The Casting Out of Hagar and Ishmael - Gustav Dore
Tanis, Egypt - 1925 B.C.
Dear Diary,
So many matters of import have befallen me in such a very short span of time that I scarce know where to begin. I suppose I must start with the arrival of a perfectly wretched family of Chaldean shepherds into the city a few weeks past. A Mr. Abram, an elderly gentleman lately of Haran, but whose ancestral home is the great city of Ur, arrived seeking water and fodder for his flocks due to the recent drought to the north. Ordinarily the arrival of such desert-dwelling drifters would scarcely be noticed in a great city like Tanis, but one member of Mr. Abram’s party changed that in an instant. A woman of uncanny loveliness, whose striking features belie her advanced age, in the midst of this passel of migrant goat-herders, incited no less a cataract of conversation than would have the discovery of the god Ra himself living in slave’s quarters on the banks of the Nile. Great Pharaoh immediately sought out this astonishing beauty, a Miss Sarai (or so it was claimed), and was informed that she was Mr. Abram’s younger sister. Mr. Abram accepted Great Pharaoh’s offer of an immense wealth in slaves and a wide variety of livestock, which such uncivilized nomads esteem the most worthy of possessions. As one might have surmised, I was one of the unfortunate slaves given to Mr. Abram. I have no pretension of my worth in the sight of such a mighty man as Great Pharaoh, and if he should trade me and many more like me for another beauty for his harem, such is my fate, and well would I bear it. But to be given into the service of a barbaric Chaldean! And a dweller in tents! To know it was my fate to leave my family, my home, the life-giving Nile, and the care of the sustaining gods, to live in the wild and waste places of the world in the midst of foreigners and their dark, demonic idols, was almost too much for me! All I could imagine was dying in the desert, far from the Nile and from the gods who would bless me in the afterlife.
But this was not the worst. Shortly after Miss Sarai had joined Great Pharaoh’s harem, a most horrid wave of illness struck the royal household. It was determined in short order that the new foreigner must have brought uncleanness into the divine presence of Great Pharaoh’s house, and an official inquiry soon revealed deception as can scarce be believed. “Miss Sarai” is none other than Mrs. Abram! One expects a certain disreputable nature from Chaldeans, to say nothing of shepherds, but the unscrupulous and corrupt nature of this act is scarce to be believed. To lie in the very face of Great Pharaoh, in whom dwells deity itself, would be enough, but to trade one’s own wife for personal gain – not the lowest slave in Egypt would commit such an act! Great Pharaoh told Mr. Abram in no uncertain terms to leave the country at once, and sent an armed guard to escort his bleating rabble to the border. In my estimation, this exile is far too lenient a punishment. Yet it is far the worse for me – for I am exiled as well – a pitiable slave in the household of this base liar and brigand, this vagabond plunderer of great kings.
My one consolation, if one could call it such, is that I am to be handmaid to Mrs. Abram, and not the awful man himself. As the wronged party in this horrible matter, I feel I shall be able to sympathize with her plight to be married to such a beastly husband. And yet - I sometimes wonder, in the darker hours of the day, when melancholy for my lost homeland overtakes me – was there a reason (apart from greed) that Mr. Abram was so ready to relinquish his wife?
Great Ma’at, goddess of justice! Let your arm be long in reaching to protect your lowly servant Hagar, a captive in a caravan of cutthroats and deceivers!
Hebron, Canaan, 1920 B.C.
Dear Diary,
As I reflect back on the past five years of servitude in the household of Mr. Abram, I find myself surprised at the amount of sympathy that I have gained for ones whom I first took to be irredeemable criminals. I have seen Mr. Abram display great magnanimity toward his nephew Mr. Lot by giving him the choicest pastures, in spite of his own seniority. And I have seen Mr. Abram show incredible bravery, for when Mr. Lot and his entire household were kidnapped by a coalition of northern kings, Mr. Abram, at the ripe old age of 80, organized and personally led a night-time rescue party! It is said that Sekhmet, goddess of war, favors the bold, and in this case it is inarguably true. One result of this action was the visit by the fabled Melchizedek, king of Salem, who some claim to be immortal. I confess my estimation for Mr. Abram increased greatly after this incident.
And yet in other ways I have found Mr. and Mrs. Abram to be the most pitiable of persons. It is spoken of by the household slaves that Mr. Abram came to Canaan and took on the nomadic lifestyle at the behest of mysterious god who promised him land, offspring, and fabulous wealth. They say also that this puzzling deity has again promised Mr. Abram a son to be the foundation of a great nation. I confess with great emotion that I have scarcely heard anything so sad. This “god” has never appeared to Mr. Abram, never spoken in miracles or signs, has no priests, no temple, no constellation, no divine consort, no nation to protect, or even an image to call his own. This “god” is a far cry from Isis, Osiris, Horus, and Ra, whose glory in spoken of throughout the whole earth. Even the name of this supposed god is a conundrum. I have been able to learn a great deal of the barbaric language of these nomads during my time here, and the name of their god seems to be something like “I Exist” or “Being.” It all seems a bit too – insistent, I suppose, to really be believable.
Poor Mr. Abram claims to have spoken to his god in visions and dreams – yet his god has never spoken to anyone else! I fear that the “god” of Mr. Abram is nothing more than the voice of his own tired and hopeless dreams – the desires of an old man speaking to himself in the night.
Hebron, Canaan, 1915 B.C. - Spring
Dear Diary,
Something marvelous has happened, a blessing I could scarcely have hoped for. I, born a lowly slave, am to be married to a free man, and granted all the accompanying rights and privileges! My mistress has arranged it all. Apparently I have served her well enough to earn this honor, as it was she who approached Mr. Abram with the offer of marriage. And Mr. Abram has agreed! I am deemed worthy to live alongside them as a free person, to bear his children – not children of slavery or of concubinage, but as a true and favored wife!
Thanks be to Ma’at, goddess of justice, for hearing my prayer and raising me from my lowly status!
Hebron, Canaan, 1915 B.C. – Fall
Dear Diary,
I have been a fool. A most miserable and colossal fool. All that I thought was gain for me has turned to bitterness and ash. I have been married to Mr. Abram these past 6 months, and in that time have conceived a child. Why could I not see what would inevitably result?! Why did it not occur to me that it was not Mr. Abram who was to blame for the barrenness of his family, but Sarai? Was it not she who brought a plague on Great Pharaoh’s house as soon as she stepped foot in the door? And mustn’t it be that it has been she who has cursed Mr. Abram’s house, to prevent children being born here?
When I found that I was in the family way, I confess that all of this insight came upon me in a flash. I confess also that it was nearly impossible for me to look at Sarai without a look of pity or of horror. What if her curse should fall upon my baby or me? I sought to avoid her, without giving evidence of doing so, but this proved impossible, and she took great offense at discovering the truth.
But the unkindest cut of all is that the new status and great gift I thought had been granted me was a damnable lie. My first impression of these nomads so many years past was absolutely right! As soon as Mr. Abram and I were married, I ceased to call Sarai “Mrs. Abram” – for was I not also Mrs. Abram? She took some small offense to that, but I was consoled at least that Mr. Abram would treat me as an equal, and not the slave I once was.
But alas, all has collapsed! All is ruined! Sarai has gone to Mr. Abram and said that I have insulted and despised her. And she called me “slave” again, and spoke of my union with Mr. Abram in the coarsest terms, as though I were a base chattel! And the worst – oh, it is nearly too difficult for words – Mr. Abram has all but disowned me! He too called me “slave,” and gave all decision for my fate and future to Sarai! I, the mother of his child! He, the one who has been waiting all his life for a child, has thrown the mother of his child to the she-wolf his first wife. Mr. Abram has stood before kings, battled great armies, and claims to speak directly with a god – why will he not stand up to his wife?
Now Sarai has repaid all my service to her with the most vindictive and awful behavior. I have not a moment’s peace from her spite, her ceaseless orders, her overall terrible treatment of me. I am treated again as a slave, the lowest sort of slave, am given more work than any other, and never receive a day of rest or a kind word from anyone. The other slaves keep their distance for fear of incurring the mistress’ wrath. I do not know what to do! If I stay here and endure this duress and oppression, I fear I shall lose the child within me. But where would I go? And if I should be caught, it would mean death – both for me and the child.
Great gods of Egypt, where are you? Ma’at, goddess of justice – where is your strength? Taweret, the Great One, you who protect the bearers of children – where is your provision for me and my child? Great gods – whatever shall I do?
Wilderness of Shur, 1915 B.C.
Dear Diary,
I resolved to flee from my suffering and return to Egypt, my home that I had not seen for ten years. I journeyed on foot, alone, and carrying an unborn child. For days and weeks I walked, avoiding the roads, keeping to the wilderness, fearful of beasts, of bandits, and of dying of thirst and exposure. I wandered for days on end through the desert of Shur, until I collapsed by a spring. The events which then transpired were like a dream. I am still unsure quite what has happened to me. I will endeavor to relate the circumstances as best I can.
A being appeared to me. He had the shape of a man, and yet, I knew immediately he was no man. There was something – foreign about him, and I felt instinctively that this being was divine. He called me by name – (it had been so long since someone called me by anything other than “slave”) – and asked me where I came from and where I was going. In my distress I realized I only knew the answer to the first question, and I answered, “I am fleeing from the presence of my mistress Sarai.” He said, “Return to her and submit to her authority.” At this moment I was seized by a terrible fear. It is well known that the desert is the dwelling place of demons, and I felt that this one was trying to deceive me and cause me harm. If I returned, would I not surely be killed for escaping my servitude? I answered him nothing.
Then, he told me that my descendants would be multiplied till there were too many to count. Again, I answered nothing. Then, he sang a song over me. It was something like this:
"Look you have conceived and will bear a son
And you will call his name 'God Hears'
For "I AM' has heard your suffering"
Now, demons do many things – but they do not sing. And there in the song was the name of Abram’s God. The God Who Is. At that moment I knew the being I had spoken to was a Messenger, an agent of this God – that I had seen Him, and stood in His presence and lived. I do not quite know what came over me to utter such a thing, but I felt compelled to give Abram’s God a name. I called Him “The God Who Sees Me.”
It is exceedingly strange – all these many years I have cried out to the gods of my homeland, and they have not heard. All these long years I have looked for them, and I have not seen them, nor have they seen me. I never once cried out to Abram’s God, but He heard me, and named my son (a son!) “God Hears.” I was not looking for Abram’s God – but He was looking for me.
I will return to Abram’s house, and be Sarai’s slave once more. God Who Hears and God Who Sees Me, I put myself into Your hand.
Hebron, Canaan, 1914 B.C.
Dear Diary,
Just as The Messenger said, I have given birth to a son. Yes, Mr. Abram accepted me back into his house. Sarai grudgingly accepted me back into her service, and Mr. Abram made clear that I was not to be treated contemptuously.
And though I again am slave and not wife, I have retained the one, best privilege of a wife – it was I who gave the name to my son, and not Abram or Sarai. When I told Mr. Abram his name would be “Ishmael - God Hears” he nodded and said, “Yes. Yes I believe He does.”
Gerar, Negev Desert, 1901 B.C.
Dear Diary,
If I had not been privy to the entire event, I would not have believed it for anything. The past year has seen its share of shocking events, what with the institution of circumcision for every male in the household, including Ishmael, at which time, Mr. Abram informed the household that he was to be referred to as Mr. Abraham, and Mrs. Abram was now “Sarah.” The snickering among the slaves can be imagined at such pomposity and putting on of airs. Suppose I changed my name to Hagarah! Besides this, there were rumors of angels coming to visit, and that awful business with those deplorable cities Sodom and Gomorrah. But this latest scandal is nothing short of outrageous.
In visiting Gerar, ruled by King Abimelech, Mr. Abraham has perpetrated the exact same deception that he did over twenty years ago in Egypt! It was all I could do not to faint dead away when I was told to report to any and all inquiries that Mrs. Abraham was Mr. Abraham’s sister. Of course, once again, the matter was discovered, and Mr. Abraham again confronted by an angry king. This time the old rogue had the cheek to inform everyone that Mrs. Abraham is in fact his half sister! I have been a part of the household for two decades, and this outrageous little tidbit of information had never before surfaced!
I do confess that my first impression of Mrs. Abraham was wrong – it was not she who contaminated Pharaoh’s house so many years ago, it was the God Who Sees Me acting to protect and preserve her for His own purposes. Though why He has waited so long is thoroughly opaque to me.
I also sometimes wonder what The God Who Sees Me is about, associating with such an irresolute and undependable family in the first place. I fear that if He does keep His promise and make a great nation from these rapscallions that He will most certainly have His hands full for a good long time.
Beersheba, Canaan, 1900 B.C.
Dear Diary,
I am absolutely convinced that the whirlwind that has been my life reached its critical point in this moment in time. I will venture to explain, in order, with as little emotion as possible, for I feel that if I once again open the gate to re-experience the trial I have recently faced, it will be next to impossible to recover.
It began with the birth of Mr. and Mrs. Abraham’s son, Isaac. Though the boy’s name is “Laughter,” all laughter in the household at the ridiculousness of a 90 year old new mother was accompanied by an awed wonder. If the nothing else, Mr. Abraham’s God’s delay in fulfilling His promise created quite the denouement when finally enacted.
But it was not long before the name of this new son took on a sinister meaning for me and for Ishmael. Just as many years before, when I felt as though I had achieved favored status when I became a wife who was able to bear children, so Ishmael now recognized that not only was he a son, but a firstborn son.
And just as my joy so many years ago incited Mrs. Abraham’s anger, so did Ishmael’s laughter incite Sarah’s rage. Again, she approached Mr. Abraham, and this time her order was unequivocal – send them away. And again, she called me slave, and Ishmael only “her son.” Is that all he is to her? “The slave girl’s son?” If I live a thousand years I will never -
Enough. I must restrain myself from such thoughts, or I will not complete this account. To his credit, this time Mr. Abraham did not immediately acquiesce. He seemed truly distressed – even if the cause of his distress was not my fate, but the fate of his son, it is commendable that he at least did not think of Ishmael as “the slave-girl’s son,” but as his own.
But, delay or not, he sent us away. He said his God promised to care for us, but at that moment I felt only rage that he would invoke His name to do injustice to his son and the mother of his son. What God would do such a thing? I rejected the God whose “prophet” had rejected me and rejected my son. With bread and water, my son and I set out - but to where? To whom? I could not set out to return to Egypt this time. The gods of the Nile had abandoned me long ago, and now it seemed so too had my new God. We walked in the desert until we could not walk anymore, utterly exhausted, despondent, and thirsty to the point of death. And I did pray then, for one specific thing. That I would not see my son die. And I wept, wept that my life would end in the desert, just I had feared when I was a girl. Wept without tears, for there was no water left in my eyes.
Again, God heard. But this time - God heard my son. And in doing so He answered my prayer. I would not see my son die. His Messenger returned and he told me not to be afraid, he repeated the promise he had made me so many years ago, and he opened my eyes to see the well of water in the desert. Just like the last time, it was as though I were reminiscing about a dream, like living inside a memory – like living out a dream that keeps happening to me. God saw me.
So, let the second-born of Abraham have his inheritance. Let the children of Ishmael live in the desert, and the children of Isaac in the land of promise. Both of Abraham’s children have received the blessing of God.
Notes:
·Hagar is the first person in the Bible to converse with an angel
·Hagar is one of the very few people in the Bible to give a name to God (it’s usually the other way around)
·Hagar is the only woman to receive a promise that her child will be a great nation – making her a sort of female patriarch
·Genesis 25 records that Ishmael had 12 sons, much like another patriarch
·Some Jewish families in Israel who seek reconciliation with Palestinians name their daughters Hagar
·The Koran says that when Sarah ordered Hagar and Ishmael driven out, Abraham took them personally to Mecca, where Hagar wandered back and forth seven times between two mountains – Muslims on the pilgrimage to Mecca repeat this journey as part of the haj
·Suggested reading: “The Five Books of Moses: A Translation with Commentary” by Robert Alter; “Abraham: A Journey to the Heart of Three Faiths” by Bruce Feiler
·Tawaret is the Egyptian goddess who protected pregnant women – she had the head of a hippo(!)
