Heftar's . . . I mean, your tablet."

My father handed it to him.

"Wait here," the young scribe said before disappearing into an open door across the alley.

My father, my brother, and I just stood there, feeling out of place. What if someone came by and asked us what we were doing? We did not have an answer. As time wore on, I began to doubt that anyone would come back for us. Then what? Would we be able to find our way back through the labyrinth of streets to get out of the city?

But, a man eventually appeared at the door. He was dressed the same as the young man we had followed, but he was older, perhaps in his middle thirties. He smiled, bowed, and reached out his hand to Dohash. "Yehhi, my boy, it is good to meet you," he said.

"I am Yehhi, he is Dohash," I corrected for the second time.

"Oh, oh, I am sorry. My mistake. Please, all of you come in."

We followed the man through an entry room into an inner courtyard open to the sky, with a pool of water in its center. The floor of the house and the courtyard were both paved with flagstones, and the courtyard was completely surrounded by additional mud brick buildings. In the courtyard, five men ranging in age from late teens to forties were sitting on floor mats, and seemed to be involved in an intense discussion that we could not comprehend. I did not even understand most of the words: heavenly cycles and something called an 'eclipse.' As we approached, our guide announced our arrival, "This is Yehhi, whom Heftar has sent to us." This time he pointed to me. The five men all stood up, and nodded their heads slightly.

The eldest of them told me, "You must be an exceptionally bright boy to have attracted this unusual attention from the Temple's messenger. He has recommended that we accept you into the service of Nanna and provide you with the education necessary to best serve the god. The Temple of the Moon needs the service of men of special ability."

The man extended his hand toward me holding Gold Tooth's clay tablet, "Our brother, Heftar, has written to us to tell us that he sees great promise in you."

"What is this about?" my father demanded.

"My dear sir, the Ekisnugal will educate your son to prepare him to someday become a scribe and perhaps even an official of the Temple. We will provide for his upkeep and will teach him many things of utility and importance."[22.10]

My father was dumbstruck. Dohash was flabbergasted. I was terrified.

"Father, I do not want to . . ." I stammered.

"You will need some time to understand this, so we will leave you now," said the man, and they all disappeared into the buildings surrounding the courtyard.

My father was silent for a long time. But, eventually he said, "Yehhi, my son, my first born. We are simple people. We have a good life, but this . . . this is an opportunity." He turned his head away so that I could not see his face. "Yehhi, you will stay here with these men and learn from them. You will have a better life than anything that I could ever give you." I could tell from the sound of his voice that my father was weeping, and I knew that he did not want my memory of him to be of a face covered in tears.

## TWENTY-THREE

That is how I came into the service of the Temple of Nanna. It was truly a result of two accidents: an accidental meeting with a strange traveler at a desert oasis and an equally accidental encounter with a young scribe buying frankincense. At first, things were difficult for me at the Temple because I was very much an outsider. Most novice scribes came from noble families of the city and began their education at the Temple School by the age of seven or eight. My humble origins, and the fact that I was already ten, meant that teachers and fellow students alike often singled me out for ridicule.[23.1] The other boys called me _god meat_ , or sometimes just _meat_ for short. To their delight, I was beaten often. But, I had traveled across scorching deserts. Who among those soft city boys had forged their will in such a crucible? I knew how to navigate through the twists and turns of the endless marshlands, and how to read my opponent's face to gain the upper hand in a bargain. I knew in my heart that I was at least as clever as any of the others. But, I was lonely and isolated, being separated from family, friends, and all that I had ever known.

I learned to write on clay tablets with a reed stylus. Over and over, I practiced the groupings of wedge-shaped marks, imitating the model lists of words and proverbs provided by my teacher.[23.2] Once the tablet was covered and had been graded, I rolled it into a ball and then flattened out a fresh tablet to start the next exercise. One day, I kneaded my writing lesson into a simple figure of Ulak to keep by my mat in the dormitory. After that, I had a little bit of home and my past to give me strength.

I learned mathematics to account for the stores of the Temple: 'If twenty merchants each give the Temple thirty jars of oil, then how many jars of oil does the Temple receive?' Calculations and accounts were also written with the stylus on clay. Because the Temple controlled vast farmlands surrounding the city, it was important for me to learn how to take sightings to lay out fields, to calculate the areas of the fields, and to estimate their production when planted with different crops. I learned to track the movements of the heavens to gauge the right times to plant and to harvest.

In class, sometimes my mind would wander off to accompany my father and brother on trips across the desert to buy frankincense and other precious goods. I was curious about whether or not they continued to travel by reed boat through the marshes to the market outside the city walls; it was only a short distance from the Temple School, but seemed to be a whole world away. Students from the school were not permitted to go to the market. Frequently, the instructor wrenched me away from my daydreams with a smack across the side of the head. When that happened, the other boys would make funny faces at me behind the teacher's back and mouth the words "god meat."

However, at night on my sleeping mat with Ulak beside me, I could dream. In my dreams, Dohash eventually learned all the twists and turns of the marshes. In my dreams, every time we reached the river, my father would still say, "This is Euphrates, mother of all rivers, which has its source in the Garden of Creation!" When we passed the big mud brick granary, my father always said, "Behold the bountiful land of Sumer!" In my dreams, at the point that the city could first be seen on the horizon, father said, "There is the great city of Ur, where our son, Yehhi, is in the service of the Temple of the Moon." In my dreams, my father and brother would find their way through the city to the alleyway beside the Ziggurat where I had last seen them, but no one would answer when they called out. They would desperately cry out my name over and over again, and then I would wake up.

All the temple boys, myself included, were assigned tasks to assist the priestesses with the performance of their various rites. A few times a year, there were public rituals that we could watch. But, for the most part, the rites of Nanna were secret. Being males and not of the hereditary priestly caste, we were not permitted to set foot in purified precincts of the Temple or the Holy of Holies where Nanna resided. Nor were we allowed to witness the sacrifices the priestesses made to the god, nor to touch anything that had been ritually purified.[23.3]

I was given the job of fetching choicest olive oil from the temple storehouses for the anointing of the idol of Nanna. The idol was anointed nightly at the first sighting of the Moon from the temple parapet. I needed to make sure that a vessel of oil was on hand at the door of the outer sanctuary well in advance of the required time, so that the priestesses could perform their purification rituals upon it prior to entering the Holy of Holies. I brought the oil every night in a simple earthenware pitcher, but was told that after it was purified and blessed it was transferred to a golden ladle. Of course, I would never set eyes on this golden ladle or witness the anointing ceremony.

When I was assigned this chore, one of the senior temple administrators warned me of the dire consequences of failing in my duty. He told me about a boy who had performed the same job some years before and had once been late with the oil. The idol had not been anointed at the right time. Nanna then had shown his displeasure that very night by sending lumps of cold, white rock pelting down from the sky. By morning, these heavenly projectiles had strangely disappeared, but they left behind devastation in the fields and orchards all around Ur.

"That careless boy wound up as god meat," the administrator said with a chill in his voice.

I had, of course, heard that term many times before, but never from an adult, a teacher or a temple official.

"Excuse me sir," I said in a halting voice. "I have heard about this god meat from the other boys, but I don't know what it means."

The administrator looked surprised but then he thought for a moment and said, "Yes, I hear that you are provincial, and might not be as familiar with the workings of the Temple as the city boys."

To be called a provincial was degrading, but gave me an excuse for my ignorance, so I embraced it with a feeble smile.

"Every year at the _Akitu_ festival, an extremely important and special sacrifice is made. One young man is given the honor of being consumed by Nanna, therefore joining the god in the sky."

"Consumed by?" I stammered.

"Yes, devoured! Meat for the god! It is a great honor to be chosen, or at least it was in my day. Shamefully, these days the well—connected families of some of the temple boys intercede to exclude their sons from consideration. In fact, what was once an honor, and still is an honor on the face of it, has changed over time to actually be a penalty. Do a bad job in your work for the Temple, break the rules, perform at the bottom of your class, and you might end up as god meat at the next festival, unless, of course, you're from a good family. But, you are not. So, you must do your very best in all things at all times. Well, anyway, it really is a great honor."

Fortunately, a department of the temple scribes was dedicated to tracking the movements and phases of the Moon, and preparing charts that predicted the time of his appearance every night. I needed to learn how to read these charts and how to gauge the time, even after the sun went down, by observing the measured oil level in lamps that flickered in the chamber outside the sanctuary. The first time I read the charts and watched the lamps, my stomach was twisted in knots. When it was time, I ran off to fetch the oil and raced back with it, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Of course, I was so worried about being late that I was early and had to stand by the doors of the sanctuary for a long time. Now, my hands did start to shake. An older boy who tended the lamps was there also; he laughed, called me "god meat," and made funny faces at me. I think he was trying to make me drop the oil.

I talked to my classmates who performed different jobs. Some of the bigger boys claimed to have knowledge of what went on behind the walls of the sanctuary and even in the Holy of Holies. How they could know these things was a mystery to me, but many of them were from old and influential families. Some were even related to families from which the priestesses were drawn. Based on what they said, I was able to piece together the secret workings of the Temple. One of my classmates was stationed on the roof of the Temple. When a priestess standing on the outer wall gave the signal that the Moon had been sighted by uncovering a lamp and raising it aloft, he tugged on a thin hemp rope that issued from a little hole beneath his feet. Far below, delicate silver bells tinkled in the sanctuary, signaling that it was time to anoint the god. The god required far more than oil. He required libations of wine, offerings of grain in the form of hearth-baked cakes, and the burning of incense. Most importantly of all were the animal sacrifices: sheep, goats, cattle, and even birds.[23.4] And, of course, as I now knew, boys.[23.5]

Some of my classmates were assigned to work with the men who gathered the animals for sacrifice. They told me about a long tunnel that was dimly lit with torches and approached the sanctuary from the side, as opposed to the front door where I deposited the oil. In this tunnel, a grim, endless line of animals was led slowly forward toward their appointments with the divine. I figured that these sacrifices must go on day and night since the fires that consumed them—the perpetual column of greasy black smoke rising from a hole in the Temple roof—never went out.

## TWENTY-FOUR

My life at the Temple School was a constant cycle of study and service. However, twice each year our routine was interrupted by the excitement of the _Akitu_ festivals which marked the equinoxes, the moments when Nanna, the Moon, was in balance with his son, Shamesh, the Sun. Planning for each _Akitu_ festival began a month in advance, and the final days preceding the event threw the whole Temple into a frenzy of activity. I could hear chanting and singing voices ringing through the corridors of the Temple, only to be cut short by shouts of "No! No! No! Not like that! Let's try it again from the beginning." Workers bustled across the courtyard and in and out of the storehouses with animals, jars of grain, oil and all manner of goods. A large pile of wooden planks, some with bronze fittings fastened at their ends, appeared over to the side of the courtyard and sat there for days. Later on, coils of rope and bundles of dyed animal skins were added to the pile, and finally, a number of bundles tied up in heavy linen wrappings appeared. One afternoon as I sat under a shade tree practicing my cuneiform with some other boys, we saw a group of porters and donkeys cart it all off under the watchful eye of a temple overseer.

The _Akitu_ festival of the first month marked the beginning of the Sun's dominance over his father, the Moon, which was also the time of dryness, heat, and desolation when crops could not grow. The _Akitu_ festival of the seventh month lasted for eleven days and was the more important of the two since it marked the beginning of the triumph of the Moon over the Sun. Nights became longer and wetter, cooler weather allowed the fields to blossom.[24.1]

The days were getting shorter, and finally, the sixth moon of the year waned down to almost nothing. The time for the _Akitu_ festival had arrived. I was sent a half-day's walk outside of the city, along with a host of officials, scribes, workers and boys, to prepare the site prior to the god's arrival. This would be the god's encampment for the first three days of the festival. Here, I watched while workers turned the boards, skins, and rope I had seen piled in the Temple courtyard into a temporary home for the god, the _Bet Akitu_. It was a portable, scaled down, version of the Ekisnugal. There was a large outer enclosure that was about twice as long as it was wide, and open to the sky. Thick wooden posts driven into the ground set off this court. Between the posts were strung ropes from which white linen was hung. The result was a fluttering, translucent barrier that stood higher than the tallest man. When it was finally completed, it shielded the rest of the work on the _Bet Akitu_ from my direct view.[24.2] Yet, as I gazed through it, I could see the shimmering outlines of figures bustling about inside the enclosure, and going in and out of the more solid structure that grew up in the back end.

Standing atop the Ziggurat in Ur, a toothless old man with greasy hair fidgeted uncomfortably.[24.3] He was not accustomed to the princely robes that had been draped on his shoulders. But, as he watched the pillar of smoke [24.4] marking the location of the god's procession recede further and further outside the city, he began to feel more comfortable and festive. Of course, the jug of beer in his hand was aiding him in this transition. He tottered over to the parapet facing the courtyard below, which was jammed with people. Raising both his arms as high as he could, jug in hand, this mock ruler let out the loudest whoop that his old lungs could muster as a signal for the festivities to begin. And, the hard won order that was civilization evaporated in a moment. Chaos ruled the city of Ur. The servant sat in his master's chair. The wife beat her husband. The children ran wild, and the strong drink began to flow.[24.5]

Squatting with some other temple boys outside the _Bet Akitu_ enclosure, I looked around at all of their faces trying to figure out whether one was missing. The others were doing the same, and I could tell by their looks that some of them were surprised to see me. I watched as the approaching pillar of smoke wound its way toward us with agonizing deliberateness. Finally, the procession snaked into view. At the head were men carrying tall poles topped with bronze braziers belching smoke into the air. Next came the gold-covered ark that contained the god. It was suspended between two long poles, borne by young men of the priestly line, the brothers of the priestesses. Following that was a large and heavy, nearly square, bronze altar supported on two stout poles. It was being carried on the shoulders of eight strong men. The sides of the altar were ornately embossed with mysterious symbols and strange spiral designs, with each of its four corners adorned with an upturned horn of bronze.[24.6] Next, the High Priestess marched along by herself. She wore flowing white robes and an ornate headdress of flowers, some real and others fashioned of gold.[24.7] She was followed by her subordinate priestesses walking in double ranks. Then came the men of the priestly caste, including the King of Ur and his closest retainers.[24.8] An armed escort came last. As the procession arrived, some panels were drawn back at the front of the gossamer enclosure and it filed into the _Bet Akitu_. Then the panels were replaced, blocking my view.

I watched as the line of sacrificial animals was reestablished at the side of the _Akitu_ enclosure. A fire, ignited on the altar by hot coals brought from Ur in the smoking braziers, was soon conveying their flesh to the god.

Squatting on the ground under an awning, surrounded by terra cotta bowls and pots full of brightly colored powders, I was chatting with the boy whose job it was to prepare the incense. It was late afternoon in the temporary village of workers, scribes and hangers-on that had grown up beside the _Bet Akitu_. The older boy was lecturing me on types and grades of frankincense as well as proper ratios and mixing techniques for the preparation of incense. Obsessed with what might be going on inside the _Akitu_ enclosure, I was not paying much attention, which annoyed my companion.

"Ahhhh! Yehhi, you dumb piece of god meat!" He gave me an openhanded smack across the side of the head like my father always used to do to Dohash.

"Hey! Why are you hitting me?!" I demanded, raising my arm in defense.

"Do you always want to be the stupid oil-boy? You gotta pay attention, study hard, and show some responsibility if you want to move up in the Temple! Now, mixing the incense, this requires skill and knowledge. Not everyone can do it. It's a stepping-stone to bigger things. You think you could do it someday?" he asked me.

"Could do it now! Better than you!" I shot back.

"What! You are a stupid piece of meat! All right, try then. I need a good laugh!"

I proceeded to sniff and rub the lumps of frankincense before picking the finest bit. I ground it with mortar and pestle. As the older boy's eyes bugged out, my hands flew, grabbing pinches from the bowls containing the other ingredients: charcoal, spices, fragrant plant extracts, exotic resins. I added pinches of balsam, onycha and galbanum.[24.9]

"Hey! You gotta measure that out! Be exact!" he yelled at me.

"No. I don't."

"You think this is a game?! Think it's a joke?! That's real expensive stuff! And if, or when, you make a big bowl of worthless crap, it'll be your ass!" he glanced up toward the enclosure where the god was no doubt getting ready to devour someone.

"No, actually it'll be your ass," I chirped, "since the incense is your responsibility. Not mine."

His face fell. I was right, and he knew it.

"Don't worry. I might not be the best in writing class, but I know this business, know it like nothing else!" I grunted as I worked the pestle round and round. To his amazement, it was a fine batch of incense, and it was presented to the priestesses and offered up that very night with no one the wiser.

I was awakened in my tent the next morning at dawn by a multitude of voices singing and chanting. The _Enuma Elish_ had begun and would continue until sunset.[24.10] The singers sang of the primordial formlessness and watery wastes that existed for all eternity before the emergence of the first of the gods.

When in the height, heaven was not named,  
And the earth beneath did not yet bear a name,  
The primeval Apsu, and chaotic Tiamat,  
Their waters were mingled together,  
And no field was formed; no marsh was to be seen;  
Before the gods had been called into being,  
And none bore a name, and no destinies were ordained.

I sat up, remaining in the tent for some time and listening about how Apsu, the god of fresh water and male fertility, and his wife, Tiamat, goddess of the sea and of chaos, provided the raw material for the creation. From them were spawned the first generation of gods and ultimately from these gods, a second generation of sons of the gods were born. I quietly ate some dried flat bread and drank some beer from a jar for my breakfast. Then I crawled out of the tent and sat on the ground facing the _Akitu_ enclosure. I could see the fluttering silhouettes of the great assembly of chanters through the linen hangings. When the song described how Apsu became angered at his grandchildren, the second-generation gods, because their mirthful carrying-on disturbed his rest, I was struck by the similarity to Enlil's desire to destroy mankind in the _Flood Story._

Apsu, said to resplendent Tiamat:  
"Their ways are truly loathsome to me.  
By day I find no relief, nor repose by night.  
I will destroy, I will wreck them,  
That quiet may be restored. Let us have rest!"

For some reason, some of the gods were just like old men, hating the idea of children having fun. My own father had not been like that. But, I had certainly encountered my share of instructors at the Temple School that seemed to relish the quashing of childhood mirthfulness. A vision of the one who had told me the story about the careless oil-boy who became god meat popped into my mind. I listened while the song told of how Ea, one of the second-generation gods, learned of his grandfather's intentions to kill them. Ea therefore lulled Apsu to sleep and slew him first. I marveled at the goodness of Ea, for it was also Ea who foiled the destructive plot of the other gods by warning Ziusudra in the _Flood Story_. But, in the _Enuma Elish_ , the fearsome Tiamat was enraged over the death of her husband and, allying herself with her children, the first generation gods, she was preparing for all-out war against her grandchildren, the second-generation gods.

Tiamat hath spawned monster-serpents,  
Sharp of tooth, and merciless of fang.  
With poison, instead of blood, she hath filled their bodies.  
Fierce monster-vipers she hath clothed with terror,  
Whoever beholdeth them is overcome by fear,  
And none can withstand their attack.  
Tiamat hath sent vipers, and dragons, and the monster Leviathan,  
And hurricanes and raging hounds, and scorpion-men,  
They bear cruel weapons, without fear of the fight.  
Her commands are mighty; none can resist them;  
After this fashion, huge of stature, hath Tiamat made eleven monsters.

The ebb and flow of the great primordial battle between the new gods, the old gods and their various monstrous allies, in the song, was simultaneously reenacted by costumed, weapon-wielding men on the dusty ground outside the enclosure.[24.11] A crowd, including temple workers as well as many simple folk from the countryside, gathered to watch the mock battle. I sat beside the incense boy on the ground in the front row. The battle swung back and forth with neither side, on the field or in the chanted words, able to gain the upper hand. Finally, a third generation god, Enlil, came forward and convinced those struggling against Tiamat that he could lead them to victory. If successful, however, he demanded to be proclaimed king of the gods. In desperation, the others agreed to Enlil's condition. "Don't do it! Don't do it, you foolish gods!" I was thinking. For I knew that Enlil, who in today's story was young and vibrant in his fight against the repressive grown-ups, would one day be a bad tempered, old god himself. He would demand a flood to exterminate a new generation of boisterous children: men and women. Only Ea, it seemed, remained kind even as he aged. I resolved to be like Ea rather than Enlil when I grew up.

Enlil loosed an arrow; it tore the belly of Tiamat,  
It cut through her insides, splitting her heart.  
He cast down her carcass to stand upon it.  
The Lord Enlil trod on the legs of Tiamat,  
With his unsparing mace he crushed her skull.  
Then the Lord Enlil split her like a shellfish into two parts:  
Half of her he set up as a covering for heaven,  
And half to be the world below.  
Victorious, Enlil was crowned king of the gods . . .

"This is the third time I've heard this and I still can't figure out why—" I wondered aloud.

"Why what?" asked a young scribe behind me.

"Why, when we are here to honor Nanna and are all part of the Temple of Nanna . . . why Nanna is just sitting in there listening to all of this? Why do they spend a whole day singing a story that has nothing to do with Nanna, with the Moon?" I asked him.

"Oh, but it has everything to do with Nanna. Of course you know that Enlil, the hero of this epic, is the father of Nanna. Nanna is, in fact, the first born of Enlil and Ninlil. But, that is not the reason so much energy is devoted to this story. No! No! You see, there can be no Temple, no Moon to accurately account for the passage of the months, no sacrifices to the gods, no sacrifices to Nanna, no cities, no scribes . . . well, there can be nothing of the life we know if the violent forces of Chaos—Tiamat—continue to rule."

"What?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

"The World with everything ordered, in its place, the world of crops and irrigation canals, flocks of sheep, of temples ruled by civilized gods like Nanna could not be until the primordial evil was pushed back—crushed."

It was getting on toward sunset. The exhausted men who had acted in the mock battle were shedding their sweaty costumes, lifting bowls of beer, and slapping one another on the back. Some had minor cuts and bruises, nothing a few stiff drinks couldn't fix.

I listened to the final act of the song. Having just dealt a deathblow to the primordial chaos, Enlil created man so that the gods would have servants to pay them homage and honor them with sacrifices. He did this by slaying Kingu, a lover of Tiamat, and mixing his blood with the dust of the earth. From this combination of the blood of a god and lowly soil were humans fashioned.

"Why are you shaking your head?" the young scribe asked me, somewhat indignant. "I am telling you the truth about why the _Enuma Elish_ is recited."

"Oh, I believe you about that," I replied. "But, it's the Lord Enlil," I told him. "It seems so pointless for him to make men, only to try to kill them all off with the Flood later."

"What? Oh yeah?" The scribe didn't quite see the connection, but we left it at that.

As the sun slipped from the sky, the _Enuma Elish_ wound down with a recitation of the fifty glorious epithets of Enlil. This was followed by an admonition to the people to always remember the deeds by which Enlil brought order to the world.[24.12]

After dark, back in Ur, on the second evening of the god's absence from his city, the wild revelry began to take on a more dangerous character. Fueled by yet more drink, there was thieving, vandalism, rape of women and boys, and the settling of scores between neighbors.

## TWENTY-FIVE

Later that evening, we mixed another batch of incense and presented it, along with the anointing oil, outside the entrance to the _Akitu_ enclosure. I wasn't sure why they continued to need my oil during the festival since the Moon had not appeared in the sky last night nor would it tonight. But, I had been instructed to perform my job as always. As the incense boy and I walked back toward our tent, along the outside of this enclosure, I noticed that one of the rope ties that held the linen panels had come loose. The corner of the panel was flapping in the light breeze. I touched my friend's arm and pointed. He blew out our lamp and the two of us crouched down, lifted up the loose corner and peered into the courtyard of the _Bet Akitu_.

The singers who had been there all day had gone to their tents outside the enclosure. We had watched them filing out earlier. There, directly in front of us at about ten paces, was a group of men from the priestly families gathered around the large horned altar, on which a fire blazed. We could also see the _Bet Akitu_ itself some distance away at the other end of the court. It was a medium-sized, rectangular wooden building with a tent of animal skins draped over it. Soft yellow light peeped around a hanging curtain of red cloth that covered the front door. We watched for a while and then, as my curiosity built, I began to lean forward. The incense boy touched my shoulder and when I turned to him, the look on his face said, "We'd better not do this." Nonetheless, I continued to crawl forward. He shook his head, hesitated a moment, and then crawled through the gap after me.

Since it was the dark of the moon, most of the _Akitu_ enclosure was cloaked in blackness. The only light came from the fire on the altar and the distant door to the makeshift Holy of Holies. Hidden by the darkness, we crept closer to the altar. One man was holding his arm under the head of a sheep. He pulled the head back to expose its neck. In a flash, another man slit its throat and a third caught the gush of blood in a golden bowl.

With a sharp knife, the belly of the sheep was slit open and its entrails fell out. Then the carcass was lifted by two men and tossed on top of the blazing altar. The entrails were scooped up and deposited upon the hot metal surface of the altar, just beside the fire where they sizzled and popped.[25.1] Around this blazing offering, the men chanted songs to Nanna and begged him to come back from the Underworld to once again rule over the people and the city of Ur.

Of course, we all knew that every month when the Moon disappeared from the sky for three nights, it was because Nanna had descended to the Underworld where he had once been imprisoned long ago. He still needed to return periodically to pass judgment over the dead.[25.2]

As the song continued, one of the men walked around to the four horns on the corners of the altar. He dipped two fingers in the bowl of sheep's blood and rubbed it on each of the horns in turn.[25.3]

We were then drawn to the tented structure with the glowing red door, the _Bet Akitu_ itself. Turning our backs on the priests and their sacrifice, we snuck up to the side of the House and crawled into the space between the outer covering and the actual timber wall.[25.4] Here and there, thin lines of light from inside glowed between the boards. I put my eye to one of these cracks and peered inside. The inner walls were hung with red cloth embroidered with gold designs of the crescent Moon, spirals and horned bulls. Ever since I saw Gold-Tooth's clay table in the desert years ago, I took for granted the sacred connection between the bull and Nanna. The imagery was a constant part of daily temple life. Now the basis for this connection hit me square in the face: the moon crescents and the similarly shaped bull horns.

The High Priestess was naked. With her back to us, she faced the idol as she straddled the hips of a young man who lay on his back, heaving and writhing on a golden table.[25.5] I recognized him as one of the student scribes a few years older than us; I did not know him personally. The table, which supported both of them, was a smaller version of the outdoor altar on which the sheep had just been sacrificed, complete with four golden horns on its corners. Other priestesses in gossamer robes were gathered around, numerous hands rubbing oil from a golden ladle on the High Priestess's shoulders and breasts and on the chest and arms of the youth beneath her.

Nanna sat impassibly on his throne, wreathed by incense smoke and taking in the scene before him. I felt my guts wrench and my heart pound as I beheld the fearsome image of the god; his polished silver face was twisted and grotesque and his beard was blue lapis lazuli. On his head, protruding from his black onyx hair, were two crescent moon shaped horns.

The High Priestess was grinding her hips with ever increasing, rhythmic vigor, and as she did, she chanted:[25.6]

Your greatness fills the heavens,  
Like the vast sea, vast fear!  
Begetter of gods and men,

"Begetter . . . Begetter . . . Begetter . . ." she grunted again and again.

You who established Ur,  
You who gives all that is good,  
Chief, mighty . . .

"Begetter . . . Begetter . . . Begetter . . ."

Riveted by the High Priestess, I felt my penis stiffen, pressing against the wood of the _Bet Akitu_. My body pulsed with powerful new sensations.

Right when I felt I could bare the pressure building in me no longer, the High Priestess let out a shriek. And, at that moment, a knife blade flashed; one of the other priestesses slashed the young man's throat.[25.7] Another caught the spurting blood in a golden cup. She then dipped two fingers in his blood and proceeded to anoint the four horns on the corners of the golden table.[25.8] Then, the High Priestess hoisted herself off the lifeless body of the youth, took the cup, and approached the god. She held the cup to his snarling silver lips and tilted it so that the gore ran out and down Nanna's beard.

Suddenly, I was acutely aware of my heart pounding in my chest and of the noise of my own panicked breathing. _I have to get out of here!_

As we scampered through the darkness of the courtyard, having almost reached the gap in the enclosure, hands suddenly fell upon both of our necks from behind.

"What are you two doing here?"

As I was spun around, I realized that we had been caught by two of the young male priests that we had seen killing a sheep. Their fellows were a short way off continuing with their sacrifices.

"Ah . . . Er . . . You see, we were just walking by after delivering the oil—"

"Yeah. I'm the incense boy. He's the oil boy."

"What are you doing within the enclosure? It is forbidden for you to be inside! Forbidden upon penalty of death!"

My blood ran cold, but my urine ran hot, right down my leg. This was it. We were done for—I now knew exactly what it meant to be devoured by the god, to be god meat. I couldn't think straight; I was so terrified.

"Hole . . . over there . . ." I stammered, pointing to the gap in the enclosure.

"Yeah," said the incense boy, who was a little steadier and had deftly picked up on the story I hadn't yet realized that I had concocted. "We were just going back to our tents and we saw that hole. We just came through here, just a little way to . . . em, let someone know it was there. Tell someone that they ought to fix it."

"Ahh haa," There was an air of disbelief in the priests' voices. "Well you two just go back out the way you came in right now. Consider the hole attended to, and don't concern yourself with it anymore. We do not know yet whether the presence of your unclean feet on this holy ground will have wider consequences. We will watch the omens for signs of Nanna's displeasure over the next days of the festival. Should bad omens appear, both of you will be dealt with most severely." The men loosened their grips.

I took one furtive look at the men's stony faces before making a dash toward the gap in the enclosure. The incense boy and I tripped and clawed over each other in our haste to be first out through the hole.

## TWENTY-SIX

I lay awake most of the night. Again and again I saw the blood squirting out, the blood glistening red as it ran down Nanna's twisted face and dripped onto the ground. I wondered whether the white stones were already falling in the surrounding fields, sealing my fate.

The third day of the Festival dawned clear and pleasant. Amid chants of praise, the procession that had brought Nanna to the _Bet Akitu_ reassembled itself within the enclosure. Now that Chaos had been tamed and the rule of the gods over men was reestablished, it was time for Nanna to conclude his wanderings in the wilderness and reclaim his city.

The pillar of smoke marked the progress of the ark containing the god. This time, he and his retinue boarded a grand barge and floated down the river toward the city gates. The rest of us followed along the bank on foot. As the barge glided along, the King of Ur came and humbled himself before the ark of Nanna. From the shore, I could see him bending down. The high priestess came and removed his crown, ring, and scepter. He then knelt in front of the ark with his regalia piled on the deck beside him. The priestess then struck the King on the cheek to humble him before the god. The king plaintively attested the blamelessness of his rule over the past year.

"I have not sinned, O Lord of the land. I have not been negligent regarding thy divinity. I have not destroyed Ur; I have not caused its overthrow. I have not neglected the Temple Ekisnugal; I have not forgotten its ritual. I have not rained blows on the cheeks of my subordinates; I have not humiliated them. I cared for Ur; I have not broken down its walls."[26.1]

By the time the barge reached the quay before the gates of Ur, the King was back on his feet and back in his regalia. God and King together advanced through the city gates and reclaimed it for civilization for another year.

## TWENTY-SEVEN

Over the following months, my thoughts were disturbed by images from that night in the Akitu enclosure. My dreams were filled with spurting blood and the grotesque, leering face of the idol. Throughout my years of training, the whole endeavor of the Temple, the workshops, the farms, and the scholarship had seemed so important and noble. Now, I knew a secret that even my teachers did not: at the heart of his seemingly virtuous enterprise was a sickening and bloody core.

I longed to tell someone, to express these feelings. But, to whom? If what we had done and seen were found out, it would mean certain death. The only one I could safely confide in was the incense boy who had witnessed the same as me. But, I hardly ever saw him back at the Temple. Anyway, it wasn't even safe to talk to him, lest we be overheard. This blackness was inexorably strengthening its grip on my heart, and it started to hurt my concentration on my lessons. I found myself being berated again, as I had so often been in my first year at the School.

Then one evening, I was sitting with some of the other boys eating dinner when a classmate named Shulpae touched my arm. When I turned, he asked softly, "What are your thoughts on the Moon-Idol Paradox?"

We had all been taught in our classes that Nanna existed simultaneously as the moon disk in the heavens and as the hidden idol residing in the Holy of Holies. How he could be both at the same time was officially referred to as the Dual Nature of the Divinity. The term Moon-Idol Paradox, which was occasionally used by some free thinking young scribes, was officially frowned upon because it suggested that there was something impossible or unbelievable about Nanna's dual nature.[27.1] The fact that Shulpae chose to use this expression and that he was whispering sent a chill down my spine.

"I favor the Moon myself, if only because I have actually seen the Moon," I whispered back. This was a fairly innocuous statement, in which I studiously avoided taking a position on the controversial paradox itself.

"Good," said Shulpae. "Tonight, after you deliver the oil, come to the hidden courtyard behind the wall, on the roof of number five."

The full Moon lit the alleyway beside the Ziggurat as I walked along the row of three story buildings that housed the administrative offices of the Temple, classrooms, and dormitories. I turned in through the open doorway of the fifth building and began to climb the stairs. This was a dormitory for the young scribes, who were entitled to on-site housing until they married. Soon I emerged onto the roof, but there was a wall that stood a little taller than me blocking my way. I could hear voices from the other side. I pulled myself up, peered over, and saw the hidden courtyard beyond, in which a group of young men, scribes and a few students were standing in a circle holding hands. Shulpae was there, and when he saw my head pop over the top of the wall, he nodded to me to climb over and join them.

I was standing in the circle with the others looking up, bathed in the light of our god. As the feeling struck them, people were trembling with joy and making statements of praise.

"Nanna the Moon, we honor you for the brightness of your disk and for your permanence," gasped one young scribe as he collapsed to his knees.

"Bless us, oh Moon, and guide us closer to you," exclaimed another.

As I stood there among them, I could feel the dark thoughts falling away from my heart. This was truly the way to appreciate and worship the god of our Temple. It was an uplifting and beautiful experience.[27.2] Perhaps the virtuous enterprise of the Temple was not squandered after all.

We called ourselves Disk Followers. We recognized other Followers with a hand sign, touching the tips of the thumb and index finger to form the shape of a disk. One by one, our number grew and it soon became crowded on the roof of number five when the Moon was full. When one of the junior priestesses was seen holding her hand in a particular way, rumors floated among us that some of the priestesses shared our sentiment. Of course, priestesses could never attend our meetings. I found a camaraderie and purpose among the Disk Followers that I had previously been lacking, and I eventually brought several new converts to our group.

One time, a number of us found ourselves out beyond the city walls on a farm owned by the Temple. We were there for several days on a school assignment to learn about the design and working of irrigation canals. I was no longer the oil boy. The job had been handed off to a new, younger boy. As a more senior student, the advanced training I was engaged in meant that I might sometimes need to take trips away from the Temple, making it impossible to deliver the oil. This was one such occasion.

Several of us in the class recognized one another as members of the Followers. I made the hand sign to signal that we should steal out that evening because the Moon would be full. We found ourselves standing in wide-open fields with no lights around except for the silvery glow of our blessed Moon disk. I was moved to tears.

## TWENTY-EIGHT

After seven years as a temple novice, I graduated to junior scribe. It was at this point in my training that I was expected to find a specialization. Some boys were quick and skillful with a stylus, and would focus on the taking of dictation and the preparation of documents. Others had a mind for calculations and would concentrate on the keeping of accounts. Some had a passion for watching the heavens, charting the cycles of the Moon and predicting eclipses. I could perform all these tasks satisfactorily, but I felt no strong drive to pursue any of them as my life's work. My lack of direction must have been apparent to my teachers because they decided to assign me to accompany an expedition up the River. I think they believed that some time away from the Temple might help me find my calling.

The leader of the expedition was Kepdu, a man in his late thirties and a rising star in the temple administration; I was to go along as his secretary. Additionally, the expedition included five workmen, seven armed guards, and a crew of eight boatmen who poled, sailed, and rowed us upriver on a large wooden barge. For many days, the flat, green, Sumerian countryside slid along. I made the disk sign with my hand at one point or another in front of everyone on the barge, and it was met with no recognition.

We had been traveling like this for a month. One lazy afternoon, we were all sitting out on the deck, enjoying the scenery, while the boatmen plied slowly upriver. I had been curious, but had not previously dared to ask. However, at this moment, Kepdu seemed more relaxed and approachable than usual.

So, I asked him: "What sir . . . What is the purpose of our journey?"

Kepdu did not say anything for a while, and this got me worried that perhaps I had made a mistake by speaking up.

"Ah . . . Ah . . . Sorry sir. You know, I was just wondering—"

Kepdu's face had cracked into a broad, confident smile as he cut me off with a gentle wave of his hand. Then, he began to recite from the Great Epic.[28.1]

Gilgamesh spoke to Enkidu:  
"Oh my friend, I have always wanted  
To climb Cedar Mountain.  
There dwells fierce Humbaba  
Who is evil and fearsome to look upon.  
I wish to slay him.  
But he lives in the Cedar Forest,  
And I know not the way."

Other conversations on the deck of the boat subsided as all ears were bent to Kepdu's performance.

"Immortal under the Sun are the gods alone,  
As for mortals their days must end.  
What they achieve is but the wind!  
If I fall, I shall have made my name:  
'Gilgamesh', they will say, 'against fierce Humbaba  
Has fallen!' and long after,  
Descendants born in my house  
Shall honor my name."

As I listened to Kepdu recite the story of the two heroes' long journey, which eventually brought them to the Cedar Forest, my mind was transported back to that long ago evening when the same tale had launched my life in the direction which brought me to this moment. Now, after many years in the stifling environment of the Temple School, I was finally out in the wider world again, as I had been as a small boy. But, I was now so much stronger on account of being nearly grown up and having an education. As I listened to Kepdu and watched the countryside drift by, I felt my confidence grow, that I could master whatever it was that awaited us up the River.

Gilgamesh gripped the axe  
And with it felled a cedar.  
Humbaba fell into a fury and raged:  
"Who has felled my trees?  
Felled my cedars which grow on my mountain?"

Kepdu stood up and began to bellow the words as he described how Gilgamesh and Enkidu battled with the monster, Humbaba, and cried out to heaven for aid.

Shamash, the Sun, in heaven heard their prayers  
And against Humbaba rose up mighty winds:  
The Great Wind, the North Wind, the South Wind, the Whirlwind,  
They rose up against Humbaba.  
Lo! He cannot move forwards!  
Lo! He cannot move backwards!  
And so Humbaba relented.  
Then Humbaba pleaded to Gilgamesh:  
"Oh, do let me go, Gilgamesh!  
You will be my master; I will be your servant.  
My trees, which I have grown,  
I will cut them down and build you houses."

Grim faced, Kepdu pantomimed a hacking motion as he told how Gilgamesh and Enkidu, ignoring pleas for mercy, slew Humbaba. Then, an uncharacteristically impish smile melted across the stern temple administrator's face as he told of how the heroes cut down cedar trees, bound them together as a raft, and rode them down the river, supplying timber to expand and beautify Gilgamesh's city and palace. At this point, Kepdu paused to let his words sink in. It seemed like he was getting ready to continue with the epic, but instead, he heaved a heavy sigh and sat down. Perhaps that was as much of the tale as he remembered. Maybe he had just grown weary. And then, once again, we all just sat on the barge watching the land crawl by.

We slept on the open deck and every night I would lay there looking up at the Moon. After two months' journey upriver, we veered off onto a tributary of the Euphrates. Several days later, a town was visible across a plain of rocky soil and dried grass.

"We are here!" announced Kepdu.

"Where?" I mused, half aloud, half to myself.

Kepdu overheard me. "Why, young man, we are at the town of Harran. We are here to cut trees from the cedar forest, just like in the Legend."

I looked around. In contrast to the flat, lush green lands of southern Sumer, Harran was a brown, dusty place in a barren, semi-arid, gently rolling landscape. Unlike most Sumerians from Ur, including Kepdu, I had actually seen mountains before. As a young boy, I had traveled to the far off mountains where the frankincense trees grow. I strained my eyes toward the brown and hazy horizon in all directions. There was no Cedar Mountain in sight.

"We have an affiliated Moon Temple here in Harran."[28.2] Kepdu continued. "With some luck, our brothers in the Harran Temple will know how we can purchase some wood already cut. Perhaps they have some logs of their own that they would be willing to part with."

The buildings of Harran were like nothing any of us had ever seen before. Most were round beehive-shaped dwellings constructed of mud brick. The conical shape allowed the roof to be built without the need for wooden beams. In fact, there was not a tree in sight. "Not a very promising place to come looking for wood," I thought.

But there, in the middle of the town, was a ziggurat to Nanna. It was like the one in Ur, only smaller. The priestesses and scribes greeted us warmly, but no, they did not have any cedar logs that were not already used for the roof of their temple. The local traders did not have any either. So, we would need to go to the mountain forests.

The Harran Temple would contribute men and material to the expedition and share in its production. With our party boosted to over fifty laborers, twenty men at arms, and over twenty head of oxen, we set out from Harran, heading back downstream toward the main channel of the Euphrates. We were all packed onto two barges, the original one that we had ridden up from Ur as well as another of similar size. As I sat wedged in among smelly workmen, smellier oxen, piles of bronze tools, clay jars of provisions, and live chickens and goats, I wondered aloud about the difficulty of finding space to carry the wood back.

"Wood floats," a nearby workman grunted through his rotten teeth.

"Yes!" Then I understood, "Just like in the Legend."

Once we reached the Euphrates, we continued upriver. The banks around us started to rise and undulate into small green, rocky hills. When we reached the town of Carchemish, which guarded a ford across the river, we disembarked. The workmen spent the next week tearing the boats apart and refashioning the lumber into six large carts using wheels and axels that had been brought from Harran with the supplies. We then struck out overland along a well-worn caravan road. Teams of two oxen pulled each of the carts, which carried the supplies and provided enough additional space for about half of the men to ride. The other men walked along side, herding the additional oxen and goats. As a temple official, there was always a seat for me in one of the carts, but I enjoyed walking and did so for a good while each afternoon.

Sitting on a swaying cart, I fell asleep in midmorning with the warmth of the sun on my back;[28.3] it was our twentieth day on this road. When I awoke in late afternoon, I saw that all the men were gazing ahead into the distance. There, at the far limit of my sight, were purplish towers with white tops floating in a grey mist. Over the next few days, we drew closer and I could see that deep green forests rose out of the lowlands ahead and covered the lower mountain slopes. Higher up, the trees gave way to bare gray, and the mountain tops, in the sky among the clouds, were sharp and white. I tried to imagine how many ziggurats would need to be stacked one on top of the other to equal these heights; it must be at least a hundred.

Toward sundown the next day, we reached the edge of the forest.[28.4] "This is as far as we go," announced Kepdu. That night, we camped in the shadows of the first rank of great trees. The next morning, I went with Kepdu, the head workman, and two guards into the forest to scout a location to cut logs. The land rose quickly as the forest closed in rapidly around us. Trees! Such trees! Little wonder the gods had sent a monster to guard them.

The workmen began cutting down trees on the slope, about three hundred cubits above our camp. Although cedar is a soft wood, the bronze axes dulled quickly and the workmen needed to pause and rub their cutting edges with flat stones. The cedars were felled and the regularly protruding branches were stripped from the straight trunks. Workers cleared the brush and from a ravine that ran down the slope and lined it with evergreen cedar bows. With the tips of the branches facing downhill, the needles lay flat, producing a slippery surface. This created a sluice to slide logs down to the camp. However, men and oxen still needed to pry with stout poles and pull with fiber ropes to maneuver the massive tree trunks. It was dangerous work. I saw one man get his leg crushed between two logs, and an ox that slipped into the sluice and was killed as logs slid down on top of it. The injured man was carried back to the camp. He seemed to have lost consciousness, but when Kepdu tried to straighten his leg and push the protruding bone back beneath the skin, his eyes opened wide, and he screamed and thrashed wildly. Over the next days, he became hot and sweaty with fever. He mumbled incoherently, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he died on the sixth day after the accident.

Kepdu assigned two workmen to assist me. I instructed them on how to take length and diameter measurements using their forearms. I dug clay from the bed of a little stream flowing down off the mountain, fashioned a stylus from a twig and took records of the number and dimensions of the logs. The diameter at the base ranged from two to five cubits and the length ranged from thirty to seventy cubits.

One morning, I arose before the others and walked up the mountain. I passed the cleared area of cut trees and plunged into the deepening forest beyond. The trees became progressively larger as the land continued its steep ascent. Eventually, I found myself standing in the middle of a circle of huge evergreens. What was visible of the massive trunks, obscured by low hanging branches, ground mist, and the low light of early morning, suggested strength and permanence. Each trunk's base could have completely filled the round center of my boyhood village back in the marshes. Golden beams of morning light angled softly down through the branches and the haze, while the trees shot straight up toward the heavens. I had followed the progress of an apricot tree growing in the courtyard back at the Temple School. For the past seven years, I had watched it getting a little bigger and a little bigger, year after year. As I stared upward, I thought about how it would take lifetimes beyond counting for trees to grow so massive. My spine tingled and my mind swam with thoughts of the vast ages of the world that must have come before. The great power of the trees, the mists and the aromatic smells of the cedar's natural incense produced a feeling of the divine rivaling that night out in the fields under the Moon. I remained there for a long time.

The Moon was full that night. Loud snoring reverberated across our camp; the workmen were sound asleep after a hard day of cutting logs. I got up from my bedroll and softly threaded my way among them, creeping my way into the forest. I carefully picked my way uphill over rocks and cut stumps by the little bit of moonlight that found its way through the dense branches overhead. The night air was heavy and quiet. The sounds of my footsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the absence of other noise. But then I heard something. I stopped to listen, but all I could hear was my own heavy breathing. I started moving, but there it was again, ever so faintly. Other footfalls. When I stopped again, I heard nothing. "Must be an echo," I thought as I pressed on.

Eventually I reached the circle of giant trees. I strode into the middle, into a bright beam of silvery light penetrating from the glowing Moon disk straight to the ground. I turned my face upward and soaked in the moonlight. My mind swirled with all the praises of the Moon disk that I had heard or uttered during my time as a Follower.

My trance was broken. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw movement in the deep shadows at the edge of the circle. I turned and looked, but there was nothing. The moment was gone and I started to feel uneasy about being in the dark forest by myself. I turned and headed back toward camp.

Our logging party worked in the forest for forty days cutting trees, and my own records indicated that we had almost one hundred logs. In preparation for the long journey back to our home in the land of the two rivers, gangs of up to twenty men were heaving the logs up onto the carts. Even the shorter logs hung well over both the front and the backs of the carts. The longest logs needed to be cut in half.

As this work proceeded, I had some free time. Early in the morning, I set out into the forest accompanied by two of the guards, walking directly uphill. We paused briefly as I once again paid my respects at the grove of giants, but the feeling was not quite the same with the others there. Then we continued on in the direction of steepest ascent. We came to a clearing and, looking up, noticed that the sun was high in the sky, about midmorning. As we climbed higher, the trees thinned and became smaller. We crossed large scabs of exposed rock and had to scramble over outcroppings. The sun was now directly overhead. Turning around, I saw that the forest looked like a green carpet tumbling before us to the plain far below. We continued to climb, and eventually, there were no more trees, only bushes and brambles. Then we were climbing over bare rock and gravel. We could see the boundary of whiteness ahead of us. "What could it be?" I had been wondering this since I first saw the white mountaintops from the approaching carts.

I plunged my hands into the white stuff, but then pulled them back quickly. It was wet and bitingly cold. I picked up a small piece and squeezed it between my hands. It became cold water and ran down my forearms. I smiled, shook my head, and then did it again. This time, I cautiously tasted the cold water on my hands. Yes, it was just water. I turned around and saw other white mountaintops as far as I could see. "What wonders there are in the world! I never would have imagined had I not seen them!" I exclaimed out loud, but more to myself than to my companions.

I had been sweating as I climbed the mountain, but now I realized that I was shivering. Although the early afternoon sun was shining brightly, it did not bring the warmth that I was accustomed to in the lowlands of Sumer. A chill breeze was blowing. We lingered just a little longer high on the mountain. I ate some dates and flat bread from a leather pouch on my waist. Before beginning our descent, I put a lump of the cold white stuff into the empty pouch.

We made it back to our camp just as the light of day was beginning to fade. I wanted to show Kepdu and the others what I had found on the white mountaintop, but it had turned to water in my pouch. It was very strange stuff, this mountaintop whiteness.

The next morning, our train of heavily laden carts, each now pulled by a team of four oxen, lumbered slowly toward the caravan road and our distant homeland. Men on foot led each team while the rest of us walked along on either side of the wagons. After many days of agonizingly slow progress, we finally reached Carchemish and the river. There, we lashed our logs together with rope to make three big rafts. Abandoning our carts, we headed off down the Euphrates.

Days later, before we reached the fork in the river where the men from Harran would depart for home, Kepdu came and sat beside me on the deck. He made the sign of the disk with his thumb and forefinger.

"Young man, I know what this means. The temple leadership is aware of this movement, the Followers, you call it."

My blood ran like ice water in my veins.

"I have been watching you on this expedition. You are an intelligent, diligent, and well-meaning young man. My advice to you is to not become mixed up in this business."

I nodded as Kepdu continued.

"It would be best for you to remain here in Harran."

My heart sank. Was I to be banished to a provincial backwater for being a Follower?

Then Kepdu smiled warmly. "It would be a good thing for the Temple back in Ur to have a regular supply of this high quality cedar wood. Think of the building we could do. What we do not use ourselves at the Temple can be sold at a good price," he told me. "Yehhi, you will remain upriver at the Temple in Harran and see to it that a load of cedar is sent downriver to Ur every year before the start of the rainy season."

When we came to the fork in the river, I had no choice but to head back up toward Harran with one of the log rafts and most of the men and animals. Kepdu and the original party from Ur continued floating downriver with two rafts of lumber, but without me.

Although I was welcomed at the Nanna Temple in Harran, the way in which Kepdu had penetrated and exposed my secret as a Follower put a deep chill into my heart. I continued to believe in the ideals of the movement, but fear prevented me from trying to make contact with any Followers that might exist at the Harran Temple.

The quality of the training I had received in Ur stood me in strong stead among the temple scribes and officials in provincial Harran. Although this resulted in some jealousy among other young men of my own age, I became a favorite of the elders. It took more time and a persistent effort to always be friendly and modest, even in the face of rudeness and hostility, but I was eventually able to count most members of the temple community as friends. Every year, I organized a logging expedition to the distant mountains in early summer after the river levels had dropped from their early spring highs. Every year, before the winter rains arrived, two or three rafts of cedar logs arrived in Ur, but I never accompanied them.

I put down roots in Harran. I fell in love with the favorite daughter of the head scribe of the Temple, and she returned my affection. However, it was known that I was of humble family origin, so I was close to despair. I was sure that I would not receive the necessary blessing from her father. But, it turned out that he was a man who valued ability over blood, and the fact that I had been educated at the Ekisnugal helped win him over. The wealth I controlled as a result of my lumber trading also seemed to compensate for my low birth, and so we were wed.

My wife and I had children—a son, a daughter and another son—and we lived in a beehive-shaped house like every other family in the town. This dwelling had a stone foundation with the upper dome constructed of fire hardened mud brick. I found that I liked this type of house. It was cooler than the two and three story town houses back in Ur in the stifling summers, and it was warm and cozy in the winter. Warmth in the winter mattered more in Harran than down in Ur. My old father-in-law also sometimes said things about how the beehive houses were best when the gods' wrath caused the earth to move. As far as I knew, the earth had always been, and always would be, where it always was; right under our feet. Where would it move to?

Yes, I had acquired many skills during my temple education, but it was the trading skills I had absorbed as a little boy traveling with my father that helped me most. The cedar shipments arrived in Ur every year and the mother Temple was very pleased. But, I made sure that my new home temple in Harran was also well compensated. I oversaw the sale of excess wood on the local market in Harran, and also arranged for profitable shipments to other cities downriver. Soon, I was no longer personally traveling to the mountains, but was sending my own lieutenants and scribes to oversee the job site. Due to the family connections I acquired through marriage and to the allure of the timber wealth I brought to the temple community, I rose quickly in the temple hierarchy. By the age of thirty, I was the second highest-ranking administrator in the Harran Temple. I had become settled in Harran and expected to live out the rest of my days there.

## TWENTY-NINE

During my years at the Harran Temple, the Dual Nature of the Divinity came under increasing attack from both sides, the Disk Followers and the Idol Worshipers. The temple hierarchy, in which I was now firmly entrenched, preferred to keep the status quo, which was embodied in unquestioning acceptance of the Dual Nature. But, our community in Harran was absorbed by these quarrels. Then, I received word in a letter from Kepdu that the infighting at the Ekisnugal back in Ur was far more brutal. Certainly, there were proscribed rituals that necessitated a focus on one of the two forms of the god at a given time, for instance the ritual of the first sighting of the new Moon or the anointing of the idol with oils. In the past, the priestesses and temple officials had willingly participated in the full range of these activities regardless of their personal leanings. But, the factions had recently become more polarized. Priestess devotees of the Moon disk refused to bow before the idol, and the idol worshipers insisted that they must. The Disk Followers then claimed that the idol was profane and should be melted down. As the conflict intensified, the factions within the ranks of the priestesses and scribes acquired allies among the leading noble families of Ur.

Among all the temple officials in both Ur and Harran, I had a unique perspective, having actually seen the grotesque little idol of Nanna and his secret rites with my own eyes, and also being a former Disk Follower. The bright and beautiful Moon disk was still much more to my taste.

One hot summer evening, my father-in-law and I were sitting in front of his home drinking beer and discussing temple politics.

"What are your thoughts on the Dual Nature of the Divinity?" he asked me.

"Well, I have concerns for the welfare of the temple organization, but I haven't given it much thought personally," I lied.

"Ah, yes. I understand. The Dual Nature is a perfectly reasonable concept and I wish we could all just believe it and let well enough alone."

"But we cannot," I said, "because the radicals on both sides will continue to push until—"

"Yes, until action is taken. Yehhi, we are the leaders. We must decide what action and when. That brings us back to my question, but let me rephrase it. We cannot purge both factions since then there will be precious few left to staff and run the Temple. Perhaps none."

I nodded.

"So, of the two factions, the Disk followers or the Idol Worshipers, which one should we support and which one do we exterminate? We are the leaders, Yehhi, so our support will be decisive. I am asking you, which side will win the Harran Temple?"

"A cult that just gazes blissfully at the Moon would have no need for sacrifices," I said. "It would have no need for the animals, oil and grain. It would not need scribes, administrators, or lumber. It would not even need a temple. They could all just go out, stand in a field and look up."

My father-in-law grunted his agreement.

There was a small cadre of younger priestesses, priests and scribes in Harran that were suspected of having Disk Follower leanings, but I dispersed and neutralized them. Two priestesses _voluntarily_ took vows of silence in order to "better focus their minds on the veneration of Nanna." Of course, the cutting out of their tongues ensured that their vows would not be broken. A young scribe, who had been observed speaking to these two priestesses, was assigned to my old job of log-counter at the work site in the far-off mountains. _Tragically_ , he was crushed to death by a runaway log some months later. It had to be done. I had had many dear friends in the Disk Follower movement, but that was long ago and far away. I was not personally close to any of these Harran Followers.

However, the leading Followers down in Ur were my old compatriots. I watched from a distance with trepidation and sadness as the battle for the future of our sect reached a crescendo. But, I knew what the outcome had to be. One of the leading proponents of idol-melting inexplicably fell to her death from the parapet of the Ziggurat while performing the nightly Moon sighting ritual. After that, events moved rapidly against the Disk Followers in Ur. The chief priestess conspired with Kepdu, now head temple administrator, to bring soldiers supplied by allies within the court of the king into the Temple complex through a secret side entrance. At spear point and beaten with staves, a bolus of thirty or so would-be idol-melters, scribes, priestesses and priests alike, some still in their night clothes, were expelled from the Temple out into the narrow streets of the city. As they became divided from one another, my old friends, Shulpae among them, stumbled through unfamiliar back alleyways where they were set upon by brick-throwing citizens, and the vicious dogs that roamed the streets at night. I don't know whether any survived, but I never heard tell of any of them again.

This did not complete the purge of the Ekisnugal, however. There were still many others who had not overtly advocated destruction of the idol, but were suspected of Disk Follower sympathies. There were also those whose pro-idol views had been expressed with what seemed to be a lack of the proper and true conviction.[29.1] While not expelled, individuals in these two groups could not be trusted in positions of responsibility. With the ranks of scribes and officials depleted, Kepdu found that the administration of the Temple was seriously shorthanded. There was a particular need for mid-career individuals, still relatively young and energetic, but with adequate experience behind them.

That is how I came to be called back from Harran to the mother Temple in Ur. Apparently, word of my decisive action to squelch the disk heresy in Harran reached Kepdu's ears. He probably was pleased by the thought that his long ago advice on the deck of our log-raft had taken hold and turned me into a proper, tough-minded administrator, capable of making hard decisions for the benefit of the organization.

## THIRTY

I was reluctant to leave Harran, the only home my wife and children had ever known. But, I could not refuse the call. In Harran I was vice administrator of a temple of twenty priestesses and thirty five scribes, as well as workshops and farm lands employing an additional three hundred men and women. In Ur, I would be Kepdu's number two man, administering a temple enterprise fivefold that size.[30.1]

The first sweltering summer in Ur, my family suffered in our new three-story, mud brick town house. Even sleeping on the roof provided inadequate relief. My wife and children pleaded with me to take them back to Harran where it was a little cooler, and where our beehive house better protected us from the heat. Of course, they could not return to Harran, but I had an idea. I sent word upriver, and five months later when the annual shipment of cedar logs arrived, a builder accompanied it from Harran as well as a barge piled with blocks of cut stone. The builder even brought his own fire-hardened brick from Harran since he had never been downriver before and was unsure what supplies he would find. This man oversaw the construction of a new home for my family, in the form of a cluster of three Harran-style beehive domes.

Years later, upon the death of Kepdu, I became chief temple administrator. I took a second and third wife and had twelve more children. My family compound was expanded to include additional buildings attached to and surrounding the three original beehive-domed rooms. These new wings of the house were constructed in the more common style used in Ur. My later wives and children, being from Ur, did not mind.

Although service to the Temple of Nanna was the focus of my career, Nanna was a big and impersonal god; a god that looked after matters of state such as the harvest, the rains, peace and war. Every individual needs their personal gods to guide and protect them in the smaller matters of everyday life. I had brought my reverence for my family god, Ulak, with me when I first came to Ur. Of course, my father's Ulak had remained with him in the marshes or traveling through the desert on trading expeditions. But, when I was a young student, I used some clay from writing class to form a new idol of Ulak, which I kept by my sleeping mat. In Harran, I had an artisan cover this clay figure of Ulak with silver, malachite, and lapis lazuli. Ulak was the god of a family of travelers and traders, and I always drew strength and inspiration from him. Ulak, of course, was responsible for the success of the cedar log trade, which had propelled me up the temple hierarchy. In one of the three original beehive-domed rooms of our family compound, a little wall niche served as an altar for Ulak and some other gods that had come into my life through marriage. There were family gods and statuettes of revered ancestors from the clans of each of my wives. When word reached Ur of the death of my father-in-law, the chief scribe of the Harran Temple, a figurine was fashioned of him and placed in the niche among the others.

The ascension of my father-in-law to the ranks of the ancestors got me thinking about my own family back in the marshes. Being so preoccupied with my life and career, I had not really thought about them much for years. Perhaps my father was an ancestor now as well. I considered putting a figure of my father on the family altar. But then again, perhaps my father was still alive. It would certainly jinx him if I were to act as if he were already dead. I secretly longed to go back and visit my childhood village in the marshes. My brother, Dohash, would be a mature man with a family of his own, perhaps with many sons traveling the deserts and waterways, trafficking in the rarest of goods.

One afternoon, in the season in which my father always used to make his trips to the city, I asked only my personal secretary and my head bodyguard to accompany me on a walk outside the Temple complex. They looked at me strangely because my trips outside were normally planned well in advance and included a large entourage.

"Sir, it is my duty to ensure your safety," said my guard. "You must tell me where we are going."

"We are going to the market," I replied.

"Why?" my secretary protested. "It is beneath your station to go to the foul and dusty market. Others can be sent to do your bidding. It is a chaotic place with crowds of untrustworthy strangers from the hinterlands. You might be robbed, attacked, or just run over by a cart of bricks. At the very least, you will surely soil your august feet by stepping in sheep's poop. It's not worth it."

"I myself started out as one of those untrustworthy strangers from the hinterlands. I am going to the market today, with or without the two of you."

They both nodded obediently, and fell in behind me as I strode off across the vast courtyard in front of the Ziggurat. As I walked through the narrow, canyon-like streets, I felt as if I was retracing the journey that had brought me from the market to the Temple a lifetime ago. I was no longer familiar with the layout of the market. Where to find the frankincense traders? I walked back and forth amid piles of brick and pens of sheep. I did step in poop. Finally, I found it; a row of traders squatting in the dirt behind their little wooden chests. There was a middle-aged man sitting on a reed boat with three boys beside him. Could this be Dohash and his sons? I paused and watched them from a distance. There was some resemblance, but after all these years I could not be sure. Then I approached them.

"Sir, you are clearly a man of high station," said the father. "One such as you certainly knows the difference between the finest grade incense, as I have here, and the lower quality stuff." He waved his hand indicating the other peddlers all around. But, he stopped in mid-gesture. Without saying another word, he turned and picked up a chest and the reed boat. The boys picked up the other chests and all four of them vanished into the crowd.

I was stunned and bitterly disappointed.

"There you are, your eminence! We have been searching!" I heard the shouts and turned around. A large troop of guards led by the head of temple security was barreling through the market, knocking over stalls and sending merchants scurrying.

After that, I never tried to go to the market again. Still, I had daydreams about my family, just as when I was a student. At least now I did not need to worry about being hit across the head for them. While sitting through the long New Year's creation ritual, the _Enuma Elish_ , I played a mental game trying to remember all the twists and turns of the marshes. It was no use; I would never be able to find my village again. Even if I could, it was impossible for me to go there.

There was no jealousy among the gods and ancestors, coexisting happily on the shelf in our beehive room. We paid them all a little bit of attention from time to time, with regular offerings of oil, grain, and beer. Our family altar was inclusive; it never hurt to revere an additional god or ancestor. Who knows? The new deity might be able to provide some additional protection, luck, or prosperity.[30.2]

As the years went by, I got some gold teeth of my own, as my natural ones rotted and fell out. I was the chief scribe of the Temple, father of eight sons—six of whom had lived to adulthood—patriarch of a new noble family of Ur. Then, in my sixty-first year, I took to my bed, gravely ill. I asked to lie in the beehive room with my ancestors and gods nearby, and I was attended to by family and servants. Temple officials and even high-ranking priestesses visited me individually, or in small groups.

I was almost too weak, but this was important. I said to my eldest son, "You must place a figure of my own father . . . his name was Udish-ulak."[30.3] I raised my head a little and used my eyes to indicate the ancestors' niche. "Revere him. He must have passed on by now, since I myself lie dying of old age. I have not seen him in fifty years. . . but soon we will be together again."

The next day with my wives, children, and grandchildren around me, I said "I only regret that I never did set eyes upon the sea."

## THIRTY-ONE

"What a strange feeling." I was floating high up under the beehive-domed ceiling. Looking down, I wondered at the dimly lit sight of my extended family crowded into the room and spilling out the doors. The focal point of their attention was the prone form of an old, white haired man with his head propped up on a cushion, his body covered from the waist down with a fine linen sheet.

I remained suspended, watching. Eventually, the people drifted away. The man's body was there, and others, mostly women, drifted in and out. They seemed to be doing things to the body such as bathing and dressing it. Four of my sons came in and transferred the body onto a bier, which they lifted up and carried out.

Later, a noisy crew of men barged in and pried up some of the cut stones of the floor, just in front of the niche that contained the statues of the ancestors and family gods. With bronze picks and shovels they dug a hole in the earth beneath the floor, a rectangular pit about three cubits deep. The dirt was carted out the door in baskets. The workmen lined the bottom and sides of the pit with sunbaked brick, up to the height of about one cubit. Then they left. Time passed. By the light of a flickering oil lamp, I watched the dark maw of the pit, yawning in the floor.

Two of my sons and three of my grandsons entered the room, carrying a large, intricately carved and brightly painted wooden box on their shoulders. They were followed by my other sons, grandsons, and great grandsons. The box was set down on the floor beside the pit and the lid was removed to reveal the body of the old man, facing upward, eyes shut, hands folded upon his breast.

"No! Wait! That's mine!" I shouted, as my eldest son placed the staff of office of the head scribe in the dead man's hands. I was right above their heads, yelling at them, but no one heard me.

My second son placed a fresh clay tablet and a writing stylus in the box at the dead man's side. Then, my third son placed a small bronze dagger, a symbol of manhood, in the box. Finally, my fourth son placed a golden bowl in the box, small enough to fit in the palm of the hand for eating and drinking. After that, my remaining sons came in turn and kissed the dead man's forehead, followed by my grandsons and great grandsons. Then, my two eldest sons placed the lid back on the box, and with the help of two of their brothers, lowered the box into the pit. My sons all stood around the pit and each threw a small handful of barley onto the box. Then, my grandsons and great grandsons came to do the same. When they had finished, all of the menfolk filed out.

Next, the womenfolk came in. I recognized my wives, my daughters, my granddaughters, and my great granddaughters. I never could remember the names of all my great granddaughters. More often than not, when I called to one of them, I used the wrong name. They never seemed to mind. They always just giggled at their grampy. I called out to them now, but no one looked up. My wives and daughters fell on their faces around the edge of the pit and began to cry, wail, and tear at their breasts. This went on for a long while. Eventually, however, my first wife, with the help of our daughter, hobbled back to her feet and straightened out her clothes. With this, the others abruptly fell silent as well. Then, the womenfolk filed out.

Shortly thereafter, the noisy workmen were back, grunting and heaving to drag in a rectangular slab of cut stone. There was a fist-sized circular hole already cut through the slab along its centerline about a third of the way from the top. They heaved the stone into the pit, and covered the grave. The open hole in the slab was positioned directly over the head of the dead man in the painted box beneath.

A hard-fired earthenware pipe was handed to a man standing in the pit, and he fitted its end into the hole in the slab. He remained there, holding the pipe erect, while the others shuttled in and out of the door carrying baskets of earth, which they dumped on top of the slab. The pit was filled up to the level of the floor. The earth was further tamped down with the ends of heavy wooden posts, the workmen taking care not to pound too close to the end of the clay pipe which came up flush with the top of the dirt. Finally, the cut stones of the floor were put back in their original positions. The workmen left and the inside of the beehive room looked just as it had always looked.

I remained suspended up near the ceiling, watching. Sometimes an oil lamp provided a dim light; sometimes it was dark and I could not see anything. People came and went. After some time, I hardly paid attention. My thoughts slowed to a trickle and in the absence of thoughts there was nothing. Occasionally, someone knelt by the family altar and said a quick prayer.

But then, the whole family, menfolk and womenfolk, young and old alike, gathered again in and around the beehive-domed room. My eldest son, now deep in middle age, held aloft a golden statue about half a cubit tall with eyes of black onyx, hair of silver, and a deep blue cloak of lapis lazuli.

"Our beloved father, head scribe of the Temple of the Moon, founding patriarch of our family in the city of Ur, is now among the revered ancestors."

I was jolted out of my stupor. "What is this nonsense?!" I said. "I am your father! I am father to all of you, and I am the head scribe of the Temple." I shouted at them, "Here I am! You fools! Look up! I have not left! I am not with the ancestors. If I was with the ancestors I would see my own father now, whom I have not seen since I was a boy. I do not see my father! I still see all of you!"

But, no one could hear me.

"Let us honor our father with our thoughts and our prayers. May he protect us and bring many more strong sons and many riches to our clan. I am placing him here on the altar beside Ulak, his special protector and the god of his father." My son then lifted aloft another slightly smaller and less ornate statue. "This is the father of our father, Udish-ulak, a revered ancestor. He was not known to us, but he was dear to our father. It was our father's departing wish that his father be honored with our ancestors." The figure of my father was placed on the shelf. "So, our dear father will go into the next world in the company of his god and his father."

I was confused. Why were they putting my statue on the shelf? How could I be entering the afterlife with Ulak and my father? I did not see Ulak. I did not see my father. All I saw were little statues on the shelf. I was most definitely still here in this world and not in the next.

One by one, each family member, even the little children, came forward and bowed their heads before the altar. Many simply recited rote prayers. Others spoke to me in deeply personal and heartfelt terms. Among my many grandsons, Ditanu had distinguished himself as the most unruly and the least studious. Yet, Ditanu spoke directly to me as he had never been able to before, and I could see the sincerity of his youthful dreams and of his love for his family. By contrast, my grandson, Kudiya, was a universal favorite of parents and teachers. He was a top student and was always ready with just the right words in any situation. I had counted myself fortunate that as the eldest son of my own eldest son, Kudiya would one day lead the clan. However, when Kudiya knelt before the altar, I could see that his mind was blank. Kudiya just stared at the wall in the back of the niche for a minute, and then moved aside for the next person.

I felt as if something had been stolen from me. "Kudiya is a fraud! He is a bad boy and not to be trusted!" I shouted.

No one heard me.

"Ditanu is true of heart! He is favored by his grandfather!"

Still, no one heard me.

My eldest son then bent down and wedged a stick between the paving stones, prying one of them up. He held an earthenware jug aloft. "I pour a libation of the finest oil so that our father may eat." He knelt and carefully drained the contents of the jug into the end of the pipe in the floor. The viscous liquid glugged and gurgled as it ran down. He stood up, took another jug, and held it aloft. "I pour a libation so that our father may drink." My eldest son dumped a substantial serving of beer down the pipe, which was followed by a noise not unlike belching. Everyone remained silent and serious, except for Ditanu. He was overcome by his love of a good, rude noise, and let out a guffaw, for which his father instantly backhanded him.

The gathering then dispersed and the beehive-domed room was once again dim and quiet. Over subsequent days, I watched people come in and out. Most were going about their ordinary business. Some paused and gave a brief nod to the ancestors. A few said a prayer. On the altar, there were offering bowls of oil and barley gathering dust and dead flies. The offerings were occasionally cleaned and refilled. I could feel my own existence winding down, like slowly falling asleep. When people paid attention to the ancestors and to the memory of Yehhi in particular, I would drift back toward wakefulness. Libations of oil and beer were occasionally poured for me. But once the prayer was over, I would again begin to drift away toward nothingness.

Time must have been passing, but I could only vaguely comprehend it. I took comfort when Ditanu came and talked to me. After a while, Ditanu came only rarely, and then not at all. Kudiya became prominent in the family, but he never talked to me. Then, one day, a statue of Kudiya was added to the shelf of revered ancestors.

I no longer knew any of the people who came to visit me. The last old woman, who had been a small child in my old age, one of the nameless great granddaughters, died. After that, there was no longer any living memory of me. The floor in front of the altar began to sink a little bit, so people took up the paving stones and threw down more earth. As they pounded to compact this fill, they paid no notice to the broken shards of terra cotta mixed in with the dirt. The stones were replaced and the floor was level again.

As the founding ancestor of the clan, I was still venerated by people that I did not know. This sustained me. Sometimes family members would gather under the beehive dome to hear stories and legends recited by toothless elders. They were mostly the same old, ageless tales that I myself had grown up on, so I barely listened. Then, one evening I was jostled from my stupor by the mention of my own name in the middle of the _Epic of Gilgamesh_.

"Our revered ancestor, Yehhi, founder of our clan, sharpened his ax and helped Lord Gilgamesh and Enkidu cut the great cedar trees on Cedar Mountain . . ."

"What nonsense is this?" I thought. "I certainly did cut cedar trees, but I never did see Gilgamesh or Enkidu, or Humbaba for that matter." But now I felt energized and revived, more awake and aware than I had been in a long time. I thought about standing in the middle of a circle of ancient cedars on a morning long ago in my youth. "Yes! I was among the giants! The heroes! Gods!"

Over time, I found my way into other stories as well. There was the age-old tale of how people had tried to build a ziggurat too high, right up to challenge the heavens. Like the story of Gilgamesh, this legend was ancient even in my youth, but now I found that I was a key player in the tale being told under the beehive dome.

"Yehhi the wise, Yehhi who pleased the gods, Yehhi who never offended the gods, Yehhi counseled that the tower must be modest so as not to encroach on the domain of heaven." Of course, my sage warning was not heeded, the tower collapsed, and the people were dispersed.

As a temple administrator, I had overseen numerous construction projections, a few quite large. My builders had followed the correct ratios and formulas, and everything had been made solid and strong. "Yes, I knew how to build a tower, strong and stable, not too tall. I told them how to do it."

I found that I enjoyed having a role in these legends. From the inside of the beehive dome, I looked down with favor on the storyteller and the listeners when my name was mentioned. When I was left out, I began to look down with displeasure.

Twenty generations passed, father to son. My clan, the clan of Yehhi, became numerous with different branches and sub-branches, and they occupied a whole neighborhood in the city of Ur. Some remained in the service of the Temple. Some became military men. Some grew rich in business. But, the head of the clan always resided in my original compound, at the center of which were the three beehive-domed rooms, whose construction was unique in all of Ur.

And, that is the way it was until the time when Terah was the chief of the clan, and he had three sons: Haran, Nahor, and Abram.

# ABRAHAM

## THIRTY-TWO

Ishmael's mother, Hagar, and his younger sister who was now about twelve years old, still lived in the tiny hamlet Ishmael had brought Abram to, but his father had died. After her husband's death, Hagar and her daughter had been taken in by her dead husband's brother who lived next door. Over the years, one wall of Ishmael's abandoned childhood home had fallen over and the roof had collapsed. The villagers were now using it as a pen for their goats.

Abram's people pitched their tents a short distance away from the permanent houses of the village, their herds sharing the surrounding grassy plains with the villagers' animals. Abram's people could draw water from the village well, which was beside the ruins of Hagar's old house. They were about equal in number to all the inhabitants of the village and Abram's herds, even after losing half to Abimelech, were about equal in size to the combined herds of all the villagers. The hamlet had doubled in size overnight. In contrast to the cold or even hostile reception they had received at other settlements, Abram's people were welcomed here. They were returning with a son, a brother, a nephew, and a cousin, who had long been given up for dead and had been missed.

Listening to conversations between Ishmael and his kin, Abram gathered that the villagers had periodically been harassed by Abimelech. The king of Gerar extracted annual tribute from them with threats of violence. Abram learned that Ishmael's father had been killed in a confrontation with the men of Gerar. The villagers apparently hoped the newcomers would boost their strength so that they would have a stronger hand in future encounters. Since the newcomers came with their own food and shelter, there was not much downside except, perhaps, the overgrazing of the fragile land. But, this was the wet season and grass was in abundance.

Abram's heart was consumed with a longing for Sarai, and he filled his days with wild fantasies of charging into Gerar to rescue her. He worked out the plans in his head while watching the sheep. One day, Ishmael found Abram in the fields with the herds. "Abram, Sir, please come and help me rebuild our house."

The two of them went together to the ruins of Ishmael's childhood home. They shooed the goats out, cleared the brambles and began to stack the fallen stones to rebuild the wall. They salvaged the collapsed, wooden roof beams, which had been incorporated into the fence for the goat pen. The beams were raised and covered with thatch, twisted into narrow bundles. These, in turn, were covered with a layer of earth on the roof. It took five days, but when they were finished, both Abram and Ishmael walked proudly around and around the small square building, admiring their work.[32.1] Abram had no training as a mason, but he had tried his best to solve the puzzle of fitting the stones together according to their various irregular shapes. In the end, he took satisfaction in the rough beauty of the wall he had built, and in its strength.

This rebuilding project had consumed Abram, body and mind, and it had taken his thoughts off of his problems and the loss of Sarai. Abram found that he felt better. While his people remained in their tents, Abram moved into the rebuilt house with Ishmael and his mother. Hagar was still an attractive woman, about thirty years old, and thus a few years Abram's senior. She must have only been about thirteen when she gave birth to Ishmael. A son at thirteen and another child as well—Hagar's proven fertility was not lost on Abram. 

## THIRTY-THREE

And then the time came for Baal's annual imprisonment in the underworld. The rains dried up and Mot was abroad in the land. They had planned to be back in the hill country in the valley near Bethel and Ai by this time, where they had built the altar to Yehhi. The grasses there would be hearty and plentiful after the rains. But, Abram lingered in this nameless hamlet on the edge of the desert. He lingered because he could not leave Sarai. He lingered because he hoped to produce a son with Hagar. He lingered because after two years of wandering in the wilderness, he enjoyed the secure feeling of solid walls and a roof over his head.

Unlike Abram who consoled himself, at least in part, in the embrace of another wife, Salina could not replace her best friend. She resented the way Abram had so rapidly moved on, and she despised Hagar. Alone in their tent at night, she shared her displeasure with Lot.

One day when Ishmael and Isaac were grazing the sheep in the hills to the east of the village, they heard a great rumbling and the earth shook beneath their feet. Huge clouds of dust billowed up in front of them on the other side of a ridge. They scrambled up to the top and, crouching low on their bellies, peered down onto a broad plain in the next valley over from their village. What they saw left them paralyzed with fear and wonder. As far as the eye could see, the whole valley was filled with marching men, spear tips, shields and helmets glinting amid the haze. Rank upon rank of horse-drawn war chariots plodded along at a walk so as to not outpace the foot soldiers. The feet and hooves of this vast army shook the earth and kicked up choking dust. At their head marched standard bearers with banners flying, and one man held aloft a tall pole, at the top of which was a bronze brazier belching a thick column of dark smoke into the sky. This was a signal for the army to follow, to keep its vast hordes on course. But, those farther back would certainly be hard pressed to distinguish the smoke from the dust that filled the air. Right behind the standards was a wooden boat, an ark cruising across the dry land on the shoulders of many men.

"Egyptians!" gasped Ishmael.

"Going to attack Gerar?" whispered Isaac.

"No, I don't think so. So many, to attack little Gerar? I don't think so. Did you not see the Egyptian captain with Abimelech? Did you not see how the so-called-king of Gerar deferred to the man with the gold ring? No, Gerar is already under the thumb of Egypt. This army may stop to rest and resupply at Gerar, but no attacking will be necessary. Such a host must have much bigger purposes."[33.1]

The boys remained crouched on the ridge, watching the passing army until they realized that they, themselves, were being watched as well. Isaac saw him first, a little way down the ridge. An old man with long, scraggly grey hair was turning his head back and forth, alternately observing the boys and the Egyptians far below. Isaac nervously poked Ishmael and pointed. Ishmael turned just in time to see the old man slip behind a boulder and disappear.

"Oh, him," said Ishmael nonchalantly. "That's the wild man of the hills."

"What are you saying? There are wild men living up here and you didn't even say anything?" Isaac was visibly agitated.

"Not wild men, wild man. Just one wild man. He's lived here for a long time. When I was a little boy and I didn't listen to my mother, she would scare me. She said that if I did not behave, she would take me out to the hills and give me to the wild man; that the wild man liked to eat bad little boys."

Wild man of the hills,  
Scoundrel and thief,  
Eater of babies,  
Devourer of sheep.

Wild man of the hills,  
Seen by a few,  
Lurks in his cave,  
Stays out of view.

"That's a rhyme all of us village kids grew up with," said Ishmael.

Isaac's eyes were wide with fright, but Ishmael laughed. "Yeah, it scared me also. But then when I got older and started to go out into these hills to graze the flocks with my cousin, I found that my fears were baseless. We saw the wild man from a distance from time to time. Sometimes he waved to us. My cousin told me that he had been to the wild man's cave once and that the wild man was actually kind and very wise. He just did not like to be around people very much. My cousin promised to take me to meet the wild man sometime, but then my cousin was killed and I was carried off. So, my mother was right, there was danger in these hills, but it was not the wild man. I never did get to meet him, but I have never forgotten about him."

The boys climbed back down from the ridge, gathered up their herds, and headed back across the plain toward the village.

"You know, I'm part Egyptian," said Ishmael after a while, with a hint of swagger in his voice.

"Come on . . . You're making up stories; you're from right here in this village."

"Yeah, but my mother is half Egyptian.[33.2] In the village, they say that her father, who died before I was born, was a soldier who came through with an army, a campaign such as that." Ishmael gestured back toward the hills and the other valley in which the Egyptians were marching. "He snuck away from the army, hid in our village and started a new life." 

## THIRTY-FOUR

The grass was becoming scorched and brown, and the herds suffered; the herds of Abram and the herds of the native inhabitants suffered alike. And, the people of the village began to murmur against the newcomers who had increased their numbers beyond the capacity of the arid land.[34.1] Anger burst into the open with the exchange of insults, threats, and the throwing of an occasional stone. The tents outside the village, which had been scattered loosely on the grassy plain, were now collected together for protection. None defended the newcomers and their herds more strenuously than Lot with his words and with his stones. Then, the men of the village began to talk of barring the newcomers from drawing water from their well, the well beside Hagar's house.

Abram, who had been living apart from his tribe and among the people of the village, tried his best to calm nerves on both sides. The brewing clash over water could end up taking lives, perhaps the life of his hotheaded nephew.

Abram sat on the stone stoop of Hagar's house one morning with a sullen look on his face, watching Lot go at it with Hagar's brother-in-law. They were shaking fingers in each other's faces and cursing so vigorously that they were showering one another with mists of spittle.

Then Lot turned to Abram. "Uncle! Uncle! Why so quiet?"

Abram continued to sit and scowl.

"Uncle, a man might start to think that you have abandoned your people, the people who have accompanied you into _your_ exile, the people who have been with you through all of _your_ hardships since you left Sumer. Uncle, have you become a village dweller? Have you taken a village wife? Uncle, do you favor the villagers over your own?"

Abram continued to sit and scowl without replying to Lot, who soon turned back to Hagar's brother-in-law. Hagar came up behind Abram in the doorway. She knelt down behind him, put her hand on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear.

"There is another water source."

"What?"

"There is a spring in a _wadi_ out in the fields, not so far from here."

"If there is, no one in this village seems to know about it," Abram observed in a low voice, as if not to disturb the argument going on nearby.

"I know about it," Hagar continued. "It is not flowing at the surface these days and has not for many years, not since my Ishmael was a baby."

"How is it that you would be poking around some old _wadis_ , finding water sources that no one else knows of?"

"In that year, there was a rainy season such as no other, before or since. It rained day and night, the roof leaked and water flowed into the house at the door. On top of all that, the men of Gerar had raided our flocks again and my husband, Jehu, Ishmael's father—"

She looked around to make sure that Ishmael was not nearby, neither inside the house nor out. Then she continued in her whisper. "I don't really blame him; Gerar had taken most of what he had, and what remained, the rains threatened to wash away. He despaired, and in his despair, he lost his head. He was angry. Violent."

Abram gave her a sidelong glance.

"Alright, alright. I don't blame him now, but at the time . . . perhaps I was critical. Perhaps it was unfair to blame him for not chasing off the men of Gerar . . . and the rain wasn't his fault."

Abram frowned as he recalled his own failure to stand up to the men of Gerar.

"Jehu swallowed strong drink. Drank too much. I was afraid. I took the child in my arms and fled into the driving rain. Outside the village, the low places in the land, the _wadis_ , had become streams that I could not ford. I dared not try with a babe in my arms. My way was blocked, so I followed this stream, upstream, looking for a shallow place to wade across. Wet and frantic, after a long time, I eventually reached the source of the stream, the head of the _wadi_ , a place where water flowed from the ground. I was too exhausted to continue and so I sank down on my knees in the wet grass and mud. I just kept shouting 'Stop! Stop, stop flowing!' Telling the water to stop.[34.2] I don't really know whether I meant the spring, the stream, the rain, or my crazy husband. I just wanted it all to stop."

"So, what happened? You could have died out there, and Ishmael too."

"I looked up into the blinding sheets of rain and there was a man standing over me with long matted hair and a crazy look in his eye. It was the wild man of the hills whom everyone in the village knew about but no one actually saw. There he was, looking right at me. He extended his hand and I shrank back from it. He bent down over me, his dank hair falling in my face, and he put his arm around my waist. I was sure that we were about to be carried off to his cave in the hills where he would probably eat Ishmael and have his foul way with me. But, I was too weak and too hopeless to resist. The wild man got me to my feet and, without saying a word, dragged the baby and me across the flooded fields through the pouring rain. Where we were going, I could not tell. Then, I heard people shouting my name. It was my brother-in-law." Hagar gave a sideways glance to where the same brother-in-law was still spraying saliva and bad breath in Lot's face.

"It was my brother-in-law and the other village men coming out to look for me. I was saved! With new strength, born of hope, I could hold myself up again. I turned and realized that the wild man had disappeared into the furious storm. My kinsmen reached me and took me back to the village. The strange thing was that we were not far from the village when they found me. We were, in fact, a lot closer than where we were when the wild man picked me up. Oh, and Jehu slept off his wine, and the rain did eventually stop." Hagar felt a tensing in Abram at the mention of her former husband. "But, you know," she added, "you are a better father to Ishmael than Jehu ever was." Hagar squeezed Abram's shoulder affectionately.

Abram smiled thinly. In his mind's eye, he couldn't help but visualize what treatment waited in the world below for the man who only managed an adopted son.

"Do you think you could find this spring again?" he asked.

"I think so. Like I said, the rains that year were especially heavy. Things did eventually dry out. That _wadi_ has been dry since and the spring has not flowed at the surface. But, I think I remember the spot."

And so Hagar led a procession out into the parched fields, Abram and Ishmael at her sides. Lot and the other men of Abram's band were just behind. Then followed others, some of the womenfolk of Abram's tribe and some of the people of the village. They came to a depression running across the plain and Hagar followed it for some time.

"No, no. This is not the one," she muttered, shaking her head.

"The harlot has no idea where she's going," Salina hissed under her breath to the other women. A wave of discontented murmurings passed through the crowd. Hagar stepped down into the dry _wadi_ and crossed it. Abram and Ishmael were still at her side, but about half the people did not follow. Salina continued on, however. She wanted to savor every moment of Hagar's failure. The smaller group struck out again across the plain, the burnt grasses crunching underfoot. Soon they reached another depression, which Hagar again followed . . . and followed. More mutterings. At Salina's urging, more people abandoned the quest. A look of doubt and bewilderment seemed to pass briefly across Hagar's face. She paused. Then she nodded, and was off again following the _wadi_ in the opposite direction.[34.3] There were gasps of dismay and disbelief from the people; most walked off toward the village, shaking their heads.

When Hagar finally reached the head of the _wadi_ , only Ishmael, Abram, and Lot and Salina were still with her.

"This is it. This is the place," she proclaimed, pointing at a sunken spot in the ground where the _wadi_ ended.

The three men paused for a moment, exchanging dubious glances. Then, simultaneously, they threw themselves into the hollow. Shoulder to shoulder, they scooped at the loose, sandy soil with their bare hands. As they dug and dug, Abram became more doubtful with each handful of earth. Hagar stood on one side of the growing hole and Salina faced her fiercely from the opposite side. The three men stood in the bottom of the hole they had dug and it was deeper than their waists. They exchanged looks, more dubious than before, but once again threw themselves down into the dirt and continued digging. Each thought to himself, "Only another few handfuls, and then I will quit. Only a few more, and then quit. Just a little, then quit." The light was starting to fade, their strength was failing, and their fingers began to bleed. Sensing victory, Salina pulled off her headscarf and tossed her wavy mane of auburn hair so that the sun setting behind her illuminated it. She smiled and shot daggers at Hagar with her eyes. The three men climbed silently out of the huge, dry hole that they had dug.

No one said anything as they trudged slowly back toward the village, Hagar holding one of Abram's raw hands and one of Ishmael's. She felt sick to her stomach over the false hopes and disappointment she had generated. Salina held Lot's dirt and blood-covered hand. As they reached the tents, Lot and Salina turned away, and Lot muttered, "Good evenin' village folk. Enjoy your roof . . . and your well."

## THIRTY-FIVE

The next morning, just after first light, Abram was awakened by Isaac's clear boyish voice.

"Water! Water! Oh, what a pool of water!"

Sleepy heads poked out of tent flaps and doorways. Clothes were pulled on, sandals were strapped up, and a silent procession headed out across the fields. It was too early in the morning for idle chatter, so they just trudged along with expressionless faces in the gray light before dawn. The boy pranced ahead of them, laughing, pausing, beckoning, and prancing on again.

And then they reached it. The hole that Abram, Ishmael and Lot had dug the day before had filled with water overnight, and some of the sheep were already drinking from it. People rushed forward and shooed the sheep out of the way. They knelt by the pool, put their hands in the water, splashed it on their faces and laughed as the first rays of the sun burst over the hills. Salina stood removed from the joyous scene, her hair meekly tucked under her scarf, and Hagar looked up from where she knelt beside the pool and met Salina's eyes with a gaze like the blow of a hammer.

Abram was jolted by a burst of light and color as the sun scattered off the droplets running down over his face and eyes. The day before, all had seemed so hopeless. No water, no Sarai, no son; a bleak existence. Abram had started to think that Yehhi had stayed in Harran after all, that Yehhi could not help him in this remote place. But now, Abram understood that his despair was misplaced, foolish. Yehhi had sent him water. Yehhi had sent him Hagar. Soon, Yehhi would send him a son. As he knelt there with the sun in his eyes, he knew that the presence of Yehhi did not depend upon his father's idol. The presence of Yehhi was in the hills, the water, and the pure, pure, light!

And Yehhi, for his part, could see Abram, a small figure kneeling by a pool of brownish water, on a plain of brownish grass, by a brownish village, among brown hills, on the edge of a brown desert. Yehhi was angered that Abram had ever doubted him. But Yehhi continued to favor Abram. He had to. There was no one else. Terah, back in Harran, was now dead.[35.1]

## THIRTY-SIX

Abram's people improved the well, deepening it and lining it with stones. A trough was constructed on one side so that the animals could drink without dirtying the source. The animosity between the people of the tents and the people of the houses was washed away in an abundance of water.

Finally, the long dry season gave way, and Baal returned to ride the thunderclouds. The grasses became green again, the herds multiplied, and the people prospered. One afternoon, Abram was sitting on the wall surrounding the new well while he watched Ishmael and Isaac tend the flocks not far off. Then, he saw a dark spot in the distance across the plain, growing larger and larger.

"Ishmael! Isaac!" he called.

And they came over to him. Abram pointed at the approaching blot. "Isaac, go get Lot. Go get the other men."

Isaac ran off toward the tents and village while Abram and Ishmael sat and watched. They waited as the spot developed into a band of thirty men carrying bronze tipped spears.

As they drew nearer, Abram's knees began to tremble. From a distance, he recognized the arrogant strut of Abimelech, marching at the head of the group. The King of Gerar was coming to collect tribute.

But, they stopped still some distance from Abram and Ishmael. Abimelech shuffled off to the side with a strange, halting gait, lifted up his tunic and as he relieved himself, let out a groan of pain that Abram, even from afar, could recognize. While Abram was watching, Lot and the men of the tents and the men of the village arrived and arrayed themselves behind him holding spears and staves.

A moment later, Abimelech was back at the head of his men, and they continued their advance.

But, as they drew near, Abimelech stopped again. As he looked into Abram's eyes, a twitching wave of doubt crossed Abimelech's face. He raised his weaponless hand, pointed at Abram and gasped, "You!"

Then, Abimelech turned on his heel and tromped off back toward Gerar. His men parted to let him pass. They assembled themselves in his wake and set off after their king.

The people looked at Abram, their chieftain, with awe.

Abram, for his part, knew that it was Yehhi that had granted him this victory over Abimelech.

## THIRTY-SEVEN

The next afternoon, Abram was sitting on the wall beside the well, watching Ishmael and Isaac as they tended the flocks not far off. Then, he saw a dark spot in the distance across the plain.

"Ishmael! Isaac!" he called.

And they came over to him.

"Isaac, go get Lot! Go get the other men!"

Isaac ran off while Abram and Ishmael sat and watched. Lot arrived with the other men, and they all began to mutter against Abram as the spot on the horizon developed into a much larger host than they had encountered the day before. How could they have been so foolish to believe that Abram had truly scared off the King of Gerar and his soldiers? No! Abram's presence had enraged and offended the King. He must have gone back to raise a larger force in order to destroy their village and put them all to the sword. Despair swept through the ranks of men who remembered previous rampages of the King of Gerar.

"We should have taken yesterday as an opportunity to flee into the hills!"

Some village men drew up beside Abram, elbowing Ishmael out of the way. They laid their hands on Abram's arms and shoulders and held him. Perhaps Abimelech would go easier on them if they handed over his enemy straight away. Lot stood by watching, but said nothing.

Yehhi could see Abram held there, awaiting his doom. Yehhi could hear Abram's heart cry out in despair, as once again, Abram doubted Yehhi. And Yehhi was angered by Abram's doubt. And Yehhi saw Abram wet himself . . . again. And Yehhi felt greatly diminished. His only follower, His only believer, was a man of such weakness. Yehhi wished to punish Abram, to smite him. But, Yehhi could not.

The men who held Abram then eased their grips. Suddenly, bearing his weight again, Abram's wobbly legs buckled and he began to slump. The men pulled him up and supported him. He could now see that the approaching host included a large herd of sheep and goats, donkeys laden with baggage, unarmed men and even women walking beside.

As this procession drew near, Abimelech came forward with a hooded, smaller figure at his side. They stopped opposite Abram. Abimelech pulled back the hood sharply, exposing Sarai's face.

"What is this you have done to me? Why did you not tell me she was your wife?" Abimelech pleaded in an innocent and aggrieved tone. "Why have your gods brought this pestilence upon my manhood?" A twitch of delicate discomfort passed across his face. "This barrenness upon my household? Perhaps grave consequences with my overlord? Why did you say, 'She is my sister,' so that I took her as my own? It is you that has caused me to offend your gods. Here, take back your wife, sister, whatever. Call off your gods' wrath. Take back your flocks and some more besides, and take also these servants and goods that your wife has become accustomed to while in my household."[37.1]

Abram's heart soared as he set eyes on his beloved Sarai for the first time in almost a year and a half.

I . . . I will accept your amends," stammered Abram, recovering from the surprise. "I will do what I can with Yehhi, our great god, on your behalf,[37.2] but . . . but . . . you must swear, yes swear, to no longer oppress my people. Swear to no longer demand tribute from this village, to no longer steal our women."

"Or our boys!" added Ishmael.

"You simple hebrews wandering in the hills and on the plains, you simple people of a small and nameless village, you do not understand that this is not a free land, and Abimelech is not the master that enslaves it. All these lands, all of us, and all of you are vassal to the mighty Pharaoh of distant Egypt. Yes, I have demanded tribute from you, but what I collect is given to our Egyptian masters, and then some. If they are not satisfied, if we disappoint the Egyptians, then you will see war chariots in your fields. What am I saying? You fools have no idea what I am talking about."

Ishmael smiled a barely visible, knowing smile.

Abram lowered his gaze to between Abimelech's legs, and cocked an eyebrow. "So, do you swear it? Or not?!"

Abimelech heaved a heavy sigh and took a few steps forward. Abram's men made way for him. Abimelech dipped his hand in the water of the well. "By the spirit of this life-giving water, I so swear!" he exclaimed. Abimelech shook off his wet hand, turned and walked away with his armed escort over the fields, leaving all else behind.

That day, the small village on the edge of the desert acquired a name after the _well oath_ , or the _Be'er Shiva'_ as it was called in the local dialect.[37.3]

## THIRTY-EIGHT

Sarai and Abram walked together back toward the village as the sun was sinking in the sky. Abram tried to make conversation, tell her about the happenings of the last year and a half, but she seemed distant and uninterested. As she beheld the mud brick village, surrounded by scruffy tents, her pretty face twisted into a sour expression.

Then, it suddenly lit up into the most joyous smile as Salina came running out across the fields toward them, her wild hair flowing freely behind her. Sarai left Abram's side and ran out to embrace her. Salina took Sarai by the hand and led her into her tent, leaving Abram standing alone outside the village. That night, Lot had to go sleep in the common tent with the bondsmen. Sarai and Salina sat up late and told each other everything that had happened to each of them. Sarai was fully informed before she ever set eyes on Hagar.

Abram was overjoyed to have his beloved Sarai back, but something about her had changed. He was puzzled by the undercurrent of resentment in her mannerisms, if not in her actual words, a disdain for the nomad-life that he had dragged her into. She had escaped this rough existence in the court of the local king, and her return to Abram was apparently no more voluntary than her initial departure.

In the time that both Hagar and Sarai had spent with Abram, each had been his only wife. Now, who was the wife and who was the concubine? Sarai felt that she was predominant since she had known Abram before he ever met Hagar. Perhaps she now also felt that Abram was not good enough for her, but she was stuck here. At least, her superior status needed to be recognized. Hagar, on the other hand, felt that as the older, wiser, and more accomplished woman, she deserved top ranking. After all, she was the mother of Abram's adopted son, Ishmael. Ishmael and Abram were practically inseparable these days. What was the production of Sarai's womb? Nothing! And she, Hagar, had found the well, the Be'er Shiva', that had saved them all from thirst and conflict.

Sarai could not stay with Salina so she moved into her own tent. Hagar stayed in her village house and Abram split his time between them, trying his best not to offend either.

The dry season once again drew nigh. For the first time in almost two years, the people of the tents began to think about departing for the hill country. Abram and Hagar took a cutting from the tamarisk tree that grew in front of Hagar's house. Holding hands, they walked out over the fields, with Ishmael following just behind. Sarai, crouching in the grass, secretly watched as the three of them fell to their knees and planted the cutting in the wet ground beside the trough, which was fed by the Be'er Shiva'.

"Bless this tree and the well which gives it life, the well which gives us all the water of life, in the name of our Lord Yehhi." Proclaimed Abram.[38.1]

Sarai's heart burned with rage and jealousy, but she knew what she must do. She must have a son to rival Ishmael in Abram's eyes, a son to whom she could pass on her treasure.

## THIRTY-NINE

Then, Abram and his people prepared to depart Beershiva for the hill country, for their valley and its lush grasses. They promised to return for the next rainy season. As was the local custom when sealing a pact, they clove a sheep down the middle. Between the two halves, Abram, representing the hebrews, and Hagar's brother-in-law, representing the villagers, clasped hands and swore that they were as one people.[39.1]

Hagar had lived her whole life in the tiny village. She had never even ventured as far as the distant hills that she could see from her front door. She had never been as far as Gerar. But now, she accompanied Abram, Ishmael, and the rest as they headed off over the horizon.

The lookouts of Gerar reported their movements, but the King of Gerar was true to his oath and they passed his city unmolested. Abram and Ishmael walked at the head of this mobile settlement, which now numbered over eighty people, with a baggage train of twenty donkeys and several hundred head of sheep and goats. Hagar rode on a donkey near the front, just behind her two men. Although no one said anything, Sarai felt excluded from this family circle, and thus she hung back and walked among the people. By her side was her Egyptian servant girl, a parting gift from Abimelech.[39.2]

Sarai then went over to where Salina was walking beside Lot. Sarai and Salina held hands and walked together. Since the conflicts over water the year before, Lot had felt a distance open up between himself and Abram, and Lot had acquired a following among the people of the tents during those difficult times. The most loyal of these followers clustered around him, a separate group within the larger procession.

Later on, Sarai drifted over and walked among the moving herds. There, the beautiful and perpetually happy boy, Isaac, caught Sarai's eye. She went over and walked beside him, and they chatted for the rest of the afternoon.

After ten days, the clan arrived back at the valley in the hills between Bethel and Ai. But then, Lot said to Abram, "This valley is not big enough for all of the people and all of the herds. It will just end up in conflict as before in Beershiva. I will take my people on to find another place so that no more hard feelings will develop between us . . . for we are kinsmen."[39.3]

"Nephew, do you intend to take my property with you as you go?"

"Your property, uncle?"

"Yes, my slave girl. If you take her, will you then pay me for her in silver, as you originally bought her with my silver?"

Sarai, who had been walking some distance away with Isaac, approached and, when she realized what was happening, she screamed. Sarai and Salina hugged each other and held tight. Abram looked at this and knew that it was Salina that had stirred up the trouble between his wives. It was Salina that had turned Lot against him.

Abram paused and thought for a moment. "Good riddance," he spat, pointing first at Salina and then at Lot. "Take her out of my sight."

Lot pried Salina loose from Sarai's grip, and when Sarai surged at them again, Lot shoved her to the ground. Abram bristled and started to come toward Lot.

"Sorry," mumbled Lot waving his hand to indicate that no malice or insult was implied. Abram drew up short. He realized that no matter how messy the situation was, it was worth it to get rid of Salina.

Lot grabbed Salina firmly by the arm and led his people, more than thirty of them with their own herds, on over the next hill.

The stones of the hilltop altar had tumbled down and were overgrown with brambles. Abram and Ishmael set about rebuilding it. Sarai saw what they were doing and she said to Isaac, who was always with her these days, she said unto Isaac, "Go and help your father and your brother rebuild the altar." And Isaac joined Abram and Ishmael. The three of them worked hard all day to rebuild the altar, and then they sacrificed a ram upon it in the name of Yehhi.

On the nights that Abram slept in Hagar's tent, their son Ishmael also stayed in the tent with them. And, when Abram went to spend the night in Sarai's tent, he found that Isaac would be there.

But, on the nights when Abram was with Hagar and Ishmael, Sarai was alone in her tent with Isaac. One night, she showed him her treasure. It was a big bug, a golden beetle inlaid with turquoise, black onyx and lapis lazuli, inscribed with strange characters, completely filling the palm of Sarai's hand.

As he lay there in Sarai's tent, Isaac discovered that he could fly. He hovered above the tent looking down. Briefly, he bobbed lower toward it and then floated up higher, and still higher. He was a little frightened to be going so high since he was not sure how he would get back down. He was leaving the confines of earth and now drifted in the blackness of the heavens, surrounded by the stars. But, the stars became more remote. Isaac realized that he could not see them anymore. He had somehow become trapped in a vertical shaft of darkness. He was plummeting downward in this narrow black space and seemed likely to do so forever, since there was nothing below him. He felt no rush of air as he fell; he was falling in a void. No, actually he was rising now, rising back up the same shaft. As he accelerated upward, it seemed he would rise forever since there was nothing above him. Then he was falling again. . . then rising. A deep pulsing that resonated through his bones permeated the darkness. He was not just rising and then falling a long way during each cycle. No, on each pass he was truly falling or rising forever, faster and faster.

Each time he shot up or down the dark shaft, he passed a bright spot at its midpoint, the way out. Each time he passed, he reached for the light with his hand, with his mind. But in the time it took to think, to reach, the light was gone again. He began to try to anticipate the light, to time his reach. It was impossible. As soon as the light could be glimpsed in the darkness ahead, it was out of sight behind. All else was blackness. Isaac tried again and again to grasp the light. As he hurtled through the blackness, unsure of whether he was going up or down, Isaac reached out his hand. The light flashed and he had it.

The light was the first ray of morning sun coming over the hill and through the flap of Sarai's tent, hitting Isaac in the eyes. He lay there for a moment, drenched with sweat, before hoisting himself up and wandering outside. And Isaac laughed less than usual that day. 

## FORTY

Abram enjoyed spending time in the fields with Ishmael and Isaac. While they kept a loose eye on the sheep, he told them about his childhood in the great metropolis of Ur, and how grand the city had been. Abram told the boys how, amid the destruction of Ur, he and most of their clan had been spared through the grace of Yehhi. Being from a noble clan whose members had included officials, scribes and wealthy merchants, Abram had received an education. While this education had been of little use to him in his life as a wandering herdsman, he now found that the epics and songs that he had been compelled to memorize as a boy came back to him, and were just the thing for whiling away a sunny afternoon.

Yehhi was pleased at the prominent roles Abram wove for him in his versions of these classics. Ishmael and Isaac, hearing much of this for the first time, accepted these roles as authentic. In no particular order, Abram recounted various episodes and snippets from the epic of Gilgamesh, or as much of them as he could remember. He got to the part where Enkidu's spirit rises from the land of the dead and talks to Gilgamesh.

Yehhi heard Gilgamesh and took pity, then said:  
"Nergel, open a most wide hole in your roof,  
From whence can Enkidu waft like smoke up from your hot fires below."  
Nergel heard Yehhi's great voice, and did cut a hole in his roof.  
Enkidu's spirit wafted up from the hot fires below.  
'Till Gilgamesh his friend did see that wraith.

"Nergel is Mot?" asked Ishmael.[40.1]

"'Suppose so," Abram confirmed and then continued:

Gilgamesh asked: "In the world below, have you seen the man with no son?"  
"Yes, I have seen the man with no son," said Enkidu.  
"How goes it with the man with no son in the world below?"  
"The man with no son sits by the wall in the world below and weeps."

Abram's voice trailed off. He could not bear to complete the recitation of the fates of the men with increasing numbers of sons. He got up and quickly turned away so that the boys would not see the tears of despair welling in his eyes.

The competition between Sarai and Hagar for Abram's favor intensified, but the campaigns were waged mainly through their respective boys. The boys happily spent more time together and with Abram and were only vaguely aware of any undercurrents. For over three years now, Ishmael had been more like a younger brother, as well as a guide and a junior partner to Abram. The little boy, Isaac, could not hope to achieve such a man-to-man communion with Abram, and Abram had heretofore paid the laughing boy little attention. However, through Sarai's repeated efforts, Abram was spending more time with Isaac. Consequently, Isaac began to look up to Abram. At first, Abram was surprised by this, by Isaac's excited accounts of his own accomplishments, and his constant questions. Eventually, Abram grew to enjoy his time with Isaac. But, always in the back of his mind, always gnawing at Abram was the knowledge that these boys were not of his own seed. And the frequency of Abram's sacrifices upon the altar to Yehhi increased.

And Yehhi, too, was concerned. Why had Abram not produced offspring of his own loins? It was intolerable that Yehhi's only devout follower would have no blood heir. Abram needed to father a whole people, numerous as grains of sand in the desert, all to keep the remembrance and worship of Yehhi alive. Could these adopted boys carry on his veneration? Yehhi was dubious. They were not even Sumerian. How could he know and trust their motivations? They, like everyone else in this forsaken land, could not even say his name correctly. It was 'Yahew,' or 'Yaweh.' Every time his name flopped off their tongues, it was a little different. Despite Abram's best efforts, Yehhi had the feeling that these boys were too attached to their Canaanite gods. Once Abram was gone, the boys would revert to Baal and El, and then he, Yehhi, would be gone also.

When they were alone in her tent, Sarai and Isaac sat together gazing at the golden beetle.

"This was given to me by Pharaoh, the great king of Egypt; a king of kings, he is. See this writing?" Sarai pointed at the hieroglyphs inscribed upon it, and Isaac nodded. "This is written in the Egyptian tongue, and it says that I am a special wife to Pharaoh." As the image of the vast Egyptian army marching through the valley lit up his thoughts, Isaac stared wide-eyed at her. "And you, my son, as child of his wife, are therefore a prince of mighty Egypt." She hugged him tight.

That night, Isaac again dreamed of an endless shaft of darkness and light.

## FORTY-ONE

The rainy season was approaching and the people's thoughts were increasingly directed toward the anticipated return to the Negev and Beershiva. Sarai couldn't wait to see Salina again.

The pain in Abram's loins had flared up. This and his other problems began to gnaw at his mind. One day around noon, Abram was sitting on a rock with Isaac and Ishmael, tending the flocks. This time, Abram was telling the boys the story of the Great Flood. Of course, they had heard the Canaanite version of the story before. Abram recalled that the last time he had told this story was on the boat going up the river after the destruction of Ur. It was a different world he lived in now. He was nearing the end of the tale:

The gods about the altar did meet.  
When Enlil did see the boat and humankind about the altar, he spit in rage.  
"Why are these humans alive, when the flood I sent was to wash them from my sight?"  
Ninurta spoke with contempt: "Ask Yehhi, for he knows."  
Yehhi spoke to Enlil:  
"For one man's crimes do you kill all the rest?  
A crime's punishment should match the act.  
For one offence you kill all including the inno–"[41.1]

Abram stopped short. Over the crest of the hill burst thirty men armed with spears. They were trotting down into the valley toward Abram, Ishmael and Isaac. As the men approached, Abram realized that it was Lot and his band.

"Greetings, Uncle!" blurted Lot as he panted up to Abram and the boys.

Abram, sensing trouble, said nothing.

"We are off to fight, to free ourselves from the yoke of tribute."

"The what?"

"I am allied with the men of Shemeber, king of Zeboiim, and a confederation of folk of the plain. We are mustering with other allies from the northern hill country to meet our foes at the Mount of Megiddo."

"Where?"

"Over yonder. Just a day's journey for these fleet-footed lads," Lot waved his hand vaguely at the far end of the valley. "We're just passing through, but I thought I'd see whether you would join us in this fight."

Abram appeared to be pondering the idea, so Lot continued: "After I left you, we continued on and came to a fertile lowland plain by a river the people call Jordan. Not as big as the rivers of Sumer, but a good river and good land with some towns. The people there allowed us to pitch our tents and graze our herds."

Abram nodded, so Lot went on. "This tyrant, Chedorlaomer, and his confederates, four kings in all, like Abimelech, you know. They were always taking anything they could get their hands on: sheep, silver, grain . . . women . . . boys. The people of the towns, the people of the plain, lived in fear. They had just about had enough. And, I told them about how we faced down Abimelech. That you need to show your strength and you can break the bonds of fear and of tribute."

"And what then?"

"Well we . . . I mean, the people of the plain, refused to give further tribute to these four petty tyrants. And, these four, just like Abimelech, they said it was the Egyptians; that the Pharaoh demanded the tribute and they were only collecting it. So, I told the people that Abimelech had used the same excuse, but in the end, we ran him off. There were no Egyptian armies suddenly appearing out of the hills or out of the desert. Egyptians? Rubbish!"

Isaac and Ishmael exchanged glances.

"So, now it's all on the line," Lot continued. "Our confederation against Chedorlaomer's confederation, the four kings. Actually, we have five kings on our side so it's four kings against the five.[41.2] Abram, collect your men and grab your spears and come fight with us. The four kings have long been robbing the people of the plain, so when we defeat them, there will be great riches to divide among the victors."

Abram, who had been wondering about the source of Lot's enthusiasm for someone else's fight, now understood. Recalling the rich gifts he had received from Abimelech upon the return of Sarai, Abram was tempted to join the campaign.

"And, what of your women, children and flocks?" Ishmael asked Lot.

"Ah, they are heading back toward the Negev. It's about that time anyway. We might have stayed in the river plain this year, but now that this business has come up, it's safer for them to go far away until it's over."

Ishmael leaned over. "Best for us to go far away until this is over also," he whispered into Abram's ear, softly but with urgency and foreboding in his voice.

Abram shrugged and shook his head. Lot shook his head back, and then he and his men jogged off up the valley.

## FORTY-TWO

And so, the next morning, the people of Abram's band pulled up stakes and cleared out of the valley with all their goods and all their herds. They were heading back toward Beershiva.

In the late afternoon of the fourth day of their trek, they came over a hill. In the distance below them was a throng of people with their animals gathered around a stand of stunted, twisted trees. Abram stopped abruptly, and glanced over at Ishmael. The look on his face said "Now what?"

Abram gestured to his people to crouch down and be quiet, while Ishmael whispered in Isaac's ear. Isaac scampered off by himself, down the rocky slope toward the strangers. Abram watched him go with trepidation; he had grown fond of the boy and did not want to see him harmed. Abram watched as Isaac neared the group and then saw him turn and make an exaggerated gesture, waving his arm, and shouting something.

"What's he saying?" whispered Abram.

"They are Lot's people," said Ishmael.

Sarai and Salina embraced and kissed one another on the cheeks. Then, Sarai pushed her back to arms length to reconfirm it: Yes, Salina was with child. They hugged again, and both wept with joy.

And so they were reunited with the women and children and the herds of Lot as well as some of the bondsmen who had been dispatched to look after them. That night, they camped together under the stand of terebinth trees.

The next morning, Abram was eager to press on together to safety in the Negev, but Salina would have none of it.

"We are to wait here for Lot. That is what he said, 'Go and await me at the Terebinths of Mamre.' That's these trees; they belong to a clan, the Mamre that live in a village over yonder." She gestured toward a hill behind her.

"How do you know that?" asked Abram.

"Lot told me so. He knows everything and everyone. He said the Mamre were confederates, friends,[42.1] and that this place was easy to recognize on the way to the Negev. He said we should wait here for him. If there's any trouble, if enemies come, we can flee into the desert straight away. Other than that, we should wait. I don't see enemies, so I wait for my husband."

Abram would have preferred to go on right away. Lot was impetuous and hotheaded. He had been back in Harran, had been in Beershiva. There was no telling how this four kings against five dust-up was going to turn out. Ishmael, whom Abram knew was seldom wrong about the happenings in this land, had been muttering worriedly under his breath throughout the past four days of their journey.

"Alright, we will wait also. But, we are off for Beershiva at the first sign of any trouble," Abram mumbled.

Sarai and Salina sat together discussing names for Salina's baby. Abram, having nothing else to do, sat a short distance away with his back against one of the terebinth trees and listened to their chatter. One by one, they proposed ridiculous names and then giggled over them. Abram was disgusted and resentful of Salina and Lot's good fortune. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Later, Sarai complained about Hagar and Salina related the latest on the women of Lot's band. She then went on to tell Sarai about the wonderful fertile lands of the Jordan River plain, the sophisticated lives of the city people there, and the fine clothes that the women wore. "Almost like Harran, I tell you. Our men must defeat those four kings or I fear they will take their revenge by destroying and killing, just like the old cities of Sodom and Gomorrah were burned up in ages gone by."

"Sodom . . . Gomorrah . . . What?" asked Sarai.

"Just the legends the people of the plain tell of two great cities that were destroyed by the gods as punishment for their evil ways. A great shaking of the earth swallowed up the people and the houses, fire from the heavens burned what was left, and great waves from the Salt Sea washed all traces away."[42.2]

"Oh!" Sarai gasped. "The gods are so cruel. They wipe out the innocent with the guilty."

"No . . . no one ever said there were innocent people in Sodom and Gomorrah," Salina continued. "The stories all tell what evil offenders[42.3] they were in the eyes of the gods. The stories don't mention any innocents."

"Come on Salina, you know that among every gathering of people, there are good and bad, kind and unkind, just and unjust. For instance, there's me, Sarai . . . good, kind, and just. Then there is that bitch, Hagar . . . bad husband stealer, unkind husband stealer, unjust husband stealer. Certainly she deserves the wrath of the gods, but the gods should not strike down all our people, including myself whom Hagar has wronged, on account of that bitch."

"Why not?" Salina asked playfully, sensing a chance to get under Sarai's skin.

"Alright, Salina, say you were a goddess, perhaps Eanna. Where would you draw the line? Perhaps there may be fifty innocent within the city, this Sodom place. Would you really wipe the place out and not spare it for the sake of the fifty innocent within?"

"I am Eanna! Of course I would wipe the place out and drink their blood. I'd do it even if they were all innocent. That's why they call me Eanna, the Destroyer. That's what I do! Well, as Eanna, you know."

"Now be serious," continued Sarai. "Alright, you are not Eanna; that was a bad example. Say you are just yourself as a goddess; a good, kind, and just goddess."

"Alright."

"Will you really wipe the place out? Will you not spare it for the sake of the fifty innocent within? Would you put to death the innocent with the guilty, making innocent and guilty the same?"

"Well, maybe not," Salina conceded.

"Right! Now say that there are only five fewer innocent ones, so there are forty-five innocent in this Gomorrah."

"Sodom."

"What?"

"We're talking about Sodom, not Gomorrah," Salina corrected.

"Does it really matter?"

"No, it doesn't. I'd kill'em all in Sodom! I'd kill'em all in Gomorrah! I'd drink their blood and hang their skulls from my belt! Oh wait," there was a twinkle in Salina's eye, "I forgot, I am not Eanna. No, I am myself as a goddess. Alright, I will spare them for the sake of the forty-five."

"Perhaps there will be found forty innocent?"

"Alright, I spare them."

"Perhaps there will be found thirty innocent?"

"Alright, I spare them."

"Perhaps then, there will be found twenty innocent?"

"I spare them."

"Ten innocent?"

"I spare the city, even for ten,[42.4] but, I cannot go any lower than that. Less than that and the city is doomed! Anyway, it was not my choice. The cities were destroyed no matter how many guilty, no matter how many innocent. I saw the place for myself just two days ago when we were on our way here. We hurried along the edge of the Salt Sea, past the site they say was Gomorrah. I tell you, there is nothing left but some strange columns of salt thrusting up out of the water and out of the shore. Strangest place I've ever seen. Some of the women of Zeboiim, who fled with us," Salina nodded toward another group of women chatting under a nearby tree "They said that legend has it that people fleeing the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah were turned into these pillars of salt by the gods. You know, the gods got most of them with the shaking of the earth, the fire from the heavens, and the water from the sea. But, a few wretches somehow got away. Maybe they were outside of the walls when it all happened, and so had a head start out of town. They must have thought they were going to make it, to get away, to survive. But, instead, the gods reached out and touched each of the fleeing survivors and zap . . . salt!"[42.5]

Sarai smiled awkwardly, not quite sure what to make of this odd story.

"I don't believe it, though," continued Salina.

"Why not?"

"Too big."

"Too big?"

"The salt columns, they're too big, much taller and thicker than a man. Maybe the ancient people of Sodom and Gomorrah were giants. But if they were normal size, then the pillars are too big. Hey, do you still have your treasure?"

"Of course I do."

"Can I see it again?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Em . . . Because it's packed safely away, and if I bring it out now, Abram might see it. He's sleeping just over there. What happens if he wakes while I have it out?"

"Would he know what it is? What it means?"

"Probably not," Sarai shrugged. "But why risk trouble?"

"Well, tell me the story again."

Sarai took another quick glance to satisfy herself that Abram was sleeping soundly, and then began: "After I was taken by Abimelech, it wasn't so bad you know, his household, his wives, his harem. It was really quite good. Sure, I was new and had no friends. The other wives were cruel and jealous of my looks, and made fun of the way I talk. But, they were still better than Hagar because at least it was all out in the open. Who knows what that whore says to Abram about me when they are alone? At least in Gerar, I had a proper roof over my head, as nice as our house back in Ur."

Salina gave Sarai an odd look.

"Oh yeah, I forgot, you never were in Ur. Well, it was very good. They both were good, the house in Ur and Abimelech's. There was nice food to eat and good grape wine to drink, clothes of fine linen imported from Egypt, not this rough scratchy wool. So, things went on for a time and I could have been happy there. But, then the Egyptians showed up. A vast army of men appeared out of the desert covering the plains, surrounding Gerar with their tents."

"Did the Egyptians attack the town?"

"No, no. They did not have to. Abimelech opened the town gates to them, to their Pharaoh and his officers. Abimelech even made a great feast to welcome the Egyptian king and his men. The Egyptians were dressed in such fine clothes and jewelry, so much gold. But, they would not sit to eat with Abimelech and his household, something about being forbidden by their gods from breaking bread with Hyksos. The Egyptians called the Gerar people by this name."[42.6]

Both women shrugged and Sarai continued. "So, the Egyptians feasted on their own in a separate hall. To show his humility before the great Pharaoh, Abimelech sent the women and children of his house, me included, to serve the Egyptians their food."

Salina's eyes were wide with amazement.

"So, I carried in a jug of wine and the Pharaoh's men, his officers and attendants, many of them jumped up to take the jug from me to have the honor of filling their master's cup. But the Pharaoh, he saw me, and he waved the others aside. He beckoned me over, and I filled his cup. I stayed by his side all through the evening filling his cup again and again. The others filled their own cups again and again as well, and they all became very drunk. One after another, the officers of the Pharaoh rose and made toasts and speeches in his honor. They boasted of their past campaigns and of their plans for future conquest. They swore that they would smite Qadesh and once again make their Pharaoh the ruler of all the lands between the two rivers, the Nile in Egypt and the Euphrates, as it had been in the time of his grandfather."[42.7]

"Was he handsome?"

"Pharaoh?"

Salina nodded with anticipation.

"Oh yes! Oh yes, tall and strong, with a beautiful, noble face, and deep caring eyes full of wisdom and understanding."

Salina sighed.

"When the evening was late, Pharaoh took me by the hand and led me away with him, out of the feast hall and out of the city gates. The Pharaoh's tent was not like our poor tents; it was a moveable palace, far more luxurious even than Abimelech's house. In front of Pharaoh's tent was a boat of cedar wood, you know the smell of cedar wood? This boat, with gold decorations here and there, was sitting on dry land supported by poles. In a little house on the boat was the god of Egypt, Amun-Ra. Well, I couldn't actually see the god. Pharaoh pointed out the little house to me and told me the god was inside. He told me that the god was his very own father. Well, he was so handsome that I was ready to believe that he was the son of a god.[42.8] Then, he led me inside his tent to the big bed of cushions where he took me again and again, all night long. His thing . . . the head of it was bare, the skin had been cut back. So it is with Egyptian royalty, and also with their nobles, I hear."[42.9]

Salina shuddered with vicarious pleasure.

"When I awoke in his arms the next morning, he told me that the son I would have by him would be a prince of Egypt. He then gave me the treasure to show that I was a royal wife and that my son was a prince. But, alas, the Pharaoh and his men broke camp that day and marched north to continue their campaign. I know, however, that I will one day be reunited with him and take up my place again as his royal wife."

Only Yehhi saw what really happened that night in Pharaoh's tent beside the walls of Gerar. The Egyptian king, soaked with wine, could not perform and soon passed out. After examining his circumcised member with curiosity, Sarai grabbed a shiny object—a golden scarab—that was holding down a stack of papyrus sheets on a portable writing desk by Pharaoh's bed.[42.10] Did she take it as a memento of the encounter? She did not know; she wasn't thinking straight. Sarai scurried back to the house of Abimelech in the middle of the night. Although she passed both Egyptian sentries and those of Abimelech, no one challenged her for her business with Pharaoh was known. But, Sarai truly believed the vision of the encounter that later developed in her mind.

## FORTY-THREE

Abram awoke with a start amid a loud commotion in the camp under the terebinth trees. He had dozed away most of the afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky.

"Ses -kalla! Ses-kalla! What of my husband? What of Lot?!" Salina was shouting.

Ses-kalla, one of Lot's fighters, had bruises on his face and scrapes on his arms and legs. He was shaking, out of breath, exhausted. His reply was to extend his closed hand, covered with dried blood. As he opened his hand, Salina shrieked.

"Lot's ear," he said.

"Oh, may the gods have mercy! Then he is killed?"

"No, my lady, Lot lives. We were caught unawares. The Egyptians, vast numbers. Pharaoh appeared out of nowhere, out of the most impenetrable hills. Lot and our men fought in the rearguard to cover the retreat. I myself fought with them. The five kings made it behind the fortress walls of the town of Megiddo,[43.1] where the four kings and their Egyptian overlords now besiege them. We were taken captive, those of us that survived. But, my lady, Lot is among those that survive. His captor, Chedorlaomer, king of Elam, has sent me with this," he looked down at the ear, and his voice momentarily failed him, "has sent me with this as proof that he holds Lot and those of our fighters that were not killed in the battle."[43.2]

Abram was revolted, frightened, and confused. Ishmael, more familiar with local custom, stepped up.

"Ses -kalla, tell us, what is the price for the release of Lot and his surviving fighters?"

"Chedorlaomer, king of Elam, demands two hundred head of sheep and one hundred weights of silver. That is the price he has set. Salem is a town on a hill; it's a day's march from here. Lot and the others are being held there.

"I know the place," Ishmael nodded.

"You must go to Salem and pay the ransom in seven days time or Lot and the others will be sold in the slave markets to raise Chedorlaomer's price. Either way, Chedorlaomer is to have his payment seven days hence," said Ses-kalla.

But, the people of Lot's band could not raise such a ransom, for the total of their own herds and their own goods were less than the price. Salina pleaded to Abram, and the other women and the children of Lot's band cried out to Abram for help.

Abram was displeased that they wanted his hard-earned wealth to save his impetuous nephew from yet more trouble of his own making. Here was Salina humbly asking him, with her hair modestly folded up under a scarf. But, Abram had a vision of her as he saw her that evening looking up from the dry well he had dug with his bare hands, wild hair glowing orange in the setting sun, eyes full of scorn, hoping the well would be dry. And, Abram remembered how Sarai, upon her release from Abimelech, went to Salina's tent that first night rather than his own.

Abram began to turn to walk away.

Then Sarai grabbed his hand. "You must!" she shouted. "You cannot allow Lot to be sold into slavery. It is your duty! He is our kinsman!"

Abram sighed deeply, nodded, and then trudged off to gather up the price from among his own herds and goods. And it was one tenth of all that he had. Of the herds and silver he had brought out of Harran, of the herds and wealth he had collected at Yamhad, of the payment given him by Abimelech, of all this together . . . the price of Lot was a tithe.[43.3]

The next morning, Abram, Ishmael and a small band of picked men set off, driving the two hundred head of sheep and leading the donkey bearing the one hundred weights of silver in a wooden chest. Isaac wanted to go also, but Sarai, sensing danger, forbade it. Ishmael led the way; Abram noted that they were heading back in almost the same direction from which they had come, presumably back toward Chedorlaomer, his confederates and perhaps even the Egyptians. They walked all day, and then camped for the night in the hills.

The next morning, they continued on and about midday, approached the walls of a hilltop town. As they approached the gates, they found that armed sentries barred their way. Ishmael explained who they were and the nature of their business, and one of the guards turned and rushed off, up a narrow, steeply sloping street.

A short time later, a chubby middle-aged man in long white robes came bustling down the same street toward the gate. His robes were too long and he came close to tripping over their hems. He wore a copper headband with a red stone mounted in the front, which he kept adjusting and straightening as he hurried toward them. Following a few steps behind were two similarly robed flunkies, without headbands, and behind them, additional attendants.

"I am Faras, the righteous king of Salem, high priest of El Elyon, and keeper of the mystery of the sacred blood. You will address me as _Righteous King_ _._ "[43.4]

"Ah, yes, alright. Oh, Righteous King, I am Abram, son of Terah, of Harran and of Ur, and uncle to the man called Lot whom, I believe, you hold in your town. I have come to pay the ransom for him and his companions."

"Harran and Ur . . ." murmurs of surprise ran through the crowd of on-lookers and guards at the gate. A clean shaven, dark-skinned man, who reminded Abram of Abimelech's oddly dressed military advisor, turned and walked quickly up the narrow street into the town.

"Very well, we were expecting you," continued the Righteous King. "The price of their release is three hundred head of sheep and two hundred weights of silver."

"What? We were told that the ransom demanded by Chedorlaomer, king of Elam, is two hundred sheep and one hundred silver," protested Abram.

"Do I look like Chedorlaomer, king of Elam?"

Abram looked at him with a noncommittal expression on his face.

"No! No! No!" The Righteous King flew into a rage. "I do not look like Chedorlaomer, king of Elam, because I am not Chedorlaomer, king of Elam! I am the Righteous King of Salem, and much more handsome than the King of Elam." The flunkies behind him nodded vigorously. "And I say the price is three hundred sheep and two hundred silver. Pay my price or they go to the slave markets."

"We might go to the slave market and buy them back ourselves," Ishmael jumped in. "And, I think we can get the whole lot for less than the two hundred and one hundred demanded by Chedorlaomer. That will leave you, oh Righteous King, with a debt to Chedorlaomer rather than the extra profit you are coveting."

"Who is this impudent boy?!" shouted the King in a shrill voice. "If he cannot keep a hold on his tongue, I will have it removed." But, the King's voice trailed off at the end. The side of his mouth was twitching almost imperceptibly. The idea of coming up short in his collection for Chedorlaomer had clearly unnerved him. There was a pause, which seemed much longer than it actually was. The men of Abram's escort gripped the shafts of their spears a little tighter.

Then, the Righteous King took a step back, smiled kindly and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Bread and wine for our guests," he shouted, "Hurry, hurry!" Members of the entourage bustled forward carrying jugs and cups and loaves.[43.5] The food and drink was distributed, but before they ate, the King spoke solemnly:

"Blessed be . . . what was your name again?"

"Abram."

"Blessed be Abram to El Elyon, possessor of heaven and earth, and blessed be El Elyon who delivers your foes into your hand."[43.6]

"What god is El Elyon?" inquired Abram.

"El Elyon is the son of the sky god, El.[43.7] He brings fertility to our city and protects us from harm. As the Righteous King of this city, I am the high priest of El Elyon."

"Well, our god is Yehhi. He is also a son of El and he protects us and brings us fertility," declared Abram.

"El Yaddai," the Righteous King repeated.

"El Yahweh," Ishmael corrected as Abram winced.

"El Shaddhai," the King tried again. "Blessed be El Elyon and El Shaddai.[43.8] I will take the two hundred and the one hundred. But, we must shed ritual blood to seal our pact, honor El Elyon and El Shaddai, and ensure the fertility of both our peoples."

"Yes, we should make a sacrifice together to honor our gods. Yes, yes!" agreed Abram, fervently. He turned around and began eyeing the flocks they had brought for a suitable ram. While Abram was roaming through the herd, Lot and his companions were hustled down the street to the gate. When Abram and Ishmael returned to the front of their party, dragging the chosen ram by its horns, there was Lot, standing in the gate of the city with dried blood all down the side of his sullen face. Abram had nothing to say to Lot, but he put the ram forward.

"No, no," countered the Righteous King. "We need blood which is _more_ sacred."

The youngest of Lot's band, a boy in his mid teens, was dragged forward by white robed men who lifted up his tunic, exposing his privates. There was a flash of light as one of them drew a shiny blade and thrust it into the King's waiting hand. The men held down the struggling and screaming boy on a stone block beside the town gate, and someone shoved a rag in his mouth. One of them grabbed his member and extended it. The King then cut the foreskin and blood flowed profusely onto the ground, dripping onto his feet and onto the feet of Abram. Abram looked with revulsion at the blood and at the writhing youth.

"That . . . is . . . sacred . . . blood!" the King pronounced as the men released the boy, who fell to the ground, doubled over in agony. "Now our pact is sealed. Blessed be to El Elyon, and blessed be to El . . . El Yaaa . . . blessed be to your god also. Take the hostages and leave the ransom." He turned to leave, but then stopped dead in his tracks. A phalanx of spear-wielding Egyptian guards was hurrying down the street toward the gate, followed by a small, hook-nosed man being carried in a gold bedecked sedan chair. He wore a blue headdress with a gold band around it, and vulture and cobra insignias on its front. The party was also accompanied by what appeared to be several high-ranking Egyptian military men.

The call went out. "Humble yourselves before his majesty Menkheper-Ra, son of Amun-Ra, Pharaoh Tuthmosis III, master of all the lands between the Nile and Euphrates, keeper of the sacred flame of—"

The Pharaoh waved his hand, cutting off the herald, who otherwise would have gone on interminably. Then, Tuthmosis climbed down from his chair and walked among the men and boys who, all around, crouched on their knees with their faces close to the ground. When he got to the quivering, fleshy mass that was Faras, Pharaoh paused to slowly and methodically place his left foot on the back of the Righteous King's head and grind his face into the dirt. Faras' crown rolled off onto the ground.

"Idiot," Pharaoh muttered. He continued on, "Where is the noble traveler from the land of the two rivers, from Harran and Ur?"

Faras' nose was bleeding, but he managed to lift himself just enough to point at the nearby crouching figure of Abram. Pharaoh nodded to his guards, two of whom went and pulled Abram to an upright kneeling position before him. Face-to-face, the two men regarded one another. Abram was not as afraid as he should have been. His mind was awash in the knowledge that this was the pharaoh that he had overheard Sarai speaking to Salina about, a short, hook-nosed, man with spindly arms and legs and a soft pudgy middle. A great lover? Took her all night long? It struck Abram as comical, but he bit his lip to maintain a reverential expression on his face.

Pharaoh was equally disappointed in Abram. When word had reached him that an emissary from Mesopotamia had arrived, he was hopeful of gaining useful information about the political and military situation in the one land that seriously challenged his ambition to rule the known world. Salem was a small provincial place on the outskirts of his empire. Pharaoh was only here temporarily to avoid the dust and boredom of the ongoing siege at nearby Megiddo, and although he had thrown Faras out of the best residence in the town, even this was woefully beneath his status. Pharaoh had not wanted the Sumerian ambassador to see this pigsty of a town and get the wrong impression, take the wrong message back to Sumer. So, he had broken with normal protocol and come down to the town gate to confer.

But, what Pharaoh had found instead was a petty ransom transaction between his repugnant host and some filthy nomadic shepherds. Pharaoh waved his hand disdainfully, turned and strode back to his sedan chair, taking care to tread on Faras' crown, flattening its soft metal headband.

"Thank you, my Lord," Faras sniveled as he passed.

Lot and his men were set free and returned with Abram and Ishmael to be reunited with their people. And together, Abram, Lot, Ishmael, and Isaac built an altar of stones at the Terebinths of Mamre,[43.9] and they made sacrifices to Yehhi to give thanks for Lot's safe return.

From Mamre, they continued on their seasonal migration toward the Negev. As he walked silently among his people, Abram's thoughts were unsettled. He kept glancing down at his foot where the blood from the lad's foreskin had dripped. He had long since washed it away, but somehow he could not get the image out of his mind. He had lost two hundred head of sheep and one hundred shekels of silver, and all he could think about was that blood on his foot. He had no son of his own seed and would be doomed to eternal privation in the land of the dead because of it. And, there was the image of the bright red spots on his foot. The burning and the unclean discharge. It was a curse, it was blocking his fertility. How to purify himself? How, by the grace of Yehhi, to purify and restore?

"And, by the way, Ishmael and Isaac," Abram snorted as they trudged along, "our god is Yehhi! Not Yaddai, not Yawhew, not Yahwey. Not El Shaddai! Yehhi! Yehhi! Yehhi! But since your tongues are incapable of saying it correctly, better to not say it at all. You will refer to him as _the Lord_ from now on, less chance of offending that way."[43.10]

Yehhi, for his part, was pleased with this change, and he was pleased with Abram for devising it. Whereas previously, Yehhi had shuddered each time one of these improvised heirs-of-Abram attempted his name, he eventually grew to thoroughly like the boys and accepted them as his chosen ones, once they began referring to him as _the Lord_.

## FORTY-FOUR

When they reached Beershiva, Hagar marched straight into her house and began to straighten up while Abram and Ishmael remained outside, once again walking 'round and 'round the structure they had rebuilt with their own hands. It had been almost a year since they had admired their handiwork, and it still seemed just as wonderful and new to them. They inspected for problems, loose stones, and crumbling joints that needed to be patched up. Isaac stood at a distance, watching and longing to join in this masculine family ritual, but feeling out of place since this had been Abram and Ishmael's project. While he watched, he also brooded on the disturbing dream of rising and falling in a dark shaft, which continued to haunt him. Then, Sarai pulled him back to their tent, which was pitched with the others outside the village.

During those days in Beershiva, the battling of Abram's two wives and their machinations, played out through the adopted sons, gave him no peace. Although he enjoyed the company of his two boys, Abram recognized the hand of one wife or the other in many of their orchestrated encounters.

One afternoon, he set off across the fields by himself, lost in turbulent thoughts about an uncertain future. Out by the well, he found Ishmael and Isaac tending the flocks. Using his staff, Abram cut out from the herd a young ram and a she goat. He then headed off toward the distant hills, driving the two animals ahead of him. Ishmael and Isaac jogged alongside, but Abram turned to them.

"Boys, this I must do myself."

Seeing the strange and distant look on Abram's face, the two turned back.

Then, as the sun was getting low in the sky, Abram, the ram and the goat before him, climbed up into the hills. Near the top of a hill, he came upon a large flat rock, like a huge, natural altar. It was so large that he and the ram and the goat walked full upon its surface. And off to the right, a rocky outcropping thrust jaggedly toward the sky and off to the left, a twisted, stunted tree did grow.[44.1]

Abram drew a knife from his belt and quickly slit the throat of the ram. Warm blood spurted on his hand and on his feet as the body twitched its last. "Sacred blood . . . Sacred blood, as in Salem. Sacred blood . . ." the words kept running through his mind. The goat had started to wander off, so Abram shuffled quickly after it, leaving bloody footprints across the stone. He caught the goat and immediately slit its throat as well. Then, he began carving the animals, each in half through the middle. And it was hard work, for the animals were robust and his blade was modest. He crouched over the carcasses, his forearms now smeared in gore and his hands beginning to ache from the effort. Salty sweat burned his eyes, and he was breathing heavily. He wiped at the sweat and then his face was covered with blood as well. He hacked at the viscera, which slid over the blade without cutting. He punctured the bowels, the contents spilled out, and it stank. Then, he used the point of the knife to attack the segments of the backbone and pry them apart.

The sun was going down. In the dusk, Abram, panting and dripping with blood and sweat, labored to drag the halves of the sheep and the goat and arrange them opposite one another on the great stone.[44.2] He then collapsed from exhaustion in the sticky blood, gore, and bowel that was smeared on the stone between the cleaved parts. Abram lay there looking up at the deepening sky. Then he cried out, "Yehhi! Yehhi! Can you hear me my god?!"

Abram waited in silence for a reply. Then he cried out again, "Yehhi! Yehhi! This is my promise to you. I, and my people, will honor you, worship you, and never fail to make sacrifices to you."

Abram lay there, spent from his effort, and profoundly saddened by the lack of response, the lack of a sign that he had been heard. His desperation was turning to despair, even thoughts of his own death. And Abram passed into unconsciousness.[44.3]

But, Abram had been heard, for Ishmael and Isaac had doubled back and secretly followed him. From behind the rocky outcrop, they had watched the bizarre and disturbing scene unfold. After Abram lay down on the rock and apparently fell asleep, the two boys turned and saw that the wild man was sitting on a rock just a short distance away, watching Abram as well. Ishmael approached him with Isaac standing cautiously behind.

"Hello . . . Wild Man of the hills—"

"Hello to you as well, Impudent Whelp of the valley," the wild man shot back.

"Hey, that's not my name," protested Ishmael.

"Nor is mine 'wild man of the hills'," said the wild man.

"Well then, what are you called?" asked Ishmael.

"To tell the truth, I have not been called anything by anyone for many years, at least not to my face. If that is what they call me down in the village, _wild man_ , then that is the only thing I have been called recently. But, long ago, on the far off island in the sea where I was born, my mother called me Asius. You also shall call me Asius."

"Good to meet you, Asius. My name is Ishmael, and this is Isaac."

"Likewise, I am happy to finally meet you two boys. But, your father certainly has made a terrible mess out of my front porch," said Asius.

"Yes, but it's important, what he's doing," protested Ishmael.

"I think that it is important only to him," said Asius.

"It's important to all of us since he is making sacrifices to bring us favor from Yahwey."

"Who is this Yawhew? And what kind of favor can he, she, or it, deliver?" asked Asius.

"Yahwey . . . Um, let's just call him the Lord, that's what Abram wants us to call—"

"No, let's not do that," Asius interrupted. "The Lord is very nonspecific; there are so many real and imagined lords in this world. Let's stick with Yawhew so that we can be sure what we're talking about. So, please tell me what kind of favors Yawhew delivers."

"Yahwey," continued Ishmael, "is the special god of our clan. We make sacrifices to him and he helps us with things like wells, and flocks . . . the men of Gerar."

"I see. Can you tell me specifically how Yawhew helped? One case where he helped? Let's start with the first thing you mentioned, wells . . . Oh, but before we go into that, let me invite you into my home for a bite to eat." Asius gestured toward an opening in the rock face just behind them. "We can still keep an eye on your old man from my front door; make sure no harm comes to him while he sleeps."

Ishmael could not believe it. Not only had he finally met the wild man of the hills, but he was also going to get to see the wild man's cave, just like his cousin had promised all those years ago.

The two boys sat on the ground in the mouth of the cave near a small pile of firewood, and Asius briefly disappeared inside. He returned with a burning torch, lit a fire and then went back inside. Next, he emerged carrying a roasted baby lamb on a wooden spit.

"It's cold, but fresh. I just roasted it this afternoon. Please, eat."

"Where do you graze your flocks up here in these rocky hills?" asked Isaac.

"Oh, I don't keep flocks," answered Asius.

"Well then—" Both boys looked quizzically at the roasted lamb.

"Sometimes I just find them, mostly the babies, wandering up here lost. Then I have a good meal."

Having both spent many a day searching the hill country for strays, both boys frowned. But, they were hungry. As they dug in, they were grateful that this stray had found its way to Asius' larder.

As the smiles crept back onto the boy's faces, Asius picked up the conversation from earlier. "You were going to tell me how this god of yours, Yawhew, favored your people concerning . . . concerning wells, I think it was."

"Yes," said Ishmael. "A while back in the dry season, when our band first returned to the village. I say returned because I grew up in the village—"

"I know; I recognized you. Bigger now, but not so different."

"So, I was returning and the rest of the clan was arriving for the first time. In that dry season, we were very short of water for our flocks and ourselves. Then, Yayhew favored us with the discovery of a second well out in the fields."

"Yes, I have seen it. Why do you believe that a god gave you this well? Did your people not find the spot and dig it themselves?"

"My mother led us to the spot. She led us out to the fields and pointed at a place in the ground. We dug and the next day, the hole had filled with water. My mother does not go out into the fields much, hardly ever. There is no way that she would know where to find water unless she was guided by a god."

"Your mother knew were to dig for water because long ago, when you were a baby, the water flowed out of the ground at that spot during a terrible rain storm. She saw it, and I saw her see it. You were there also, although you don't remember."

"I don't believe you," protested Ishmael.

"That is the truth about your well. There is also a larger truth here: the lack of an explanation for something that happens or something that we observe does not necessarily mean that it is the work of a god. There may be another explanation. In fact, I would say that there most certainly always is an explanation not involving gods, but we just don't always know what that explanation is. We will sometimes find out later, like you just have concerning your well. Sometimes we never find the explanation, but the explanation still exists."

The boys were silent for some time, digesting the lamb and Asius' words.

"But," said Ishmael, "when I was younger, I was kidnapped by the men of Gerar and sold in the slave market. The priests of Baal were at the market buying boys for their sacrifices and could have taken me. They almost chose me. However, I prayed in my heart to my own personal god and he protected me. The priests walked on by and chose another. There can be no _explanation_ for that."

"Oh, but that is fate," said Asius with an air of mystery in his voice.

"Fate? What is this fate?" asked Ishmael.

"In the land where I grew up," continued Asius, "the people say there are three sister goddesses called the Fates. They spin a thread of life for each of us. Only they know when it is time to cut that thread and end a life."

"I thought you said that you did not believe in explanations involving gods?" Isaac chimed in.

"Well, my boy, this one involves goddesses, not gods."

Ishmael and Isaac looked incredulously at Asius, but then Asius cracked a broad grin and laughed.

"Of course I don't believe in goddesses either," Asius said. "I don't actually believe in the Fates. However, they represent a powerful force in all of our lives, a powerful force in the world. Perhaps the most powerful force there is."

"What force is that?" Ishmael asked.

"A force that determines events and has a hand in most everything that happens to everyone and everything. An all-powerful force that is not a god, that is not alive, that has no personality, no thoughts, no actions, no desires. An all-powerful force that just _is_."

"Come on! What is it then?"

Asius began to recite:

"There's no such thing as luck  
There's no such thing as fate.  
There is no will of god,  
There is no divine grace.  
It's all just Random Chance."

Abram was awakened with a start by a sharp pain in his leg. A huge vulture tore at his flesh with its beak. Other birds were tearing into the carcasses of the sheep and the goat. Abram jumped to his feet and swung his shepherd's staff in a wide arc, driving the vultures off.[44.4] Abram, still standing between the cloven animals, looked up into the great dome of the night sky. And, lo . . . he beheld the great starry arc of the Milky Way. Abram remembered what Ishmael had said to him about his future descendants back when they first stayed in their valley near Bethel. With a great jolt, he realized that Yehhi had answered him!

"Look up to the heavens and count the stars, if you can count so many. So shall be your descendents." Abram was sure Yehhi had said it.[44.5] Abram now knew that his promise had been answered with a promise from Yehhi, and so they had a covenant, he and his god.[44.6] A covenant sealed in blood between cloven animals, in the way of tradition. And, this great multitude of his descendants, they would possess this land. How could they not?! So great a number!

Satisfied in his accomplishment, yet utterly drained, Abram sank down first to his knees, and then lay on his back once more. He drifted into semi-consciousness. And, look . . . a torch of smoke and flame passed between the animal parts, reiterating the Covenant of blood as a Covenant in fire.[44.7]

"Papa, Papa!" Isaac shook Abram to rouse him while Ishmael held the torch.

## FORTY-FIVE

Ishmael and Isaac never spoke to Abram of what they had witnessed that evening in the hills outside of Beershiva, and they did not mention Asius to him either. Asius' ideas were strange, and when the boys mulled them over in their minds, trying to make sense of them, their heads hurt. Asius was a curiosity, and as such, they were drawn to him. But, he was just too hard to understand. The boys found much more satisfaction in taking to heart the commitment of their family and their clan to their god, and their god's commitment to them. They preferred this despite the fact that they still could not pronounce his name to Abram's liking, and thus had to refer to him as the Lord.

One afternoon, as they were coming in from the fields, Abram, Ishmael, and Isaac saw that Lot and some of the other men were standing outside his tent. Great, guttural screams were bellowing from inside. Lot paced back and forth; Salina was in labor. Abram and the boys came over and stood with Lot and the others. Women's voices could be heard from inside the tent encouraging and advising. They could hear Salina's panted breaths, then more screaming. Sarai's voice was telling Salina to have the baby for the both of them.

Outside, Abram heard and scowled bitterly.

The tent flap parted and a hard-faced old woman, the midwife from the village, poked her head out. "You men can just clear out," she snapped. "This is going to take awhile and you are not doing the mother, or yourselves, any good by hovering around out here. Go and get drunk. After you sleep it off, there will be a new baby."

Indeed, when Lot awoke with a pounding headache in the middle of the following day, he found that he had a child, a baby daughter.[45.1] Disappointed that this first attempt at a son had come up short, Lot went right back to the jug and passed out again. Abram, reminded of his own infertility, joined him.

In the following dry season, they once again headed back into the hill country, hoping the conflicts of the last season had subsided. And then Lot said to Abram, "This valley is not big enough for all of these people and all of these herds. I will take my people on to find another place." And Lot looked and saw before him the whole plain of the Jordan, and saw that it was lush and abundant.[45.2] "That's for me. My ransom has been paid. Thanks, Uncle. Even under the thumb of Chedorlaomer, it is a better life than these wretched hills. I reckon I'll not be seeing you next season in the Negev." So, Lot and his people continued off over the hill to the east. Salina, infant at her breast, waved to Sarai as they passed out of sight.

Abram just shook his head.

And, the days continued on as before. Abram, Isaac and Ishmael made sacrifices to Yehhi and tended their flocks. Abram told them all the old legends and stories he knew as they whiled away the afternoons in the pastures. Eventually, Ishmael and Isaac knew the epics so well that they were reciting them for Abram's entertainment.

Since he now had a Covenant with his Lord Yehhi, Abram was anxious; he lay often with both Sarai and Hagar. And each woman harangued him against the other until his ears hurt and his heart sank into melancholy. But, neither of them conceived, and so Abram's desperation grew. His pain and the unclean discharge also continued unabated.

Sometimes, Abram would go off by himself for hours and replay the scene of his Covenant with the Lord on the rock outside Beershiva, over and over in his mind. There had been blood, much blood. Much blood, but animal's blood, not sacred blood. He looked down at his foot and remembered the spatters of sacred blood. He clearly needed to purify himself, wash away the unclean with sacred blood. The imperative formed in his mind over many days: Renew the Covenant in sacred blood! And so, Abram began to collect firewood. He told Ishmael, Isaac, and the other lads of the clan to also collect firewood for a communal gathering and feast that night.

Darkness began to fall, and the fire blazed. The menfolk and boys had gathered by the fire. The womenfolk were just behind. The lambs were roasting on spits over the coals. But, where was Abram? He had disappeared.

Then, out of the shadows, Abram appeared in the firelight. His long flowing robe fell open to reveal his nakedness from head to foot. He held a bronze knife, the one with which he had butchered the animals on the rock by Beershiva. His people, seated around the fire, stared up at him in wide-eyed bewilderment. Abram raised his hands and his eyes to the dark heavens. "I am Abraham, and I shall be father to a multitude of nations. And, kings will come from my seed."[45.3]

"Abraham? Abraham? What is this Abraham nonsense?" Sarai was muttering to some of the girls in the back echelon, shaking her head.

Abraham then lowered his gaze to look directly into the eyes of the men and boys. "That is the Covenant that I have made with Yehhi, with the Lord. I . . . we, will be a great nation, but we must fulfill our part of the Covenant. The blood of animals is not enough. Our Lord Yehhi gives us more. He will make us masters over all the peoples from the great river of Egypt to the great river of Sumer. To fulfill our part of the Covenant, we need to give him more as well. In addition to the other sacrifices, we must give him our own sacred, living blood. The fertile blood, the blood of our seed!" With this, he took the blade and severed his own foreskin, the blood spurting on the faces of those sitting in the front row by the fire.[45.4]

The excruciating pain should have caused Abraham to double over like the youth at Salem, but it did not. With his robe still wide open, blood flowing from his member, and a crazed look in his eyes, he grabbed Ishmael. Ishmael was nineteen years old and wise beyond his years. He might have recoiled like the other men and boys who shrank from Abraham. But, Ishmael understood the rationale and the meaning. He submitted himself and the blade cut swiftly. Ishmael was the first to be circumcised by Abraham, after himself. After Ishmael's example, others, reluctantly, fighting to control the shaking in their knees, allowed the Covenant to be inscribed into their flesh.[45.5]

After most of the men had been cut, there was little Isaac recoiling in terror, running to his mother. Sarai was sure that Abram, or Abraham, or whatever the big fool wanted to call himself, had completely lost his mind. But, she could also see that this _covenant of the penis_ was very important to him, more important than anything else, and he was, after all, the chief of the tribe. Ishmael had not only submitted to it, but he had been the first. So, Isaac must submit also or she would be diminished.

"My dearest son, Isaac," she whispered. "You must go to your father now. If you do not, then I will do it to you myself!"

Isaac was thirteen years old. He stepped forward on wobbly legs, and had the Covenant of the Lord cut into the flesh of his foreskin by Abraham.

There was no feast that night. The lambs on their spits blackened to charcoal and the fires burned out.

## FORTY-SIX

Most of the men and boys recovered quickly, but a few developed fevers and infections. Among these was Isaac. In his overheated mind, he plummeted endlessly up and down in the dark void of his dream, grasping for the light. For days, Abraham lay in his tent drenched in sweat, eyes rolled into the back of his head, speaking to his god and seemingly hearing his god reply. But eventually, Abraham also recovered.

Then, as Baal emerged from the underworld to bring the rains, Abraham and his people once more undertook their seasonal migration to the Negev. The long simmering conflict between Sarai and Hagar built and built.

And Sarai said unto Abraham, "This outrage against me is because of you! Because of your impotence in the face of Abimelech, I was taken. And no sooner was I taken, did you bed down with that low born—that low born—that Hagar."

Hagar, too, felt that she had been wronged. But, unlike Sarai, Hagar was not dependent on Abraham. She had a son, not of his seed, who was now a grown man. She was Abraham's senior and she had her own house in her former husband's ancestral village. Hagar knew that she need not suffer Sarai's sniping and plotting, and she no longer wished to engage in sniping and machinations of her own. So, at the end of that season in Beershiva, Hagar told Abraham that she would stay in her square stone house, and that she would not accompany him back to the hill country. She asked that her son, Ishmael, stay with her so that she would have a man in her household.

Abraham was much chagrinned, for he had bought the boy Ishmael with good silver. And Abraham was even more chagrinned because Ishmael was his son, his guide, and his best friend. But, Abraham could not refuse Hagar, and he could not refuse Ishmael, for he knew that he owed them much, much more than that small price of silver.[46.1]

And as they headed out on the trail back to the hill country that season, Abraham and Sarai, together with Isaac, and with Ishmael and Hagar left behind, Abraham spoke unto Sarai. "Our Covenant with our Lord Yehhi has transformed me from Abram to Abraham, and so also transforms you, my partner. You will henceforth be Sarah."[46.2]

Sarah pursed her lips in something vaguely like a smile. To herself she thought, "How wonderful. Now I, too, am admitted to his covenant of the penis. Good thing I don't have one for him to slice."

## FORTY-SEVEN

And that season, Abraham sojourned by the Terebinths of Mamre for many days. It was nearer to the Negev than their usual hill country abode, and Abraham felt closer to his beloved Ishmael and to Ishmael's mother. Sarah, sensing the reason they had gone no further, was perturbed, and she let Abraham see it with every gesture and every look. But, her gestures and her looks did not concern Abraham. In those days, he took her repeatedly, even violently, so as to fulfill his Covenant with his Lord Yehhi. He had cloven the animals; he had cut his own flesh! Yehhi had promised him descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky. So, now was the time!

One day, Abraham was sitting by his tent flap in the heat of the afternoon. And, he looked up, and three men were standing before him. "Please, do not pass by your servant's tent," he said to them. "Let water be fetched to bathe your feet while you rest under the tree. And, let me fetch some bread for you to refresh yourselves."[47.1]

And they replied, "Yes, please do. We are grateful for your hospitality."

And Abraham rushed into the tent, to Sarah, and he said, "Hurry! Knead the choice semolina flour and make loaves for our guests." And to the herd Abraham ran and fetched a tender calf, and gave it to Isaac who hurried to prepare it. And he fetched curds and milk and the calf that had been prepared and he set these before the guests under the tree, and they ate.[47.2]

And after the three guests had sated their hunger, they began to chat with Abraham.

"I am Mich'el," said the oldest. He was perhaps forty years old.

"I am Abraham, son of Terah . . . of Urrrrrr . . . of em . . . of Beershiva."

"I do not know this Beershiva. Is it in this country?"

"Yes, just a couple days from here. It has gotten that name only recently."

"Oh, I see. We are traveling to the Sea of Sodom on account of my shoulder," continued the elder man.

"Sodom? Your shoulder?"

"Why, yes. You have heard of Sodom no doubt?"

"As a matter of fact, I have, but it was dest—"

"Destroyed by the gods. Yes, it was. So say the ancient legends. But in its place, the gods left hot pools of brackish water reeking of brimstone. Around the edge of the Salt Sea they are, the Sea of Sodom."

"Sounds like a terrible place," said Abraham.

"Horrible place to live, but a good place to go and soak my wretched old shoulder.[47.3] It pains me terribly these days on account of a lifetime of hard labor, and of getting kicked by that ox some years back. So, that is where we are going. These are my two grown sons Gavri'el and Refa'el, who are traveling with me."[47.4]

Abraham's face fell immediately.

"What is wrong?"

"Oh, it is my problem, my greatest pain, my endless grief. It has been gnawing at my mind and at my guts."

The guests said nothing for some time and then Mich'el gestured with his palm upturned as if to say: _And that problem is?_

"I have no son."

"Oh, I see. That is a grave situation," consoled Mich'el. "But look, you have been such a good and hospitable host. So, let me tell you an old story about a great hero named Dan'el." Mich'el began to chant:[47.5]

Dan'el is quite destitute!  
The hero sighs with despair;  
For he has no son.  
Now Dan'el the hero went out;  
He sat at the entrance of his home.  
He looked up and there Kothar approaches;  
Kothar, craftsman of the gods, approaches Dan'el.

Then Dan'el the hero called aloud to his wife:  
"Harken Lady Danatiya: prepare a choice lamb,  
To satisfy Kothar, Serve up food and drink;  
Minister to him with honor."  
She prepared a choice lamb from the flock,  
For the appetite of him the artisan god,  
And in gratitude, Kothar blessed Dan'el with virility.

"Yes, that is what I need," interjected Abraham. "If only a divine one would come to me, perhaps my god Yehhi or his emissary, I could honor him with hospitality. Then perhaps he would grant me a son."

Mich'el smiled. "It's an old tale from the ancient times when the gods walked abroad among the men of the world." He once more picked up the chant.

"Let the spirit of Dan'el perk up,  
Let him prosper.  
Let him get onto his bed,  
And with his wife conceive a son,  
A son for the house of Dan'el,  
One who will care for his father's gods,  
And in the sanctuary, honor his ancestors."

Dan'el's face lit up with joy.  
He opened his mouth and laughed.  
Three, then four months went by;  
In the tenth month there arrived a son to Dan'el.

"And you, Abraham, my good host," Mich'el broke off from the cadence and back into conversation. "I have no doubt that the gods will similarly bless you. If, next year, I stop here again on my way to sooth my sore shoulder, I will no doubt find your wife suckling a babe."[47.6]

## FORTY-EIGHT

As the months went by and Sarah still did not conceive, Abraham was buffeted by long bouts of melancholy, alternately punctuated by frenzied bursts of copulation. During his melancholy, Abraham would lie for hours in his tent, half asleep and half awake, seeing himself sitting alone by the wall in the land of the dead. Then he would be taking Sarah roughly, his head swimming with a thousand plans for the future, and before his eyes, the starry arc of the Milky Way.

The rainy season returned, and it was time again for the people of Abraham to return to the Negev. In Beershiva, Abraham rejoiced to be reunited with Ishmael. The days in the land with Ishmael and Isaac together, as before, at first mollified the cycles of his melancholy. And, that season in Beershiva, Abraham dwelt exclusively among the people of the tents, in the tent of Sarah, for Sarah was now his partner in the Covenant. But, the lack of fruit from all his copulation was starting to again weigh heavily upon Abraham. And the copulation burned like fire in his loins, but still bore no fruit.

One day out in the fields, near the base of the hills, Ishmael counted and found that some lambs were missing. There were other men and boys to watch the herd, so Ishmael found Isaac and said: "Some lambs have strayed. Let us search the hills for them before they find their way to the wild man's table."

And so the two of them set off. Their search was cursory as they more or less headed directly for the high stone platform and the cave of Asius. When they reached his front porch, they found the wild man of the hills roasting a baby lamb on a spit by the door of his cave.

"Hey, that's our lamb you have there—"

"It is? How can you tell?"

"Ah . . ." The boys could not be sure.

"Since it is on my spit, over my fire, in front of my house, it looks more like my lamb, does it not? But, I would be glad to share it with you. Please sit; join me."

Ishmael and Isaac sat down on the ground beside Asius. When all three had eaten their fill, they leaned back against the rock face and relaxed.

"Asius, sir," began Isaac in a hesitating way. "You are a very wise man, I think—"

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. It's just that last time we were here, you told us many things about gods, and such, which I did not understand so well, but which seemed very . . . complex."

"Yes, _complex_ is a good word."

"Since you are wise," continued Isaac, "I was wondering whether you could help me understand a dream that has been haunting me. Do you know about dreams?"

"I know that people think dreams are sent by gods to tell them things," said Asius. "As I told you before, I don't think that gods cause anything to happen, and they don't cause dreams. In dreams, we are talking to ourselves in our sleep. The only things we can learn from dreams are things about ourselves."

"But this dream is so strange," pleaded Isaac. "Help me understand. Perhaps if I understand, I will be freed from its spell and can have peaceful nights again."

"Alright, I will try," conceded Asius.

"The dream is always pretty much the same. It starts out with me floating in the air just above the tent where I am sleeping. Then I drift higher. I am looking down on the land below. Then I am higher still, up in the sky, and then in the heavens with the stars all around. But the heavens go black, and I find that I am falling in a void."

Asius nodded with understanding, and then began:

Floating above the roof,  
Peering down with wonder.  
Higher now, in the sky,  
Afraid, but curious.

Soaring above the clouds,  
Will I ever get down?  
Leaving the Earth behind,  
To the starry heavens.

The stars are distant now,  
The firmament is dim.  
Rising up in blackness,  
Nothing is above me.

Hurtling up forever,  
Will there be no stopping?  
But I am not rising,  
In fact, I am falling.

Falling in the blackness,  
Nothing is below me.  
Hurtling down forever,  
Will there be no stopping?

Then Rising, now falling,  
Falling, again rising.  
Up and down, back and forth,  
One sound, my pounding heart.

Stuck for eternity,  
Endless shaft of darkness.  
There is only one light,  
Is it the doorway out?

Each pass, reach for the light,  
With my hand, with my mind.  
Always I reach too late,  
But I try forever.

My hand shoots out again,  
The light, I have it now!  
Back into the present,  
Morning after the Dream.

"How do you know?" Isaac stared as Asius in astonishment.

Asius was quite for a long time. Then, he took a clean-picked lamb's rib and scratched a strange figure into the ground. It was two triangles, one on top of the other, the top one upside down, the lower one right side up. They were joined at their points.

"This Double Triangle shows how each of us is truly the alpha and the omega," said Asius.[48.1]

"The what, and the what?" asked Isaac.

"The alpha and the omega. In the land where I come from, learned people write words with letters. The first letter is called alpha, and the last letter is called omega. So, if each of us is the alpha and the omega, then each of us is the beginning and the end."

"The beginning and the end of what?" persisted Isaac.

"The family tree of each person has the form of this Double Triangle, with the individual in the middle where the two points meet. The upper triangle represents each person's ancestry, which expands as one goes back in time: two parents, four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and on and on. The lower point of the upper triangle is the culmination, the end, the omega of this long ancestry in a single person. In you, Isaac. And in me, in my own Double Triangle, and Ishmael, in his. At the same time, the lower triangle represents our descendants, which also expand in number with successive generations. Each person is therefore a gate between a vast past and an expansive future. This is why we must revere our ancestors, because they have made us what we are."

"Our god, Yehwey, is an ancestor of our clan. That's what Abraham tells us," Isaac interjected.

"You misunderstand me, my boy. I do not mean we should worship our ancestors as gods. They were people just like us, and can never be anything else. We must revere our ancestors because we have come from them. But, we do this not for them, for they are gone. We do this for ourselves so that we can know who we are. But, we are also the alpha, the beginning, sitting at the top of the lower triangle. After our time is gone and we join our ancestors, our afterlife can be assured through the continuation of our seed in our descendants."

Asius' ideas made Ishmael recall part of the story that he had heard many times from Abraham. He began to recite from memory.

In the world below have you seen the man with no son?  
Yes I have seen the man with no son.  
How goes it with the man with no son in the world below?  
The man with no son sits by the wall in the world below and weeps.

Have you seen in the world below a man with two sons?  
The man with two sons in the world below sits on a stone and eats some bread.  
Have you seen in the world below a man with five sons?  
The man with five sons in the world below is treated like a scribe to a king.

"Where did that come from?" asked Asius, smiling broadly.

"It is from an old tale that our father taught us," answered Isaac.

"Well, it is very, very good and very, very true, although perhaps not in the way that you or your father imagine. There is no world below, or anyway, no one has ever come back to confirm that there is, so I am not counting on it. But, your tale still has truth in it. Our afterlife is through the lives and deeds of our children, our children's children, and so on forever."

"Do you have children?" Isaac asked Asius.

"Not that I know of."

"Well then, you will have no afterlife," concluded Isaac with some distress in his voice.

"I intend to have a rich and expansive afterlife," Asius shot back.

"But, how? With no children?"

"The Double Triangle has a deeper and stronger meaning when it is applied to our thoughts and knowledge. The upper triangle represents the history and ideas that have come before. From our elders, we each learn some part of this vast knowledge from the past. Then, we form our own thoughts and ideas as individuals. We draw in what has come before and sometimes we come up with our own new insights, ideas, and understanding. These thoughts and opinions truly define each of us, and form the basis for our future legacy in the lower triangle. Our thoughts, unlike family ties, can draw broadly from a wide range of knowledge. And, unlike our seed, our thoughts have the potential for an influence that goes far beyond our actual descendants. The Double Triangle represents the convergence and subsequent divergence of thoughts and ideas as they flow from the past into the future through each individual. If you boys can understand, remember and repeat to others anything that I am saying, then I will have my afterlife."

"But, what does all this have to do with my dream?"

"The dark shaft in your dream is the Double Triangle. It extends forever in both directions, up and down, past and future. But, there is one bright spot and that is where the two triangle points meet. Only there can you leave the Double Triangle and live in the present, live your life. One of my first memories from early childhood was of a recurrent dream like yours. Even as a very young child, the Dream seemed familiar, like visiting a place I had been before. The Dream had existed before I did, and at some point, my consciousness emerged slowly from it. As I got older, I had the Dream less and less frequently. Now, I am left not with the Dream but only with the memory of it. Do not dread the Dream. Cherish it."

Isaac and Ishmael stared at Asius, even more confused.

"Boys, it takes a lifetime of thought, in a cave alone, to begin to understand. Even now, I am not sure I understand all that much. But, here is a rhyme to help you think about these things:"

There is a double triangle,  
That we all must heed.  
We change the past into the future,  
With our every thought and deed.

I have two parents,  
And I had four grandparents,  
More great grandparents, and on and on.

I have my children,  
And I'll have more grandchildren,  
Many great grandchildren, and on and on.

I learned from elders,  
My elders learned from elders,  
Generations of learning, and on and on.

I taught the young,  
The young, taught their young,  
Generations of teaching, and on and on.

There was a long pause before Isaac said: "Surely the Lord speaks to our father, commands him to do things. Why else would he cut his own flesh, and ours as well?"

"He cut your flesh?" asked Asius.

"Yes, let me show you." Isaac lifted his tunic.

"Ouch! That must have hurt." Asius shook his head. After another pause he said: "The mind of God is nothing but the sum of the human thoughts directed toward it. God sees and knows all about his people, what they are doing and what they are thinking, because he is made up of the thoughts of the people. People believe that God has the power to influence or even dictate what people do and how things turn out. Because the people believe this, their God believes it also. God does not command men; men come up with these things themselves." Asius nodded toward Isaac's crotch. "And, they fool themselves into believing they come from God. But, the relationship is deceptive. Power flows in the reverse direction to that perceived by both God and mankind."

Walking back down from the hills, Isaac and Ishmael were filled to the brim with good food and strange talk.

## FORTY-NINE

The boost in Abraham's mood brought about by the prophecy of the three travelers he had met at Mamre began to wane, and the long bouts of melancholy returned. After spending seven days lying in the tent thinking about the land of the dead, Abraham suddenly sat up. "Here I am," he exclaimed.

"You sure are," retorted Sarah, rolling her eyes.

"Where is your son, your only one, whom you love—Isaac?" he asked.[49.1]

She shrugged her shoulders, and gestured with her eyes out the tent flap toward the broad plain. And, Abraham arose and strode out onto the plain, a butchering knife in his belt. Abraham met Isaac and said, "Come, my son, let us worship together."

And Isaac and Abraham walked together toward the distant hills. At the foot of the hills, Abraham split wood for the offering and put it on the back of Isaac. He took in his hand the fire and the knife, and the two of them went on together into the hills.

And Isaac said to Abraham, "Father!"

And Abraham said, "Here I am."

And Isaac said, "We have the fire and the wood, but where is the sheep for the offering?"

And Abraham said, "Yehhi will provide the sheep for the offering." And the two of them went on together. And they came to the place, the huge, flat, high stone where Abraham had made the Covenant with Yehhi. And Abraham laid out the wood and bound Isaac and placed him on top of the wood. And Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter Isaac.[49.2] And Abraham raised his hand to strike the lethal blow, and at the apex of its trajectory, his hand did pause and quiver and shake. During that moment of hesitation, Abraham's arm was seized from behind and held fast.

Startled, Abraham swung around. Twisting his hand free, Abraham stared directly into the eyes of the wild man of the hills. The two of them looked at one another for a moment before Abraham plunged his blade into the wild man's chest.

Abraham untied his son, and the two of them heaved the body of the wild man atop the kindling. The fire was lit, and the wild man was carried up to the Lord as a burnt offering. Abraham saw what he had done, and he knew that it was good. For Abraham now understood that if the Covenant was to be fulfilled, it would be through Isaac.

## FIFTY

And Yehhi was there beside Abraham, and Yehhi was pleased that His servant had erased the wild man of the hills and his dangerous ideas from the earth. However, Yehhi was also angered that Abraham had hesitated in striking the boy Isaac, in offering Isaac up to Him.

Yet, as the seasons and the years passed, Yehhi was thankful that Isaac had been spared, for as Abraham faded into madness, Isaac took up the mantel as the bearer of the Covenant. Isaac married, had two sons of his own seed, and he was faithful to the cult of Yehhi, whom he still called Yahweh, but mostly referred to Him as the Lord, as Abraham had instructed.

And Yehhi was glad that He had prevented Abraham from sacrificing Isaac, and Yehhi was satisfied with the Covenant He had made.

# ESSAYS

## FLUCTUATIONS

Random events, known as fluctuations, take everything from atoms, to genes, to people in unexpected directions. The vast majority of these fluctuations amount to little or nothing important, but a few have the potential to change the world. Given the vast number of these constantly occurring, random events, it is an absolute certainty that some of them will change the world.

Fluctuations have a specific, mathematical meaning in the descriptions, used by science to understand the world. They are random deviations from average conditions. For instance, collectively, the trees in a pine forest have an average height. However, any individual tree might deviate from this average, being taller or shorter. These are fluctuations. Most fluctuations are small; most trees are near the average height. Large fluctuations, trees twice as tall as the average, are very rare but do exist.

In a cup of water, the water molecules on a microscopic level are wiggling and zooming around. The speed of their motion is what we sense as the temperature of the water, faster motion equaling a higher temperature. However, the moving water molecules actually have a range of speeds and the observed temperature reflects the average of this range. Water molecules moving faster or slower than the average represent fluctuations. As the temperature is lowered, it is the slower than average molecules that initiate the transition from liquid to ice. As the temperature is raised, it is the faster than average molecules that initiate the transition from liquid to steam. Fluctuations from the average tend to initiate change.

Random fluctuations exert a profound influence on virtually all natural processes. For example, without random fluctuations, atoms and molecules could not combine through chemical reactions to form the materials of our universe and our world, including living things such as ourselves. Without random processes, the universe would have remained forever a featureless broth of non-interacting particles: no stars, no planets, no us. Fluctuations are instrumental in processes of nature ranging from human thought to the weather. If not for the randomness introduced by fluctuations, the entire universe around us would be very different and would not be suitable for life.

Fluctuations are important to the biological world in an immediate sense since processes integral to life, such as photosynthesis, metabolism, and genetic reproduction, require chemical and physical change and thus would not be possible without fluctuations. However, random deviations from the average have a much more striking and visible impact on the biological world, over the very long term, by creating the staggering diversity of life around us through natural selection. Every structural difference amongst all the species of living things in the world from bacteria, to trees, to people, arose from a random event, a genetic mutation, a fluctuation. In fact, there have been vastly more of these fluctuations or mutations than all the structural differences among all the species that currently exist, since only a small fraction of the mutations are amplified through natural selection and passed on to subsequent generations. Most genetic fluctuations disappear because they decrease survivability, or, even if they are advantageous, because some other random occurrence such as a drought or the appearance of a hungry predator wipes them out before they can be passed on.

In the sphere of human activity, the fluctuations that permeate people's daily lives also play a prominent role. Chance meetings, unexpected events, and accidents have a profound influence in our individual lives as well as on the development and fate of civilizations, economies, and belief systems such as religions. The specific details of these events are random, but the fact that they are always occurring is a constant. And, as with the physical world of atoms and molecules and the biological world of genes, fluctuations in human events are necessary to keep civilization changing, evolving, and moving forward. _An Accidental God_ is a hypothetical exploration of how random events can influence human religious belief. As with the _Bible_ itself, the literal, historical details of many events are unknowable, but the events themselves are only significant to the extent that they bring out deeper meanings. In _An Accidental God_ , these deeper meanings are concerned with the impact of randomness on the specific way people come to perceive and worship their God.

As in the physical and biological worlds, individual fluctuations are numerous beyond counting in human activity. As you go through your average day, you are constantly meeting other people and encountering situations that you could not have predicted beforehand. These include little details such as who sat next to you on a bus, whether or not you got caught in a traffic jam, and so on. Each of these individual happenings is unique and unanticipated, and thus, from your point of view, represents a fluctuation. To get an idea of the staggering number of possible random outcomes in human activity, consider the fact that billions of people worldwide are simultaneously bathed in a constant, daily sea of fluctuations.

Most fluctuations are small and forgotten almost immediately; they are unimportant and produce no lasting effect. _That car I just passed on the highway was red as opposed to some other color. But, it makes no difference, I have already forgotten._ To use the mathematical language that describes fluctuations in the physical sciences, they are small in _amplitude_ , and are _damped_ , i.e. their importance or strength diminishes rapidly. Some fluctuations are small, but chance _amplifies_ their later importance to those involved. You may find that the person who randomly chooses to sit next to you on a bus is an old classmate that you have not seen in twenty years. Or, you strike up a conversation with the stranger sitting across the aisle from you on an airplane. You find that this person possesses complimentary interests or skills, which lead the two of you to form a business partnership. In these cases, a _resonance_ , a match or fit, magnifies an initially small happening into something of greater amplitude or importance.

Most fluctuations in our lives are small in amplitude and damped. A very few small amplitude fluctuations resonate with us and our situation, but we tend to notice these resonances and ascribe to them importance far beyond the random events that they truly are. We are bombarded by thousands of random details of daily life. Yet, when one of these chance occurrences leads to something more, we tend to view this as _fate_ , _providence_ , or _luck_. These three terms all suggest a belief in a higher power, which is directing these chance events. The workings of the human mind make such conclusions irresistible. Ten thousand small amplitude fluctuations sail by our senses in a blur like the faces of strangers we pass on a busy city sidewalk. We hardly notice them. When one thing resonates, we stop and focus on it; we marvel at it. Perhaps we even attribute it to the will of God. However, such coincidences do not require divine intervention. If one experiences enough random small events, statistics dictate that eventually one will hit upon something that resonates.

Recently, I was sitting in my office at work and a brief thought about a colleague passed through my mind moments before she knocked on my door. When I remarked that I had just been thinking about her, she became excited and told me of her interest in the writings of Carl Jung. Jung, she told me, believed that life was not a series of random events but rather an expression of a deeper structure in the Universe. This underlying order led to the coincidences he called "Synchronicity." What was my response? Such ideas are a load of romanticized, occultist, late Victorian nonsense! Ten thousand times I sat in my office and had a thought about a person who did not promptly show up at my door and I didn't even notice. But, the one time the person did show up, is it a sign of higher meaning or of the forces of Synchronicity at work in the Universe? No, it's just statistics; it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Of course, there are also randomly occurring fluctuations of a much stronger, higher amplitude variety. They do not need to find a resonance to profoundly influence events, for they are strong enough to dominate by themselves. Examples of such strong fluctuations include disasters, both natural and man-made: earthquakes, floods, city-engulfing fires, terrorist attacks, and dinosaur-obliterating asteroid impacts. They also include unexpected important discoveries: gold at Sutter's Mill in 1848, a New World rather than a new route to India in 1492, _etc_. Clearly, and perhaps fortunately, such strong fluctuations are rare. In fact, the stronger they are, the rarer they are. The science of statistical mechanics, a fundamental underpinning of chemistry, physics and biochemistry, allows the probability of a particular event or fluctuation to be determined based on its strength, and indeed strong fluctuations are exceedingly rare while small ones are numerous beyond counting. This analysis holds rigorously in the world of atoms and molecules. But, applying it in the arena of human interactions, which are much more difficult to quantify, may be hopelessly complex. However, common observation indicates that it is generally true.

The premise of _An Accidental God_ is that a series of random fluctuations, most small and a few large, over a long period of time, turned a person into God. Some of these random occurrences are experienced by Yehhi himself, like the meeting with the gold toothed stranger that led to his education as a scribe. However, the vast majority of these fluctuations are random events that take place long after Yehhi's death, resonating with the circumstances of others to change their feelings about Yehhi. An earthquake, for instance, which convinces Abraham that the statue of his ancestor has miraculous powers.

## CUBIST HISTORY

The reader who is familiar with the book of _Genesis_ will notice that some episodes from _Genesis_ have been rearranged in _An Accidental God_. For instance, the confrontation between Abram and the townsmen of Harran in front of the house of Terah is similar to the confrontation between Lot and the men of Sodom in _Genesis 19_. In _An Accidental God_ , the confrontation in Sodom cannot occur because Sodom is only a memory of a place that was destroyed under mysterious and terrifying circumstances in the legendary past. The conversation between God and Abraham in _Genesis 18_ , in which Abraham protests God's plan to punish the innocent along with the wicked, becomes a conversation between Sarah and Lot's wife, which is overheard by Abraham while he is resting half asleep against a nearby tree in Chapter 42. Perhaps a confused Abraham later recollected the exchange as divine voices in his head.

In Chapter 47, three visitors traveling to the region of the Dead Sea stop at Abraham's tent and tell him a well-known local legend, an episode from the Ugaritic _Tale of Aqhat_ in which a visiting god informs the character Dan'el that he will finally have a much-desired son. The legend they recite is the original model for both their own visit to Abraham in _An Accidental God_ , and that of the three heavenly strangers in _Genesis 18_ : The visitors tell Abraham and Sarah that they will soon have a son. The parallels between the _Aqhat_ legend and the _Genesis_ account are quite close, even including the preparation of a feast for the visitors by the host's wife and laughter upon receiving news of the impending birth.

_Genesis_ Chapters _12_ and _20_ recount two apparently separate instances in which Sarah is taken to bed first by the Egyptian Pharaoh, and then by Abimelech, the king of Gerar. In both instances, Abraham fails to defend Sarah's honor and instead claims that she is only his sister. In _An Accidental God_ , these two episodes are combined into a single abduction, which, nevertheless, results in a tryst with Abimelech and an attempted tryst with Pharaoh.

The relationship between events in _An Accidental God_ and similar events in _Genesis_ is intended to illustrate the relationship between real events and how humans remember those events and pass them on in legend. Memories get confused, and retellings tend to exaggerate or scramble the stories. Elements of other stories or legends may get incorporated. However, the scrambling often occurs in a block-wise fashion similar to a cubist painting. Blocks of truth get remembered and passed on intact, but they are sometimes put back together in different arrangements. So, a speech might be remembered more or less correctly, but attributed to the wrong person. An event that happened at a certain time to a certain group of people might later be recounted accurately, but attributed to a different time and a different group.

_An Accidental God_ represents a hypothetical series of events, a series at least as plausible as the events in _Genesis_ , which could, through the processes of memory and legend, have given rise to the recorded _Genesis_ account.

## GOD'S WILL OR MAN'S?

Yehhi's apparent continued consciousness after his death as he watches and comments on successive history is meant to represent the collective thoughts regarding Yehhi of all the living people who focus their minds upon him. Yehhi's thoughts and opinions evolve throughout history as the thoughts of those who think about him evolve. After physical death, the thoughts of others are his only continuing existence. The mental energy flows from the people to the god and defines the will of the god. What the people interpret as the will of the god is, in fact, the collective thoughts of the people regarding the god. The directionality of the relationship is deceptive. Both the people and the god believe that the will of the god originates with the god, and he imposes his will upon the people. In fact, it is the exact opposite. The will of the people originates with the people, and the people thereby define their own god.

In the modern, largely secular world, where we understand much more about how nature works than the Bronze Age people who first conceived of this God, the definition of God and God's will is unfortunately being left more and more to the most extreme and ignorant religious elements; the few people left that do not understand that modern science has actually explained the forces of nature and the evolution of living things. This is because they are the ones focusing their thoughts on God while everyone else is thinking about worldly concerns. Thus, the chanting students in Pakistani Madrassas and the fanatical Middle Eastern terrorist who literally cannot speak a single sentence without invoking the name of Allah have a disproportionately large influence on the will of God. Self-righteous Evangelical Christians who want to change civil law to represent their narrow-minded views on social issues or replace the teaching of science with fantasy-based pseudoscience have disproportionate influence on the nature of God. Yehhi is not a God of love, compassion or even justice. He is simply a God of whatever we collectively think about him as being. He is a creature of our own misguided thoughts who has traveled far from his origins as the bright, innocent, and likeable son of an ancient incense peddler. Yehhi loves the September 11th suicide bombers, and the Waco Branch Davidians. He loves them because they were focused on Him while most of us were not. He loves them because their actions and the actions of others like them are driving people toward more intense religious devotion. No matter that that devotion is becoming more and more divisive and laced with prejudice, ignorance, and fear. From Yehhi's perspective, all that matters is that more thoughts are directed toward Him.

He was becoming less relevant in the modern world and thus, perhaps, in danger of once again fading toward non-existence like He almost did under the beehive dome back in Ur, before an earthquake brought Him to the forefront of Abraham's thoughts. But, due to recent developments, He is back and stronger than ever. Religion is a human endeavor, which is imprinted on our brains and in our genes; it will likely persist hundreds or thousands of generations into the future. Thus, we should support caring, responsible and inclusive religious beliefs in caring and responsible people so that God's will be defined by positive values. The alternative is to have a God defined by narrow-minded, self-righteous people of prejudice and ignorance.

## AN ABSTRACT GOD

Yehhi, five thousand years ago, was as far removed from the dawn of civilization as we are today from his time. Yehhi sensed the mind-boggling age of his world as he marveled at the irrigation canals in Sumer and the vast girth of the cedar trees in the mountains, but he really had no idea of the true age of his world or even of his species. As the product of eons of evolution and thousands of years of civilization, he believed in a range of gods, big and small. Big gods like Nanna, Enlil, and Baal were venerated by whole cities or peoples. But, these gods, like human rulers, held sway in their own localities. If one traveled to a different land, it was wise to find out what gods were powerful in that land and how to please them. Yehhi also believed in the existence of small gods and ancestor gods, such as Ulak. Of course, Yehhi began his own career as a god, as a small god and a venerated ancestor. In Yehhi's way of thinking, a god was associated with an object: a statue, an idol, a mountain. If the object representing the god was missing, then the god was absent. This line of reasoning was typical of ancient Near Eastern belief in the time of Yehhi.

In _An Accidental God_ , Abraham produced an advance in abstract religious thought. If he had simply lived out his life as a privileged citizen of Ur, he probably would not have had any new ideas. However, violent upheavals, strong event fluctuations, turned his life upside down, and he adapted. He came to believe that his family god, Yehhi, was portable and thus could protect and aid him in the foreign land of Canaan. Abraham also came to believe that he did not need a statue or an idol of his god for his god to be present. Abraham was not strictly a monotheist, and he did not specifically reject the idea or the efficacy of idols. He would have liked to bring the idol of Yehhi with him when he was chased out of Harran, but his father would not let him have it. So, Abraham was forced to make mental adjustments, leading to a breakthrough in his understanding of his god. It was only after Abraham's thinking on these issues evolved that Yehhi himself, somewhat to his surprise, came to understand that his reach extended to Canaan.

The more advanced concept of an abstract god, as developed by Abraham in _An Accidental God_ , was no doubt a significant advantage for this particular god over other, more primitively conceived gods, in the competition for hearts and minds throughout the ages. Eventually, this abstract god supplanted all other deities in the Western World.

## CHINESE BOXES

Consider the fundamental essence of religion from the dawn of human consciousness to the present day: God, or the gods, always represent that which is beyond our knowing and our understanding.

For the earliest humans, the gods lived on the top of the mountain, because the people had never been to the top of the mountain. The top of the mountain was unknown to them. Later, after people had scaled the mountain top, they knew that the gods were not there. The gods were, in fact, in the sky and in the heavens. The sky and the heavens were unknown to them. Later, after people had observed the sky and heavens—and even flown in them—and had come to better understand their workings, they knew that the gods were not there either. Perhaps, if we build larger telescopes and look far out into the universe and far back in time toward the ultimate moment of creation, the Big Bang, we can know the plan of God. Perhaps, if we continue to subdivide the matter of the universe into atoms, and from there into protons, electrons, and neutrons, and from there into quarks, we can discover God's ultimate building blocks, God's ultimate structure for His creation. But, my guess is that we cannot discover these ultimate truths.

No matter how big a telescope we build and no matter how far out in space or back in time we look, we will never find the face of God staring back at us. Like the ancients building the Tower of Babel to reach the heavens, an attempt to gain ultimate truth in the vast reaches of space is doomed. We will always find just more unexplored real-estate and more unanswered questions. And, no matter how big a particle accelerator or atom smasher we build, we will always find finer and finer subdivisions of matter. Quarks will be made of smaller particles, and these will be made of yet smaller particles, and so on and on. We will never be able to discover the ultimate building block or the ultimate structure.

We are suspended in a seemingly infinite set of nested Chinese boxes. No matter how far out we look on the scale of the very large or how far down we look on the scale of the very small, we cannot see the end. There is always just another box. No matter how far back in time we look or how far out into the future we project, we can never find the _alpha_ or the _omega_. These are the true mysteries, and consistent with our human instinct to deify the unknown, it is here that we should look to find our God. We must, of course, also bear in mind that if God is the keeper of the infinite Chinese boxes of space and time, then God is completely unfathomable by the likes of us. Trying to understand such a God will only lead us back into the age old trap of letting our imaginations create beliefs and images of the deity that are without basis. I have just done this myself by calling God the "keeper" of the infinite Chinese boxes. Being a "keeper" is a human activity, and Chinese boxes are objects devised and constructed by people. Instead, we should meditate upon the beauty of the undiscoverable nature of ultimate truth, not simply unknown, but actually unknowable.

## THE DOUBLE TRIANGLE

As symbolized by the Double Triangle figure to the left, each of us is truly the _alpha_ and the _omega_ , the beginning and the end. The family tree of an individual has the form of this Double Triangle, with the individual at the focus where the two triangular points meet. The upper triangle represents the ancestry of the individual which expands as one goes back in time: two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and on and on. The lower point of the upper triangle is the culmination of this long ancestry in a single individual. The lower triangle represents the descendants of the individual, which also tend to expand in number with successive generations. Each person is thus a singular gate between a vast past and an expansive future. We must revere our ancestors since they have made us what we are, both genetically and culturally. God is not our maker, our ancestors are.

We must treasure and educate our children since it is they that provide an afterlife for us in their thoughts, in their actions, and in their genes. The verses from the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ that so obsessed Abraham in _An Accidental God_ symbolize the reality of our afterlife.

"In the world below have you seen the man with no son?"  
"Yes I have seen the man with no son."  
"How goes it with the man with no son in the world below?"  
"The man with no son sits by the wall in the world below and weeps."

"Have you seen in the world below a man with two sons?"  
"Yes I have seen the man with two sons in the world below."  
"How goes it in the world below with the man with two sons?"  
"The man with two sons in the world below sits on a stone and eats some bread."

"Have you seen in the world below a man with five sons?"  
"Yes I have seen the man with five sons in the world below."  
"How goes it in the world below with the man with five sons?"  
"The man with five sons in the world below is treated like a scribe to a king."

In _An Accidental God_ , Abraham left no genetic descendents, but his intellectual and cultural afterlife was expansive, because the Double Triangle has a more profound meaning when it is applied to the evolution of human thought. The upper triangle represents the culture, history, and ideas that have come before. A selection of this vast amount of information converges into an individual's mind, and there the individual forms their own thoughts and ideas. Through the _mystery_ of human consciousness, we are able to draw in what has come before and sometimes synthesize totally new insights, ideas, and understandings. These thoughts and opinions truly define the individual and form the most significant basis for their future legacy in the lower triangle. Our thoughts, unlike our genes, can draw broadly from a wide range of places, times, and cultures. Unlike our genes, our thoughts have the potential for influence that goes far beyond our actual biological descendents. The Double Triangle represents the convergence and subsequent divergence of information–genetic, intellectual, and cultural, as it flows from the past into the future through each individual human being.

# NOTES
## BIBLICAL TEXT

The main Biblical text referred to in the writing of _An Accidental God_ was _The Five Books of Moses_ , by Robert Alter (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2004). This is a new English translation of the Torah, which strives to accurately convey the original meaning and "feel" of the ancient Hebrew text. In the frequently occurring situations, where no one actually knows for sure what the ancient text means, Prof. Alter provides extensive notes explaining the best available scholarly opinion. Quotes from scripture in these notes on _An Accidental God_ , use the text of Alter's translation.

The Bible (Torah) is an exceedingly sparse text almost completely devoid of descriptive language; there are very few adjectives or adverbs. No description of how Abraham looked or felt are given. The very few utterances attributed to him provide no insight into his personality. Only the broadest outline is given of many crucial events. For instance, just a few lines (fourteen verses, Genesis 11:27 to Genesis 12:9) is all the Bible has to say about the events that compose the first third of _An Accidental God_ , the section titled _Abram_. Outside of the Bible, there is no other ancient information about these people or events. Abraham is really a legendary figure, like Gilgamesh, rather than a historical one. No one knows whether he really existed, and if he did, whether any of the events associated with his legend actually occurred.

Despite this vacuum of information, most people, certainly most religious people, have a pretty well-developed mental picture of Abraham, of what he looked like, what he sounded like, and how he acted. Hollywood epics, Sunday school stories, and religious picture books for kids fill in the blank canvas with made-up images and details concocted by believers for believers.

In _An Accidental God_ , an alternative set of details is used to fill in the large gaps in the Biblical narrative of Abraham. These alternative events have an alternative purpose, not to teach about faith or belief, but to explore the evolution of ideas.

## BOOK I: ABRAM, NOTES

### I.1:

Thanks to their extensive keeping of written records on clay tablets, the history of ancient Mesopotamia, including that of Sumer and Ur, is fairly well known. This knowledge even includes fairly precise dates for major events. By contrast, the historical record on Abram (Abraham) is practically non-existent and attempts to date his life, if he actually lived, are not definitive. Possible dates for Abram range from around 1500 BCE to earlier than 2000 BCE; quite a span of time, even if you believe, as the Bible says, that 175 of these years were occupied with his life. _An Accidental God_ illustrates possible events in the life of Abram as occurring shortly after 1500 BCE, on the extreme recent end of the time range.

Given the lack of any direct archeological evidence or any biblical references to persons or events independently known to history, efforts to date the time of Abram typically assume a connection to some point of known history and then work backward, using ages of individuals and time spans quoted in the Bible. A standard approach is to assume that the Pharaoh at the time of the oppression of the Hebrews in Egypt was Ramses II. Adding to this the 430 year length of the sojourn in Egypt quoted in the Bible as well as all the impossibly long life spans of the line of patriarchs stretching back to Abram, one can easily arrive at a date of 2000 BCE or earlier.

The more recent date for the life of Abram in _An Accidental God_ has been arrived at by assuming the general correctness of the innovative arguments made by Ahmed Osman [Osman 1987, Osman 1990], namely that the Egyptian mummy of a prominent 18th Dynasty official, Yuya, is actually that of the patriarch Joseph. Osman establishes rough dates for Joseph's (Yuya's) death and using convincing arguments that the length of the Hebrews' stay in Egypt was about a century, rather than more than 400 years, he establishes the time of the Exodus to be at the very beginning of the 19th Dynasty. Working backward from the chronology established by Osman for the Hebrews in Egypt, and using reasonable ages and life spans for the patriarchs, Abram's birth is estimated to have occurred in the late 16th century BCE, and the events involving Abram/Abraham in _An Accidental God_ occur in the early 15th century BCE.

At this supposed time for Abram, the city of Ur was no longer an independent city-state or the capital of its own empire, as it had been in various past ages, most recently about 500 years previous in the Ur III Period, which is postulated as the time when Yehhi lived. At the time of Abram, Ur was subject to the Babylonian Kassite Dynasty. However, Ur was still a vibrant center of culture, commerce and worship of the Moon God. By virtue of its previous prominence as the seat of vanished empires, it was still a leading city of the region, much as London and Rome are today. <BACK I.1>

## CHAPTER 1, NOTES

### 1.1:

Ancient Near Eastern cities such as Ur were repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt upon their ruins over thousands of years, leading to the buildup of many layered mounds or _tels_. Earthquakes were a main cause of the destruction of these cities, conquest being the other. The Zagros Mountains to the east of Ur mark a very seismically active zone where tectonic plates are colliding. This zone extends westward into the Tigris and Euphrates basin to Ur. Although the region of Ur is not nearly as earthquake prone as areas further east, earthquakes have occurred there, and there are geological faults running close to Ur. Alsinawi 2003, Ghalib 2006] [<BACK 1.1>

### 1.2:

The death of Abram's brother, Haran, is consistent with the Biblical account: _And Haran died in the lifetime of Terah his father in the land of his birth, Ur of the Chaldees._  _Genesis 11:28_ ] [<BACK 1.2>

## CHAPTER 2, NOTES

### 2.1:

By the time postulated for these events, early 15th Century BCE, Ur was no longer independent; its rulers had been vassal governors under the Babylonian (Kassite) Empire for centuries. However, harkening back to its past as first an independent city state and later the seat of a regional empire, it is likely that the local ruler was referred to as the King of Ur. <BACK 2.1>

### 2.2:

Abram, Nahor and their cousins encounter a youth, obviously some sort of court musician from the ruined palace, who is composing a song about the destruction of the city. The _Lament for Ur_ is a song of mourning, composed in the aftermath of the destruction of the city, which has come down to us from history. It is most likely that it was composed following the destruction of Ur by invading Elamites in 2004 BCE, thus ending the Ur III Dynasty. This was about 500 years earlier than the events postulated in _An Accidental God._ There was, in fact, a whole genre of "laments" for destroyed Sumerian cities. Over the two thousand plus year history of Sumerian civilization, most major cities were destroyed at some point, usually multiple times. Thus, it is reasonable to assume that the laments were rediscovered and recomposed multiple times. The laments were always sung in the voice of the patron goddess of the city in question. In the case of Ur, that goddess was Ningal, the wife of the moon god, Nanna. The snippet of the _Lament for Ur_ that the youth is working on is modeled on a part of the actual ancient poem. ETCSL 2006] [<BACK 2.2>

### 2.3:

While viewing the devastation Abram thinks of his dead brother: "Why was it that Haran had been crushed to death and he had not?" These thoughts foreshadow an important theme in _Genesis_ , which also then becomes a point of obsession for Abram's troubled mind in _An Accidental God_ : Why are the innocent so often caught up in the punishments meted out to the wicked? <BACK 2.3>

### 2.4:

Abram's dead brother is named Haran. He is named after a city up the Euphrates River, Harran. The name of the city can be spelled either Haran or Harran. In _An Accidental God_ , the choice was made to use two "r's" in the name of the city in order to distinguish it from the brother. <BACK 2.4>

## CHAPTER 3, NOTES

### 3.1:

The fact that members of the departing clan of Terah secretly brought other idols and family gods along with them on their journey out of Ur, is a deliberate parallel to the story in _Genesis 31_ , in which Rachel, unbeknownst to her husband Jacob, steals her father Laban's idols as they depart for Canaan. <BACK 3.1>

### 3.2:

The young singer accompanies the departure of Abram's family from the city of Ur with a selection from the _Lament for Ur_. This, however, has been heavily edited to condense and simplify relative to the original. In this song, Ningal the patron goddess of the city is pleading with Enlil, her father in law and the chief god, to spare the city.

No such luck! In the original _Lament_ , Enlil sends a violent storm to destroy Ur, but this has been changed here to a shaking of the earth.

Enlil appears repeatedly in _An Accidental God_. As the head god, the equivalent of Zeus in Greek mythology, he plays important roles in the Sumerian version of the story of the great flood (Noah's story in the Bible), and the _Epic of Gilgamesh_. <BACK 3.2>

## CHAPTER 4, NOTES

### 4.1:

This chapter sees the first indication that Abram has contracted a venereal disease, presumably from the prostitutes that entertained him at his bachelor party. His symptoms are consistent with gonorrhea, which has a typical incubation time of 4 to 6 days. At the time that Abram first begins having symptoms during urination, it is 4 days since his party. Gonorrhea is known to have existed in the ancient Near East. <BACK 4.1>

### 4.2:

In modern translations of the Flood Story from the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ , the Noah character is usually referred to as Utnapishtim. This is the Akkadian form of the name; the Sumerian form is Ziusudra. The Akkadians were a culturally and linguistically separate Semitic people, who moved in and dominated Sumer, starting under Sargon who reigned from 2340 to 2284 BCE. The rise of the Akkadian Empire ended the city-state of Ur's independence during the preceding Early Dynastic Period. Under the Akkadian Empire, the Akkadian language began to supplant Sumerian as the official language of commerce and of the scribal class that wrote the clay tablets from which we know the history and literature of ancient Mesopotamia. Later, the Sumerians reasserted control of their lands and revived the importance of their language, under the Third Dynasty of Ur. Ur III collapsed after about 100 years and the Akkadian language reasserted itself. Consequently, much of the literature of ancient Sumer has come to modern times in its Akkadian form, rather than Sumerian. If Abram lived in Ur in the early 15th Century BCE, about 500 years after the fall of Ur III, even if he identified himself as a resident of Sumer and thus a Sumerian, he could have very well spoken Akkadian. This would be consistent with the notion of Abram as the father of Hebrews and Arabs, both Semitic peoples. Akkadian is a Semitic language similar to later Hebrew, while Sumerian is not. <BACK 4.2>

### 4.3:

The version of the Flood Story told by Abram in this chapter is beginning its evolution from the Sumerian version included in the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ , which was recited to the boy, Yehhi, in Chapter 20 of _An Accidental God_ (later in the book, but considerably earlier in chronological time), to the version found in the Hebrew Bible. The Sumerian version of the Flood Story includes a cast of 7 Sumerian gods and goddesses. The final version in the Bible has only one deity, God. Abram is beginning this transformation by substituting his new savior, Yehhi, for Ea, the compassionate god who saves Utnapishtim. In order to focus more on his devotion to Yehhi, Abram has also reduced the number of traditional Sumerian gods to just two, Enlil and Nergal. Enlil, the chief of the gods, continues to play the bad guy, and Nergal, the god of the underworld, continues to make water. Abram has substituted a Covenant between Yehhi and the people, a promise not to flood them out again, for Enlil's act of atonement, granting Utnapishtim immortality. This, of course, also moves the story closer to the biblical version and foreshadows both Abram's Covenant with God in _Genesis_ and his obsession with obtaining a covenant with Yehhi later in _An Accidental God._

The Flood Story as recited in Chapter 4 also continues the theme of divine punishment, and the evolution of the idea that this must be justified, even by God. In the original Sumerian version of the story in Chapter 20, Enlil decides to punish humanity with total obliteration because they are noisy and annoying to him. By the time Abram tells the story on the journey to Harran, he feels the need to give the god (Enlil) a more justifiable reason for killing humanity: _They are wicked_. Of course, Enlil, in both versions of the story wants to kill everyone, the guilty as well as the innocent. Abram has taken the step of beginning to associate his new god, Yehhi, with the more just path of sparing the innocents. Christians tend to view the Hebrew God of the Old Testament as angry and cruel, compared to the loving and personal God of the New Testament. However, the Old Testament God can now be seen to fall in the middle of an evolutionary spectrum between ancient gods like Enlil, which were cruel just because they could be, and the modern concept of a God that actually spends His time thinking about our welfare.

This is not to say that ancient people did not enjoy the comfort of a personal relationship with gods that actually cared about them. This type of relationship was provided by the family gods, including the ancestors. But, the big gods with jurisdiction over all of humanity or whole civilizations, had little connection to or regard for humans, whom they created as something of an afterthought, like we might acquire garden gnomes. Abram's Yehhi is perhaps unique among ancient "big" gods in that he began as a small family god, and was elevated to big god status by fortuitous events. Yehhi's origins as one of Abram's family gods leads Abram to attribute to Yehhi a greater level of concern for the welfare of his people, than would be expected from the likes of Enlil. <BACK 4.3>

## CHAPTER 5, NOTES

### 5.1:

Harran today is probably not much different than the sight that met Abram and Terah's eyes upon getting off of the riverboat. Not very inspiring, but the beehive dome buildings are in evidence. <BACK 5.1>

## CHAPTER 6, NOTES

### 6.1:

The darker side of human nature has, no doubt, changed very little over the millennia. <BACK 6.1>

## CHAPTER 7, NOTES

### 7.1:

The scene in this chapter, of the men of Harran standing in front of Terah's house and demanding to get their hands on Abram, is an intentional parallel to _Genesis 19_ , where the men of Sodom surround Lot's house and demand to get their hands on Lot's two guests. The language used by the men of Harran in _An Accidental God_ is deliberately parallel to that used by the men of Sodom: _Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us so we may know them!_ [ _Genesis 19:5-6_ ]

The actual Sodom episode does not occur in _An Accidental God_ because the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah was an old legend even to the people of Abram's time. What little archeological evidence there is from the ruins of ancient cites at the edge of the Dead Sea, suggests a possible date for the destruction which is at least about 500 years earlier than the early 15th Century BCE date _An Accidental God_ uses for Abram.BAR 1980] Given the evolutionary process of the oral transmission of stories and legends, which is a major theme of _An Accidental God_ , one can imagine that the old Sodom story got combined with the recollection of actual events in Harran in later retellings by members of Abram's clan. [<BACK 7.1>

### 7.2:

The use of one of Abram's cloaks soaked in lambs blood as a ruse to make Muknuk think he had been killed is a deliberate parallel to the story in _Genesis 37_ in which Joseph's brothers sell him into slavery and present his father, Jacob, with Joseph's coat of many colors soaked in lamb's blood as proof that Joseph was killed by a wild beast. There is no particularly important reason for this parallel except that it works well for the Abram story and it is interesting to mix and match Biblical episodes in a way that may have occurred during their centuries of oral transmission before finally being written down. <BACK 7.2>

## CHAPTER 10, NOTES

### 10.1:

Abram argues with his father over possession of the idol of Yehhi. The ancient notion of gods was far more concrete than the modern one. The idol was not just a representation of the god; the idol was the god (in this sense, the present Catholic doctrine that the sacramental bread and wine is _truly_ the body and blood of Christ can be seen as a throwback to ancient pagan superstitions.). Without the idol of his god, Abram would be without Yehhi's projection on his journey into the unknown. In _An Accidental God_ , Abram's mental struggles to deal with the physical absence of his god will start him on the path of developing the more abstract notion of God, which eventually characterized Hebrew religion and ultimately all the western religions that grew from it. <BACK 10.1>

### 10.2:

And the Lord said to Abram, "Go forth from your land and your birthplace and your father's house to the land I will show you." Genesis 12:1-2.

And Abram went forth as the Lord had spoken to him and Lot went forth with him... Genesis 12:4.

Although Abram was born in Ur, hundreds of miles and months of travel down the Euphrates River, Harran was still part of the Mesopotamian world and culture. It was still the land of his birth, but it was the frontier of this word. Once Abram left Harran and headed west, he was leaving all that was familiar behind. <BACK 10.2>

### 10.3:

The "sons" of Abram, Ishmael, Isaac, and Zimran, come onto the scene in this chapter. In this version, none of them are actually the biological sons of Abram because he and Sarai are truly and permanently sterile as a result of venereal disease. In the Hebrew Bible, Isaac is predominant because he is the legendary father of the Hebrew people. In the Koran, Ishmael is more important because he is the father of the Arabs. Poor Zimran is apparently the father of nobody significant because he is given short shrift all around, even in _An Accidental God_ , where he will quickly fade into the background. Although Abram will come to love them both, the fact that neither Ishmael nor Isaac is his real son is the author's commentary on the state of things 4000 years on. In _An Accidental God_ , Ishmael and Isaac are the best of friends, without a hint of rivalry between them. The rivalry will come into the narrative through the competition between their respective mothers: Sarai the adoptive mother of Isaac, and Hagar the biological mother of Ishmael. <BACK 10.3>

### 10.4:

This chapter begins the development of the character, Salina. In the Bible, Lot's wife has neither her own name nor her own voice. Her one mention, and one act, is to look back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and get turned into a pillar of salt ( _Genesis 19:26_ ). In _An Accidental God_ , the foolish Lot is nothing if not Salina's husband. In early drafts of the book, this character was called Iltani, an authentic ancient Sumerian woman's name, which I felt had a noble ring befitting this wonderful character. Later, I could not resist the pun inherent in naming her _Salina_ , which would be pronounced like the Spanish name Selena, but which would presumably mean "salty girl. <BACK 10.4>

## CHAPTER 11, NOTES

### 11.1:

Carchemish was an ancient city located at what is now on the frontier between Turkey and Syria. It was the sight of a Neolithic settlement as early as 3000 BCE, and Bronze Age artifacts dating from 2300 BCE have been found there. In the mid-second millennium BCE, around the time of Abram's visit, Carchemish was a major town in a region being fought over by the Mitanni and the Hittite empires. Although not a Sumerian town, Carchemish was an outpost of civilization that would have been known to the people of neighboring Harran. Carchemish was located on the west bank of the main branch of the Euphrates River, where it commanded a heavily used ford. In ancient times, it was an important center for trade in timber brought overland from Lebanon. <BACK 11.1>

## CHAPTER 12, NOTES

### 12.1:

Abram and his clan are now in what is today Syria, and at that time, was part of the word of the Ugaritic culture, named after Ugarit, a city on the Mediterranean coast. Baal was a title that simply meant lord or master, and could be used to refer to any number of local gods. However, it was most commonly used to refer to Baal Hadad, the lord of the heavens and god of rain and thunder and the fertility of the land that the rain brings. <BACK 12.1>

### 12.2:

If these people are speaking Ugaritic and Abram is speaking Akkadian, they would probably have some basis for communication. Both languages are part of the Semitic family. It would possibly be similar to a conversation between a Portuguese and a Spanish speaker. <BACK 12.2>

### 12.3:

The ruined city of Yamhad that Abram and his clan come across is known today as Aleppo, and is the largest city in Syria. Yamhad was destroyed by the Hittites in the mid Second Millennium BCE, corresponding roughly to the time postulated for Abram's visit. Abram's group has trekked about 100 km to the southwest from Carchemish to reach Yamhad. <BACK 12.3>

### 12.4:

Legend has it that the Arabic name for Yamhad (Aleppo), Halab, comes from the Arabic word for milk, Haleeb. The legend tells that Abram came to the city in a time of great need and fed the inhabitants with milk from his flock. God miraculously caused the milk from Abram's livestock to flow in great abundance. _An Accidental God_ pays homage to this tale. <BACK 12.4>

## CHAPTER 13, NOTES

### 13.1:

The location of the ancient city of Ebla is 55 km southwest of Aleppo. In the 1970's, a library of thousands of clay tablets with cuneiform writing was discovered at this site, which has shed light on ancient Ugaritic and Canaanite culture. <BACK 13.1>

### 13.2:

There are parallels among the ancient pantheons of gods followed by the different civilizations of the ancient Near East. They all had a head god or father god: Enlil (Sumerian), El (Ugaritic), and Ra (Egyptian). They all had a god who died, and was resurrected from the dead: Marduk (Babylonian), Baal Hadad (Ugaritic), and Osiris (Egyptian). Of course, even today, many people believe in a God that died and was resurrected. Viewed in the context of the long religious history of the region in which it arose, the key belief of Christianity is seen to be just the latest incarnation of this enduring myth.

Marduk was the patron god of the city of Babylon, which by the time of Abram in the mid-Second Millennium BCE, dominated Mesopotamia, including Ur. Ur retained its worship of the moon god, Nanna (Sin in Akkadian), but Marduk was replacing Enlil as the head god for the entire region. <BACK 13.2>

## CHAPTER 14, NOTES

### 14.1:

Abram's clan is now migrating south through the Bakaa Valley, in present day Lebanon. This 120 km long, 16 km wide valley runs north and south and is located inland between the Lebanon Mountains and the Anti Lebanon Mountains. <BACK 14.1>

### 14.2:

In this chapter, Ishmael describes the priests of Baal as wearing purple robes. Tyrian purple, named for its source in the city of Tyre on the Mediterranean coast, in present day Lebanon, was the only purple dye known in the western world in antiquity. It was extraordinarily expensive because it had to be extracted drop-by-drop from a particular type of sea snail, and it took thousands of snails to produce a tiny quantity of dye. Due to its great expense, the color purple was worn almost exclusively by royalty including Phoenician, Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine kings and emperors. If the priests of Baal were dressed in purple this would signify their great wealth and high status. <BACK 14.2>

## CHAPTER 15, NOTES

### 15.1:

The priests call Abram and his people "hebrews," with a small "h." As explained by Ishmael, this term comes from the local Canaanite language and simply means a stranger or wanderer. It is not yet the name of a specific people. <BACK 15.1>

### 15.2:

This chapter derives inspiration from _Genesis 12:6-7_ , which describes Abram reaching a place called Shechem in the land of the Canaanites, and making a sacrifice to the Lord upon an altar. In Sumer, where Abram was from, sacrifices would have been made on behalf of the entire people by a professional priestly class, within a large temple complex that was likely out of sight of normal citizens like Abram. Therefore, Abram may not have previously thought about making sacrifices to Yehhi or understood how one went about this.

In Canaan, the priests of Baal Hadad likewise make sacrifices on behalf of all the people. However, this is a smaller more backward civilization and the priests do not have access to a Ziggurat or a large temple complex. Instead, they pile up rocks in the open on a hilltop to make a rough altar. In _An Accidental God_ , Abram encounters these priests, obtains their assistance in his first sacrifice to Yehhi, and learns what he needs to do to make future sacrifices on his own. <BACK 15.2>

### 15.3:

The priests lecture Abram on the family tree of the Canaanite/Ugaritic gods. El, the sky god, is the head god and the father of most of the others. He is equivalent to Enlil in the Sumerian pantheon. In the Torah, the name El appears as a name for God and as part of references to a god, which generations of the Judeo-Christian faithful have interpreted as meaning their one true God. For instance, in _Genesis 14_ , Melchizedek, king of Salem and, who is also a priest of "El Elyon," says:

"Blessed by Abram of El Elyon, possessor of heaven and earth,  
and blessed be El Elyon who delivered your foes into your hand." Genesis 14:20

Who is this god, "El Elyon" (God Most High)? Maybe not who we think he is. In _Genesis 17:1_ , the Lord appears to Abram and says " _I am El Shaddai_ (God Almighty). _Walk in my presence and be blameless_ . . ." Is this god, who is appearing to Abram, the Judeo-Christian God, or some Canaanite god, or are the two one and the same, at least at this early stage of development? <BACK 15.3>

### 15.4:

The pile or pillar of stones on the side of the altar is identified by the priests as representing the god El. Stone piles, or standing stones, beside Canaanite altars were used to represent the presence of deities such as El or Baal. <BACK 15.4>

### 15.5:

El's wife, the mother goddess Asherah, was often represented as a tree or wooden post placed beside a Canaanite altar, and also an early Hebrew altar. The Biblical verse which describes Abram's arrival at Shechem  _Genesis 12:6_ ] also mentions a terebinth, which is a kind of small scrubby evergreen tree that grows in the Middle East. This is the incarnation of Asherah beside the altar of the priests of Baal in _An Accidental God_. Hebrew altars continued to be adorned with Asherah symbols for hundreds of years, including in the First Temple of Jerusalem. [<BACK 15.5>

### 15.6:

In _An Accidental God_ , Abram has brought a belief in his god, Yehhi, with him from Sumer. Now that he is in Canaan, this belief is getting mixed up in his mind with local beliefs and local gods. After originally rejecting the idea that Yehhi is one of the many children of the Canaanite El, Abram eventually concedes "Maybe so." <BACK 15.6>

### 15.7:

This chapter is deliberately a bit "Monty Pythonesque" as a commentary on the absurdity of religious rituals past and present. Worshipers of Baal apparently did sometimes engage in human sacrifice, particularly of children, and they also were known to sacrifice their own blood to the god by cutting themselves. <BACK 15.7>

### 15.8:

The money grubbing nature of the priests is an intentional commentary on organized religion of the past and present. <BACK 15.8>

## CHAPTER 16, NOTES

### 16.1:

_And he_ Abram] _pulled up stakes from there for the high country east of Bethel and pitched his tent with Bethel to the west and Ai to the east, and he built there an altar to the Lord, and he invoked the name of the Lord._ [ _Genesis 12:8_ ] [<BACK 16.1>

## CHAPTER 17, NOTES

### 17.1:

_And Abram journeyed onward by stages to the Negeb.Genesis 12:9_ ] [<BACK 17.1>

### 17.2:

This statement by Ishmael to Abram echoes God's words to Abram in _Genesis 15:5_ about his descendents one day being as numerous as the stars in the sky. The second part about walking about the land echoes God's words to Abram in _Genesis 13:17_. Ruling out the possibility that a magical being actually spoke to Abram, we are left to postulate human origins for these words. This illustrates a mechanism by which religious beliefs may be generated. A real living person says something profound and these words are remembered. Later on, through the reshuffling and embellishment that occurs in the retelling of oral traditions, or perhaps due to a shift in circumstances, the words get attributed to someone else, even God. If the words are important enough to a people and a culture, there is probably a tendency to empower these words by shifting their origins from human to divine. <BACK 17.2>

### 17.3:

Gerar was located in the Western Negev Desert, about nine miles southeast of Gaza and fifteen miles northwest of Beersheba. <BACK 17.3>

### 17.4:

This incident, in which Abimelech, king of Gerar, abducts Sarai, serves as the _Accidental God_ equivalent of both "sister-wife" episodes in the story of Abram, _Genesis 12:10-20_ , and _Genesis 20_. In these stories, Sarai, because of her great beauty, is grabbed first by the Pharaoh of Egypt and then by Abimelech king of Gerar. Abram is too cowardly to defend her honor, and instead claims to only be her brother in both cases.

Even in that long-ago misogynistic time, and even in the face of overwhelming odds, as a married man myself, I cannot believe that Abram would have been able to get away with denying his wife twice in a row. The presence of the Egyptian advisor, Phicol, suggests that the two stories will be combined in some way.

In _Genesis 21:22_ and _21:32_ Phicol is named as captain of Abimelech's troops, and is assumed to be a philistine like Abimelech. In _An Accidental God_ , Phicol has been turned into an Egyptain advisor or perhaps a monitor of the somewhat irresponsible Abimelech on behalf of Gerar's Egyptian overlords. At the time of Abram, about 1500 BCE, the inhabitants and lands of Canaan were part of the greater Egyptian empire. <BACK 17.4>

## BOOK II: YEHHI, NOTES

### II.1:

The time of Yehhi is imagined to be a little more than 500 years before the time of Abram, or about 2050 BCE, right at the height of the Ur III period, when Ur, having reasserted itself after the collapse of Akkadian rule, built an empire comprising much of Mesopotamia.Van De Mieroop 2004, pp. 69-79] [<BACK II.1>

## CHAPTER 18, NOTES

### 18.1:

Why, the reader may ask, is Yehhi's party crossing the dessert in a caravan of donkeys rather than in a caravan of camels? The answer is that the ancient Sumerians did not have domesticated camels. Camels may have been domesticated around the time of Yehhi or even earlier elsewhere, but not in Sumer.

There is even a minor controversy over whether references to camels in _Genesis 12:16_ and throughout _Genesis 24_ , are anachronistic, and were added by scribes over a millennium later who did not know that camels were not domesticated at the time of the patriarchs. This seems to be more of an open question with arguments being made on both sides. However, the preponderance of people arguing for camels in _Genesis_ seem to be religious types, who are at pains to demonstrate that the Bible is literally true and historically accurate. Thus, their analysis may not be fully objective.

Regardless of this controversy over what went on in a geographically different area and at a later time, it is fairly certain that ancient Sumerians did not use domesticated camels. <BACK 18.1>

## CHAPTER 19, NOTES

### 19.1:

The symbolic significance of Yehhi's dream is discussed in the essay: _The Double Triangle_. <BACK 19.1>

## CHAPTER 20, NOTES

### 20.1:

Yehhi watches a sheep being slaughtered according to a proscribed ritual that is similar to the methods used in kosher and halal slaughter, still used by religious Jews and Muslims. The message is that these practices, like many aspects of both of these religions, evolved in the context of thousands of years of prior practical custom and religious tradition in the Near East. <BACK 20.1>

### 20.2:

Most of this chapter is taken up by a recitation of the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ , which is one of the earliest known literary works. It likely evolved over generations as an orally transmitted collection of stories about Gilgamesh (perhaps a mythologized early king of the Sumerian city-state of Uruk) and his best friend Enkidu that would have been performed by professional bards. What is presented here is just a tiny snippet of the full _Epic_ , which is actually similar in length to the entire _Yehhi_ section of _An Accidental God_ , around 20,000 words. The _Epic_ has been edited to highlight the most important aspects as they relate to themes in _An Accidental God_ , and also as they relate to later western religion. The real epic contains a large amount of repetition of verses and phrases, as would be typical of something that needed to be memorized and transmitted orally. It also contains large sections focusing on the relationships among, and doings of, the Sumerian gods. These aspects have been dramatically cut back in this presentation and even the individual verses have been heavily edited to enhance brevity and readability. <BACK 20.2>

### 20.3:

The Epic begins by telling us that Gilgamesh was born of a virgin and was part god and part man. Clearly the people who gave these same attributes to an executed Jewish troublemaker thousands of years later, as part of the process of turning him into a god (Yehhi's son?), were following in a long established Near Eastern tradition. <BACK 20.3>

### 20.4:

The story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden ( _Genesis 3_ ) is clearly a descendent of the earlier recounting of the creation and subsequent civilizing of Enkidu in the _Epic of Gilgamesh_. The earlier Sumerians were clearly more comfortable with sexuality than later peoples, since they tell the story straight: A joyously lusty woman _fucked_ civilization into the wild man. There is nothing in the _Epic_ to indicate that her actions are bad or shameful, and neither are Enkidu's. Later, more prudish interpreters of this tradition used a piece of fruit to symbolize the woman's sexuality and made the act a crime. In _Genesis_ , Adam and Eve feel shame because of their act. In the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ , Enkidu only feels shame because he suddenly realizes that he is bare ass naked. He is not ashamed for having eaten the forbidden fruit, I mean screwing the girl. And, she isn't ashamed either. <BACK 20.4>

### 20.5:

The story of the felling of the cedars and the killing of the monster Humbaba is glossed over here to avoid giving the reader too big of a dose of _ancient epic_ all in one shot. However, it is important to the story of Yehhi and will be told later in _Chapter 28_. <BACK 20.5>

### 20.6:

The ferryman on the deadly sea who conveys Gilgamesh to see Ziusudra, the immortal, is clearly a progenitor Charon, the ferryman on the river Styx in Greek Mythology. The practice of placing coins on the eyes or in the mouths of the dead before burial so that they would have the fare to pay the ferryman has persisted from at least the time of the ancient Greeks to 19th Century America. <BACK 20.6>

### 20.7:

In answer to Yehhi's question brought on by hearing about Gilgamesh's angst over his own mortality, the stranger with the gold tooth observes: "I do not know what it is like to be dead. No one knows, and I doubt anyone living ever will know. In all the long ages of the world from the Creation until now, no one has ever come back to tell the living. Not one!" This statement, although absolutely true, would probably be disputed today by almost the same proportion of the populace as in Yehhi's time. The man with the gold tooth, however, is a deep thinker and visionary, for he is the man who discovers God. His statement also conveys an appreciation for the vast age of the world and even of human civilization. This may strike the modern reader as strange. Didn't these people realize that they were living at the dawn of civilization, when the world was young? Of course they did not. Their world seemed as ancient and established to them as ours does to us now. A similar span of years separated Yehhi and the gold-tooth-man from the origins of civilization in the Fertile Crescent as separate us today from Yehhi's time. <BACK 20.7>

### 20.8:

This version of the Flood Story, embedded within the Epic of Gilgamesh as told at the time of the Ur III Dynasty, uses the Sumerian name, Ziusudra, for the Noah character. When Abram tells the story about 500 years later, he uses the Akkadian name, Utnapishtim. During Ur III Sumerian language and culture was ascendant, but it was replaced by Akkadian in the later Babylonian Period. Burney 1977, p. 87] [<BACK 20.8>

### 20.9:

The Epic of Gilgamesh contains a version of the Flood Story which predates, and is the ancestor of the one told by Abram on the boat up the Euphrates to Harran in Chapter 4. A major theme of _An Accidental God_ is to illustrate how religious beliefs, and the oral traditions that convey them, evolve through repeated retellings by people whose outlook is impacted by changing circumstances. Early drafts of _An Accidental God_ were in chronological order, with the story of Yehhi told before the story of Abram/Abraham. To increase the appeal and impact, things were eventually reordered to put the dramatic events with Abram in the destruction of Ur first. Abram and his family are also familiar characters more likely to draw immediate interest than a strange boy named Yehhi. After reading the first book about Abram, however, the reader has been primed to be curious about Yehhi.

In this original Sumerian version of the Flood Story, the head god, Enlil, decides to wipe out humanity because the noise they are making is disturbing his beauty rest. The Sumerian gods were, like nature itself, capricious and unfathomable. However, by the end of the story, Enlil has been taught a lesson and the kindly god, Ea, who Abram later turns into Yehhi, scolds Enlil for punishing the innocent along with the guilty. By the time Abram tells the story and begins to reshape it toward the Biblical version, it is understood from the very beginning that the god needs to have a good reason to punish, and thus the people have become "wicked." This whole notion that even a god needs to be just continued to evolve and is found in Abram's discussion with God about the impending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah in the second half of _Genesis 18_. <BACK 20.9>

### 20.10:

The various afterlife fates of men with different numbers of sons, as recounted in the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ , are a recurring theme in _An Accidental God_. The more sons a man has, the better his afterlife will be. This belief, which is ingrained in hundreds or even thousands of years of the culture that spawned Abraham, will eventually combine with his sterility to drive him mad. Of course, I also like this passage because it meshes with the philosophy of the _Double Triangle_. <BACK 20.10>

## CHAPTER 21, NOTES

### 21.1:

Yehhi's family is living in the marshlands where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers meet the northwestern tip of what is now called the Persian Gulf. This land is traditionally home to people known as Marsh Arabs. Of course, the ancient Sumerians predated people designated as "Arab" by millennia, but some scholars think that today's Marsh Arabs are at least partially descended from ancient Sumerians who lived in the same area and probably lived in much the same way. Thesiger 1967] Consequently, the description of Yehhi's home village and its buildings is modeled on Marsh Arab settlements. Ancient Sumerian relief images of reed houses have also been found, which look nearly identical to the ones still in use today. [<BACK 21.1>

## CHAPTER 22, NOTES

### 22.1:

In ancient times, the city of Ur was located right beside the Euphrates River. It was connected to the river by a short canal that allowed boats of substantial size to approach the city and moor in one of two docking areas. The course of the river has changed over time and now the ruins of Ur are located a substantial distance from the river. Based on modern maps showing Ur away from the Euphrates, early versions of _An Accidental God_ postulated a journey down a long canal to the city. The current version of the book keeps Yehhi, his father and brother on the river right up to the city, consistent with the best known historical information. <BACK 22.1>

### 22.2:

The countryside around Ur, and other Sumerian cities was organized into large estates owned by nobles and religious organizations (temples). The estates were run as businesses by professional managers from the scribal class, and the work was done by Sumerian peasants who lived on the estates and were paid wages in grain and goods. The compound by the side of the river is part of one of these estates. <BACK 22.2>

### 22.3:

The digging of irrigation canals in Sumer began as early as 6000 BCE, about 4000 years before Yehhi's time. The city of Ur and its surrounding farm lands began their development almost 2000 years before Yehhi's time. <BACK 22.3>

### 22.4:

Here it is revealed that Yehhi and his family are frankincense merchants. Frankincense is the solidified sap of a particular type of scraggly evergreen tree. It was harvested and used for making incense as early as 3000 BCE, a millennium before Yehhi's time. Yehhi and his family would have traveled across the Arabian desert to obtain frankincense at the southern end of the Arabian peninsula, perhaps at the fabled city of Ubar, a center for trade in this valuable product, in what is today Oman. The term "frankincense" was not used in Yehhi's time. It is a much later European name, Frank-incense, derived from the fact that Frankish (French) knights brought the substance back from the Crusades. <BACK 22.4>

### 22.5:

The purchase of the frankincense is transacted in weights of gold (or silver) rather than in coins, which did not yet exist for general commerce in ancient Sumer. Centuries later, in the time of Abraham, coins are still not in use, as suggested by the fact that Abraham "weighed out" the silver he used to pay for the cave of Machpelah, which would later become a family tomb. _Genesis 23:16_. <BACK 22.5>

### 22.6:

The young scribe who buys frankincense from Yehhi's father records the transaction on a clay tablet in cuneiform writing. As described in the chapter, this writing consists of patterns composed of wedge shaped marks impressed in wet clay (or sometimes carved into stone). A clay tablet with cuneiform writing is shown. <BACK 22.6>

### 22.7:

Ancient Sumerians used seals which made imprints into wet clay. These seals were often carved stone cylinders that were rolled across the clay to produce images. A Sumerian cylinder seal and the embossed clay image it produces are shown below. This is quite an elaborate seal which would likely be used by more important people and more important purposes than a middling level temple worker shopping in the market. The young scribe's seal would work the same way, but would be simpler in design. <BACK 22.7>

### 22.8:

A map of ancient Ur is shown in the map section. This includes tightly packed neighborhoods with narrow winding streets. The walled off complex in the middle of the city encloses an open plaza and the Temple of the Moon with its Ziggurat and associated buildings. In _An Accidental God_ , the rough and tumble marketplace is imagined as being outside the city walls beside the Euphrates River and a main canal. <BACK 22.8>

### 22.9:

Sumerians built Ziggurat temples for thousands of years, beginning as early as the Uruk period, about 1,500 years before Yehhi's time. Burney 1977, pp. 66-67.] The temple complex in Ur would have been ancient when Yehhi arrived; the Ziggurat constantly being rebuilt and enlarged over the centuries. It reached its final colossal size around 2100 BCE, [Burney 1977, pp. 88-89. Leick 2001, pp. 126, Wilson 1999] and this is the awesome structure Yehhi would have seen. This structure still stands today. Below are images of the Ziggurat of Ur: (a) artists' conception of how it might have looked in ancient times; (b) Modern partial reconstruction. [<BACK 22.9>

(a)

(b)

### 22.10:

In this chapter, Yehhi is accepted as a student in a school ( _é-dubba_ ), which educates Sumerian scribes ( _dubsar_ ).Afanasieva 1991, p. 134] [<BACK 22.10>

## CHAPTER 23, NOTES

### 23.1:

Scribes were pretty much the only academically educated segment of ancient Sumerian society, and their education went far beyond cuneiform writing to include mathematics, surveying, astronomy, accounting, and literature. Afanasieva 1991, p. 134] Only wealthy and politically well-connected families could send their children (almost exclusively boys) for this type of intensive education, beginning around the ages of 5 to 7. Yehhi is about 10 years old, and thus he is starting school unusually late; his 8 year old brother is more typical of a beginning pupil. [<BACK 23.1>

### 23.2:

The main method by which students were taught cuneiform writing was to copy model word lists. Originally, cuneiform was developed to keep accounting records, and the first words written down were types of goods and livestock as well as numbers and measures signifying amounts, the areas of fields and the numbers of people in work gangs. The original writing was not viewed as a way to record the sentences and complex ideas that people expressed verbally. By Yehhi's time (about 2050 BCE), scribes were expanding the writing system to address a wider range of uses; copying of lists of proverbs, such as the _Instructions of Shuruppak_ , which was couched as a series of conversations between a father and a son, gave the students some practice in recording speech. However, the basic education of a scribe remained focused on copying lists of the words needed to document financial transactions. Van De Mieroop 2004, pp. 28-33, Leick 2001, pp. 69-76] [<BACK 23.2>

### 23.3:

The idol of Nanna resided in an inner chamber, the _adytum_ , which in _An Accidental God_ is called the "Holy of Holies." The use of this term stresses the similarity of the general layout of a Sumerian temple to the much later Jewish Temple of Solomon, which has been noted by some scholars. Wilson 1999, Kaplan 1971] The ancient Sumerians, like the later ancient Hebrews, also had an obsession with ritually purifying people and objects that would come into the presence of their gods. [Wilson 1999] [<BACK 23.3>

### 23.4:

Sumerian gods were regularly given offerings of food and drink. Animal sacrifice was also practiced, although perhaps not to the extent shown in _An Accidental God_ , and maybe only to supply meat for sacrificial meals presented to the god. [Wilson 1999] The industrial scale sacrifice of animals is intentionally similar to later practices at the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. Most of the religious practices of the Ur moon cult depicted in _An Accidental God_ are based on later Jewish practices, particularly as described in _Exodus_ and _Leviticus_. This is to emphasize the point that the biblical instructions and laws, supposedly given by God to Moses at Mt. Sinai, were actually quite similar to religious practices that had evolved over thousands of years in the Near East and which were widely practiced at the time.

Imagine God appearing to Moses on Mt. Sinai and saying, "I am the one true God and I am here to reveal my laws to you." Moses would have been shaking in his sandals and expecting something really awesome and profound. Then, imagine that God obliged Moses and said: "The Earth is 4 billion years old, it is round, and it moves around the sun. People are descended from apes, and E = mc2. Now I will tell you how to use this knowledge and more like it, which I will reveal, to make your lives better."

If that is what had happened, I would be a believer because there is no way anyone but a god or an advanced extraterrestrial (which is arguably the same thing) could have known any of these truths at the time of Moses. And, if God had that knowledge, and He would if He were truly God as most believers conceive of Him, why wouldn't He share it with his chosen people?

But, of course, that is not what happened. Instead "God" apparently told Moses to "Build me a house which is laid out according to a similar plan as all the temples of all the gods in the Near East for the past thousand years. Sacrifice food and animals to me like everyone else does to their gods. Get all crazy about ritual cleanliness and purity like all the other priests and priestesses of all the other gods in the region." Moses should have asked for his money back. The obvious conclusion is that the Law of Moses, which forms the early foundation of Judeo-Christian religion, is of human origin rather than supernatural. <BACK 23.4>

### 23.5:

There is evidence that ancient Sumerians, and the inhabitants of Ur in particular, practiced human sacrifice, but it seems to have accompanied the funerals of kings.Woolley 1954; Burney 1977 pp. 75-77] I have not found studies that indicate human sacrifices were made to the moon god, Nanna. Generally, I have tried to keep _An Accidental God_ as historically accurate as possible. However, historical accuracy is open to broad interpretation when representing a culture separated from us by such a huge distance in time and such a vast gap in solid information. In order to thematically link into the human sacrifice theme in _Genesis_ , and in the _Abram_ and _Abraham_ books of _An Accidental God_ , it has also been introduced into the moon cult of Nanna. [<BACK 23.5>

## CHAPTER 24, NOTES

### 24.1:

The _Akitu_ festivals in ancient Sumer marked the equinoxes and corresponded to the time for planting barley, in the fall, and the time for harvesting barley, in the spring. Due to the extreme heat and dryness of the summers in Mesopotamia, the winter was the growing season rather than the summer. _Akitu_ is the Akkadian word for this festival; the corresponding Sumerian word is _Zagmuk_ , which means "beginning of the year." The fall version of this festival, which was bigger than the spring, was kind of a new year's festival. At the time postulated for the life of Yehhi, around 2050 BCE, the resurgent Ur III Dynasty may have used the Sumerian rather than the Akkadian name for these festivals. However, the Akkadian term, _Akitu,_ is used in _An Accidental God_ because it is more well-known to history and because it sounds better than _Zagmuk_ , which might invoke images of mud-wrestling to the modern reader. <BACK 24.1>

### 24.2:

The house being constructed for the god is known as the _Bet Akitu_ in the Akkadian language. _Bet_ , the second letter in Semitic alphabets such as Hebrew, means "house" in multiple languages of this family. For instance, in Hebrew, _Beth El_ , meaning "house of god," is the name of a Biblical place and a common same for a Jewish house of worship.

The _Bet Akitu_ and the curtained-off enclosure around it are intentionally similar to the Tabernacle and surrounding Tabernacle Court supposedly constructed in the desert by the Hebrews, based on explicit instructions given by God to Moses and set out in _Exodus 26_ , and _Exodus 27:9-19_. The wooden planks with metal fittings described in the first paragraph of Chapter 24 are components of this structure which are intentionally similar, though less richly adorned, to those described in _Exodus 26:15-30_. These parallels emphasize the similarity of Biblical Hebrew religion to the earlier Near Eastern traditions it grew out of. The fact that both the Akkadians and the Hebrews were Semites that used similar languages further reinforces this point. <BACK 24.2>

### 24.3:

This paragraph deviates from the first person point of view of the Yehhi narrative, and there is no way to include this scene within that framework. The picture it paints, however, is just too good to leave out. <BACK 24.3>

### 24.4:

This "pillar of smoke" is meant to parallel the pillars of cloud and fire, presumably containing God, which led the Hebrews out of Egypt. _Exodus 13: 21-22; 14: 19, 24; 33: 9-10_. In the next paragraph, we see that the pillar is a column of smoke rising from fires carried at the head of the god Nanna's procession. <BACK 24.4>

### 24.5:

As interpreted by modern scholars, the _Akitu_ Festival was full of symbolism. The god leaving the city and then later returning symbolized the death and rebirth associated with the agricultural seasons that the Festival demarcated. Additionally, the return of the god and the king to the city at the end of the Festival symbolized the ascendency of order and civilization over the chaos which preceded it. In order to have a convincing return of civilization, it may have been traditional for the people in the absence of their gods and rulers to appoint a mock king and cut loose for a bit of chaotic fun.Sommer, 2000] [<BACK 24.5>

### 24.6:

This procession has some intentional similarities to the procession of the Hebrews carrying the Ark of the Covenant and altars for worship through the wilderness as described in _Numbers 4_. The altar in the _Akitu_ procession is described to resemble that used by the Hebrews ( _Exodus 27: 1-8_ ). The altar Yehhi sees has upturned horns on its four corners, like those of a bull. This was a feature of altars used by West Semitic peoples to worship various gods throughout the ancient Near East. Alter 2004, p. 469, _Exodus 17_ , note on verse 2] It is particularly fitting in this case because Nanna is a horned god associated with the bull. Interestingly, the Hebrew altar from _Exodus_ also has these horns. [<BACK 24.6>

### 24.7:

The high priestesses hair ornaments are imagined to have resembled those found in the tomb of Queen Puabi (Shub-ad) at Ur by Woolley.Woolley 1954 Plate 8] [<BACK 24.7>

### 24.8:

When the patron deity of a city was male, as was the case at Ur, the god was served primarily by female priestesses, who often were members of the ruling class. The head priestess of Nanna at Ur was traditionally a post occupied by the king's daughter. In other cities, such as Uruk, where the patron was a goddess, the priests were male. In these cities, the king was often the head priest as well as the temporal leader. Van De Mieroop 2004, pp. 43, 62; Wilson 1999] All Sumerian temples were additionally served by numerous lower-level priests, mostly male, who performed rituals and helped run the temple. [Wilson 1999] [<BACK 24.8>

### 24.9:

This is intentionally the same incense mixture as proscribed by God to Moses in _Exodus 30:34-35_. <BACK 24.9>

### 24.10:

The _Enuma Elish_ is the Babylonian creation epic, which was composed sometime between 1700 and 1500 BCE, at the time when the city of Babylon, which is about 200 miles north of Ur, dominated Mesopotamia. This time period is over 500 years later than the time of Yehhi. The _Enuma Elish_ was sung every year at the Babylonian New Years (Akitu) Festival. [Sommer, 2000] This epic, however, likely drew material from traditional myths that predated its composition by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. It is likely that these traditional creation myths had played a part in _Akitu_ Festivals celebrated for hundreds or thousands of years prior by many different Sumerian cities, including Ur. Although the name _Enuma Elish_ is anachronistic when used in a story about Yehhi's time, I have chosen to use it because it is so well-known.

The version of the _Enuma Elish_ used here has been modified to be more suitable for Ur rather than Babylon. In the Babylonian version, the hero who takes charge, slays Tiamat, and becomes the leader of the gods is Marduk, the patron deity of Babylon. It seems unlikely that people of Ur would use a version that glorifies another city's patron. Instead, the version used in _An Accidental God_ , has Enlil, the real head of the Sumerian pantheon and Nanna's father, as the hero. <BACK 24.10>

### 24.11:

The _Akitu_ festival may have included a mock battle or dramatization of the defeat of Tiamat.Sommer 2000, Lambert 1963] [<BACK 24.11>

### 24.12:

The fifty glorious epithets and the admonition in this paragraph refer to Marduk rather than Enlil in the well-known Babylonian version of the _Enuma Elish_. <BACK 24.12>

## CHAPTER 25, NOTES

### 25.1:

The sacrifice of the sheep follows similar procedures to those proscribed in _Leviticus 1, 3_ , and _4_ , including collecting the blood and cutting out and burning the entrails. <BACK 25.1>

### 25.2:

The Christian Apostle's creed expresses a similar belief that Jesus, after his death on the cross: _"descended into hell; the third day, He rose again from the dead..."_ If not actually composed by the Apostles themselves, this prayer certainly dates back to ancient Roman times when notions of hell were more like the gloomy and grey land of the dead imagined by ancient peoples (Hades in Greek Mythology or the Hebrew Sheol), rather than the place of punishment for the wicked that was later dreamed up by Christian preachers to scare their flocks into line, or into buying indulgences.

As a child who was raised Catholic, I wandered about this odd line in the prayer. Why would Jesus go down to hell for three days between his death and resurrection? He wasn't just a good person, he was God, right? So why would he go to hell? No one had a satisfactory answer.

The reason this line is in the Apostle's Creed is because the people who composed it were ancient people of the Near East or Mediterranean world who were completely imbued with notions of what a god was and what a god did, that were already thousands of years old. Marduk (Babylonian), Baal Hadad (Ugaritic), Osiris (Egyptian), and of course Nanna (Sumerian), were all ancient gods that periodically descended to the underworld and were then resurrected. During these sojourns in the underworld, these gods were believed to pass judgment upon the dead. Clearly, early Christians, having invented a new God, Jesus, felt the need to believe that Jesus did the kind of things that gods do, like die, go to the underworld, and get resurrected. <BACK 25.2>

### 25.3:

Rubbing blood from a sacrifice on the horns of an altar was a common practice among Semitic people of the Ancient Near East. Alter 2004, p. 469, _Exodus 17_ , note on verse 2] The Akkadians, who had ruled Sumer before Yehhi's time and whose cultural influence persisted long after their empire fell, were Semites as were the Hebrews. Explicit instructions to rub sacrificial blood on the horns of the altar are found in _Leviticus 4:30_. [<BACK 25.3>

### 25.4:

Tent-like coverings overhanging the back and sides of the Hebrew Tabernacle. _Exodus 26: 12-13._ The _Bet Akitu_ is modeled on this description. <BACK 25.4>

### 25.5:

Ancient Sumerian priestesses may have had sexual intercourse as part of religious rituals.Wilson 1999; Renger 1967] [<BACK 25.5>

### 25.6:

This chant has been adapted from a ancient hymn to Nanna.Jacobsen 1976, p. 7] [<BACK 25.6>

### 25.7:

Evidence of human sacrifice in ancient Sumer is very sparse. Sir Leonard Woolley, in the 1920's, excavated royal tombs at Ur and found the remains of numerous servants and retainers who were apparently killed in order to accompany their masters into the next life. [Woolley 1954] These human sacrifices were, however, not made to honor a god or goddess. It seems likely that the traditional Sumerian culture of southern Mesopotamia did not involve making human sacrifices to their gods. However, at the time of Yehhi (2050 BCE), Sumerian culture had been heavily influenced by an outside Semitic people, the Akkadians. When they took over southern city-states such as Ur, the Akkadians adopted the local gods as their own. Akkadian kings and governors of cities in southern Sumer, such as Ur, installed their family members as priests and priestesses of the local gods.

The Akkadians were a Semitic people, and other ancient Semites, such as the people of Ugarit (worshipers of Baal Hadad) and the Hebrews, did practice human sacrifice to honor their gods. The episode in _Genesis 22_ , in which Abraham almost sacrifices Isaac, is clearly symbolic of a historical rejection of human sacrifice by the ancient Hebrews in favor of animal sacrifice. Since the Akkadians who came to dominate southern Sumer in the centuries prior to Yehhi's time were also Semites, it is possible that they introduced the practice of human sacrifice. <BACK 25.7>

### 25.8:

The golden, horned table on which the youth is sacrificed is intentionally similar to the incense altar, kept inside the Tabernacle, described in _Exodus 30:1-3_. The anointing of the horns of this small alter with the blood of the sacrificial victim in _An Accidental God_ is similar to what is proscribed in _Exodus 30:10_. The Bible instructs that this is to be done once a year, and it was done (with an animal rather than human victim) every year on the Day of Atonement or Yom Kippur. Alter 2004, Note on _Exodus 30:10_ , p. 486] The parallels between the _Akitu_ Festival and the Jewish High Holy Days are worth noting. Both occur in the autumn at or around the Autumnal Equinox, and mark the beginning of a new year. Both are multiple day celebrations, and, at least in the fictionalized account of _An Accidental God_ , both involved anointing the horns of the altar with the blood of a sacrifice. [<BACK 25.8>

## CHAPTER 26, NOTES

### 26.1:

Removal of the king's regalia, his humiliation and the actual physical striking of the king by the head priestess or priest (depending upon which city, god, and temple was involved), acting on behalf of the god, was a ritual that occurred as part of the _Akitu_ Festival. The king had to humble himself before the god and plead the case that he had performed his job well and should be given authority for another year. This plea took the form of a "negative confession" in which the king tells the god the different ways in which he did not transgress. The text used in _An Accidental God_ is, allowing for translation, fairly authentic. [Sommer 2000] The high priestess humiliating and striking the king could very well be his own daughter. [Van De Mieroop 2004, pp. 43, 62; Wilson 1999]

The negative confession on the part of Sumerian kings is somewhat similar to the Negative Confession included in the Egyptian Book of the Dead, in which the deceased soul, appearing to be judged before the god Osiris (see note 25.2), must state, one after another, that they have not committed individual sins on a long list. Budge 1895, pp. 347-350] [<BACK 26.1>

## CHAPTER 27, NOTES

### 27.1:

There is no historical evidence that ancient Sumerians found anything paradoxical about their gods, having both a celestial manifestation and a corresponding human-like idol manifestation: Moon-Nanna, Sun-Shamash, for instance. This issue has been introduced into _An Accidental God_ as an allegorical statement on religious paradoxes and _mumbo jumbo_ still alive and well in our time: Is the sacramental bread and wine really the body and blood of Christ, or, just symbolic of them? How can three individuals be one God? <BACK 27.1>

### 27.2:

Clearly, the Disk Followers are portrayed as progenitors of the ecstatic tradition of religious experience manifested today by sects of all major religions, including Christian Pentecostals. There is no historical evidence of such a movement in ancient Sumerian religion. <BACK 27.2>

## CHAPTER 28, NOTES

### 28.1:

This major episode in the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ would have been part of the recitation of the full _Epic_ described in Chapter 20. However, this part was only mentioned briefly in order to allow for a more detailed recitation at this point in the story. The _Epic_ , as before, has been edited for brevity and readability. <BACK 28.1>

### 28.2:

In the north, at Harran, the moon god, Nanna, was likely known by his Akkadian name, Sin. Evidence of a temple dedicated to Nanna/Sin in Harran exists for the Old Babylonian Period, just after Yehhi's time (after 2000 BCE). Given the gradual evolution of cultural and religious practices in ancient Mesopotamia, it seems reasonable to postulate that there were earlier religious activities in Harran centered on the worship of Nanna/Sin. However, it is less likely that the two temples, in Harran and in Ur, were as connected administratively as suggested in _An Accidental God_. <BACK 28.2>

### 28.3:

They are traveling east (sun on the back in the morning) along the ancient caravan road in what is today northern Syria. This is the same route taken generations later by Abram. <BACK 28.3>

### 28.4:

If one follows the Euphrates River north into what is modern Turkey, one climbs into the Taurus Mountains. However, the mountains this far east, at least today, are too arid and barren to be a likely source of timber. Ancient Mesopotamians most likely obtained cedar timber from the coastal mountain forests along the northwest corner the Mediterranean from what is today Lebanon north into Turkey. This location would require the logging party to abandon their boats on the Euphrates and strike out eastward over land for an arduous trek of at least 60 to 100 miles. In the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ , when the two heroes travel to Cedar Mountain, they have to walk a great distance, consistent with the need to go by land to the Mediterranean coastal mountains. These particular verses from the _Epic_ have not been used in _An Accidental God_.

The town of Carchemish is mentioned in the Mari Letters around 1800 BCE as an important center of the timber trade, perhaps because it controlled the junction of the overland route to the coastal forests with the water route (Euphrates River) to Mesopotamia. Dalley 2002, p. 56; Heimpel 2003, p. 12] [<BACK 28.4>

## CHAPTER 29, NOTES

### 29.1:

This is intentionally reminiscent of a Stalinist or Maoist purge, complete with the persecution of dissidents for suspected "wrong" thoughts, or not expressing the party line with sufficient enthusiasm. We tend to view this oppressive thought-policing by secular religions, such as old school communist states, as evil, while giving god-based religions a pass for similar behavior. The demand of _faith_ is the prime tool of religious thought police, past and present. <BACK 29.1>

## CHAPTER 30, NOTES

### 30.1:

Ancient Sumerian Society was organized into _households_ , which were working units comprising numerous nuclear families supporting themselves cooperatively through a range of enterprises including farming, fishing, and handicrafts. The households owned land and buildings, such as warehouses and workshops. Both men and women worked to support the household and were all paid, even the lowliest laborers, in rations of the household production such as grain, or cloth. Households were owned by prominent individuals such as the king, the queen (who had a separate household), nobles, and temples. Temple households were formally thought of as being owned by the relevant god. Van De Mieroop, 2004, pp. 53-55] Except for the lack of slavery, these ancient Sumerian households seem to have been organized like a plantation in the pre-Civil-War, American South. [<BACK 30.1>

### 30.2:

Ancient religion was generally accepting of new gods. The idea that one god is the true god and the others are false or non-existent was not yet conceived. The jealous god of the Hebrews, who forbade the worship of other gods,  _Exodus 20:1-5_ ] was an anomaly in the ancient world. There is some school of thought that the Hebrews got this one god concept from the Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten, who threw his nation into turmoil by rejecting the whole pantheon of Egyptian gods in favor of his one true god, the Aten, the disk of the sun. [Freud 1939, Osman 1990] [<BACK 30.2>

### 30.3:

It was common in multiple ancient Near Eastern cultures for personal names to include the name of the god the person followed. For instance, the name of the Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten (mentioned in the previous note) includes the name of his one true god: Aten. Akhenaten named is son Tutankhaten, but when this son assumed the throne and rejected his father's unpopular religious experiment, he changed his name to Tutankhamun, which switches the god reference to Amun, part of the traditional Egyptian pantheon. Yehhi's father's name would mean something like _Udish,_ follower of _Ulak_. <BACK 30.3>

## BOOK III: ABRAHAM, NOTES
## CHAPTER 32, NOTES

### 32.1:

Islamic tradition holds [ _Quran 2:127_ ] that the square stone building in Mecca, the Kaaba (Kabah), the holiest site in Islam, was built by Abram and his son Ishmael. According to this tradition, they were rebuilding a structure, which was originally constructed by the first man, Adam. This episode in _An Accidental God_ pays homage to this tradition. However, it seems unlikely that Abram would have traveled 700 miles south to Mecca across the burning Arabian Desert. If he ever rebuilt a stone house with Ishmael, he most likely did it in Canaan, where he is thought to otherwise have spent his time.

The Kaaba in Mecca is located beside the famous Zamzam Well. Likewise, Hagar's rebuilt house is located beside the village well. <BACK 32.1>

## CHAPTER 33, NOTES

### 33.1:

At this time, about 1480 BCE, the Egyptian Empire included Canaan as a vassal territory. Egyptian armies campaigned as far north as modern Syria where they fought battles against the Hittites and against armies from Mesopotamia. On these campaigns, the Egyptian armies headed to the west and north by passing across the northern Sinai and then up past what is today Gaza. <BACK 33.1>

### 33.2:

In the Bible, Hagar is an Egyptian slave girl who is serving as Sarai's maid, and who Sarai orders to sleep with Abram in her place because she is unable to conceive. In the Bible  _Genesis 16_ ] and also in the Quran, Hagar is Ishmael's mother as a result of this union with Abram. [<BACK 33.2>

## CHAPTER 34, NOTES

### 34.1:

This language is deliberately reminiscent of biblical language in _Exodus 15:24, 16:2, 17:3_ , _Numbers 14:2_. <BACK 34.1>

### 34.2:

This plays on a blend of Hebrew and Islamic tradition regarding the episode in _Genesis 21_ , in which Abram expels Hagar and Ishmael out into the wilderness, at the behest of Sarai. _Genesis 21:14_ specifies that Hagar is sent out to wander in the wilderness of Beersheba. In Chapter 37 of _An Accidental God_ , we see that that is exactly where Hagar was wandering in the rain storm of Chapter 34. In the Bible, God shows Hagar a spring or well of water in this wilderness. In the Islamic tradition, this is all taking place hundreds of miles to the south in Mecca, but again, Hagar is wandering in the wilderness and God shows her a spring which flows so profusely that she cannot contain the rushing water. This is the Zamzam well, which is located by the Kaaba. Its name means "stop stop," which is what Hagar supposedly shouted to the rushing waters.

Elements of these stories have been incorporated into _An Accidental God_ , but with deliberate twists. If Hagar's house in the village corresponds to the Kaaba, then the well beside it in the village might be considered to correspond to the Zamzam well. However, this well outside of the town is found by Hagar in a way which is reminiscent of the Zamzam well, except that she and the infant Ishmael, far from dying of thirst, are in danger of being washed away by a flood. <BACK 34.2>

### 34.3:

Islamic tradition says that Hagar ran back and forth repeatedly and in increasing desperation before the Zamzam well was eventually revealed to her. To commemorate this, pilgrims at the Hajj walk back and forth seven times between two hills in Mecca. <BACK 34.3>

## CHAPTER 35, NOTES

### 35.1:

. . . _and Terah died in Haran._  _Genesis 11:32._ ] [<BACK 35.1>

## CHAPTER 37, NOTES

### 37.1:

The return of Sarai to Abram in _An Accidental God_ closely parallels _Genesis 20_. Abimelech pleads his innocence in _Genesis 20:4-5_ : _Did you not say to me, "She is my sister?"_ The barrenness that has descended upon Abimelech's household [ _Genesis 20:17-18_ ] is suggestive of venereal disease, although ancient people did not understand this. The grave consequences with his Egyptian overlords that concern Abimelech relate to the other sister/wife episode in _Genesis 12:11-20_. This becomes clear in the Chapter 42 of _An Accidental God_. Abimelech returned Sarai to Abram along with gifts of _sheep and cattle and female slaves_. [ _Genesis 20:14_ ]

Abimelech's words to Abram upon returning Sarai are also reminiscent of Pharaoh's words in _Genesis 12:17-19_ as he is returning Sarai after what could be interpreted as venereal disease has afflicted his household. <BACK 37.1>

### 37.2:

Abram agrees to intercede with God for Abimelech. _Genesis 20:17_ ] [<BACK 37.2>

### 37.3:

The oath swearing at the end of Chapter 37 corresponds to _Genesis 21:21-32_ , except that things are turned around 180 degrees. In _An Accidental God_ , Abram demands that Abimelech swear to no longer oppress his people. In _Genesis 21:23_ , Abimelech is asking for similar reassurances from Abram. In _Genesis 21:27-30_ Abram gives Abimelech animals as gifts to seal the bargain. In _An Accidental God_ , because the oath-well episode is blended with the return of Sarai, it is Abimelech who is giving gifts to Abram. Either way, this nameless spot in the Negev desert acquires its name: _Beersheba_. _Genesis 21:31_ ] [<BACK 37.3>

## CHAPTER 38, NOTES

### 38.1:

_Abram planted a tamarisk at Beershiba, and he invoked the name of the Lord.Genesis 21: 33_ ] <[BACK 38.1>

## CHAPTER 39, NOTES

### 39.1:

Sealing a pact or covenant by the parties stepping between the halves of a cloven animal was traditional in the ancient Near East.Alter 2004, p. 75, note 8.] [<BACK 39.1>

### 39.2:

Of course, in the Bible, Hagar is Sarai's Egyptian servant girl. In _An Accidental God,_ this is rearranged a bit: Hagar is part Egyptian, but she is no one's servant. Sarai has another Egyptian servant girl, but this one is not sleeping with Abram. Conceivably over many generations of oral transmission, the situation in _An Accidental God_ could have been transformed into the one found in the Hebrew Bible. Especially since those doing the oral transmission identified themselves as descendents of Sarai and Isaac, and thus had an incentive to minimize the status and importance of Hagar. <BACK 39.2>

### 39.3:

The tension between the followers of Abram and the followers of Lot, and their decision to part company to avoid overgrazing the land is reminiscent of the scene in _Genesis 13:5-9_. <BACK 39.3>

## CHAPTER 40, NOTES

### 40.1:

Different ancient Near Eastern peoples shared belief in many of the same gods, but called them by different names. The Greek and Roman gods are a more familiar example of this. Nergel was the Sumerian god of the underworld and Mot was his Ugaritic or Canaanite equivalent. <BACK 40.1>

## CHAPTER 41, NOTES

### 41.1:

This passage from the Flood Story in the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ is the same as the Sumerian original quoted in Chapter 21, except that the god, Ea, has been replaced by Yehhi. This selection has been used at this point in _An Accidental God_ because it highlights the belief that a god needs to be just, and cannot punish the innocent along with the guilty. This concept was important to the ancient Hebrew notion of their God, as evidenced by _Genesis 18:23-33_ , in which Abraham pleads with God to spare Sodom from destruction if as few as ten innocents can be found within its walls. Clearly, the ancient Hebrews did not invent the idea that a god must be just, but inherited it from older Near Eastern traditions embodied in the _Flood Story_ and the _Epic of Gilgamesh_. <BACK 41.1>

### 41.2:

Here begin events adapted from the story in _Genesis 14_ about Abram and Lot's involvement in military conflicts, pitting a coalition of four local kings against another coalition of five. This conflict begins because subject people in the Dead Sea, Jordan Valley area rebel against demands for tribute by Chedorlaomer and his allies. <BACK 41.2>

## CHAPTER 42, NOTES

### 42.1:

_Genesis 14:13_ says that Mamre was a confederate of Abram. In _An Accidental God_ , things are twisted around a bit and Mamre is more the friend and confederate of Lot than of Abram. Either way, this grove of trees is a safe place for them to rest. <BACK 42.1>

### 42.2:

In the military exploit recounted in _Genesis 14_ , both Sodom and Gomorrah are listed among the city-states involved in the fighting; they are even listed as allies of Abram and Lot. This military interlude in the Genesis story of Abram seems stylistically out of place. Scholarly opinion Alter 2004, p. 69, note 1] suggests that this episode was a legend, perhaps old even in Abram's time, which was dropped into the Abram narrative. In the same way that Yehhi is inserted into older tales in _An Accidental God,_ Abram and Lot were possibly inserted into this older legend. Thus, it is not necessarily out of place for Salina to be speaking of Sodom and Gomorrah and their destruction as old legends. [<BACK 42.2>

### 42.3:

_Genesis 13:13_. <BACK 42.3>

### 42.4:

This exchange between Sarai and Salina parallels the negotiation between Abraham and his God regarding the fate of Sodom in _Genesis 18:23-33_. <BACK 42.4>

### 42.5:

The pillars of salt at the Dead Sea, which still exist today, are natural mineral formations. Similar formations, in tufa limestone rather than salt, grow at Mono Lake in California. In _An Accidental God_ , Salina brings the tale of these salt pillars into the consciousness of Abraham's tribe. Perhaps over subsequent generations of oral transmission, Salina's association with this geological feature morphed into her being turned into one during the destruction of Sodom in _Genesis 19:26_ , perhaps to spice up the tale, perhaps to instill fear into the disobedient. <BACK 42.5>

### 42.6:

The Hyksos were a shepherd people from Canaan who invaded and took over Lower (northern) and Middle Egypt. They ruled Egypt for about 100 years preceding the Egyptian 18th Dynasty. There is some scholarly opinion that the Descent of the Israelites into Egypt occurred during the period of Hyksos rule, since as shepherds from Canaan, the Hyksos were similar to Abraham's clan, perhaps even allies. [Osman 1990, Chapt. 3] However, _An Accidental God_ uses a timeline based on Osman's work that places the end of the Hyksos rule in Egypt about 100 years before the time of these events in the Abraham story.

In _An Accidental God_ , the visiting Egyptians refer to the people of Gerar as Hyksos because they are part of the sheep herding milieu in Canaan, and the Egyptians refuse to break bread with them because although they are presently nominal allies, they view the Hyksos with suspicion, the bad taste still lingering 100 years after the Hyksos were expelled from Egypt. This situation echoes _Genesis 43:31-32_ in which Joseph, who is assimilated as an Egyptian, will not eat with his Hebrew relatives, the Hebrews being lumped together in the general, Canaan-dwelling, sheep-herding category of Hyksos. <BACK 42.6>

### 42.7:

The Egyptian pharaoh that Sarai encountered is Thuthmosis III. His grandfather, pharaoh Thuthmosis I, had famously campaigned with his armies all the way to the banks of the Euphrates River in what is now Syria, further north and east than any previous Egyptian army. There, he planted an inscribed stele staking his claim to an empire that stretched from the Nile to the Euphrates, the two great rivers of their world.

This empire staked out by the 18th Dynasty rulers of Egypt is precisely the same land as God promises to Abram and his descendents in _Genesis 15:18:_ _On that day the LORD made a covenant with Abram, saying, "To your seed I have given this land from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates."_ Osman contends that the coincidence between the maximum extent of the 18th Dynasty Egyptian Empire and the land promised to Abram's descendents is no coincidence at all because later pharaohs of the 18th Dynasty, Akhenaten, Semenkhkare, Tutankhamun, and Aye were descendents of Abram. Osman 1987, Osman 1990] [<BACK 42.7>

### 42.8:

Egyptian pharaohs claimed to be sons of Ra, the sun god. At least by the 18th Dynasty, Ra had been combined with Amun, a local deity of Thebes, to become Amun-Ra. After that, the pharaohs were considered sons of Amun-Ra. <BACK 42.8>

### 42.9:

Ancient Egyptians practiced male circumcision with evidence in artwork and inscriptions going back to at least 2400 BCE. This predates Abraham's introduction of the practice among the Hebrews. It is possible, perhaps even probable, that the Hebrews became familiar with this practice through their interactions with Egyptians. <BACK 42.9>

### 42.10:

Ancient Egyptians produced ornamental models of scarab beetles. Some were used as magical amulets and others were made to commemorate important events. They could be used as paperweights or worn as jewelry. Pharaohs had commemorative scarabs produced and handed out to important guests at weddings and jubilee celebrations. These commemorative scarabs, the ancient equivalent of silver spoons to commemorate the queen of England's silver jubilee, are important historically since they carry inscriptions describing and dating important events. <BACK 42.10>

## CHAPTER 43, NOTES

### 43.1:

The Battle of Megiddo pitted the army of Egyptian Pharaoh Thuthmosis III against a coalition of Canaanite states rebelling against Egyptian domination. It occurred in the 23rd year of Thuthmosis III's reign. Using dates from the High Chronology of Ancient EgyptLipinska 2001], this places the Battle of Megiddo at 1481 BCE, a date that works well for the timeline used in _An Accidental God_. The military engagement described in _Genesis 14_ , which may have been a much older legend inserted into the Biblical narrative[Alter 2004, p. 69, note 1], is here conflated with the historical Battle of Megiddo. At this battle, the Egyptian armies approached their enemies via a narrow, unguarded mountain pass, and achieved total surprise when they attacked and laid siege to the town of Megiddo. [<BACK 43.1>

### 43.2:

Lot was taken prisoner in the military encounter described in _Genesis 14_ , and Abram is informed of this while he is camped at the Terebinths of Mamre by another captive who has gotten away or been released.  _Genesis 14: 12-13_ ] [<BACK 43.2>

### 43.3:

In _Genesis 14:21_ , Abram gives away a tithe (one tenth) of the valuables he has captured in his military campaign to rescue Lot. In _An Accidental God_ , this is twisted around a bit in that Abram does not engage in any military action but he does pay a tithe in connection with getting Lot released. <BACK 43.3>

### 43.4:

In _Genesis 14:18_ , Abram encounters Melchizedek, king of Salem (Jerusalem). The name Melchizedek means "righteous king,"Alter 2004, p. 71, note 18.] and surely was not the man's given name. The name given to this king in _An Accidental God_ derives (with a spelling change to look more Near Eastern) from that of another _righteous dude_ who skips school and spends the day in Chicago in a 1986 film. [<BACK 43.4>

### 43.5:

_And Melchizedek king of Salem brought out bread and wine_ . . .  _Genesis 14:18_ ] [<BACK 43.5>

### 43.6:

_Genesis 14:19-20._ <BACK 43.6>

### 43.7:

Alter 2004, p. 72, note 19-20. <BACK 43.7>

### 43.8:

_El Shaddai_ is another name used to refer to Abram's God in _Genesis 17:1_ ; its origins are not clear, but it may have started out as a reference to a different god altogether.Alter 2004, p. 81, note 1] [<BACK 43.8>

### 43.9:

_Genesis 13:18._ <BACK 43.9>

### 43.10:

Jews are forbidden from speaking the name of GodKamsler, 2003] and this tradition has carried over into Christianity and Islam. All three religions use generic terms like God, the Lord, or Allah rather than the actual name ascribed to God by the Hebrew Bible. [<BACK 43.10>

## CHAPTER 44, NOTES

### 44.1:

The natural features around this large flat rock qualify it as a Canaanite Altar. There is an upright rock representing the father god El, and an upright bit of wood, a tree, representing his wife, Asherah. <BACK 44.1>

### 44.2:

_And he took all these ram, she goat, and heifer] and clove them through the middle, and each set his part opposite the other_ . . . [ _Genesis 15:10_ ] [<BACK 44.2>

### 44.3:

_And the sun was about to set, a deep slumber fell upon Abram and now a great dark dread came falling upon him._  _Genesis 15:12_ ] [<BACK 44.3>

### 44.4:

_And carrion birds came down on the carcasses and Abram drove them off._  _Genesis 15:11_ ] [<BACK 44.4>

### 44.5:

_Genesis 15: 5_. <BACK 44.5>

### 44.6:

_Genesis 15: 18_. <BACK 44.6>

### 44.7:

_And just as the sun had set, there was a thick gloom and, look a smoking brazier with a flaming torch that passed between those parts._  _Genesis 15:17_ ] [<BACK 44.7>

## CHAPTER 45, NOTES

### 45.1:

In _Genesis 19_ , which recounts the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot has two daughters and no sons. <BACK 45.1>

### 45.2:

_Genesis 13:10._ <BACK 45.2>

### 45.3:

_Genesis 17:5-6._ <BACK 45.3>

### 45.4:

_Genesis 17:9-11._ <BACK 45.4>

### 45.5:

_Genesis 17:23-27._ _An Accidental God_ has Ishmael 19 years old at the time of his circumcision while the Bible says he was 13. Of course, these same verses also say that Abraham is 99 years old at time, which is clearly an inflation of his age. In _An Accidental God,_ Abraham is around 40 years old when he circumcises himself. <BACK 45.5>

## CHAPTER 46, NOTES

### 46.1:

This is a different take on the parting of Hagar and Ishmael from Abraham's clan than that given in _Genesis 21:9-21_. In both versions, Abraham is saddened and reluctant to part with Ishmael. In the Bible, this parting is instigated by Sarah, but in _An Accidental God,_ it is Hagar who wants to leave. <BACK 46.1>

### 46.2:

_Genesis 17:15._ <BACK 46.2>

## CHAPTER 47, NOTES

### 47.1:

_Genesis 18:1-5._ <BACK 47.1>

### 47.2:

_Genesis 18:6-8._ <BACK 47.2>

### 47.3:

Today, the shores of the Dead Sea are dotted with spa resorts offering the healing powers of mineral laden water from thermal springs. <BACK 47.3>

### 47.4:

The three men that visit Abraham in _Genesis 18_ are emissaries of God, i.e. angels. They are not named in the Bible, but here they are given the names of the three highest ranking archangels according to Jewish and Christian tradition: Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel. The names are written in such a way as to emphasize the incorporation of their god, the Canaanite/Ugaritic sky god, El, into their names, as was common in the ancient Near East. <BACK 47.4>

### 47.5:

The story that Mich'el recites is from the Ugaritic _Tale of Aqhat,_ which is likely the original source of the storyline in _Genesis 18:1-15_.Alter 2004, p. 85, note 1] The section quoted has been condensed and edited for readability. [<BACK 47.5>

### 47.6:

_Genesis 18:14, Genesis 21:7._ <BACK 47.6>

## CHAPTER 48, NOTES

### 48.1:

This is a play on the following lines from the book of _Revelation_ , which of course, was not yet written at the time of Asius, in which God refers to himself as the Alpha and the Omega:

_I am Alpha and Omega_ _, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty._ [ _Revelation 1:8_ ]

_I am Alpha and Omega_ _, the beginning and the end, the first and the last._ [ _Revelation 22:13_ ]

The point of this reference is that in the absence of a supernatural God, we humans are the beginning and the end, that which was, that which is, and that which will be. This is the essence of Asius' Double Triangle symbol. <BACK 48.1>

## CHAPTER 49, NOTES

### 49.1:

Adapted from _Genesis 22:2_. <BACK 49.1>

### 49.2:

This paragraph is almost a direct quote, with slight alterations, from _Genesis 22:6-10._ <BACK 49.2>

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