THE GOAT OF GOD
By Eugene F. Elander
Copyright 2007 by Eugene F. Elander
All rights reserved
Signalman
Publishing
Orlando, 2009
Smashwords Edition, License Notes:
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Publisher's Note:
"The Goat of God" is historical based fiction. The main characters and events are entirely fictional. However, the story is set within the context of the very real Old Testament narrative which is sacred to both Jews and Christians.
Cover artwork is from William Holman Hunt's painting "The Scapegoat" completed in 1856 and now on display at the Lady Lever Art Gallery near Liverpool, England.
Table of Contents
Biblical Passages for "The Goat of God"
Chapter Twenty Three: Jerusalem
Chapter Twenty Seven: Uniqueness
Chapter Thirty Five: Challenges
Chapter Thirty Nine: Succession
Chapter Forty Five: Scriptures
Chapter Forty Seven: Chronicles
Chapter Forty Nine: Relocations
Chapter Fifty: Alexandria Hellenism
Chapter Fifty Two: Disappearance
This book is dedicated to my Besheart Wife, Birgit,
for your constant love and inspiration,
and for helping to restore my faith in God,
from your own Goat,
Always, Eugene
The Goat of God
By Eugene F. Elander
What am I, goat or man?
Or part of some Divine Plan?
And as the long ages pass,
Will I know Shalom at last?
Where I am, on this earth?
Taken from my place of birth?
Searching here, searching there,
Is there Shalom anywhere?
Who am I, who can tell?
Soul from Heaven, or from Hell?
What my mission, what my goal?
Can Shalom make this world whole?
What am I, goat or man?
Or part of some Divine Plan?
And as the long ages pass,
Will I know Shalom at last?
BIBLICAL PASSAGES FOR “THE GOAT OF GOD”:
Leviticus, Chapter 16, verses 5 - 22, containing
the duties of Aaron, brother of Moses, the High Priest of the People
of Israel, after the Exodus from Egyptian Slavery:
5.
And he shall take of the congregation of the children of Israel two
kids of the goats for a sin offering, and one ram for a burnt
offering.
6. And Aaron shall offer his bullock of the sin
offering, for himself, and make an atonement for himself, and for his
house.
7. And he shall take the two goats, and present them before
the Lord at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
8. And
Aaron shall cast lots upon the two goats, one lot for the Lord, and
the other lot for the scapegoat.
9. And Aaron shall bring the goat
upon which the Lord’s lot fell, and offer him for a sin
offering.
10. But the goat, on which the lot fell to be the
scapegoat, shall be presented alive before the Lord, to make an
atonement with him, and to let him go for a scapegoat into the
wilderness…
21. And Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the
head of the live goat, and confess over him all the iniquities of the
children of Israel, and all their transgressions in all their sins,
putting them upon the head of the goat, and shall send him away by
the hand of a fit man into the wilderness.
22. And the goat shall
bear upon him all the iniquities unto a land not inhabited: and he
shall let go the goat in the wilderness.
Note: Some
original Biblical texts refer to the wilderness as “Azazael”
– the real meaning of Azazael is unclear; it may be a place in
the wilderness, a demon, or a malignant spirit. "The Goat of
God" relies on the first of these meanings.
Part
One: Prelude
Chapter One
Beginnings
For my brother and me, perfection was a curse rather than a blessing. Our dam dropped us in the Spring of a year so long ago that it is lost in the mists of time. The herd sire had fathered us, which in itself was hardly worth noting, as he took his pleasure on all the young ewes of the flock, as the mood suited him, which it often did. We struggled to our meager legs shortly after birth, were cleaned up by our dam, and thus began existence – an existence which was short and brutal for my brother, and has become virtually endless, and infinitely tedious, for me.
At first, there was no indication that we were any different from the other young rams in our herd. We frisked and gamboled with them, through the long Summer days of grazing and playing, without a care. What little we needed to know was taught to us by our dam, since the herd sire took little interest in his progeny after fathering them (perhaps he did not even understand his role in the matter.)
One day a tall stranger of those we knew as “two-legs” visited our meadow, brought there by the other two-legs who tended us. He wore the usual striped robes but somehow conveyed authority, even to us goats, and we watched him warily, but he made no hostile move. Instead, he seemed focused on my brother and me, watching us closely. The other two-legs then made soothing sounds while bringing the stranger closer to us. We did not flinch from his inspection, having not yet learned distrust of two-legs, as all of them had treated us well. It was only much later that I learned that we had been selected for his attention after a call went out, throughout the land, for two “perfect” young rams, without any blemish. My brother and I had been selected as candidates for the honor of being judged perfect – an honor which soon turned into a horror.
The stranger left shortly after studying us closely, and life returned to normal. Since goats do not have much of a time sense, we went back to our pleasurable pursuits, while we waxed fat, our wool grew out, and we thought little about the future. As the long Summer began to turn into Fall, however, a day came which changed our happy lives forever. A two-wheeled cart came to our meadow, drawn by donkeys under the direction of a two-legs whom we had never seen before. Our keepers suddenly took coils of rope and threw loops around our necks, loops which caught on our budding horns and pulled tight. Suddenly, my brother and I were dragged, protesting, towards the cart, and then lifted into it. A wooden gate was put into place, effectively locking us into the back of the cart.
As the donkeys were whipped into motion by the two-legs driving the cart, our keepers watched us leave rather solemnly (by then, I had learned to read two-legs expressions to some extent. They did not appear happy.) The big wooden wheels on our cart rolled noisily along the ground, taking us away forever from the happy days of our youth.
As the sun began to set, the two-legs driving the cart pulled the donkeys to a halt, then came around and released us from the back of the cart while holding the ropes around our necks. He tied the ropes around two convenient trees and left us to graze after giving us each a pail of water and a few scoops of grain. My brother had been bleating ever since we were first captured and put on the cart, but now he began to settle down and graze. I had maintained a stony silence and refused to either eat or drink while the cart driver was nearby; that was my way of protesting the undignified treatment. However, as the driver settled down to make his own supper, I tasted the grain and drank some water – and waited.
I watched as the stars and moon emerged from the darkening sky, sensing that this strange trip in the cart was only the beginning of some much-stranger journey. And so it was to be; the next morning, we were hoisted back into the cart, locked in place, and our trip continued. The terrain gradually changed from brush to tall grass, now withered by the oncoming Fall, as we ascended a series of hills. Finally, just before dark, we arrived at a much larger encampment than the few tents of my former home. Indeed, my brother and I had never seen such a gathering of tents, sheds, enclosures, and in the very center a large pure white tent before which our cart drew to a halt. A crowd of two-legs had gathered outside this central tent, watching as once more we were unloaded and tethered so we could graze. My brother began to bleat again, protesting all of this activity. I, however, adopted a wait-and-see attitude – waiting and eventually seeing far more than I would have wished.
We were put into an enclosure adjacent to the central tent, where we lived for some time; given our limited time sense, it is hard to say how long we were there. But the cycle of sun and darkness repeated itself over and over while we grazed, ate our grain and drank our water. We were very well cared for; those who tended us obviously knew goats, cleaning up our droppings promptly, currying our lengthening wooly coats, and giving us occasional special treats to eat.
Then, a day came which was different from all others – indeed, different from any other day, either before or since. As the sun rose that day, the tall two-legs who had first visited our former home, now wearing pure white robes, ascended a small hill behind the central tent and began to blow into a large ram’s horn. He was very skilled with the horn, whose sound carried over the entire encampment. As he did so, two-legs came out of their tents and faced towards the rising sun. They began to chant something over and over, puzzling my brother and me.
We were both led to the small hill, where we were tethered by ropes placed over two wooden stakes driven into the hard ground. Some time passed, as goats reckon time, and then there was a pause in the chanting, which had become more varied. My brother and I were both freed and brought forward to stand in front of the tall two-legs, who picked up a long piece of sharpened bone with a fancy handle.
We stood staring up at the tall two-legs while there was a pause in the chanting. At that point, to my utter shock, my brother was dragged right in front of the tall two-legs, who said a few final words and then drew the sharpened bone across my brother’s tender throat. A spurt of red was caught in a deep bowl held by one of the tall two-legs’ assistants, as my brother collapsed to the ground.
I was truly shocked at this sight, but before I had time to react further, it was my turn to be dragged forward. I looked for the sharpened bone with concern, but it was not in evidence. Instead, a white cloth with blue stripes was laid across my back, which I immediately tried to remove, but it had been fastened under me. The tall two-legs began chanting again, striking his chest with his closed hand repeatedly. At the same time, the multitude gathered around him repeated his sounds and his closed hand gesture after him. This went on for a while, as I tried unsuccessfully to break loose from those holding me. Suddenly, all sound ceased and the tall two-legs put both his upper limbs on my head, making a few sounds while his face showed emotions I had no way of interpreting. As he did this, I felt an unbelievable, terrible weight descend upon me, as if a huge stone had been placed on my head and body. My legs caved under me, and I fell to my knees.
But I was not to be allowed to adjust to this weight. Instead, I was dragged from the small hill by the two two-legs who had held me there, and then lifted into a small horse-drawn cart. One of the two-legs then began guiding the cart away from the hill, through the multitude which parted to make way for the cart and me. I was still stunned from the weight put upon me, which I could not see but could feel clearly and intensely. Because of that weight, I am not clear on exactly what happened then – I think I lost consciousness for a while, because when I next noted my surroundings, everything had changed.
Chapter Two
Metamorphosis
My cart and I were now in a rolling country with sparse grass and sandy soil. While I did not recognize those features at the time, I could tell that this was far from the lush meadows of my youth. The cart had halted, and the end of motion may have been what brought me back to reality again. But not a reality to which I wished to return.
The weight I had suddenly received at the small hill was still present and made it hard for me to move or even to think. Indeed, the two-legs who had helped place me in the horse-drawn cart was unable to get me to rise on my legs, so he lifted me out of the cart with surprising gentleness and placed me under a large tree, the only such tree as far as I could see. There was a small spring of water in the ground under the tree, shaded from the hot sun by the tree’s sheltering leaves. The two-legs then began to make sounds at me – sounds I had no way of understanding at that time, but which became etched into me so that I could recall them later: “Poor, innocent goat, the sins of my people have been laid upon you by the High Priest, and you cannot stand their weight. It would be a kindness to kill you, but I am forbidden to do so, as you must bear those sins for your life. The most I can do for you is to place you here, where there is grass for grazing and water for drinking if you can get up on your legs. If you cannot, that is not my doing; the sins are too heavy for my poor, perfect goat.”
He brought me water in a leather bowl. Then, with one final glance and a shake of his head, he got into the cart after giving the horse some water and drove off. I lay where I was placed while pictures began to move before my eyes, but these were pictures from inside my head. I did not understand anything I saw, all of which involved two-legs, one by one or in groups, engaging in strange practices. Meanwhile, the weight continued to oppress me, and eventually I fell asleep.
In my sleep, I had a strange vision, or at least that is what I would call it today. I felt a Presence – no other word can describe it – which was overwhelming, so much so that I was like a blade of grass feeling the strongest wind in the world. There were sounds coming from this Presence, indeed these would be the first words I could understand, as they were also inside my head. The presence was saying, “Awake, my special goat. You are the Goat of God, bearing the sins of my chosen people. But I see that these sins are far more than you can bear, for they are the total of all their sins from the beginning of time. No goat could bear this burden, a burden not of your making or of your choosing. So I have decided to change you into the only species which is able to bear sin without flinching, and that species is called Man, or what you call Two-Legs. When you awake, you will be a man, not a goat. You have my blessing, you will surely need it.”
I went back to sleep, then, a deep restful sleep without dream or disturbance. I have no way of knowing how long I slept, but when I awoke the weight faded into the back of my mind as I found that I could not recognize myself at all. The first thing I saw was that my hoofs were gone, as was my beautiful white shaggy fur. In place of the hoofs and legs were strange appendages of which the upper were quite different from the lower, being much shorter but ending in five fleshy objects which I found I could bend at will. My stumpy tail was also gone, and instead of fur I had a smooth covering of an ugly pink color. There was something very strange about my head, but I could not yet tell what it was. The budding horns seemed to be absent, and my muzzle was also gone. There were many other changes, too many to take in all at once, but worst of all was the lack of my keen sense of smell. It seemed I was no longer a goat, but I had no idea yet of what I was.
A drastic thirst was upon me, and I stuck my new face in the bowl that had been left and finished the water with a few swallows. My thirst unquenched, I dragged myself to the small water hole near the tree, and as I looked down to swallow more water, I saw an unbelievable sight: my face was no longer my own, the strange face of a two-legs looked up at me, reflected in the still water. I froze in shock, and indeed could not even quench my thirst further. I just wanted to die.
I decided then and there that dying was the best thing I could do, as I was no longer a goat, and from the pictures in my head emanating from the sins laid on me, in any case I did not deserve to live. While I could not comprehend those sins, I could understand the nature of abominations, now that I was no longer a goat. And those sins were mainly abominations, things forbidden but still done. I vowed then to never move again, to simply pass away from thirst and hunger.
There is no way of knowing how long I lay in pain under that sheltering tree. It was only much later that I learned that the two-legs (or “man” as I heard in my vision) had not followed his instructions, which were to push the cart, with me in it, over a cliff after the horse was unhitched, and then ride the horse back to the large encampment. Instead, he took pity on me and did not have the heart to follow orders. While it may seem that his kindness was praiseworthy, understand that all my long pain and misery have followed from his act of charity. Indeed, this is one of the lessons I have learned at great expense: that trying to do good often results in evil, and that those who do not know what they do usually do the wrong thing. But I am getting ahead of my story.
Unfortunately for me, my good intention to merely die lost out to worsening thirst when fresh, cool water was so close. I dragged myself once more to the water hole and looked down at my strange reflection, but now not so strange as when I first saw it. Then I began to look further at my new body, finding that while surely not that of a goat, it had a certain grace of its own. I began to test it out.
Chapter Three
Discovery
Much later, I realized that my brain was now that of a human being rather than that of a goat. But at the time, my determination to die, rather than live with the weight of sin which was oppressing me, was beginning to waver due to a trait common to both humans and goats: curiosity, about my new body’s features. I began to try to walk on all fours, only to find that this clearly did not work. My nether extremities were much longer than my upper ones, and the fleshy endings of those upper extremities would not bear my weight without discomfort.
At that point, I took a momentous step – literally. I rose with only two legs on the ground, first weaving and nearly falling for lack of balance, until I learned to stand up. This position seemed totally unnatural to me, as I was far too high above the ground and could not graze at all, or enjoy those earthy scents so pleasant to goats. Still, there was little choice, particularly when I discovered that by alternating my legs, I was able to move around reasonably well.
A further motivation for this exploration was my growing hunger. The water hole quenched my thirst but did not fill my belly, and it had been a long time since I had eaten anything. Luckily, as I explored the use of my new legs, I discovered that the “man” (I no longer thought in terms of “two-legs”) who had brought me here had left a leather pouch of grain for me near the water hole, but hidden by the tall grass near the water. I gulped down much of the pouch’s food and then lay down to sleep again as the sun was sinking and my exertions had tired me out. Again, while sleeping, the sins that had been laid on me returned, but I was becoming more used to them and they were more annoying than painful.
Life went on like this for some time (goats have no way of reckoning time, and the human time sense had not yet developed in me). When the grain was gone, I found that the grass near the water hole was no longer a useful part of my diet. Indeed, after eating a large quantity of this grass, I had thrown it up again. But, luckily, and perhaps part of some plan of which I was then unaware, the large tree was a date palm and I could reach the low-hanging tasty fruit, which I ate pits and all since goats have excellent digestive systems. When the easily-reached dates were gone, I then discovered the usefulness of my upper appendages, as the fleshy extensions allowed me to pull branches down and bite the dates off with my teeth.
It was then that I made a major discovery about my new body. One larger branch escaped and as it started to hit me in my new face, I grabbed it. In the process, I accidentally pulled off a plump date, which fell to the ground. As an experiment, I bent over and picked it up, popping it into my mouth. This led me to realize that I need not bite off the dates -- I could pull them off instead.
My discoveries about my body continued, and I began to roam further and further from the water hole and date palm, finding little else of interest in the immediate vicinity. Meanwhile, the supply of dates was diminishing and would soon be exhausted, and there did not appear to be anything else my new stomach would tolerate. I really had no idea what I would do when food ran out, but, again, fate or (I have come to suspect) some plan caused a drastic change in my situation.
(Perhaps I should mention another truth I discovered long after this time, but which applies here: nothing happens by random accident, there is a reason for everything. Often, if we seek that reason diligently, we will find it. But, to do so, we need to expand our thinking and be open to all possibilities. Sharing the perspectives of a goat and a human, I am more capable of openness than most.)
One of the unfortunate aspects of my newfound humanity was the lack of those goatly senses which would have alerted me instantly to any visitors to my little territory. I would have heard, scented, and felt the presence of any animals or humans before I was spotted by them. But watering holes and springs are rare in what I later learned was part of the Sinai desert, and travelers seek them out.
And so it was that a caravan of men caught me by surprise at sunset one day. There were about two dozen heavily-bearded men in robes, riding animals I later learned were called camels, and accompanied by several wagons pulled by large cattle called oxen. My instinct was that they were dangerous, and I tried to run – but to no avail, one of the men grabbed a rope and tossed it through the air while holding one end. A loop in the rope fell over me, and was pulled tight by the man. My arms were inside the rope, and I was effectively trapped and at their mercy. I was to learn that mercy was not one of these men’s strong points. And so I became their prisoner, and my newfound freedom at the water hole ended.
Chapter Four
Captivity
The man holding the rope which bound me, who seemed to be the leader of this band of men, began shouting meaningless commands at me. I stood there without comprehension, and in disgust the rope was yanked to get me moving. First, I was taken to one of the supply wagons and given a dirty, worn robe and sandals. Later, I was to learn that these men had a taboo against nakedness; and that walking on the hot sand outside of the water hole without sandals would blister my feet and reduce my value to the band, who happened to be slavers.
I was pulled and dragged up a small knoll of land where more men were tied together and guarded by a few overseers from the band. My own rope was attached to those holding the other eight men in a line, and with a shout the leader of the band started us marching off into the desert. Nobody in the line of slaves said anything, apparently they had nothing to say, or talk was forbidden.
Of course, I knew no language and had no idea of what had happened to me.
As evening fell, the band stopped and tents were erected for the men while the other slaves merely sat down where they were while newly-filled water skins were passed around. I did know how to drink, having seen how my former people got water from the skins, and gulped water down until the skin was yanked from me. Later, we were each given a ration of cooked grain which we ate eagerly. There was some talk during this meager dinner, but I failed to understand anything or to answer any questions directed at me. We then lay down to sleep on the sand as best we could, exhaustion serving as an effective sedative.
This routine continued for some days, and I was mostly ignored by my captors and fellow captives alike. One day, however, we reached a walled town located on a muddy stream. We slaves were herded into a set of huts just outside the walls, and fenced in with high wooden pointed stakes aimed to disembowel anyone trying to climb them. Not being used to indoor accommodations, I stayed outside, collapsing in the shade of one of the huts. I fell into a deep sleep, only to awaken when we were lined up by our captors. While we were not roped together, sharp spears insured our compliance. We were then prodded and marched inside the gates of the town.
A large and colorfully-dressed crowd was gathered in the town square as we were marched in. There was a good deal of laughing and jostling for position. The leader of our band, dressed elegantly for the occasion, mounted a small platform and one of my fellow captives was prodded onto the platform. The leader began to speak, while two assistants displayed the captive’s muscles, teeth, and other attributes. Then, as I was to learn later, spirited bidding began.
I was the last captive put up on the auction block, because of my inability to speak. Several other captives did not speak the local dialect, but at least knew a bit of the trade language which was shared by the tribes in the Sinai desert. This knowledge meant that they could understand orders, and what would happen if those orders were not carried out. Later, I learned that the leader of the slavers had told the audience that I had suffered a blow on the head and “temporarily” lost my ability to speak, but that it would undoubtedly return soon. This type of thing was quite common with slaves, who often suffered “accidents” on the way to the auction block. Of course, they were damaged merchandise.
Ironically, one of my goatly habits may have helped my situation. Never having any reason to think about bodily functions, I proceeded to squat down and urinate. The leader of the slave traders screamed an obscenity (I later learned) at me and hit me across the shoulders with a stick, causing me to cringe away. Meanwhile, the crowd, which at first seemed amused, now also screamed at me.
Two other captives had been taken off the auction block, one an old man who probably had little value as a slave, and the other an injured man who moaned all the time. They were dragged back to the huts and probably to their deaths, not that I realized the consequence of being unmarketable at the time. In my case, however, my tendency to urinate but not speak worked to my advantage, as one old man in the back of the crowd signaled a wish to buy me at, I later learned, a bargain price. The auctioneer hesitated but there were no more bids, so in an instant I became the property of the old man, and was led off the auction block and, with my hands tied and my feet hobbled, into a strange new life.
The old man pulled on a rope around my neck and I followed him docilely. He asked me several questions, and I shook my head the way I had seen other slaves do when they could not reply, or did not want to do so. He made a noise of disgust with me and dragged me towards the edge of the walled town, to one of the small run-down huts which bordered the wall. Although he was old, gray haired, and a bit slow in his movements, he was otherwise quite spry and strong. There was a small shed next to his hut, with barred windows and a door which could be locked by a heavy wooden log which fit between two supports. He pushed me into the shed unceremoniously, tied the rope around my neck to a pole in the center of the shed, and then released my arms and legs, jumping away from me in case I intended to strike or kick him. This was my new home.
Once I was securely tied to the shed’s center pole, the old man began making noises at me. Again, I nodded and, for good measure, shrugged, both gestures I had seen and now imitated. He gave up and left, returning shortly with a water skin and a bowl of some sort of grain and cheese. Suddenly, I discovered how hungry I was, and began to eat and drink. When I was done, the old man, watching me warily for sudden moves, removed the food bowl, leaving the water.
I let my rope halter slide down the shed’s center pole, allowing me to lie down on the bare floor. Almost immediately, I fell into a deep sleep, awaking the next morning feeling stiff and cramped since I had been unable to change position.
The old man arrived shortly, bringing me breakfast much the same as the previous meal, while making noises at me again. When I failed to respond, he pointed at himself while saying, clearly, “Amiram.” Then he pointed at me and looked expectant, but I remained silent, not knowing his purpose. He then sat down on the dirt floor with me, maintaining enough space that I could not suddenly attack him, and picked up a pointed stick he had brought with him. He sketched a drawing of a man in a robe like his in the dirt, again saying “Amiram.” Then he sketched a man in a loincloth, like me, and pointed to the drawing while looking expectant. Suddenly, I caught on, and said the only name I remembered from my previous life: “Azazael.” He smiled, and I became his slave Azazael on the spot (later shortened to Zael). My education had begun.
Chapter Five
Education
Little did I know then how singularly fortunate I had been when Amiram purchased me on the auction block. For he had been a teacher to the children of the reigning Egyptian Pharaoh at that time, but had been banished to the desolate Sinai region for some infraction of the Pharaoh’s rules which was not disclosed to me. Amiram had received a minimal amount of money for his retirement, and had fended for himself for many years, but due to age and infirmity now needed a personal slave to tend to him. And I desperately needed an education in the ways of humanity. Whether our linking was mere happenstance or more, you may decide for yourself.
When Amiram was retained by the Pharaoh, the Pharaoh's children had been quite young. Amiram had devised a pictorial teaching method which he had put on papyrus scrolls, some of which he was able to take with him upon leaving the Pharaoh’s service. These scrolls were now put to good use in educating me, first to speak, and considerably later to read and write. However, a special problem presented itself early-on: while I now had a human throat and tongue, I was in many ways still goatish and tended to bleat rather than to speak. Amiram cured this problem in a direct manner, by striking me with a stick whenever the goatish aspect took over. There can sometimes be much to be said for a little pain, or even more than a little, as I rapidly learned what was acceptable, and what was not.
In exchange for my upkeep (the education seemed more of a hobby to Amiram) I performed all of the heavy household tasks, from helping my Master to arise in the morning to getting him dressed for the day, fetching water from the town well, preparing his (and my own) simple morning meal, and cleaning his hut. Amiram may have been poor, but he was fastidious, and since I had no knowledge of any of these tasks, they were at first explained with the aid of his stick. Luckily for me, I was a fast learner, and did not forget any lessons once learned. And Amiram was not cruel, merely efficient. Soon, when he merely waved the stick in my direction, I reacted just as he wished. I had been effectively conditioned to meet his needs, while my own education continued.
I soon found that Amiram knew, and shared, much more than the town’s common knowledge, which was limited largely to daily household matters. Amiram supplemented his living by keeping written records of receipts and expenditures for several local businesses whose owners, like nearly all of the town’s residents, could neither read nor write. Amiram was considered to be scrupulously honest and his customers believed, correctly, that he would not cheat them. Most of them paid in kind, and so he scratched out a modest living.
In less than a year, I had learned to speak the trade language, a bastard form of Egyptian used in the town, which was named Scarabilis for its distinctive feature: the presence of the blue-green stones so prized for carving into sacred Egyptian beetle-motif scarabs, which were found occasionally in the area. Scarabilis had fewer than a thousand permanent residents, but trade caravans, smugglers, slavers and travelers increased that population from time to time. It was not really a part of any larger nation or even tribal structure, just an outpost in the endless desert with a reasonably-dependable water hole and a few springs.
My daily chores for Amiram were not onerous, and he was not overly demanding. My learning to read and write, which he encouraged, did lead to a disagreement between us. The Egyptian written language was pictorial, and while when I lived with the Hebrews it was as a goat, nevertheless I had seen the Hebraic language and (for reasons not clear at the time) now wanted to learn it, as a man. Perhaps I was trying to find out what had happened to change me, and thought that Hebrew would hold answers if I could learn it. Amiram, however, while he knew some Hebrew learned at the Pharaoh’s court, considered it a slave language.
But since I was his slave, he could not find a good reason to deny me my wish to learn Hebrew, and probably knew enough from the traders who sold me to him to believe it likely that I had been a Hebrew myself before whatever accident had deprived me of speech. In any event, he began to teach me Hebrew, but warned me to keep that teaching to myself, as the language had been proscribed by the Pharaoh Ramses II after the Hebrew slaves escaped from him at the Red Sea.
My studies were both facilitated and hindered by the burden of the sins placed upon me, as a goat, by the High Priest of the Hebrews. I was never totally free of that burden, but found that study and concentration made the burden less oppressive. On the other hand, those same sins would come to haunt me at odd times, rising up into my consciousness just as I was studying a difficult lesson. Amiram would sometimes note my distraction, which he felt could be best cured by an application of his stick (he called it the “learning rod” now.) To avoid such painful lessons, I told him that past memories came back to trouble me from time to time and that I had no control over when this happened. He seemed dubious but was a patient man, at least when he was in a good mood.
During this period, I had essentially no social life involving other Scarabilis residents. My humble origin as the last slave auctioned, the one who could not speak, counted against me, and I appeared to be a pariah even to other slaves. There was a superstition that those who could not speak had been cursed by a devil or demon, and were therefore shunned. Even after I learned the language, there was suspicion of my bleating it out on occasion, especially if I was excited. When I did necessary shopping for my Master, there were few if any pleasantries exchanged with the merchants; indeed, sometimes I saw them make a sign to ward off the Evil Eye after I completed a transaction, and left their stalls.
Chapter Six
Freedom
My life continued in this pattern for some nine or ten years (the reckoning of time was either somewhat uncertain then, or I did not understand it yet.) Meanwhile, although gradual, Amiram was growing older, a process I had not seen before. Besides the graying and thinning of his hair and the thickening of his body, he became more feeble and required more of my attention to his personal needs. On several occasions, I ventured a comment about this mysterious process, comments which were never well-received by Amiram, who thought I was being sarcastic. He could not believe that I knew nothing of human aging. He had asked me about my family, parents or siblings, and I always said they were dead, while avoiding any details by appearing pained about the subject. The pain was real, but was due to my lack of ever having human parents and siblings rather than from some tragic event which had occurred to them.
Nor did Amiram himself have any relatives, having never married and having considered Pharaoh’s children as his own so that he felt little need for other children. Now, in old age, he appeared to feel the need for someone to carry on his line, and I was the only likely candidate. Accordingly, one day he took me aside at dinnertime and proposed freeing me from slavery and adopting me as his own son. At first I did not understand what he was saying, but it became clear that such adoptions were not uncommon in that time and place. There was a high mortality rate from disease, accidents, and cruelty, and it was expected, for example, that a man would marry his brother’s widow and adopt any children. On occasion slaves were freed by their owners, usually for some act of valor or exemplary years of service. To combine this manumission with adoption, though, was quite unusual, but surely not impossible. Amiram had always been seen as an outsider in Scarabilis, and outsiders were well known to be peculiar. There was a recording procedure for any changes in status – marriage, death, freedom, or adoption – and upon paying a fee to the town court, I became the son of Amiram rather than his slave, with my status as Freeman also recognized. My name was duly recorded as Zael, son of Amiram, and now I was a real person with an identity. All of this amazed me, and then was cause for rejoicing.
Ironically, perhaps, while my status was drastically changed, my life remained much the same. Now I took care of Amiram as a son rather than as his slave, but the duties were similar. We had begun eating together long before my adoption, so there was no change in our meals. Amiram continued to make the basic household decisions, and to keep the books for the businesses which retained his services. He did, however, offer to teach me the art of bookkeeping, an offer I gladly accepted both to improve my facility with numbers and to meet the duty of a son to follow in his father’s profession, which was taken seriously.
My adoptive father also began to introduce me to his friends and acquaintances in Scarabilis. This process began with a celebration he hosted upon my adoption. Most of my father’s associates were people whose records he kept, or the parents of his few students. Socially, he had never been fully accepted in town. He was, after all, not only an outsider but someone reputed to have left the Pharaoh’s service under a cloud. In a town with families whose history could be counted by generations, he and I were not only outsiders but seen as somewhat strange as well. I had not forgotten those who made the sign to ward off the evil eye when I passed. Nevertheless, perhaps because of the novelty or the free food, the reception in honor of my adoption was indeed a well-attended success.
This celebration led to one event which would prove to be a major factor in my life. One of the guests was Itzhak ben Avram, a Hebrew whose people lived in the sand hills above Scarabilis, where they had been shepherds for generations. While most Hebrews had been slaves in Egypt until their leader Moshe freed them, a few were scattered throughout the Sinai region, and perhaps beyond. Little was known about Hebrews, except that they worshipped one God who had no name, no images, and whom they maintained was the only real God in the universe. Those beliefs appeared exceedingly strange in a culture with gods for every need and occasion, but in a trading community with diverse people, the Hebrews were tolerated, particularly as they did not push their views on others.
My adoptive father did the bookkeeping for the leader of this tribe** of Hebrews, Itzhak was a large middle-aged man with a long beard, paunch and jolly eyes. He and I had met casually, usually when I picked up records from him written on Papyrus, or delivered the results of my father’s bookkeeping back to his camp. While I knew that he headed a large and extended family, I had never seen any of his people, as Itzhak and I met in a small hut at the edge of his territory in the sand hills. Now, however, as a guest at my celebration, Itzhak congratulated me and invited me to come to meet his family at a dinner the following week. It was clear my status had changed, as would my life ever after that eventful dinner.
Meanwhile, the processes of time continued to take their toll on Amiram’s health. This was an area in which I had absolutely no experience, for while I had known aged goats when I was a goat myself, I had never seen the process take place. Indeed, to the extent that I had thought about it at all, I had assumed that some goats, and later people, were simply different from others in a variety of ways. But by now I had lived in Scarabilis long enough to see human aging take place, and I found that I did not like it. Even more shocking were the occasional deaths. Death was no stranger to me, and indeed I would never forget my own brother’s violent death at the hands of the High Priest. But the gradual onset of terminal or other illnesses seemed exceedingly strange, and without good reason, to me.
**not a tribe in the sense of the 12 major Hebrew tribes; rather a sub tribe or clan.
Chapter Seven
Hebrews
Itzhak ben Avram had invited me for dinner on The Sabbath, as he called it, the seventh day of the week. I had asked Amiram for advice, but discovered to my surprise that he had never been to Itzhak’s encampment for a social occasion. He was quite surprised that I had been given the opportunity, stating that The Hebrews kept to themselves. Indeed, rather than encouraging my emergence into society, he warned me to be careful but would not be more specific.
My adoption present from Amiram was excellent Egyptian linen garments which I had first worn when adopted, and now donned for the dinner with Itzhak and his family. He met me at the hut we usually used for business purposes, and escorted me to a large goatskin tent surrounded by smaller tents and mud huts. Nearly sixty Hebrews were assembled there, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of carpets containing metal cups of date wine and platters of fresh-baked bread. Before eating, however, these Hebrews engaged in a ritual which awakened memories of the chanting on my final day as a goat, making me very uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I squatted silently until the ritual was through.
I had been seated next to Itzhak and his oldest son Shmuel, and following the ritual, conducted by Itzhak, Shmuel explained to me in the common trade language that Itzhak was “the father or patriarch” of the tribe, and had just led them in The Blessings for The Sabbath (Shmuel spoke these words with capitals as I have written them, for extra emphasis.) He further explained that The Sabbath was separate from ordinary days, because God himself had rested on the Seventh Day of Creation, and had commanded Hebrews to follow that example. Living in a culture in which all days were treated much the same, except for occasional special days which were few and far between, I had some difficulty understanding this concept and asked what if anything else was special about the seventh day; Shmuel replied that ordinary work was forbidden then.
Dinner was served, consisting of lamb stew, more fresh bread, a variety of vegetables some of which I had never tasted before, and the best-tasting water I had ever had (it seems the wine was mostly for ceremonial purposes). I noticed the absence of slaves, or even servants. The women of Itzhak’s tribe served the meal graciously and then joined in partaking. I commented on this fact to Shmuel, who had obviously been assigned to instruct me and answer my questions (later I learned that he would become patriarch upon Itzhak’s death and was in-training himself for that role.) Shmuel looked a bit upset with my question, answering that the Hebrew People had been slaves in Egypt for some four hundred years, and that slavery was an abomination, against God and man.
After we had finished the dinner’s main course, Itzhak called for attention and announced, in the common trade tongue, that it was a Sabbath custom of his people to re-tell a story from their long history during the Sabbath meal. For my benefit, on this occasion he would speak in our common language, not Hebrew, although the formal responses of the group to the tale would still be in the original Hebrew language as commanded by God. Then he told of his original namesake.
It seems the ancestor and namesake of my host, the original Avram, had his faith tested by the Hebrew God. He was commanded by an angel to take his firstborn son Itzhak up a nearby mountain and sacrifice him. Avram was dismayed but still took Itzhak to a natural altar high up on the mountain, where Itzhak asked his father about the sacrifice. Avram replied that God would provide one and had Itzhak lay down on the altar. As Avram’s arm was descending for the sacrifice, an angel of the Lord appeared and told him to instead sacrifice a ram caught in a nearby thicket. Avram proved himself, Itzhak was saved, and the ram sacrificed.
This story was deeply disturbing to me for several reasons. First, having been a goat myself and seen my own brother cruelly sacrificed, I could relate to the ram. Second, the Hebrew God’s test seemed terribly cruel. Finally, the chanted response of the members of Avram’s tribe turned out to be familiar to me, I had indeed heard it before. I had heard the same chant on my last day as a goat, but now I recognized the chant as more than noise, rather as words -- words whose meaning I would come to learn: Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Elohainu, Adonai Echod -- Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. I had heard those words on the occasion of my own brother’s sacrifice, when I received the sins of the people, placed upon me by the High Priest before I was sent off to my doom.
I must have gasped as the story ended and the chanted response took place. Shmuel** asked me what was wrong, and I could not answer. I was frozen in place, while suddenly all of the sins I had been bearing came upon me with a vengeance. I was told later that I collapsed and could not be roused. My host and his tribe did not know what was wrong, whether physical or mental, but knew that I was in no condition to return to Scarabilis that evening. I was put to bed.
**The name Shmuel has later been anglicized to Samuel, as in references to the Prophet Samuel. This has also been done with some other Hebrew names.
Chapter Eight
Return
I awoke the next morning to sunlight, the bleating of sheep, and a throbbing headache. I was in one of the goatskin tents in the Hebrew encampment. And I was not alone. A young woman was sitting beside my cot and watching me closely. As soon as I showed signs of awakening, she offered me water in the trade language. I nodded Yes and she helped me to sit up and drink from a cup she provided. My thirst was eased, and my mind began to function again.
At the previous night’s dinner, I had noted the young woman serving food and then joining in the dinner. She was of a slight build, with an olive complexion and regular features. Her long dark hair was braided in the back, and she appeared to be in her early twenties although I was a poor judge of human age. She had not been introduced the night before, and so I asked her name; she replied that she was Miriam, the youngest daughter of Avram and sister of Shmuel. It was then that I noticed that I was naked under my bed coverings, and when she saw my concern she said that Shmuel had undressed me and gotten me into bed after I had collapsed following her father’s retelling of the tale of the first Avram.
While I did not have a clear memory of what had happened to me upon hearing that tale, I knew instinctively that there were parts of my own story which needed to remain hidden. But she had not asked me for any details, merely inquired if I was feeling better and if I had had such “attacks” before, to which I replied in the negative. Thinking fast, I said I was unused to wine and perhaps had been affected by the ceremonial wine served at the start of the meal. Miriam then said that Shmuel wanted to see me, and was I up to a visitor. The way she phrased that question made clear that she had been assigned to nurse me, and she confirmed that to be the case, as the Hebrews had found her to have such skills.
Shmuel entered the tent shortly thereafter. He was a good deal older than Miriam, with hair and beard already starting to turn gray. He had Avram’s strong hawk-nosed features and carried himself with the same dignity. Shmuel asked me how I was feeling, and I gave a vague answer but thanked him for his (and the tribe’s) concern. He responded that besides my being their guest, there were some special reasons for their concern about me, reasons which had only been noted when I collapsed, and afterwards. The Hebrews believed that I was myself a Hebrew, due to some events they had noted at the previous night’s dinner. Indeed, Shmuel had asked to see me as soon as possible because they thought that I might be a “lost one” whose family had lost their way in the desert after the Exodus from Egyptian captivity. Shmuel said he wanted to discuss this matter as soon as I felt sufficiently better -- finding a “lost one” was a major event for the tribe, and if I were truly a “lost one” my status with them would be very different.
Upon hearing all of this, I was thrown into great confusion and realized I could not make an immediate response. Luckily, Miriam told Shmuel that I was not yet ready to answer his questions, and that he should come back after the sun had reached its zenith and she would let him know if I were able to converse then. She then gave me a breakfast of goat cheese and fresh-baked bread, and left me to my whirling thoughts.
Certainly, I needed a plausible story to explain my knowledge of the Hebrew Sh’ma prayer the previous night. These people were quite perceptive, and I had the added difficulty that I had never learned to lie. Lying is not done by goats, and the very concept was difficult for me to understand. On the other hand, I surely could not tell Shmuel (and hence the Tribe) that I had not only been a goat, but the very scapegoat which had been sent off into the wilderness by the High Priest at the first such observance. They would never believe such a story, and would think that whatever had caused my collapse the night before had also affected my mind. After pondering this matter, making my headache worse, I concocted a story which I shared with Shmuel upon his return, a fateful story whose consequences I had not foreseen. Yet I do not regret that story or its results, as they led to the happiest period of my long life.