I have always felt a special connection with the Annunaki and have never wavered in my devotion. Why must Abram trouble us with his relentless questions? I know that my son is not an enemy of the gods. But how many times have we told him that the men of the council will not tolerate his unorthodox assertions?
For months leading up to his arrival, the great city of Ur anticipated the coming of Nimrod, the mighty hunter. He was practically more famous than his great-grandfather Utnapishtim, and unlike Utnapishtim, who was rumored to be off in the wilderness somewhere, laying drunk and naked in his tent and hurling curses upon mankind, Nimrod was known to frequent the great cities of Chaldea. Nimrod was said to be wearing Utnapishtim's royal garments, as handed down to him by his father Cush and his grandfather Ham, who was in rebellion against Utnapishtim over some ancient dispute.
It was Nimrod’s custom to bring game from his hunts for the locals, to visit the most beautiful priestesses, and to promote among the leading men of each town the religion of Nusku, the son of Nanna and god of fire.
Naturally my sons Haran and Nahor were excited by rumors of his coming arrival. Their names both suggesting the magnificence of fire, and their deep reverence for Nanna and all of the Annunaki, made them especially interested to see and hear from Nimrod.
And naturally, we were all a bit nervous about what Abram might say in Nimrod’s hearing.
Whatever we might have feared, none of us were prepared for what has come to pass.
It was forty days ago today that I watched my firstborn burned to death in the fires of Nusku. This is how it came to be.
Nimrod, standing tall and proud before the assembly of the town, had prepared an enormous fire in the town square with the help of the leading priestesses, Amathlai among them. As the crowds gathered, he cried with enthusiasm, “Let us worship the fire!”
It had always been Abram’s persuasion that Enki, god of water, was superior to Nusku, god of fire, inasmuch as water extinguishes fire while fire is powerless against water. Of all times to engage in such discussion, in a moment of imprudent boldness, Abram cried out to Nimrod: “Should we not then worship water, which extinguishes fire?”
Hushed gasps spread throughout the crowd, and at first a look not so much of embarrassment as annoyance came across Nimrod’s face. Yet almost as soon as his face betrayed his discomfort, a good-natured smile replaced it, for this was not a day for conflict but for brotherhood. Nimrod gestured toward the great Euphrates river, rushing not far from the magnificently thick walls of Ur, and enthusiastically declared, “Indeed, let us also worship the water!”
It was clear that Nimrod, in his own commendable way, was extending unwarranted grace to the defiant Abram. For Abram was not yet fifty years old and was speaking to one of the last remaining Gibborim, a man hundreds of years his elder, and yet if anything physically stronger than Abram no less.
The tension in the crowd dissipated and we all seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Yet no sooner were Nimrod’s gracious words spoken then Abram was ready with another reply. “Should we not then worship the clouds, which carry the water?”
This time Nimrod was ready for Abram’s reply, and it seemed almost as if Abram, too, was prepared to conduct the exchange as a kind of lighthearted theater. And so Nimrod beamed as he promptly replied, “Yes, my son, let us worship the clouds!”
The pattern of conversation now established, and the mood seeming to lighten, Abraham continued, “Should we not then worship the wind, which scatters the clouds?”
In that moment I began to worry that Abram might not know when to stop. And I prayed that this time Nimrod would respond in turn and the moment would pass. Indeed, Nimrod smiled more openly than ever. “Let us worship the wind!”
Yet Abram did not stop. No indeed, with his next words, my heart raced wildly. “Should we not then worship man, who withstands the wind?”
“You are merely piling up words,” Nimrod grinned, “we should bow to none other than the fire. Or, if man can withstand Nusku’s fire, then I shall indeed worship man.” He gestured to the fire, as if inviting Abram to cast himself upon it. “Let us see who is victorious: mighty Nusku or the man who piles up words.”
Abram could have bowed in deference and declared, “Oh, wise Nimrod, I confess, we should worship only the fire.”
Instead, Abram boldly replied, “Indeed, wise Nimrod, we should not worship man. In this you have spoken rightly. For we should seek the divine not amongst ourselves, but above ourselves, in the heaven of heavens, where no eye of man has ever penetrated and where God dwells in unapproachable light. Fire is extinguished by water, and yet is carried where it does not wish by the clouds, which are driven by the whims of the winds, which are withstood by man. But El, the Maker of all things, is not contained in elements such as fire or water, nor is he trapped in the little statues that are made by my brothers and carted here or there at man’s bidding. Nor does He dwell even among the stars. Truly, even the highest heavens cannot contain Him. And it is El Elyon, possessor of heaven and earth, who has visited me in my dreams.”
Without hesitation Abram strode toward the flames of Nusku. It seemed clear that Abram would indeed cast himself into the flames, and Nimrod caught him by the beard as he strode past. “You fool! He cried, would you really defy Nusku this night?”
Abram’s eyes were strangely calm and his voice strong, “If I perish, I perish, but I will worship the great unseen El and not the earthly elements of fire and water.”
“El” is spoken of not infrequently by travelers in Caravans from the West, trading dried fish and pottery for leather, spices, ghee, and wool, and also trading gods and sacred stories. I had not given El much thought, and it surprised me now to learn that Abram must have been meditating upon this strange diety for a long time now.
Nimrod looked at the wide-eyed crowd, and he looked at Abram, and then he looked at me. “Terah, you are revered as a religious man, and your delightful wife Amathlai an esteemed priestess. Will you speak wisdom to your son, or will he perish in the flames this night?”
I held my tongue from speaking of Nimrod’s own worthless son, Mardon. I stood speechless. How could I do otherwise? To speak at all would have been to make matters worse. But to my shock, Haran stepped forward from the crowd in defense of his younger brother.
“Abram is a mere child of seventy years, wise Nimrod. In time he will learn to revere Nusku.”
He turned to reason with Abram, “Is there not room in heaven and earth for both El and Nusku? Put aside this meaningless conflict and enjoy a night of revelry!”
“There is room in the cosmos for many gods,” Abram replied, “but there is only one God of gods, one Creator, and my allegiance is always and only to El.”
Two things then happened at once.
One: Nimrod, who was facing Abram, turned and began to address Haran saying “Did Terah raise not one, but two fools?”
Two: Abram strode past Nimrod directly into the raging fire and situated himself in the hottest part of the flames.
The crowd gasped. And what was there to do but to watch in horror and amazement at the nightmarish things that happened before our eyes?
Nimrod turned to see Abrams position in the fire and bellowed before the crowd, “behold the fate of the man who dares to challenge the supremacy of Nusku! He will repent and be badly burned, or he will die in his arrogance!”
It was not a common sight to watch a human being burned alive.
True, a few of the gods received our young children from our arms to die in the fires of sacrifice, yet it was common practice for them to be tossed - or otherwise allowed to roll - down into the belly of the god where the shrieks were heard but the misery was not beheld by the mother’s eyes.
Abram did not shriek like a child. Indeed, he showed no signs of pain at all. At first we attributed this to an exercise of his will, but with time we saw that his clothing remained intact and his skin remained unblackened. We realized that the gods were preserving Abram in the fire!
The whole assembly was thrown into a state of confusion, as Abram gazed serenely out of the flames. Each man had a theory about what was happening. “He is a demon, sent by Nusku to test our faith!” “Abram is protected by Nanna. Nanna is El and Nanna is greater than Nusku!” “Abram is a secret child of the Annunaki, playing tricks on man to stir up trouble!” Many speculations such as these they cried out.
It was clear that this incredible phenomenon demanded an interpretation, and two general camps began to coalesce: those for Abram and the gods he represented, and those against him and his unpardonable rebellion. If Nimrod did not act to restore order, the night might devolve into utter chaos.
Nimrod turned to Haran and demanded, “denounce your brother now before all or join him in the fire! Say it, he is a demon!”
“My brother is no demon, he is the most upright man I know.” Haran declared. And with that, in one swift motion, Nimrod lifted Haran above his head and flung him into the flames.
Haran cried in terror and Amathlai cried even louder, and the whole town erupted into loud arguments and complete disorder. As I and my household ran to the edge of the flames we saw with great horror that Haran lay in the midst of the flames, writhing in agony, his clothes burning brightly and his body beginning to blacken.
Abdhulraman of Damascus, my most loyal and hardworking slave, threw off his outer garments and dashed into the flames to remove Haran’s body.
It was a valiant and noble action, which singed his beard and burned his skin so that he was uncomfortable in the hot sun for weeks afterward.
But Haran was dead.
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