The Bible is a delightfully preposterous book, with humour and outrages, like jewels, just waiting to be mined. Inspired by these nuggets, here’s the story of the Old Testament, told from a woman’s point of view, with all the funny bits exposed.
ONCE MORE, FROM THE BEGINNING
by
Wendy Bertsch
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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Copyright 2010 Wendy Bertsch
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter 9 - More Kings and a Couple of Queens
Chapter 17 - Threats and Promises
ONCE MORE, FROM THE BEGINNING
“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.”
A project of this impressive scope might very well have involved a lot of heavy lifting so I suppose we are meant to assume that God was male. Well...maybe. We’ll get back to that.
“And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.”
That was a good move, because otherwise that whole heaven and earth thing might have gone completely to waste. In the dark, who would have noticed?
Here’s our dilemma: we are to believe that God installed the lighting promptly and without a single soul there to nag him about it. Now, does that sound like a male to you?
Never mind. Let’s just follow the action and see where it leads us.
“God saw the light, that it was good.”
So God doubtless had a beer or whatever, and spent a few moments admiring his handiwork. That sounds about right.
“...and God divided the light from the darkness.”
Now we have night and day following each other in a sensible and orderly progression and the first day’s work is complete.
On the second day he divided the waters on the earth from the waters above the sky, which was to prove especially helpful for sailors. They would find it challenging enough worrying about sailing off the edge of the earth without the additional danger that they might at any moment drift off into the clouds and lose track of which way was up.
The third day was busier. God gathered together the waters into seas, allowing dry land to appear here and there. Then the earth was made to bring forth grass and herbs and trees and all fruit and veggie stuff. It was a big job and he required two breaks in order to adequately relish his achievement, but I think he must have bypassed the liquid refreshments this time, or so much would never have been accomplished in only one day.
On day four, God made the moon and the stars to light the night and the sun to light the day, and he cleverly made the sun brighter, so everyone would be able to tell when it was daytime. After yet another break to appreciate the results, we move on to day five.
He spent day five creating the creatures that live in the waters and the birds that fly in the skies. There were quite a lot of them so when he was done, he just took a quick admiring glance and called it a day.
On day six, well rested and bursting with energy, God created the many beasts of the earth. As diverse as they were, they seemed remarkably harmonious—rather beautiful, in fact—and doubtless got along well together, having no reason to quarrel. Then, perhaps in a playful attempt to stir things up a little, God fashioned man out of dust and gave him permission to boss everything around.
It’s interesting to note that he included a labour-saving feature in each plant and fish and bird and beast and human. They were able to reproduce themselves, making it unnecessary for him to run through this creating stuff so often as to become boring. Every once in a while, God simply said “Be fruitful, and multiply”, and they did. In fact, the humans made quite a big thing of it, not being perceptive enough to realize that God himself obviously found it a chore tedious enough to warrant automation.
Now, here’s our first real clue to God’s gender. On the seventh day, he considered the work finished, and he rested. After all the breaks taken to admire the work in progress, God still felt that he needed to rest on the seventh day. All day.
This evidence does seem to suggest that God was male. He clearly had no expectation of starting it all over again the next week. He figured he was done. A woman would have known better.
* * * * *
Having established that God was, in all probability, indeed male—at least at that time—we may attempt to draw some conclusions about his appearance. We’re told that God aimed at creating man ‘in his own image’. Do we assume, then, that he tricked man up to look exactly like him? Why would he do this...so the beasts would be fooled, allowing them all the more easily to be dominated by man? That seems unnecessarily theatrical. Perhaps he didn’t mean exactly like. Maybe just sort of like.
Well, in what ways like and in what ways sort of different? Men have made a great fuss over the years about their resemblance to God, feeling justified in considering themselves superior, for example, to women—who, clearly, look a lot different. But we have no proof that even the very first man was all that similar in appearance to God—let alone some of the really unattractive men who have come later—so it’s rather foolish to make much of this point. Let’s simply assume man looked more like God than, say, fish did and leave it at that.
Having created a pretty fine world, God then outdid himself by gathering together all the best bits, and creating a splendid garden in Eden for the man to tend. He saw that man—who even then was apparently not up to much—would need a companion to help him take care of the place, so while he was deciding what sort of creature would be most helpful, he hit on a project to keep man busy and out from under foot.
“I need you to name all the beasts and plants. It’s a big project—very important. Take all the time you need.” This turned out to be an excellent idea, because it made the names easier for man to remember, and God probably wrote them all down somewhere for his own reference.
By the time man had chosen a fitting name for everything (he chose the name Adam for himself) God had made his decision. He took one of Adam’s ribs when he was asleep and wouldn’t notice, and fashioned out of it a woman, Eve, to keep him company. Eve, who was sensitive to these little distinctions, did not fail to notice that she had been created from flesh whereas man had only been wadded together from a handful of common dust, but she didn’t want to start a fight right away so, tactfully, she refrained from pointing that out.
In stocking the garden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil had been planted in amongst all the others, without a moat or even a ditch to protect it. As soon as God noticed this oversight, he called Adam to his side.
“You see this tree? Well, I want you to keep away from it. Understand?”
“Yes...can I eat the fruit? The fruit looks good.”
“No. I just finished telling you. Keep away from it.”
“How about pears? Can I eat pears?”
“Yes, eat all the pears you want. Just keep away from that tree.”
“Is it ok if I eat cherries?”
“Yes.”
“How about...”
“Look,” snapped God, “Eat whatever else you like. But if you eat the fruit from that tree—even a single bite—you’ll be sure to die. You got that?”
Adam nodded mutely but God left wondering whether the concept of death had entirely penetrated that murky brain. He decided to try again later. Adam had already appeared to be developing a bit of a headache.
Neither of them had noticed the serpent, lounging in the grass, well within earshot. But the serpent, who was getting bored being the only smart beast in the garden and having no one at all intelligent to talk to, fancied he saw some potential in Eve. So he tempted her to sample the fruit of the forbidden tree before God decided to put up a fence or something.
“The apples are red and juicy, and so sweet,” he coaxed. “They can’t hurt you. Look...I’ll eat one myself.”...and he did. But his wits were sharp already, so it had no effect on him. He smacked his lips. “Mmmm...delicious. Have one.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Eve, suspiciously. “There are plenty of other tasty looking fruits in the garden. If I get hungry, they’ll do fine.”
“Ok, ok. It’s not about the flavour,” he admitted, wondering if she wasn’t already rather smarter than she looked. “These apples are from God’s ‘Special Stock’. Eat one and you’ll begin to understand things. You’ll find some answers, but more important...you’ll start to know the right questions. It’ll open the doors of your mind. What do you say?” This sounded a lot more interesting than just hanging around in the garden with Adam and the dumb beasts, so she gamely took a bite. She had overheard God’s warning, of course, but she thought when he realized what clever company she had become, The Lord would change his mind and spare her life. No sooner had she swallowed the fruit than she began to notice how dumb Adam really was.
“You know, a little knowledge wouldn’t do you any harm,” she commented. “Why don’t you try a bite?”
For his part, Adam didn’t care much about getting smart (the serpent had known he would be a tougher sell), but the fruit looked yummy so he didn’t put up a lot of resistance. After all, Eve had eaten it, and she still seemed healthy enough, so how dangerous could it be?
Now that they had gotten wise, it took Adam no time at all to notice they were also naked. And once it caught his attention, he noticed it constantly. Becoming uncomfortable with his persistent ogling, Eve invented a needle and devised a cunning way of sewing fig leaves together into aprons to cover their nudity in a fashion both modestly discreet and unpretentiously stylish. Unfortunately, when God saw Adam and Eve in their clever fig leaf pinafores, he knew they must have been eating the forbidden fruit, because they hadn’t been nearly that smart when he had last encountered them. It might seem petty in retrospect, but The Lord was not prepared to share his reputation for wisdom with any neophytes. He was plenty angry. He questioned Adam, who immediately whined that Eve had tempted him (not very gallant, but there it is: the precedent was set, and man has been blaming woman for his transgressions ever since). Eve, taking her cue from her husband, blamed the serpent. And since the serpent was too clever for his own good, God didn’t give him an opportunity to state his case, so we’ll never know who he might have blamed if he’d had the chance. In a rage, God doomed the serpent to slither through the dust on his belly for the remainder of his miserable life, and guilty consciences on both sides ensured that humans and snakes would never again be really close pals.
To punish Eve for her disobedience, The Lord devised a creative (under other circumstances, we might even say diabolical) strategy. He infected her with carnal desire for her husband—she hadn’t thought much of him up until then—and he arranged that the resulting childbirths would be both painful and dangerous.
“Wait.” said Eve. “Let me be sure I understand this babies thing. These items are how big?” She was already beginning to learn the right questions.
“And they come out of where?”
In addition, Adam was henceforth allowed to rule over her. It’s unclear whether God meant this particular punishment to be hereditary but men, never slow to seize an advantage, have argued ever since that it had been intended to apply to all women...and for all eternity.
Nevertheless, Adam would not go unpunished. “If you think you’re going to continue hanging around here, just poking about with a rake a bit,” said The Lord, “you’re very much mistaken. From now on things won’t be so easy. You’re going to have to work up a sweat to earn your keep...or you’ll have to watch someone else sweat...” He apparently considered this almost as bad, though man came to prefer it.
Adam and Eve were driven out of the garden, and angels were posted with flaming swords, to prevent their return. This might seem excessive but, you see, there had been a second magic tree in the centre of the garden: the tree of life. Now that Adam and Eve were beginning to think things out for themselves, The Lord wasn’t keen on allowing them to sample the fruit of that tree and live forever, continually asking him a lot of irritating questions. And sensing in Adam a male ego comparable to his own, he was also not about to tolerate potential rivalry from an immortal upstart.
Perhaps it was just as well. Since he had equipped them to fruitfully multiply, it’s clear that the earth would have become awfully crowded if humans had remained immortal: they would have been stacked up like cordwood in no time. But henceforth men and women would live their allotted years, then die and crumble back into the dust from which they had originally come: neat, efficient, and ecologically sound.
As a parting consolation gift, God presented Adam and Eve with fur coats.
Eve wondered: were her fig leaves getting brittle...maybe starting to curl in too revealing a manner at the edges? She glanced down nervously. Not yet.
“Thanks so much. They’re lovely,” she said, not wanting to appear ungracious. “But really...you shouldn’t have.”
“It was nothing,” replied The Lord, modestly. “They’re recycled materials.”
“Oh, well, that’s alright then. But wait...” she pondered, “how did they come off the previous owners? You didn’t...”
But God had already thought of several other important things he needed to do, and was hurrying away.
* * * * *
Within the first couple of years after setting up housekeeping somewhere that wasn’t in the garden, Eve bore two sons: Cain, who became a farmer, and Abel, who tended sheep. Because they were hard-working lads, crops were plentiful and the flocks thrived. In an attempt to honour The Lord for this bounty Cain approached the local altar with an offering of produce while Abel offered a lamb. God was apparently not a vegetarian, for he enthusiastically praised Abel’s offering while showing no appreciation at all for Cain’s gift. Eve, who had learned a lot about mothering as the boys grew up, could have warned him that this was bound to cause conflict between the brothers, but she hesitated to offer unsolicited advice and God was too busy anticipating the juicy flavour of roast leg of lamb to consider the effect of so insensitively revealing his obvious preference. Cain might well have sulked awhile then gotten over it, but as younger brothers will, Abel gloated openly over his success.
“Don’t feel bad. Your stuff was nice too. But...well...did you smell that roast lamb? You have to admit...
“Look,” he continued, with smug all over his face, “I’d be glad to have a look before you offer the next batch...maybe suggest some more appetizing recipes, or perhaps a more attractive presentation. No...honestly...it’s no problem. I’m sure there’s something we can do to make your gift as appealing as...well...mine.”
Humiliated, Cain was overwhelmed by the need to lash out at someone and, as God would obviously be a bad choice, he lashed out at his brother until Abel was dead. To make matters worse, when The Lord subsequently asked about Abel’s whereabouts, giving Cain an opportunity to admit his guilt and do some repentant grovelling, he casually replied, “How should I know? Am I my brother’s keeper?” This was pretty cheeky under the circumstances, and only made him look bad. As punishment, God dramatically condemned him to wander as a fugitive and vagabond, cursed through all the earth.
“Through all the earth...” mused Cain, “That sounds awfully public. So it’s not going to be just personal, like between you and me?”
The Lord assured him that he was planning to make the curse very public indeed. Everyone would know.
“Well...” complained Cain, “you may as well simply strike me dead now! How far do you think I’ll get with that hanging over me? I mean...I didn’t expect to win any popularity contests after that fratricide thing, but seriously! There’ll be a world of folks out there figuring to make points with you by bumping me off. I won’t last a week.”
He had a point. So God branded his mark on Cain—someplace conspicuous, no doubt—and promised some most unpleasant consequences for anyone who tried to kill him. The Lord preferred that Cain should live long and suffer, and he didn’t want anyone interfering to spoil his plan.
As soon as he could pack his things, Cain set out with his wife for the land of Nod, on the east of Eden. (Clearly, while Adam and Eve were the first man and woman, they were not the only ones, which was a lucky thing for the gene pool.) Mrs. Cain was apparently condemned to wander along with her husband, although she’d always warned Cain to control his temper. “I know your brother was an irritating little snot,” she scolded, “but couldn’t you simply have told him so? Did you have to go do something stupid?” Cain wasn’t much of a talker—over the years it had made her a bit shrill.
Furthermore, because Cain had spilt the blood of Abel on the ground, it would no longer yield its crops to him. That left his wife to struggle with the farm work alone—for they still had to eat. “I’m so lucky to have you covering all the footloose, vagabonding stuff while I see that there’s food on the table,” she mocked. “I know it must be a terrible hardship for a guy...”
It is hard to see how this was fair, as she was the innocent one, but justice was not always The Lord’s strong suit.
After a few years, when he figured that God might have lost interest in their punishment, Cain risked settling down and built a city. His overworked wife had a lot to do with that decision.
* * * * *
For the next several thousand years Eve’s family, split as they were, devoted their attention to being fruitful and multiplying. By the time fruitful multiplication had been in effect for many centuries, man’s flesh was warring with his spirit in some pretty unpleasant ways. The Lord saw the wickedness embodied in the men he’d created and decided that he had made a huge mistake. We’re not told whether this applied to the women too, but when he decided to wipe the men out, the women got included—by proximity. Having developed the fancy that men had infected the earth itself with their violence, God was determined to destroy the whole thing in a colossal flood.
Never hesitant to play favourites, he set his mind on saving the only man who appeared to be righteous—and came from the correct blood line. So he gave Noah, who was a direct descendent of Adam, exclusive and detailed instructions for building a really big boat and told him to get busy.
Noah perused the plans. “This is a really big boat,” he commented.
“Yes...well...” muttered The Lord.
“Way too big for just me. I’m guessing you have something else in mind.”
“Oh. Didn’t I mention? I noticed your lovely wife and charming family. I knew you’d want to bring them along as well.”
“Yes...of course. Thanks. Still...it’s a really big boat.”
“Well, there is something else you can do for me. I want you to round up two of every living creature on earth—one male and one female of each—and make room for them all on board. It’ll save me the trouble of creating a whole new batch once this, um, unpleasantness is over.”
“Hey...I don’t know. That’s a lot of creatures.”
“Look, it’s the best deal you’re going to get. You’ve got other offers?”
Noah didn’t see that he had a whole lot of options, so he agreed and he and his family were spared, along with a representative selection of fauna. The rest of humanity, of course, and any other living thing that couldn’t fly or swim through forty days and forty nights of torrential rain were drowned in the resultant flood, which effectively covered the entire earth.
After five months, the water started slowly to dissipate and the vessel rested, stranded on Mount Ararat, but it was nearly six more months before the earth was dry enough for the family and their cargo of creatures to leave the boat. And don’t think that Noah’s wife and the wives of his sons weren’t counting the days. Preparing tempting meals without a fire, as they were forced to keep the windows firmly closed throughout the pouring rain, had been a challenge, and only a fool would believe that the men lifted a finger to clear the mess those animals made all that time. They were much too busy playing at admiral and patting each other on the back for their outstanding righteousness.
They had barely stepped off the boat before God started encouraging them all, once again, to be fruitful and multiply. “The whole thing will probably just happen all over again,” he grumbled. “But that flood has left an awful mess. I promise not to wipe out the whole works the next time. At least,” he amended,” I won’t use quite so big a flood to do the job.” He left himself a little leeway for other forms of mass destruction.
As a thoughtful touch, he created rainbows to symbolize his promise that he would never again send such a flood—and also, perhaps, as a gentle reminder that he could if he wanted to.
Just as before, God granted men dominion over all the other beasts. But there were a number of improvements he wanted to see.
“You are not to eat a living thing,” he stated. “If the blood’s still flowing, keep your teeth off it. I heard a rumour about a particularly odious parlour trick that was becoming popular before the flood. Some guys were tearing the heads off live chickens with their teeth. I don’t know if it’s true, but if it is, cut it out! It’s a nasty habit, and it’s not funny.
“And anyone who intentionally kills another person will have to be put to death. I know the punishment is severe, but I’ll have to insist. However, I’ll always be busy doing something else, so I’ll let you do the dirty work.”
Unfortunately, The Lord did not think to limit inebriation. Perhaps he assumed that tacking a hangover on at the end would do the trick. Clearly, he underestimated the determination of his audience. At the first available opportunity, Noah downed so much new wine that he collapsed, dead drunk, in his tent. His son Ham, entering innocently, nearly tripped over his father’s intoxicated body sprawled stark naked on the floor. Overcome with confusion and embarrassment, he stumbled back out the door. The experience left him understandably shaken—after all, Noah was over six hundred years old at the time and well past his prime—so when he ran into his two brothers right outside the tent, discretion was not foremost in his mind. In a misguided attempt to purge the distasteful image from his memory, he blurted out his troubling discovery to what he thought would be sympathetic ears. Immediately Shem and Japheth, who were more self-righteous than righteous, scrambled to find the nearest suitable garment and, laying it awkwardly across their shoulders, pretentiously backed into the tent to cover their father’s nakedness without risking defilement through even the most accidental glance. When Noah awoke, he took one look at the unfamiliar garment covering him and realized what a drunken sot he must have appeared. In his shame, he cast about for someone else to blame.
When he learned that Ham had been the one to view his humiliation, Noah chose him. “I understand you intruded on my privacy, and saw me in a rather...um...dishevelled state,” he said, with as much hauteur as the situation would allow.
“Yes,” Ham mumbled. He was still struggling to scour the memory from his brain cells. “It was a mistake. I left immediately.”
“...and yet you thought it would be appropriate to broadcast the news? My god, can a man not get ‘dishevelled’ in his own tent without media coverage? You disgust me!”
In his rage at this betrayal, Noah decided to punish not Ham himself but Ham’s son Canaan, who hadn’t even been there at the time and had absolutely nothing at all to do with the issue. With wondrous male logic, he made Canaan a servant to his sanctimonious uncles in order to punish him for the embarrassment that his father had inadvertently caused. The injustice of this defies all reason. We can only wonder at Noah’s inability to find a way to blame his wife for some part of his discomfort, as well. She must have been out of the country on some errand at the time.
This revealing episode gives us some insight into the lofty nature of the man God had chosen, above all others, to save. He must have been the best of a very bad lot, which would help to explain the drastic use of a weather condition of devastating proportions to eliminate all the other guys. The wonder is that Noah was spared at all.
* * * * *
When Noah’s family grew large enough to build a city, a few of the men dreamt of constructing an impressive tower: one that would reach right up to heaven. “Ours would be bigger than everyone else’s,” they mused. “Much bigger. Think how jealous all the other cities would be...and we would be closer to God than all the rest. That should be worth something.” But it would be a massive undertaking and those few despaired of ever being able to accomplish it. They got together over their wine, day after day, neglecting their chores as they complained that it would take them several hundred years, working full time, to accomplish their dream. By that time they’d be getting too old to enjoy it and the earliest bits would already be getting shabby.
Finally their wives got fed up with handling all the work the men should have been doing, so they discussed the problem amongst themselves and formulated a plan. Preparing a huge feast, they invited the whole family (which was a multitude by that time) and over the cooking fires they convinced their sisters, aunts and cousins to organize all their men. With everyone working together, the tower would be built in no time at all.
“So how’s that going to help? Do you think they’ll lift a finger to help around here as long as they have a project?”
“Yes, every time there’s a seed to be planted or a roof to be mended it’ll be: “I’ll do it later...I have to get over to the tower...the guys need me.”
“Just like now?”
“Well...yes.”
“But it’s bound to make a lot of extra work for us. They’ll have us fetching and carrying and who knows what all, while they do all the fancy stuff. And they’ll expect snacks all the time. And the dirty clothes! We’ll end up doing a lot more than our share before this thing is done, you know.”
“So what’s new?”
“...true.”
“But once it’s built—once they have a bigger one than all the other guys—maybe they’ll stop obsessing, and get back to doing some of the work around here.”
“It’ll never happen.”
“You have a better idea?”
The plan worked: the tower was built and named Babel, the men felt really important every time they saw it (they looked at it a lot), and eventually they started to help with the chores again.
But they had seriously misjudged The Lord’s reaction to the proximity of such intrusive neighbours. He considered heaven to be his special domain, and he wanted none of their great ugly towers poking up into his space. Furthermore, it was most unsettling to see what people could do when they cooperated. Each man separately was nothing much, but God worried that together they could accomplish wonders which might make his own miracles look somewhat less impressive. Thinking fast, he re-wired their brains so that they could no longer understand each other’s speech. Never again would all of the people be able to work together on any one project and, within about a day and a half, enough misunderstandings had developed to ensure that their effectiveness as a species would henceforth be significantly impaired. Just for good measure, God then scattered them over the face of the earth—and they stayed scattered.
* * * * *
After the passing of many generations, God insisted that Abram, who was a distant descendant of Noah (no surprise...everybody was), pack up his wife and nephew and all their household goods and leave their home in Mesopotamia, promising that he would become great and powerful in a new homeland of The Lord’s choosing. But the land of Canaan, which appeared to be The Lord’s choice, was experiencing an unanticipated famine at that time, so Abram put his illustrious destiny on hold and continued on into Egypt, where he might feed his family.
Having way too much time to brood as he was trudging along, Abram became obsessed by the notion that the beauty of his wife Sarai was sure to attract the attention of some powerful Egyptian. “Seriously...look at yourself. Can’t you do something about it?” he nagged.
“Do something? What do you want me to do?” asked Sarai.
“I don’t know...squint a little. Maybe wear a veil or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Every time the wind blows the thing will be flapping in my face. You worry too much.”
“That’s easy for you to say. What’s the worst that can happen to you? You’ll have some rich guy taking care of you. You’ll be fine. But what about me? I’m a stranger here. What do you think happens to inconvenient husbands in a strange place? I’ll tell you. They’re murdered at the first available opportunity, that’s what!”
When, just as he had anticipated, Sarai caught the eye of the Pharaoh himself, Abram was prepared. He pretended that she was his sister; it was the only prudent thing to do. In fact, he allowed the Pharaoh to take the reluctant Sarai into his house and into his bed, and was rewarded generously for his compliance. Having been convinced that only her silence would save her husband’s life, Sarai resigned herself to obedience. Indeed, compared with Abram’s self-serving acquiescence, the Pharaoh’s lechery came to seem positively refreshing.
God apparently took exception to this convenient arrangement. Completely overlooking the fact that the whole scheme had been Abram’s idea (being God, he must have known this), he contented himself with whipping up a nasty set of plagues to punish the unsuspecting Pharaoh for his part in the sorry affair.
“But I didn’t know,” protested the Pharaoh. “Why are you blaming me? They lied to me!”
God didn’t care.
“You can’t think I’m in the habit of marrying other men’s wives...it’s despicable!”
Understandably vexed at having been put in this compromising position, the Pharaoh had Abram and his family and possessions summarily ejected from Egypt. There’s no indication that Abram ever considered returning the Pharaoh’s gifts, but by then the disconcerted ruler was glad to get rid of him at any cost.
Sarai waited in vain to hear Abram thank her for allowing her body to be thus misused in his effort to protect his own skin. In fact, for some time he even pulled away from her touch, sulking over the thought that she had been handled by another man. When finally he found it in his heart to forgive her and opened his arms to her embrace, she was easily able to keep her enthusiasm within reasonable bounds.
Strangely, Abram retained his position as God’s favourite.
* * * * *
They returned to the land of Canaan, but by now the family had grown so large that they agreed to split up, as the land could not sustain them all. Lot, who was Abram’s nephew, chose to dwell in the plain of Jordan near the city of Sodom, while Abram and the rest of his family settled in Hebron. God, it appears, had given all the land thereabouts to Abram. It’s impossible to be certain what arrangements The Lord had in mind for the people who already lived there when Abram arrived. Presumably they simply had to move aside.
In addition to wealth and protection, God had promised Abram that his descendants would inherit this land. Unfortunately Sarai appeared to be barren, so it seemed unlikely that there would be any descendants. However, Abram thought he might get away with fathering a child on her Egyptian handmaid, Hagar. He even tried to pretend that this was Sarai’s idea, but she was no longer the naively obedient wife he had taken into Egypt. When she noticed that Hagar was pregnant and realized what had been going on under her own roof, Sarai stormed into his tent to avenge the indignity.
“How dare you?” she spat. “You’ve insulted me for the last time. You get her out of here. Do you think I’ll stand by and let her brat inherit everything?”
“But,” he stammered, “where can she go?”
“I don’t give a damn...she can wander the desert, for all I care.”
“But she’ll die.”
“Well, then, you’d better shift yourself to see that she doesn’t. She goes today!”
Having already had his pleasure with Hagar, Abram was easily distracted by more pressing issues and barely lifted a finger to help the hapless Egyptian or the baby she would bear. (Well, that’s not entirely true. He did provide her with a chunk of bread and a spare bottle of water. He even slung it over her shoulder with his own hands. That’s just the kind of sensitive guy he was.)
What with wandering about and giving birth to the baby and all, poor Hagar used up all the water in no time. Being a tender-hearted soul, she couldn’t bear to watch her infant son die of thirst, so she left him in the scant shade of a shrub, and wandered off a little way, in the hot sun, to await her own death. Fortunately, God was able to tear himself away from Abram’s problems for a few moments to place a well in Hagar’s path, saving her and the infant Ishmael in the nick of time. Being a slave and accustomed to harsh treatment, she was grateful for even this small favour and she doubtless spent the next several years explaining to Ishmael that his father was really a good man at heart and would have helped them out himself, if it hadn’t been inconvenient for him to do so.
* * * * *
God still intended to give the land of Canaan to Abram and his descendants, to be theirs forever, but now he decided to attach a couple of conditions to the gift. “Abram, I want you to change your name,” he said.
“My what?” blurted Abram. He hadn’t been expecting a visit.
“Your name. I want you to change it.”
“To what?”
“Abraham.”
“Why?”
“Don’t be impertinent. I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just change it. To Abraham.”
“OK.” It seemed like a small price to pay for such an inheritance.
“And Sarai...I want her name to be Sarah from now on.”
“I’ll tell her.”
As The Lord started to turn away, he had an amusing afterthought. “Oh...and there’s something else.”
“Sure. Anything at all.”
“I want you and all your male descendants and slaves to have the flesh of your foreskins circumcised. In remembrance of our covenant. The inheritance, you know.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“We can’t just promise to remember?”
“No. From now on, the foreskin of the uncircumcised will separate his soul from my Chosen People.” And we are left to deduce from this where the souls of men are located.
This was one of the very few times God required anything painful or unpleasant of men which he did not require also of women. Perhaps he sensed that it would be hard to top the agony he had already inflicted on women by means of childbirth.
One day, when Abraham was relaxing in the doorway of his tent, God visited him. But as he was in a playful mood at the time, he did not appear as himself—he made himself look like three other guys. But Abraham recognized him (them?) immediately and, like a good host, he ran around getting everyone else to prepare refreshments. His supervisory skills must have pleased The Lord, who was inspired to promise that Abraham’s wife would finally give birth to a son. When Sarah, who was every bit of ninety years old at the time, overheard this she laughed wryly to herself.
The Lord got a little miffed. “Do you doubt my power?” he asked, irritably.
“Oh, no. Not at all,” replied Sarah, affably. “You are The Lord. You can do anything. A baby. I’m delighted!” She had simply been chuckling in eager anticipation of the fun labour and delivery that was in store for her in nine months’ time. Abraham, unable to see what was so funny, peevishly ordered Sarah to exhibit her delight in some more seemly fashion before God changed his mind.
* * * * *
Soon God began hearing particularly nasty reports about the men of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Based on the rumours alone, he had pretty much decided to destroy the cities unless fifty righteous people could be found within them. Abraham, recognizing this as a stacked deck, haggled until The Lord reduced the required number to a more realistic ten. Because this appeared to be a trouble zone, two of the more intrepid angels—they were all male at that time—were dispatched to conduct the search.
They were met at the gates of Sodom by Abram’s nephew Lot, who hoped to present the city in its most favourable light. Fearing that their plan to sleep in the street might end badly, he insisted that the angels stay in his home instead. This did sound more comfortable but unfortunately they had already attracted the attention of the men of Sodom who encircled the house, demanding that they be sent out to feature in the nightly gang rape. Lot could see that this bit of local tomfoolery might reflect badly on his hospitality so he cast his eye about for a suitable alternative suggestion. His glance fell on his wife.
“Don’t even think about it!” she warned.
Judging that the restive crowd outside was too numerous to be satisfied recycling a used matron, he didn’t press the point. Thinking fast, he offered to send out his two virgin daughters instead, to be abused by the men in whatever ways suited their fancy.
A large, hairy brute in front spoke for the mob.
“Virgins,” he said.
“Yes,’ Lot assured him. “Quite untouched.”
“Girls, then, you mean.”
“Yes. My wife and I think they’re very pretty...I know we’re bound to be biased, being their parents, but...”
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have a couple of pretty sons...”
“No. No sons. I’m sorry.”
“Well...what do you expect us to do with girls?”
“Um...I thought...”
“No. You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all!”
The crowd behind him started to push forward.
“Some nerve!’
“He doesn’t care what we want...”
“I bet he thinks he’s better than us. We’ll show him!”
“Yes...let’s show him what we want.” They surged forward. “Grab him!”
The angels, pulling him back into the house, barred the door barely in time to spare him a painful lesson in sexual diversity.
They apparently saw nothing objectionable in Lot’s approach to the crisis. He had protected their asses, as it were, and isn’t that the very least one could expect from a really considerate host? So they deftly blinded the evil men, enabling the ever so righteous Lot to escape with his family from wicked Sodom. They were convinced by then that they’d never find even ten righteous men in the city, so it was to be destroyed without further delay.
The angels ordered Lot and his family to flee to the neighbouring mountain without glancing back, while God rained fire and brimstone down on Sodom and Gomorrah, obliterating them completely. When Lot’s wife peeked back to make sure the sorry place was actually gone, she was promptly turned into a pillar of salt...so we’d all remember, I suppose, that sacrificing virginity is alright, as long as you don’t peek.
Left alone on that mountain with his two beautiful daughters and a singularly uncooperative salt pillar, Lot lost no time impregnating the girls...reasoning that God would surely want him to have sons to support him in his old age. He insisted afterwards that the saucy wenches had gotten him drunk and had their way with him, but then, blaming them was just the sort of altruistic gesture they had come to expect from their dear old dad.
* * * * *
Before long, Abraham again decided to head southward. But Sarah, despite her age, was still a fine looking woman and Abraham still imagined lechers lurking behind every bush, ready to slit his wrinkled old throat in order to carry her away. So, once again, he claimed that she was his sister and yet another king was taken in by the deception. This time it was Abimelech, king of the Philistines, who believed Abraham’s story. Before he even had a chance to raise his nonagenarian bride’s unusually heavy veil –we would be safe in assuming that she wore one by now, to hide any tell-tale wrinkles that ninety-odd years might have etched—God came knocking at his dreams, threatening to kill him for stealing another man’s wife! Abimelech, like the Pharaoh before him, confronted Abraham, demanding an explanation.
“Well, she is my half-sister...” Abraham equivocated.
“But are you married to her?” persisted Abimelech.
“Actually...um...yes. Didn’t I mention that?” Abraham had no intention of admitting that he had used this ploy before—and would again, if the necessity arose.
Abimelech, fearing God’s wrath and blaming himself for foolishly trusting Abraham, returned Sarah to her husband, and gave him servants, livestock, and a lot more money if he would only leave—with this sister and any other sisters that he might have concealed about his person—and never come back. Finally, he assuaged his crumpled ego by berating Sarah for allowing herself to be used in this tawdry fashion. Fortunately Sarah, at her advanced age, was way past being insulted by strangers. And she had come to expect it from Abraham.
As a reward for her part in this little deception, God allowed Sarah to conceive, and she bore a son they named Isaac. Being a good-humoured sort of woman, Sarah still thought it was pretty funny that she should be expected to not only give birth when in her nineties but also be grateful for the experience. She laughed a lot about that.
* * * * *
It was the custom of those days to sacrifice innocent animals, burning them on altars so that the scent of their cooked flesh might please The Lord. (The priests doubtless snacked on the leftovers after God had taken a good whiff, but he didn’t seem to mind.) When his son Isaac was still a young boy, Abraham, who never tired of searching for ways to become even richer than he was already, developed a notion that God might be still more biased in his favour if he could only think of an unusually impressive item to sacrifice. He struggled to come up with a sufficiently thoughtful gift and in a moment of truly aberrant inspiration, he determined to sacrifice that which was most dear to him—his son. (Remember that he was over a hundred years old at the time and his mind may well have been slipping a cog from time to time.)
He set off with Isaac, a rope, a big stack of firewood—and a knife.
Fortunately he had confided his plan, in that garrulous way old men have, to Sarah. Thinking quickly, she surreptitiously followed him on a donkey, leading a fine ram which she’d been saving to serve at the next holiday feast. While he was tying Isaac atop the firewood on the altar, Sarah tethered the ram by its horns to a thorn bush and then hid herself nearby. As he raised the knife to cut Isaac’s throat—she had waited, incredulously, to see whether he could really do this wicked thing—she disguised her voice as best she could, and called out, “Abraham, this is the angel of God speaking. You’ve proven your point. The Lord now knows how far you would go to show that you love and fear him, and is suitably impressed. It won’t be necessary to actually slay and cook the boy. Look around, and I’m sure you can find something else to kill.”
Even with his rheumy old eyes, Abraham couldn’t fail to see the ram that Sarah had left practically under his nose, so he obediently sacrificed the poor animal and left it smouldering on the altar for God to smell to his heart’s content...which may seem like a waste, but it still has to be seen as a big improvement on his original plan.
Sarah, her knees shaking from stress, rode back home on the ass she had brought, and found herself wondering whether she had not left a jackass behind. Perhaps this was due to the failing memory of old age, or maybe it was a flash of insight. In any case, she never quite recovered from this ordeal and died a few years later, having lingered long enough to see her son safely grown to manhood.
* * * * *
When yet another of those inconvenient famines drove Isaac, his wife Rebekah and their twin boys back into the lands of Abimelech, Isaac, like his father before him, developed the suspiciously convenient conviction that the Philistines were sure to covet his beautiful wife. Remembering the riches that Abraham had gained through a similar ruse, Isaac predictably broadcast the story that Rebekah was his sister, and waited eagerly to watch the marriage offers pour in. He hoped for at least a prince, but any particularly wealthy applicant would do. Rebekah, having heard the old stories, knew that this ploy was becoming widely derided as an embarrassing family habit, and she decided to put a stop to it. She showed no reluctance to being presented as Isaac’s sister, but she took the first convenient opportunity to seduce him—right under the palace windows and in broad daylight.
“But someone will see,” he protested.
“It’ll be exciting,” she purred, playfully. She loosened his robes and tousled his hair. “Don’t be so prissy.”
King Abimelech couldn’t fail to notice them cavorting there on his own front lawn; it was easy to see they were a good deal closer than mere siblings had any right to be. The whole situation felt uncomfortably familiar. Determined not to be taken in again, he warned his people to keep their hands off both Rebekah and Isaac, who were obviously husband and wife. And just to be safe, he suggested that it might be a good idea to stay clear of their sheep and goats, as well. An end was put to the deception, Rebekah’s honour was saved, Abimelech kept his money to himself...and Isaac had to find some other way to augment his already considerable fortune.
* * * * *
By the time Abraham had died and Isaac, too, was growing old, Rebekah began to be concerned about how the family wealth was to be managed after her husband’s death. She herself was perfectly capable of handling the estate. She’d been doing it for years, as Isaac’s energy failed. But she knew she would never formally be put in charge. Men had gotten the whole ownership thing all tied up for themselves long before then. Esau was Isaac’s eldest son—older than his brother Jacob by perhaps a minute or two—and would, by tradition, inherit everything. While Rebekah loved both her sons, she had to admit to herself that Esau was not the sharpest tack in the box. Under his management, she feared, everything could be frittered away in no time.
Hoping she might have misjudged her ‘eldest’ son, she cooked up a mouth-watering soup. “Here.” She gave it to Jacob. “I want you to let Esau catch a whiff of this. Tell him he can have it all, but only in exchange for his birthright.”
“It’ll never work, mom,” Jacob protested. “Nobody would be foolish enough to give up a fortune in exchange for a bowl of soup...even if it’s really good soup.”
“One would think so,” muttered Rebekah, grimly.
“Boy,” He sniffed. “This is really good soup!”
When Esau returned, exhausted and famished, from the hunt—for he was a great hunter, being more than a mental match for dumb animals—the delicious odour brought him directly to Jacob’s tent. “That smells great!” he bellowed, without preamble. “Dish me up a bowl.”
“I don’t think so,” demurred Jacob.
“No kidding...I’m hungry. And it smells great. I want some.”
“Not a chance. It’s my favourite. I made it myself, and I’m going to eat it all. Get lost.”
“Come on, please! Just one bowl. I’ve been out hunting all day, and I feel kind of faint...here...I’d better sit down. I don’t know when I ate last...you know, it would look really bad if you let me starve to death right here in your tent.” In fact, he had downed a substantial breakfast that morning, but he was feeling a bit dramatic.
“Well...all right. Look, I’ll let you have it all. But only if you swear to give up your birthright.”
“Sure...sure. Whatever. Where do you keep your bowls?”
“Wait.” Jacob felt a small, sharp twinge. It may have been his conscience. “You know that means I’ll inherit everything...”
At that moment, Esau was concerned with filling his belly. He didn’t think his father would be dying any time soon, so it would be a long time before his birthright would become of any value to him. So he agreed without another thought, ate every drop of the soup, and felt that he’d made a pretty good bargain. Clearly, he had no knack for wealth management.
Rebekah now realized she must ensure that Jacob inherit the family properties if they were to have any chance at all of continued prosperity. Not only was tradition against her; Isaac also loved his elder son best. He fancied the venison feasts that Esau prepared after his hunting sprees, and these men obviously thought, in large part, with their stomachs. It would not be easy, but Rebekah was a very resourceful woman.
When Isaac, fearing he might be nearing the end of his life, decided to settle the inheritance, she overheard him telling Esau to hunt down some venison and cook up a celebratory stew, after which he would bless his eldest son and confirm his inheritance. Esau, completely forgetting his bargain with Jacob—in fact, he’d never given it a second thought—dashed off to do as his father bade.
Rebekah called Jacob to her tent. “Your father intends to give his inheritance to Esau.” she warned. “Today.”
“But I thought...” began Jacob
“There’s no time for you to think. Just listen. You have to get to your father before Esau does. You’ll have to convince him that you are Esau.”
“But I don’t even look like Esau.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake...what difference does that make? He’s quite blind by now. He’ll never know the difference.”
She felt no twinge of conscience about this, figuring it was a fair payback for the time Isaac had risked her honour by pretending to be her brother. Women held grudges for a long time, in those days. It was one of their few pleasures.
Being a superlative cook, she had no trouble spicing up some readily available goat meat to taste sufficiently like venison to deceive the jaded taste buds of her ancient husband.
But Jacob anticipated a potential flaw in her plan. “Dad may be blind, but he’s not stupid. He knows that Esau is a lot hairier than I am. He’s bound to notice.” He really was much smarter than his brother.
Rebekah was undeterred. She covered his arms, hands and neck with the leftover goatskin, securely tied in place. He looked quite ridiculous, but since Isaac couldn’t see anyway, it didn’t much matter.
The plan went off without a hitch. Isaac, after feeling his son’s hands to ensure that it was, indeed, the hairy Esau, blessed him and promised him the inheritance.
When Esau arrived, having found, killed and cooked some prime venison, he found that Isaac had already given away both his blessing and the inheritance to an impostor. Belatedly remembering the bargain he’d made with his brother, Esau had no doubt that the trickster was Jacob. He begged his father to scrape together another blessing for him—even a little one would do—and a small share of the property would be nice too. But Isaac, while he regretted the mistake, had eaten his fill and now considered the matter to be closed, so Esau was out of luck. Jacob would be the head of the family with authority over all his siblings...and that included his older brother. Esau was not so stupid that he didn’t know he’d been robbed, and he vowed to kill Jacob as soon as his father was dead and a suitable period of mourning had been observed.
As soon as Rebekah heard of this threat, she began scheming to get Jacob out of harm’s way until Esau’s anger cooled. While she pondered, she started cooking. It couldn’t hurt.
She entered Isaac’s tent bearing yet another tasty treat. “I thought you might like a snack.” She drooped down beside him, and sighed.
Between mouthfuls, he noticed her dejection. “What’s the problem?” he asked, finally.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She sighed again. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“This dish is superb. One of your best,” he stated. “It’s no bother...what’s the matter?”
“Well, Jacob will be searching for a wife soon, and he’s sure to choose a local girl.”
“Yes. So?”
“I don’t like them.”
“Which ones don’t you like? Surely he can choose from among the others.”
“I dislike them all.”
“All of them? You don’t like any of them? Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t tolerate them. They have all these annoying...habits. He’ll marry one, and she’ll be under foot all the time with her irritating, unfamiliar habits and I simply won’t be able to function. I’m sure it will spoil my cooking...”
Isaac had begun to lose interest, but this caught his attention. “I won’t have you upset, my dear. Give me a moment. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
Eventually, he hit on the obvious solution. Jacob must make a trip to Mesopotamia to choose a wife from among Rebekah’s relatives: girls more likely to have unobjectionable, familiar habits. His crafty wife pretended to be both surprised at this clever solution and touched by his consideration on her behalf, and quickly rushed Jacob out of town on his wife-hunting trek.
Hearing that his mother disliked all the neighbourhood girls, Esau also dutifully searched out a wife from among their many relatives; but by that time nobody much cared, especially since he was already married to a couple of the local cuties. Poor Esau—forever fated to come in a day late and a dollar short.
* * * * *
If Jacob thought this trip was going to shape up to be just another pleasure jaunt, he was very much mistaken. Having sought out his mother’s family, he promptly fancied himself head-over-heels in love with his beautiful cousin Rachel. Unfortunately, his uncle Laban had a pretty shrewd idea of his daughter’s market value, and no sentimental childhood memories of his sister Rebekah prevented him from driving a hard bargain with her son. Jacob was so besotted that he agreed to work for Laban for seven long years in order to earn Rachel’s hand in marriage. Furthermore, when this time had elapsed, and the eager Jacob prepared to claim his long-awaited prize, the crafty Laban managed to slip Rachel’s not-so-beautiful older sister Leah into Jacob’s bed instead. The romantic Jacob, who had been celebrating rather heartily, was so drunk he didn’t notice until it was too late. None too pleased with this bait-and-switch, he now found himself obliged to work for Laban yet another seven years in order to marry Rachel as well.
The ever-so-desirable Rachel had been quite young when Jacob first arrived, bringing with him the glamour that distance imparts to strangers. She was dazzled by the evidence of his affection and flattered to find that he was prepared to labour for seven long years in order to win her. It made her feel special. Now, seven years later, her drunken bridegroom had spent the wedding night with someone else, and not even known the difference. She was not nearly so young any more, and she felt a whole lot less special.
And what about Leah? She had been foisted on Jacob like an inferior slab of meat, slipped into a package in the marketplace by a dishonest trader. She, too, did not feel so very special.
Neither sister retained any romantic illusions about this marriage. But they were stuck in it, together. This did not bring them closer.