Along the Rivers of Faith

By Richard Di Giacomo

Historian and educator Richard Di Giacomo brings us a multi-generational tale about a family's journey to define and defend their faith. First their is Agga, a humble potter in Ur, in Ancient Mesopotamia. He is struggling to escape the hopelessness of polytheism when he encounters the new faith of Abraham. Then there is Tola, a leader of Israel in the time of the Judges, who must find a way to defeat the Philistine invaders when he knows nothing of war. Next, there is Shemayah, who believes in an exciting new teacher named Jesus, but must somehow convince his skeptical brothers. Finally there is Valeria, a gentle Byzantine scholar who feels compelled to tell the incredible story of God's miraculous provision for her family, but lives in a world where gifted women are not taken seriously. As you read the story of how this strong and dedicated family overcomes spiritual and physical challenges, your own faith will be inspired and uplifted!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Di Giacomo
• Release date: Jan 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370341078

Richard Di Giacomo

Richard Di Giacomo graduated from San Jose State University with a B.A. in Ancient and Medieval history, a B.A. in Social Science and an M.A. in American History. He has been a teacher for over 20 years and has taught in a variety of schools from private and continuation schools to public high schools. He has taught everything from at risk and limited English students to honors and college preparatory classes. The subjects he has taught include U.S. and World History, Government, Economics, Bible and Ethics, History of the Cold War, and Contemporary World History.He has been a reviewer and contributor to textbooks, and a frequent presenter at social studies conferences on the use of simulations, videos, and computers in education. Rich's love for role-playing and strategy games led him to develop his role-playing simulations. He has also written books on renaissance explorers, California Indians, history movies, humor, and ELL instruction. Teachers enjoy his books because they are written by a teacher for other teachers. Students like the activities contained in them because they are interesting, challenging, fun, and very different from traditional instructional methods.

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Along the Rivers of Faith

© 2017 Magnifico Publications

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.

Dedicated to Dorothy Di Giacomo, whose own journey of faith is an inspiration to everyone.

Along the Rivers of Faith

Chapter One

"Terah took his son Abram, his grandson Lot, son of Haran, and his daughter-in-law Sarai, the wife of his son Abram, and together they set out from Ur of the Chaldeans to go to Canaan." Genesis 11:31 New International Version (NIV)

Ur, in Sumeria, was one of the world’s first great cities. It has been said that Sumeria is the land of many firsts: the first writing, pottery, wheels, civil government, poetic verse, and absolute monarchies. The world was young at that time, and the days of people living in the wild before settling into cities was still fresh in their memories. The people knew that very little separated them from the wild lands not so very far away, and they were proud of the civilization that they had created.

All it would take would be a great drought, or a flood, or the raid of a jealous barbarian invader to bring their world crashing down. Because of that, the people lived in fear. They created for themselves a vast array of gods to explain the unpredictable forces of nature around them. They saw conflicting wills in the great menacing forces that were beyond their control. Their gods were often angry gods who needed to be appeased.

Agga, the potter, lived in Ur at the time of Abram. He had never seemed to be able to make the gods happy, no matter what he did. Through no fault of his own, he shared his name with the king of the rival city of Kish. Privately, he wondered if the gods hated him for tempting fate, or for being too ambitious. He felt that if they really knew him, or cared, they would know that the affairs of kings interested him not at all. He suffered their contempt all the same.

Agga was young and fit, and had rugged good looks. His hair was dark, which in itself was nothing unusual, since the Sumerians called themselves the black-headed people. As a matter of fact, Agga had never met anyone who didn’t have black hair. Like most men of his station in life, he went bare-chested and wore a wide belt and a wool tunic that went from his waist to his calves. He wore simple clay bracelets and sported the beginnings of a beard that would be grown out the rest of his life.

One day, as he set out upon an errand to get wood for the ever-hungry kiln of his master potter, Sabit, he approached the temple district with a vague sense of anxiety about what he would encounter there. He stroked his beard repeatedly, as he usually did when he was nervous about something. With his usual determination, however, he braced himself and continued on as instructed. As Agga charged ahead through the great courtyard before the temple, all around him were priests attempting to read omens and portents. A small group of them pointed off to a flock geese flying off to the north.

One priest with the pale complexion of one who has obviously never worked out doors said Ah, perhaps the great king Hammurabi should invade Lagash to the north.

No, another priest with sagging skin like the neck of a stork corrected him. They veer off to the northwest now. It is Uruk that is to be conquered. Agga cared not which. He only hoped that he would not be called to be a soldier when his career was just getting underway. That had already happened to two of his older brothers, and one never came home. The other came back so different that he never spoke to Agga or anyone else again. He had taken to drink and died tragically young. Those tragedies had planted the first seeds of doubt in Agga’s mind. The gods had done nothing to help his poor brothers.

Agga was surrounded by the smell of animal sacrifices. He did not wish to become a meaningless sacrifice to some king’s ambition. He knew that somewhere beneath his feet lay the tomb of an early king of Ur who had had all of his servants buried alive with him so that they could serve him in the next world forever. He did not want his own future to be buried.

Nearer by, another cluster of priests examined the entrails of a sacrificed bird.

…only mean that there shall be a great peril to the potter’s trade this season, declared the eldest of them whose pebbly skin resembled an old brittle pot that would soon be discarded.

"We must double the sacrifices to the river god, Enki, lest the supply of quality clay is found lacking," pronounced another with a potbelly that showed he had never lacked for food.

That was the last thing Agga wanted to hear when he hoped to someday soon open his own pottery shop. He stormed off in the opposite direction, trying hard not to give the priests a dirty look. In his anger, he nearly collided with yet another diviner carrying a stack of cuneiform tablets crammed with hundreds of tiny characters spelling out countless formulae for interpreting dreams, for the direction that smoke blew from burning incense, and for the shape of clouds. Agga could read none of it, but he knew that scribes had to study for at least a decade to be able to write them.

Despite his misgivings about the gods, which had plagued him for some time, Agga muttered an oath to a demon that he had learned in his childhood to ward off misfortune. The priest juggled the tablets awkwardly, but recovered them with no harm done. Had Agga caused the priest to drop one of these priceless manuals, who knows what curses may have fallen upon him!

Agga wanted nothing more than to get clear of the area, but for some reason the crowd was thickening and slowing down like the river after the spring floods. The logjam of people impeded his progress. He was forced to listen to other priests and their clients longer than he really wished. A pale and sickly thin man in fine clothing was imploring a near-sighted priest hunched over a model of a liver marked with arcane symbols, What is in store for me? Will I recover?

A plain-looking housewife went into embarrassing detail about her menstrual problems while a sanctimonious priest poured oil into water and read her signs. "Not to worry, madam, you will improve as long as you pay me regularly for these divinations."

She reluctantly pulled the last few bundles of spice she had out of small bag at her waist and placed them in the priest’s palm.

Agga strained to see over the milling crowd to determine what it was that was holding up foot traffic. At last, he saw the procession of the god-king heading to the temple for another long day of prayers and ceremonies. An army of wailing and wheezing musicians, servants, and courtiers accompanied his every move, trying desperately to keep up with him.

He was adorned in rich robes with a very long train. He wore an elaborate headdress and heavy makeup to enhance his looks. He wore high-heeled sandals to make him appear taller than everyone else. Agga marveled at the king’s finely curled beard and hair and knew that it must have taken his servants hours to get it to look just right. Occasionally a temple guard would give someone in the crowd a knot on the head with their mace for getting too close to the god king.

Thank the gods I am not the king, Agga thought to himself. Otherwise I would never be free of religious obligations. How does he ever find time to govern or make war? Agga wondered.

Turning, Agga saw a break in the crowd. He decided to cut through the market district and go the long way around to get back to his potter’s wheel. It was worth the longer trip just to escape these pitiable fools. Agga thought that all these gods could not be right at the same time. They often gave vague or conflicting advice. If a person were so bold as to challenge the priests on this, they would merely say that he had not conducted the offerings correctly or had misapplied their directions. If one insisted that a god was not meeting their needs, the priests would simply advise him to choose another god who showed him more favor. No one dared to suggest that the gods were not real, and Agga was certainly not going to be the first to voice that opinion aloud in public.

Agga continued through the marketplace to get away from the crowd. Abruptly, the streets widened into a kind of plaza. All around were the sights and smells of the market. One could instantly grasp that Sumer was the beating heart of the civilized world. Its pottery, dates, cloth, bitumen, and grain went out in great caravans to the edge of civilization and beyond. Agga breathed in the rich aroma of spices from Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro in the Indus River region, incense from Punt, and fruits from the region to the east of Susa in Elam.

From the north came all-important metals such as tin and copper for the forging of bronze. From the gulf to the south came pearls and coral. From Harran and Aleppo came the famed cedars of Lebanon where mighty Gilgamesh had defeated the evil goddess Huwawa with the aid of the wildman Enkidu. Egypt traded its gold, ivory, and salt. The Gutians and other people of the mountains to the east sent turquoise, carnelian, and alabaster for the carvers. They also sent the most sought after substance of all, the beguiling deep blue of the lapis lazuli, so prized by the makers of idols and statuary.

Donkeys brayed, burdened with heavy loads. Slaves hustled to unload them. Shopkeepers shooed the flies off of their produce. Some hid under awnings to escape the merciless sun, hoping their produce would not wither before the customers snatched them up. As the market quickly drained of people, the merchants craned their necks to see where the crowd was going and longed to join them. No doubt, there was to be a dispensing of grain from the royal granary, but they would have to miss it this time. They dared not abandon their stalls for fear of thieves. They had to content themselves with the few who were left until the hubbub was over. As one of the few people left in the marketplace, Agga found himself the unwanted center of the merchants’ attention.

Fresh fruit! Fragrant oils and perfumes! Balm for your beast of burden! various criers sang to the crowd.

Suddenly, a vendor of idols, charms, and amulets loomed into Agga’s face. Her scraggly teeth and harsh breath were an affront to him. How about you, fair young man? A votive of a breast for your beloved? The great mother Innana would be pleased. Or perhaps a small and modestly priced statue of the gods Ningal, Utu, or Sin for your hearth?

Agga just shrugged in disgust and waved her away. As a boy, the gods had