opens her eyes and reveals a well, which she uses to give water to the boy. God stays with the boy until he grows up and marries.
Around that time, King Abimelech announces to Abraham, “God is with you in everything that you do,” and the two sign a pact of peacefulrelations. For a time this pax Canaanica stands, but eventually Abraham complains that Abimelech’s men seized his well. Abimelech claims no knowledge of the act. Abraham sets aside seven lambs as an oath that he, in fact, did dig the well. The two make a covenant, calling the place Beer-sheba. Beer is the Hebrew word for well; sheba means both seven and oath. Abraham plants a tamarisk on the site in honor of the Lord.
By this point certain patterns in the Bible are becoming clear. For one, wells are crucial. In addition, there are repeated examples of tense relations among the patriarchs and local rulers in Canaan. Also, the story constantly has God repeat his promise to Abraham, in what appears to be an escalating manner:“I will give you this land,”“I will give this land to you and your descendants,” “I will give this land to you and your descendants, who will rule over the rest of the world.” To help understand the roots of these patterns, Avner suggested we stop off in Beer-sheba to meet a colleague of his, one of the senior archaeologists in the Middle East.
Eliezer Oren lives in a spacious ranch house in a neighborhood lined with lemon trees and gated homes. He ushered us into his office, stacked with books and pending Ph.D. theses, and festooned with pennants from Harvard, NYU, and Penn. Above his desk was a silhouette, cut out of black paper, showing him as a Sherlock Holmes figure with a meerschaum pipe. With his bushy mustache and formal demeanor, he reminded me of stories I had read about the grand archaeologists of the past—Heinrich Schliemann, Leonard Woolley, Arthur Evans—sitting in the desert being served five-course meals on silver trays with crystal goblets.
“You have made a correct observation,” he said when I asked about the importance of wells. “Water is the key to all life here. But more important, water symbolized attachment.” Abraham, he explained, was not a pure nomad, one who wanders from place to place. Instead he was a pastoralist, one who wanders but returns regularly to a few places.
“That’s why he came to Beer-sheba,” Eliezer continued. “It’s the edge of the desert, but there’s water here. It’s the same reason Beer-sheba was picked to be the hub of desert administration—by the Kingdom of Israel and much later by the Turks. Modern Israel is doing the same thing. Such an important location is always a place of worship.”
I asked him why God promised Abraham such a specific piece of land, and not the entire world.
“In ancient civilization, religion is not international,” he said. “It does not cross boundaries. Religion is closely integrated with land. The god of Babylon is not the god of Egypt, the god of Hebron. It’s only Judaism and later Christianity and Islam that made God universal.”
“Why, then, is the relationship between God and man expressed in a contract?” I asked.
“Now why would this surprise you?” he said.
“It’s very anthropomorphic. It’s almost putting it in terms of a business relationship, yet it’s the most intangible of relationships. Also, it’s not a relationship of equals.”
“To start with, from all the records we know, in the ancient Near East the relationship between gods and man is always contractual. Every single one of them: the Hittites, the Mesopotamians, the Assyrians. And a contract is binding. Every partner has its obligation. If man behaves in a certain way, then he assures the prosperity of his family, his tribe. The gods, meanwhile, must make it rain and make the land bear fruit. In this respect, the Bible is beautifully embedded in its surroundings. If the relationship was not codified through a contract, I, myself, would
Around that time, King Abimelech announces to Abraham, “God is with you in everything that you do,” and the two sign a pact of peacefulrelations. For a time this pax Canaanica stands, but eventually Abraham complains that Abimelech’s men seized his well. Abimelech claims no knowledge of the act. Abraham sets aside seven lambs as an oath that he, in fact, did dig the well. The two make a covenant, calling the place Beer-sheba. Beer is the Hebrew word for well; sheba means both seven and oath. Abraham plants a tamarisk on the site in honor of the Lord.
By this point certain patterns in the Bible are becoming clear. For one, wells are crucial. In addition, there are repeated examples of tense relations among the patriarchs and local rulers in Canaan. Also, the story constantly has God repeat his promise to Abraham, in what appears to be an escalating manner:“I will give you this land,”“I will give this land to you and your descendants,” “I will give this land to you and your descendants, who will rule over the rest of the world.” To help understand the roots of these patterns, Avner suggested we stop off in Beer-sheba to meet a colleague of his, one of the senior archaeologists in the Middle East.
Eliezer Oren lives in a spacious ranch house in a neighborhood lined with lemon trees and gated homes. He ushered us into his office, stacked with books and pending Ph.D. theses, and festooned with pennants from Harvard, NYU, and Penn. Above his desk was a silhouette, cut out of black paper, showing him as a Sherlock Holmes figure with a meerschaum pipe. With his bushy mustache and formal demeanor, he reminded me of stories I had read about the grand archaeologists of the past—Heinrich Schliemann, Leonard Woolley, Arthur Evans—sitting in the desert being served five-course meals on silver trays with crystal goblets.
“You have made a correct observation,” he said when I asked about the importance of wells. “Water is the key to all life here. But more important, water symbolized attachment.” Abraham, he explained, was not a pure nomad, one who wanders from place to place. Instead he was a pastoralist, one who wanders but returns regularly to a few places.
“That’s why he came to Beer-sheba,” Eliezer continued. “It’s the edge of the desert, but there’s water here. It’s the same reason Beer-sheba was picked to be the hub of desert administration—by the Kingdom of Israel and much later by the Turks. Modern Israel is doing the same thing. Such an important location is always a place of worship.”
I asked him why God promised Abraham such a specific piece of land, and not the entire world.
“In ancient civilization, religion is not international,” he said. “It does not cross boundaries. Religion is closely integrated with land. The god of Babylon is not the god of Egypt, the god of Hebron. It’s only Judaism and later Christianity and Islam that made God universal.”
“Why, then, is the relationship between God and man expressed in a contract?” I asked.
“Now why would this surprise you?” he said.
“It’s very anthropomorphic. It’s almost putting it in terms of a business relationship, yet it’s the most intangible of relationships. Also, it’s not a relationship of equals.”
“To start with, from all the records we know, in the ancient Near East the relationship between gods and man is always contractual. Every single one of them: the Hittites, the Mesopotamians, the Assyrians. And a contract is binding. Every partner has its obligation. If man behaves in a certain way, then he assures the prosperity of his family, his tribe. The gods, meanwhile, must make it rain and make the land bear fruit. In this respect, the Bible is beautifully embedded in its surroundings. If the relationship was not codified through a contract, I, myself, would
Similar Books
