Chapter 9: Abdhulraman

Abdhulraman of Damascus

Setting: Genesis 11:31-32

As a boy on the streets of Damascus, I did not dream that I would one day find myself in the service of one of the wealthiest families in the most prosperous city on earth.  And when we lived in splendor in Ur, I did not dream that we would fall from our golden throne into the desert.

Then again, I have never been much of a dreamer.  Life for me has been so unpredictable that I have learned not to bother with prognosticating.  I have known, even before these past few years, that life can change in an instant for good or for evil.

We left Ur and headed north, following the route that I had taken from Damascus, but this time in reverse.  It felt good to move toward home. 

We followed the Euphrates for a long time.  We camped outside of Babylon for several months, and had I not been in Terah’s inner circle, I would have assumed, as many did, that we were going to settle there for good.  Terah was like that.  He knew how to take his time.  How to loiter outside of Babylon for no apparent reason.

Eventually we continued on, and encamped outside of Mari.  Yet again we continued on, until finally we reached the flatlands of Paddan Aram.  We crossed those plains until we reached Harannu, a city so named because it is situated more or less at the crossroads of the earth, at a place where caravans from the four winds meet as they go on their ways.

I was walking with Terah at the front of the camp as the city began to come into view.  He asked me what was the name of this city, and when I told him I saw tears forming in his eyes. 

He stopped in his tracks and called to Amathlai who joined him at his side.  He pointed to the city, and though he said nothing, his spirit seemed to say to her, “prophecy.”

“Harannu.” she said loudly, with clarity in her eyes, “friend of man and friend of god.  Resting place for wanderers.  Here my son will rest in peace.  You shall not be called Harranu, but Haran.”

As she turned to walk away, she spoke to Terah in a matter-of-fact fashion, “we will live and die here.  You will build a temple to Nanna in Haran’s honor, and bury his bones in its foundation.”

Amathlai’s words came to pass, and the temple of Haran became a leading center for the worship of Nanna, with Amathlai the chief priestess and Terah the chief elder of the town.

But not before my son, along with Lot and the household of Abram, went traipsing off into the wilderness again, headed west on the trade route which soon turns south from Charchemish and heads for Damascus.  How could I tell Eliezer not to go?  Though he has never seen the place, his blood is Damascan, and as he goes home a part of me goes with him.

Lot, son of Haran

In truth I long to return to Damascus as well.  To walk the banks of Abana and Pharpar.  But how can I leave the house of Terah?  And I fear that Damascus could never live up to the memories of Abdhulraman, the wide-eyed boy.

Chapter 8: Kalumtum

Kalumtum, daughter of Abdhulraman of Damascus

Setting: Genesis 11:29-30
Extra-biblical Sources: Sanhedrin 69b:13

Since we were very young my brother Eliezer and I have been best of friends with the children of Haran.  Eliezer and Lot would hunt together.  First chickens, when they were quite little, then badgers, then boars, and finally lions when they had come of age.  Iscah, Milcah, and I would walk together along the banks of the Euphrates, singing together and scavenging for leeks and medicines.

Eliezer of Damascus

Of course, Iscah was much older than Milcah and I.  On the night of the weddings we were not yet thirty years old and Iscah was nearing sixty.  But in truth Iscah has always seemed younger than we, for her spirit is young and her face and her form are beautiful.  Iscah has one of those faces from which it is impossible to  guess the possessor’s age.  She could be twenty or she could be one hundred, for her eyes are young and bright and she does not show the common signs of age, and yet there is a wisdom and a maturity in her demeanor that would suggest she has lived a long, long time.

As we walked along the Euphrates as young women, the three of us would dream of what it would be like when we were married, and I suppose Iscah did not have the heart to tell us that she was not likely to ever be married.  Either that, or she honestly believed that she would marry some day, for even when we grew up and heard the older women speaking of Iscah’s condition, it was always assumed in conversation among us three girls that Iscah would indeed be wed.

Milcah came to me when she noticed that the camp was preparing for a wedding, and we discussed whether it was likely to be for her or I.  I must admit, it did not honestly cross our minds to think that Iscah might be involved.

Iscah’s name is fitting, as is invariably the case with names delivered by the Annunaki and uttered in prophetic ecstasy by mothers in the throes of labor.  I say hers is a fitting name, for the effect that her appearance has on men is unmistakable.  In the course of daily life, there is a measure of decorum that prevents men from gawking, but when we are in a new place, or just passing through on a journey, or on the outskirts of town where pilgrims are camping, it is not uncommon to see the gaze of a man transfixed upon Iscah as if in a trance of some kind.  Behold!  The very image of beauty.

How many inquiries have been made by unknowing young men, who could see Iscah’s beauty but were as yet unaware of her condition?  Terah, I suppose, or Amathlai perhaps, found some tactful way to inform the young suitor and no more was said on the matter.  It is a testament to their integrity that they did not wed the girl off to the first unsuspecting oaf to be enamored by her figure!

I pray by the gods of Damascus, Ur, Babylon, and everywhere in between that with Abram, the only person in Terah’s household stranger than Iscah herself, she will find happiness.

I must admit, the words which Abram spoke to Iscah at their wedding were thrilling words even for me, as a bystander.  Oh, that someone would speak such words to me.  He stood in the dark night, his feet soaked with blood, and in response to Terah’s admonition that he love and protect Iscah, he turned not to Terah but to Iscah and declared:

Iscah,

Even when we put you at the back of the caravan, everyone sees you first.

The most opaque veil conceals not your radiant beauty.

They gaze upon you.

The questions come quickly, with scarcely an appropriate attempt at decorum,

Yet their interest quickly dissipates like mist in the noonday sun.

Wanted by so many but ultimately claimed by no one,

You are an orphan with many suitors and no redeemer.

But there is a kinsmen-redeemer.

One who will not simply gaze from a distance.

One who instead declares: “mine.”

Your name shall not be Iscah, but Sarai,

For I have not only beheld you, I have made you my princess.

Sarai, Wife of Abram

As stupid as it was for Abram to marry Iscah, there was something magical in the idea that he actually loved her with all of his heart.

I lay on my bed that night and I felt happy for Iscah, for I knew that Abram would be gentle and kind to her not only this night but also all of their days.