The Sons of Isaac(63)

Again the priestess entered behind the curtain and stood before the altar. Her voice rose and fell as she repeated the incantation that was to summon the goddess. Then came silence. Even the people grew silent and still as they waited.

Finally, with a dull thudding sound, the drums of fate began to announce the reappearance of the priestess. The shofar was blown and the curtain parted to show her with hands raised, standing before the shrine of the goddess. Slowly she turned and with slow, deliberate motions advanced toward them. Her eyes were glazed, and when she spoke it was as though someone else were speaking through her.

This time her pronouncement was greeted with shock and disbelief. The priestess announced that Anat was a goddess so strong and powerful that she could not be moved by the usual sacrifices. Something of inestimable value to all of them must be sacrificed.

“What do we have? What more can we give?” the people whispered among themselves with dread.

“Your greatest treasure you have withheld. Until you sacrifice the brightest and best of your children, Anat will not be moved. She is in control of the mystery that gives life to all things. The life force is within her hands to give or withhold. We are but as ants in her sight, and our pain is not her pain. She is not to be summoned but only entreated. We must give her what she asks, and she asks for the sacrifice of your children. Will you sacrifice your children?”

For a moment there was stunned silence. At times in the past the goddess had expected such devotion, but not in their generation. Just as the silence was growing awkward, a voice from the crowd shouted, “We are ready. We will sacrifice.” At that the chant began, “We will sacrifice, we will sacrifice.”

In just this way began the daily sacrifice of not just jewelry and gold but perfectly formed young children, for the goddess would have nothing but the best.

A week passed and then a month, with no break in the famine; no rain and no relief from the terrible hunger. Once again the priestess called the people together. She had an announcement of great importance. The goddess had spoken and there was both good news and bad. The good news was that the goddess was ready to act on their behalf and summon the great life force to the earth so that seeds would sprout and vines put out their shoots and the animals birth strong, healthy young.

The bad news was that this last time the goddess must have not just the gold and silver, the blood of animals, or the more precious blood of their children, but she must have royal blood. Only this was a fitting sacrifice for the great Anat.

While the people waited in an anxious silence, the priestess continued. “The royal family will draw lots, and the family that draws the dark stone will prepare their oldest son to be sacrificed.”

That evening just at sunset, the lots were drawn and the lot fell to Anatah, the king’s sister. It was to be her oldest and most favored son that the goddess was demanding. Anatah was stunned and then frantic. “Not my son!” she was heard to shout. “Take the sons of slaves or strangers, but not my son.”

“Hush,” the priestess hissed. “It is an honor you have been given.”

“The honor can be given to someone else,” she stormed. “I’ll not let her have my son.”





Isaac and his family watched from the roof of their house as the sad procession of the king’s family returned from the temple and the terrible pronouncement of the priestess. They could make out the form of Anatah and her three sons, now young men, walking beside her. She would not deign to weep or cry out in protest before the people but walked with slow, dragging steps as though in great pain. Her eyes stared straight ahead, her chin was up, and her back held straight and rigid with controlled tension.

The king, Abimelech, led the way through the crowd that parted before him. As he approached, the people grew silent. They wondered what the princess would do. They looked at the handsome young men and some of them turned away weeping.

Because of the severity of the famine, the princess had only a short time to prepare her son for his ordeal. There were no parties now at the palace; the gates remained closed and the shutters drawn. The whole city appeared to be in mourning. As the fateful day approached, women gathered at the palace gates, weeping and pouring ashes on their heads. Merchants offered great treasures to be given the goddess in the young boy’s place. From the palace itself there could be heard hysterical weeping both day and night.

“It is too much,” Isaac said at last. “What makes them think there really is a goddess or that she controls such things as famine?”

“Maybe an angel will appear and a ram be taken in his place,” Jacob said.