“How do we do that?” the king asked.
“We must entreat the goddess and Baal to bring rain. Surely they will want to triumph over this alien God.”
“He is not totally unknown to us,” Abimelech said. “We have in the past worshiped El.”
“But He did nothing for us,” Anatah said, frowning. “He may have created things, but He doesn’t control them. It is Anat and Baal that have always responded to our prayers and gifts.”
In the end it was decided to defeat Isaac’s plans by stopping up the wells that had been dug by his father, Abraham, and were the source of his success. The counselor who thought of this solution was honored by the king and given the high position of the “king’s friend.”
It did not take long for Abimelech’s men to ride out and with shouting and singing fill the wells with sand and stones so it would be almost impossible to reclaim them. They trampled down the irrigation ditches and crushed out the newly sprouting growth and then rode off in triumph to tell the king.
Isaac’s men had watched with horror and anguish. It was not easy to dig a well in this land where the soil was dry and unyielding. They could not understand what was happening. Why would people suffering from famine destroy the only source of relief? They had wanted to fight, but Isaac held them back. “Let them go; we wouldn’t win that way. They would still stop up the wells and some of our men would be killed.”
To everyone’s amazement Isaac refused to be discouraged. He had wisely hoarded some grain for seed so that when given another chance, he would have something to plant. No matter how Rebekah begged for even a handful of grain to make bread, he would not relent. “This grain is still going to keep us alive and bring us great prosperity,” he said.
When his sons asked what he meant, he explained, “When we again have water and can open the channels to irrigate, we will plant this grain and for each kernel planted we will reap a hundredfold.”
“And,” said Jacob, “they will give us of their riches in exchange. Everyone has to eat to live.”
Isaac smiled. “While they are pleading with their goddess for relief from the famine, we will be busy using the gifts Elohim has given us to actually accomplish it.”
* * *
While Isaac rode out into the desert each day with his men and worked long hours in the sweltering sun to unstop the wells, the people of Gerar were totally caught up in a frenzy of a different sort. They hoped to bring back prosperity and stop the famine by placating the goddess Anat. “She has the power,” they said, “to send the rain and make the land blossom again.”
Her priestesses dressed faithfully in their ornate robes and sang and danced before her image in the temple courtyard. They poured precious oil on the altar before her shrine and encouraged the people to sacrifice some treasured ornament or a perfect animal to show their love and devotion to her. “When she sees that we trust her and love her enough to offer our best to her, then she will bless us. Our vats will be filled with oil and our granaries will burst with wheat and barley, our cattle will give birth to perfect young, and our grapes will hang in thick clusters,” they repeated over and over to reassure themselves.
When the famine grew worse, the high priestess went into seclusion before the goddess. The temple was not large, but it had a courtyard paved in worn, irregular stones. Off to one side was a well with a carob tree shading its dark depths. The temple was of chiseled stone with a long, red curtain that covered the doorway and hid the altar that lay before the niche where the statue of the goddess stood.
Now while the drums rolled their dirge and the shofars blared their alarm, the priestess stayed hovering over the latest sacrifice. She chanted and circled the altar, flinging incense and special dust that made the fire burn with an unnatural green glow. All this time the people of the city stood crowded together in the courtyard, peered eagerly over the wall, or pushed and squeezed in at the gate. They were anxiously waiting for any word of encouragement.
When she finally came out and stood before them, she spoke in a strong, vibrant voice and her words hung on the air with the terrible atmosphere of doom. “The goddess has spoken,” she said. “We have not given our best, she says. Only the best sacrificed on her altar will move her to have compassion on us. Are you ready? Will you sacrifice your greatest treasure?”
“We will. We will.” The shout rang out as the people fell to their knees and wept with the awesome challenge. They buried their heads in their hands and rocked back and forth as each imagined sacrificing some prized possession. They loved the joy of surrender to this great cause. They shuddered as they hoped it would be their secret treasure the goddess would choose. What renown and honor would be theirs if some sacrifice on their part would bring about relief from the famine?