Irritable Ishi Icks the Big Prize
Parsha Vayera
Parsha Summary: Much like the kinky Pharaohs of Egypt, the Philistine king Abimelech takes a lustful view of 90-year-old Sarah and desires to bed the gummed-up grannie. Abraham repeats his brother-sister act before G-d steps in with an assortment of bad dreams of impending doom that has Abimelech wetting his bed. Sodom is destroyed, Abraham gets sheared from the waist down, celebrates a century of life and becomes a father for the second time. All this and the canonical story of Isaac’s near sacrifice.
Abraham was growing tired of the constant arguments.
He should have been resting back home in Gerar, by the pool, sipping moonshine and chatting shit with his Moabite pals while Sarah made lunch for his guests. Instead, he was traveling to a mountain-top to secretly sacrifice his son who was blissfully unaware of his imminent demise.
“Mate, I’m more holy than thou because I willingly got me weenie sliced for G-d”, argued Ishmael, Abraham’s first-born child, a bastard son to his maidservant, the Egyptian princess, Hagar.
“Nah, mate. You be mistaken. Circumcision for babies is the greater sacrifice. You lost what? Three drops of blood? Feter (uncle) Nahor told me I lost at least a pint! Blood everywhere he said. Made my mum faint!”
“That’s bollocks. I was there, Zach, and yes, you screamed like a baby on account of you BEING a baby, but it was no bloodbath. And you know what else? Daddy ain’t happy with you! You see these ropes? What do you think we’re going to do when we reach the top of the mountain? See any goats to sacrifice?”
Ishmael grinned as he watched his step-brother’s face go white.
“G-d overheard your big speech, Zach! He hears everything. You couldn’t help boasting could you?” Ishmael reenacted Isaac’s speech complete with air quotes. ‘Blah blah blah, I should sever one of my limbs, blah blah blah, if He were to ask me to be slaughtered, I would not refuse.’ (Bereshit Rabba 55:4) Mate! You brought it upon yourself! What a schmuck!”
“Fuck off!”
“ENOUGH!” Abraham angrily shouted, “Quieten down before I sacrifice the both of you to the OG!”
Isaac, now 37 years old, reflected back upon his life and how he had reached this point. If Ishmael was right, then this really was his last moments on Earth. Why the fuck did he have to spend them with Ishmael? They had never got on.
When Isaac was two, Ishmael came home with golden idols. Isaac loved those statues and when his older brother showed him how to bow to idols, he was only too willing to listen to his eldest sibling of 13 years. He took a hell of a beating that day.
When he was older, he was allowed to hunt for birds with Ishmael but again it ended in trouble when Ishy playfully shot arrows at his head for target practice. His mum threw a mental at Hagar, the stepmother, and demanded Abraham kick both of them out. Ishmael left that same day alongside Hagar. It would be years before he saw his brother again.
Some say wandering a desert, lost and feverish, is a slow and painful death. As your miracle flask of water finally runs out of miracle juice and the mirages become more and more outlandish, the only thought you have left is to pray for release. An end to the heatstroke, the dry mouth, the faux oasis, the sixty-foot circumcised todger, and the sunburnt skin.
Ishmael was lost in heated visions.
He saw his Mother stash him under a bush. He saw angels asking G-d to spare his life. He saw a well spring out of the Earth and he saw years and years of his ancient father visiting and demanding food.
“Tell Ishmael his wife is a nudnik and when a visitor demands food and a drink, she should listen and obey,” said the old man from Canaan.
“This ain’t no takeaway service station! You want hospitality? Go find Sodom. They are very welcoming there,” replied Aʾishah, Ishmael’s first wife, a bitter woman of Moabite stock.
“Shush, Ishy, it’ll all be over soon,” replied Hagar.
But the visions continued. Ishmael could see his father returning and being greeted by his second wife, Fatima, daughter of Muhammed. This time, Abraham remembered his manners and politely asked for refreshments. The stubborn old fool once again refused to dismount his camel. The beast was shitting all over the front yard but it didn’t seem to bother Fatima. She returned with dates and water and Abraham, overcome with love, blessed the household.
“Father will save us…” wept Ishmael.
“I know dear. He sent a construction crew ten minutes ago to build a well. They’ve chosen an ever-so-nice spot for it. Next to the dwarf shrubs and the acacia bush. They reckon it’ll be up and running by 2 p.m. as the vulture flies.”
Ishmael survived his ordeal in the desert. In a televised Holiday Special, Ishmael could be seen reconciling with his father, Abraham. He would live to the ripe old age of 137 and begat twelve sons and one daughter, Mahalath who would later marry the runaway heir to Abraham’s kingdom, Esau.
They never again spoke of their boy’s trip up the mountain to sacrifice Isaac. What happens on tour, stays on tour.
I wondered for a long time why Herman Melville gave the protagonist of "Moby Dick" the name of Ishmael. Now I see: they were both survivors of considerable abuse.