“There’ll be no ram and no angel,” Isaac said.
“How do you know? You were saved.”
“Our family has had long experience with these things. I can assure you there is no goddess.”
“But everyone believes in her,” Esau said. “There are all these temples built in her honor and people sacrificing to her.”
“I have told you many times, there is only one God; all other gods are either demons or imagined creatures. My own grandfather, as you know, made images out of clay in Ur and people worshiped them.”
For a moment there was silence as his sons thought about what he had said. It seemed impossible that so many people could be mistaken. “Why would they choose to worship something that was false?” Jacob asked at last.
“People want something they can see and touch and manage. Something that makes sense of their world as they imagine it to be. To believe in a God who is unseen, who is Spirit, does not suit them.”
“Then we must tell them,” Esau said. “The young prince can be saved.” He jumped up ready to go to the rescue.
“Esau, my son,” Isaac said sadly, “it’s not so easy. It’s fashionable to believe in the goddess. People like the festivals and it seems logical to them. The temples and their believers are very powerful. You well know it’s dangerous to openly voice a disbelief in the goddess. It is entirely possible that instead of the young prince being sacrificed, one of you could be taken.”
The boys knew this could happen. Often during times of crisis, men captured in battle or strangers were sacrificed. “I’ve thought sometimes,” Esau said, “that Elohim might ask you to sacrifice one of your sons, and since I am the firstborn, it would be me.”
Isaac’s eyes filled with tears as he reached out to Esau. “Come my son, let me explain.” Esau came hesitantly and sat before his father. Isaac took both of his hands in his and for a moment studied his son’s eager, young face. “I have never fully understood just why Elohim told my father to go to Moriah and sacrifice me. I do know this, that my father always taught, after that experience, that our God did not want the sacrifice of any human being.”
Though his sons had heard him say this other times, they had never really understood. Now, here in Gerar, with the eminent sacrifice of one of the young princes, it had new meaning. They knew the young princes and had spent many afternoons playing Egyptian board games with them. Being young and optimistic, they felt sure that somehow the young prince would be rescued. It did not seem reasonable that the king would actually let one of his nephews be sacrificed.
As the time drew near, it became evident that public sentiment had changed. Now there was rejoicing and singing honoring the prince who was to save them from the famine. Even the family in the palace was swept up in the euphoria of the occasion. When the prince rode out, he was now greeted with poets chanting his praises and young girls reaching out to touch the bridle of his horse or bending down to kiss his feet. “He has been chosen,” they whispered. “The goddess has chosen him to save his people from the famine.”
His mother, Anatah, was greeted with such love and admiration it was hard for her to continue in her grief at losing her son.
On the day of the sacrifice, Isaac and his family again watched from the roof of their house. They saw the drummers and trumpeters form at the gate before the palace. Then the singers followed and finally the young man himself. He was seated on a white mule that was decked in throws covered with priceless jewels. His garments were of the finest Egyptian linen and on his head was a gold circlet signifying his position as prince in the king’s household.
He looked neither to the right nor the left and seemed not to even notice the crowd that chanted and sang and shouted his name over and over. “He has been given strong herbs so he will not weaken or cry out,” Isaac said, turning away. “He must not be seen to fear what is about to happen to him.”
Jacob and Esau, looking at their father, suddenly realized that he was reliving his own feelings as he had gone with his father up to the altar on Moriah. It was obvious he felt deep sorrow in the young prince’s fate. It was all so tragic. Their father knew there would be no angel and no ram in the thicket for this young man and he could hardly bear the pain of it. When he looked at them, his face was drawn and gray and his eyes were dark and piercing. They had never seen him so disturbed.
He stood rigid and silent, listening to the shouting and singing from the street below them. Then when the big drums of fate rumbled in the distance and drowned out the noise of the street, he buried his face in his hands. An ominous silence followed and then a burst of singing, horn blowing, and drums rolling in a quick staccato beat and they knew it was over, the sacrifice was complete. The people were ecstatic with joy. They danced and sang while free wine from the temple wine cellars was passed around. The fearful deed had been done and now they knew the goddess would relent and end the famine.