Chapter One

Ishmael and Hagar

A man, a woman. Abraham and Sarah. Who has not heard of them? Everyone loves them. They radiate goodness, nobility, human warmth. Who doesn’t claim kinship with them? Humankind is what it is because they shaped our destiny. He is the father of our people, she the mother. Everything leads us back to them. The promised land bears their seal. Faith—our faith—was kindled by theirs. A couple unlike any other, they inspire joy and hope. Tormented by our own troubles, we recall theirs, which give ours a transcendent meaning. Abraham, the first to be chosen, the first to choose God and crown him God of the universe; Abraham, synonymous with loyalty and absolute fidelity, a symbol of perfection. And yet . . . a shadow hovers over one aspect of his existence. In his exalted life, we encounter a painful episode that cannot but puzzle us, if not cause us to recoil. I refer, of course, to his behavior toward his maid, concubine, or companion, Hagar, and their son, Ishmael.

Let us read the text, shall we? It tells us that Sarah, poor Sarah, is barren. She cannot conceive. Unhappy above all for her husband, who desires a son and heir, she proposes that he have this child with his Egyptian servant, Hagar. Jewish women being good matchmakers, the shiddukh is successful. Abraham and Hagar are together, Hagar becomes pregnant—and that is when the problems start: the servant becomes disrespectful toward her mistress, who takes offense. Eventually, a persecuted Hagar takes flight. Proud, she prefers to die in the desert rather than remain a slave in Sarah’s house. By chance, an angel notices her and advises her to return home. Hagar obeys, goe