Abraham and Sarah by Roberta Kells Dorr Page B

you can see most of those who were able-bodied have fled the valley. The rest of us are still trying to leave.”
    “So I imagined,” Abram said.
    “You can see the streams are almost dry. The soil has turned to powder. It’s blowing away.” The old man motioned to the valley and then up the side of Mount Ebal where terraces once cradled vines and small olive trees.
    “We’ll need water,” Abram muttered almost to himself as he looked back down toward the valley. “We have many people and our flocks are extensive.”
    The old man shook his head. “The water is scarce everywhere. We are sending mules to the wells at Dothan and over to Jezreel just to have drinking water.”
    Lot moved closer to his uncle and spoke in a whisper, “It would be foolish to camp here. We need to move on.”
    Abram frowned. “I remember this as such a green, fruitful valley. How can it all have dried up?”
    The old man raised his hand and looked up at the cloudless sky. “It’s saidthat we’ve offended Hadad, god of rain. We even sacrificed our children to him … and see, he doesn’t care. He isn’t going to help.”
    Abram frowned. When people sacrificed their children, they were usually desperate. The bigger the problem, the more precious the sacrifice demanded by the gods. A child, a young man, a beautiful young woman—all were sacrificed in the hope of getting the gods’ attention.
    “Is it all right if we decide to stay?”
    “You can stay. Of course you can stay. I suppose there’s enough dried grass for a few days. There are no wells. You’ll find precious little water anyplace.”
    Abram thanked the old man and started back to the mouth of the valley where he had left the caravan. He was deep in thought, and Lot assumed he was deciding to move on. But when he spoke, it was involving another matter. “Lot,” he said, “go down and see that the people pitch their tents near whatever water you can find.”
    “And you, my lord? Where will you be?”
    “I am going up the mountain. I need to be alone.” Abram was already looking toward the path that led up past the city of Shechem to the steep mountain heights of Ebal.
    “My lord,” Lot said in a tone of voice that conveyed his concern, “shouldn’t we move on as quickly as possible?”
    Abram seemed not to hear him. “You’ll be in charge and make all decisions until I come back.”
    Abram turned and started up the path. He didn’t look back to see if Lot was following his instructions but pressed on with a determined stride. He was soon out of the valley and climbing. The dogs and curious children eventually turned back, and at last he was alone.
    He saw nothing of the carefully terraced plots now overgrown with cactus or stripped down to the bare outcroppings of rock. He was deeply troubled. He realized that all along, he had envisioned this valley as the very place God was leading him and his people. He had thought this was the land God was going to give him.
    He had seen the valley first on a trading venture with his father. They were on their way down to Egypt when they heard there were armed bands waiting for the caravans along the usual route, so they had decided to come through this valley, then move up into the highlands. The valley had burst upon their travel-weary eyes as a virtual paradise. As young as he had been, hehad noticed how fertile it was and how few people had settled in or around it. “There are no wells. Also it is hard to defend such an open valley,” they had told him.
    When he reached the top of Ebal, he sank down on a projection of rock. He felt exhausted and terribly disappointed. More than that he felt let down, tricked. Tears of frustration blinded his eyes. He’d risked everything and, worse, he had encouraged others to follow him. Now he could see it was like following a mirage. He began to doubt, to wonder if he could have imagined the promises.
    It was some minutes before he looked up and was astonished at the sight before