Ghosts of the Shephelah, Book 1: Abraham

By James K. Stewart

Abraham is the first of an exciting new four-part series titled Ghosts of the Shephelah. It will take you inside the stories that built our faith. On that journey, you will meet the people, experience the trials, hardships, and prejudice faced by a foreign people in a new land. You will laugh with the truly universal questions children will ask and cry with the hate that has ever tried to pit man against man.
In an effort to retain Israel's history for future generations, Moshe instructs Miryam to begin training Levite storytellers to commit to memory the life story of Abraham. The narrative weaves back and forth between the major events of both the Exodus and the travels of Abraham and Sarah. Using biblical facts, the author has made sense of the many issues the church continually fails to acknowledge. Some facts will surprise, others will astonish, while still others will enlighten the reader. Above all, the reader will gain an understanding of how God's neverending love for all creation has the ability to forgive, and how God's determination to continue to offer forgiveness is culminated in the gift of Christ Jesus, the son of God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781666723199

James K. Stewart

James K. Stewart is a retired Presbyterian minister who has always believed that the Old Testament has helped him to understand the vital necessity of Christ Jesus. His many life experiences of construction worker; scuba instructor; screenplay writer and writer/director of many theatrical productions; and, in his retirement, golfer, have given him an in-depth appreciation that people--all people, regardless of race, creed, or color--suffer and enjoy the same human experiences.

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Ghosts of the Shephelah, Book

1

Abraham

James K. Stewart

Ghosts of the Shephelah, Book

1

Abraham

Copyright ©

2021

James K. Stewart. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers,

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8

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, Eugene, OR

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.

Resource Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199

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8

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97401

www.wipfandstock.com

paperback isbn: 978-1-6667-3106-4

hardcover isbn: 978-1-6667-2318-2

ebook isbn: 978-1-6667-2319-9

09/21/21

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter 1: The First Passover

Chapter 2: Haran’s Death

Chapter 3: Pharaoh’s Demise

Chapter 4: Bitter Water

Chapter 5: The Teaching Begins

Chapter 6: Entering Egypt

Chapter 7: Pharaoh Takes Sarai

Chapter 8: Abram and Lowt Part

Chapter 9: Sodom and Gomorrah

Chapter 10: Isaac

Chapter 11: Forty Years

Chapter 12: Rebekah

1

The First Passover

P

lease allow me to

introduce myself. I am Amram, the father of Moshe, of the tribe of Levi. My ghost has roamed the shephelah with my daughter Miryam for more than thirty-four centuries. Your calendar has my story beginning in the year

1446

BC, but my God tells me our story begins the evening of the first day, of the first month of Abib, of the first year of the chosen people, God has named Israel. Moshe, my youngest son, had been directed by God to lead Israel from their Egyptian bondage to freedom in a land promised to our ancestor Abraham more than four centuries ago.

The story I am about to narrate brings both joy and sadness to my heart. Joy, because I was so close to seeing and feeling freedom for the first time in my life. I was also looking forward to planting olive saplings on the land overlooking the Great Sea, only two full moons away. Sadness, because my people had sinned a great sin unto the LORD our God, I never did see the Promised Land. Watching my son Aaron cast a golden calf unto Ba`al, broke my heart. That very night, my spirit returned unto God who gave it, and I was buried before Mount Sinai, God’s Holy Mountain.

As my narration will tell of the Exodus, my lovely daughter Miryam will recount the story of our ancestor Abraham and the beginning days of God’s chosen people. During the Exodus, Moshe realized our story was in danger of being lost, so he directed his sister Miryam to teach (biyn) young Levite children the storyteller’s art (maggid). Our story begins in my home with my wife Yowkebed, our children, grandchildren and friends, on the evening of the first day of the first year. This night was the first full moon of the month of Abib.

Decades after the Hyksos had been driven out of Egypt, the Hebrew people could not remember a time when they had been free. Free from the burden of quarrying large stones for massive mortuaries or pyramids; free from the dance of drudgery, mixing straw in Egyptian mud pits; free from the never-ending agony of dragging fifty-ton monolithic stones from quarry to work site, and most of all, the freedom to relax in the sun to watch our children play.

Poised in the doorway, Yehowshuwa (Yeshua) watched the deadly ghoulish red mist of death sniff its way toward my home. This humble dwelling in Goshen was the only home Yowkebed and I had ever known. A long bench ran under the front window allowing ample lighting over the food preparation area. Wool curtains helped keep the dust from settling on the bowls stored underneath the back wall counter. An interior bread oven with a roasting grill made Yowkebed the envy of our neighbors. Other features of this luxury home were a ground-level sleeping area for two, a small water closet, and a ladder to the children’s sleeping loft.

Everyone knew this deluxe residence in Goshen would never leave the family of Levi. Passed down from my father, this dark, dreary dirt floor hovel had warmed and protected countless dozens of Levite children. Many of these children had labored on the monuments to immortality began by the Pharaoh Queen, Hatshepsut.

Standing at the head of a large wooden table, I waited for my daughter Miryam to place a young roasted lamb before my eldest son Aaron. He and his wife Eliysheba were seated with their three adult sons, Abihu, Eleazar, and Ithamar. My youngest son, Moshe, sat at the other end of the table. His wife Zipporah and son Gershom remained in Midian with Jethro, her father, as Moshe did not feel comfortable bringing her into what was then, the unknown. Aaron’s fathers-in-law, Putiel and wife Yitshar, had been invited to join for what Moshe called Passover. Yowkebed put the last of two platters of Matzah (flat bread), maror (bitter herbs), karpas (greens) on the table and sat beside me. Having taken his place at the other end of the table, Moshe called to Yeshua, Put aside thy bucket of blood and join us. Let God’s death pass over this house, with the door closed.

Captivated by the approaching evil, Yeshua motioned to Moshe, saying, Come Moshe, see the mist. It sniffs the blood upon our neighbor’s lintels as a hound trailing a wounded deer.

Along the street, terrified skeptics watched the red mist ooze under the thresholds of homes whose owners had refused the lamb’s blood. Regretting their disbelief, they stood frozen in horror as the mist turned into a blood-red snake in search of a firstborn. Paralyzed with fear, no firstborn could move as the mist spiraled up legs, around the waist, and into the nose. Moments later, eyes bled in horror as each victim fell silently to the floor. Dreaded family members watched as the snake retreated in the reverse manner of entering the home. Impaired with fear, they knew not what to do.

With no desire to watch, Moshe commanded, No Yeshua, Come, eat!

While closing the door oh so slowly, Yeshua stopped. Look, he said in fear and trembling, the mist enters the house of Eliphaz.

A moment later, blood-curdling screams pierced the ears of everyone at the table. The shrill of the faithless caused Yeshua to slam the door. Eleazar’s frightened eyes darted to Aaron.

He cried out, Father!"

Trying to calm his son with a reassuring voice, Aaron answered, Eliphaz did not believe the lamb’s blood would save him my son.

Yeshua took his place as Aaron began carving the lamb.

Ithamar inquired of Yowkebed, Savta (grandmother), why did you prepare a special meal for this horrid night? Yowkebed nodded to her son Moshe who stood to explain.

Children of Israel, thus hast the LORD commanded me, an ordinance for a thousand generations of Hebrews, to remember this night; the night that broke Pharaoh’s colossal narcissistic spirit and set our people free.

Eleazar was puzzled. He looked at me and said, Saba (grandfather), are we not only going into the wilderness three days to worship this God of Moshe’s?

First, nodding to Aaron to begin serving the lamb, I explained, No Eleazar, we are not going just to worship. We go to begin our long walk to freedom.

Ithamar thought for some time before speaking, What if Pharaoh does not let us go to worship Moshe’s god?

Silence befell the table. Everyone froze. Moments later, fear encompassed Moshe’s face.

His voice turned serious, I cannot imagine the horrors that will rain upon the Egyptians if he does not.

Aaron added, A horror greater than this night’s, I could never imagine.

My grandson, about to take a bite of his egg, was stopped suddenly as Moshe cautioned, Abihu!

Moving his head from side to side, Moshe explained, This is a meal the faithful will keep for a thousand generations.

Acknowledging me as the head of the household, Moshe said, Father, be pleased to ask the LORD’s blessing upon this, our Passover lamb.

During the supper, Moshe explained the significance of each of the side dishes and how they would remain an integral part of the remembrance of their time of bondage; forever. Sadly, no matter how hard we tried to enjoy the delicious lamb, our taste buds were dulled by the continual screams of death from nearby homes.

Sleep evaded everyone that night. People running through the streets, never-ending screams cutting through the mud hut walls, kept most everyone praying that Yeshua had put enough blood on our lintel. The sun had not broken the horizon when suddenly, a pounding bang, bang, bang, shook our wooden door. Shocked to consciousness, everyone in the household was awakened from their dreams of freedom.

In contrast to my dreary mud brick hovel, radiant colors of gold, crimson, blue, and green, set ablaze by the morning’s sun, could not dull the constant sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth hanging pall-like over Pharaoh’s court, too thick to cut, even with a knife. Noise in the corridor quieted the drone. Four soldiers marched in, dragging Moshe and Aaron into the presence of Pharaoh Thutmose III. Moshe’s staff fell clanging before Pharaoh, then silence, while the pain on Thutmose’s face screamed rage.

The thud of each exaggerated step pounded slowly from the dais. Pharaoh’s deportment froze all courtiers. The only sound was that of Pharaoh drawing a sword from a guard’s sheath.

Raising the sword high, in anticipation of striking, Pharaoh’s gruff voice growled low, You killed my son, my only son.

Unafraid, Moshe locked eyes with Pharaoh and shouted back, "No!

—

You killed your son.

The mist, screamed Pharaoh, the blood-red mist of your God.

"God’s mist, yes

—

but it was an old Egyptian decree that brought it forth, not I."

Falling from his hand, the clanging sword bounced on the marble floor. His long-time advisor Abasi helped the emotionally crippled Pharaoh back to his throne. Silence prevailed. Unsure, the soldiers released their grip. Moshe and Aaron stood. Aaron passed Moshe his staff.

From the dais, Abasi’s words of disdain appalled the courtiers. Go, perform your abhorrible blood sacrifices. Appease your God, shouting, but for three days only. Abasi stepped forward to finish Pharaoh’s decree. Go three days journey into the wilderness, as the smell of your burning flesh sacrifices is detestable to Egyptians.

Abasi motioned to the priests. Two stepped forward, each placing a sack of temple treasure before Aaron. Drawing his thumb across his throat, one priest growled at Aaron, Make sure you return every piece intact.

In silence, Moshe and Aaron lifted the sacks over their shoulders. Soldiers escorted them to the large doors. The shrill of hate and bitterness caused the voice of Pharaoh to crackle.

Clearing his throat, Pharaoh unknowingly growled his last decree. "When you return, your labor will be harsh

—

your tally greater

—

the lash much bitter."

Exiting Pharaoh’s court, Aaron’s eyes smiled into Moshe’s as both men whispered in unison, We’re not going to return.

On entering Goshen, he sent