And the Winner is…BR’s Short Story Contest Results Are In

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First Place: “Home Is Where…,”
by Susan Gabbay (aka Lot’s Wife)

Second Place: “Divining the Divine,”
by Molly Pickering Grose (aka Balaam)

Third Place: “Pursuing Knowledge,”
by Bruce Martin Wildish (aka the Serpent)

When we printed a small announcement for our short story contest in the April 2000 issue of BR, we really weren’t expecting a big response. Actually, we weren’t sure anyone would respond. We were—to put it mildly—wrong. Nearly 100 readers eagerly accepted our invitation to rewrite a biblical story from the viewpoint of a lesser character. And nearly 100 readers thanked us for the opportunity. It was, they said again and again, fun.

We called the contest “Who Wants to Be Joab?” The answer to that question turned out to be quite a few of you. We heard from a whole regiment of Joabs, eager to explain why they felt compelled to disobey David’s command: “Deal gently with my boy Absalom, for my sake” (2 Samuel 18:5).

But that’s not all. The voice of the whale came to us from the bowels of the ocean, and the serpent hissed at us from Eden. We received an epistle from Balaam, and a very different account of events from his ass.

We heard from the Gadarene demoniac; and then we heard from the hapless swineherd whose flock plunged into the Sea of Galilee after it was possessed by the demoniac’s evil spirits. We heard from many women remembered only by their husband’s names: Mrs. Lot, Mrs. Job and Mrs. Noah, “recently of the Ark, now Mt. Ararat.” We heard from the two sisters Martha and Mary, and the curious man in the linen gown (Mark 14:51), whose unusual state of dress (or undress), according to our author, may be attributed to the fact that he snuck out of bed in his nightgown to witness Jesus’ arrest in Gethsemane.

Biblical underdogs were especially popular: Hagar in the wilderness; Eliab, David’s oldest brother, who was passed over for the position of king of Israel; Uriah, Bathsheba’s betrayed husband, heading out to the battlefield where he would die; and the prodigal son’s uncelebrated, stay-at-home brother. At last, all were free to tell their side of the story.

A high school student recounted three-year-old Samuel’s reaction when his mommy Hannah dropped him off at the priest’s—for good. The story, she told us, has bothered her since she was about four.

The Creation account proved the most fruitful source of stories; about 10 percent of all the entries came from characters in the Garden of Eden. Even the ripe fruit dangling from a branch of the Tree of Knowledge told us its tale. Perhaps it is not surprising that the sly, story-telling serpent proved to be the most prolific of all the characters we heard from. (Interestingly, almost all of the serpents who wrote in agreed that Adam was a bit of a dullard. That’s why they approached Eve first.)

Although it was truly difficult to select the winners of the contest, we are pleased to print the top three on the following pages.

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Home Is Where

My name is…well, you wouldn’t recognize it anyway. I’m not known in the town. I’ve always just enjoyed making a home for Lot and the girls. It was so good to settle in a real house after all that wandering, following pasture for the sheep. It’s just a small house, built of the golden stone that is all around us; but I have loved it. I could weave tapestries and bedcovers for it and know that I needn’t roll them up and pack them for travel every season. I could go to the market for grain and buy enough to store for the next holiday baking. Whenever I had spun a little extra thread, I traded it for a painted bowl, and after a time I had enough to serve the whole family’s meals. I made cheese and I preserved dates, and what a joy it was to think that these would stay on my polished shelves until I served them, and that we would eat them in my dear little house, not squatting in the sand in some alien land. I was content.

I knew there were disturbances in the town, that there were people who drank too much wine, who rioted in the streets, and—how shall I say this?—who did not value family life as Lot and I do. He and I, though, had little to do with these folk, and we saw to it our daughters were protected from them. I could stand in my blue-painted doorway and gaze over the roofs of the town and beyond these ungodly activities, toward the serenity of the distant mountain.

It was there I stood one day, twirling my spindle and thinking of the new coat I would make for Lot, when I noticed a wisp of cloud over the mountain, scarcely a handspan wide. Someone must have built a fire there, I supposed; but I was troubled as to who might be in that sacred place.

It was then that Lot came home, and asked me to take our daughters and go into our private quarters, as he was bringing two guests for a meal. There was a commotion in the street, so that we could hear the guests’ voices, but not their words. It was not until they had left that I learned of the message they had brought. The two men had come to warn the townspeople that the cloud over the mountain was an omen from God, that he would send death and destruction to the town because of its wickedness. They had told Lot that he should take his family and flee into the hills. I was washing the painted bowls in which Lot had served the strangers, and as I slowly came to understand what this meant, one of the bowls slipped from my hand and broke.

As Lot’s eyes met mine, I saw in them the beginning of my grief. He showed no sorrow, nor even regret. Only excitement. Lot had never understood how I felt about the nomad life, and now—now I could read in his face an eagerness, a readiness to move on. No use for me to question the message the two men had brought. Something in it had spoken to Lot’s soul.

He gestured toward the door, to our view of the mountain. The cloud had spread, and reflected on its lower surface was a red glow. As we watched, a flare went up from within the mountain, then another. I could now believe in death and destruction. We would have to go. I turned to look once more at my ordered home, before beginning to pack—something I thought I would never have to do again. Lot pitied me, I think, and said he knew of a little place where we could go to live, instead of wandering in the wilderness. Still I wept as I rolled my painted bowls, even the broken one, into my favorite tapestry hanging and bundled together the bedclothes. Tears blurred my sight as I filled a basket with grain and cheese.

The two men were to lead us out of town at sunup. I could not sleep, nor could I stop weeping. Though the mountain was emitting flame and dark smoke, the town still stood, but death seemed to have come already to my spirit, and destruction, to my happiness.

The sun rose. I clung to the very stones of the house wall. I could hear Lot trying to delay the men, to give me a few last moments. They were eager to set out, and one seized my hand to bring me over the threshold. For my family’s sake I suppressed my sobs, but the tears still flowed. Fiery brands were beginning to fall all around us. By evening nothing would remain of our town, our house, but scorched ruins.

Lot tried to make me smile, saying that if I wept any more tears I would turn into a column of salt like those we were passing on our road to that little place. He wants me to look ahead, into the future, now, and I will try. Yet before it is too far behind us, I must turn once more and look back at my dear little home. I must.

Submitted by Susan Gabbay, Silver Spring, Maryland (based on Genesis 19:1–26).

Divining the Divine

Greetings, Dathan son of Hison, from your fellow seer Balaam son of Peor. I trust that Rathmos is well and has delivered this letter to you and received fine refreshment.

Dathan, I will understand if you think I have lost what facilities I possess, but what I am about to relate truly happened, and I am most desirous of telling it to someone I trust, for the memory of it is unnerving me.

As you know, I have been earning a good living by selling my ability to curse other peoples’ enemies. The word around here is that I am well worth whatever price I demand. Since every piece of good land with enough water is frequently fought over, and so many people die without naming an heir and thus cause confusion and warfare between brothers, there is plenty of work for me.

What few realize is that I cannot curse a tribe at will. You, Dathan, are aware that there is a superior being who speaks to some of us in our dreams and that some of us are able to interpret what that being has said. I am not known for my modesty, but I can confess to you that I have no control over what I am told to say.

Recently, I received a deputation from Balak of Moab. A clean and noble-looking pair of men said they were sent by Balak to ask me to come and curse this new group of people just coming into Canaan from Egypt. I questioned the men, and they reported that Balak feared that this group was large in number and he was not sure his army could defeat them. That’s why he wanted me to curse them. I told the guests to rest the night and I would report to them what the Lord told me.

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I rather liked the Moabites and was quite stunned when the Lord said that I was not to go with them, nor was I to curse the people, for they are blessed. The next day I reported to the officials from Balak that the Lord refused to let me go with them and so they returned to their home without me.

Only a few weeks later a larger, even more distinguished group of men came to repeat Balak’s request. Balak, they said, wished that nothing would hinder me from going with them, that he would honor me highly and would do everything I asked him to do, if I would just come and curse these people. I felt sorry for these officials and tried to make them understand that I cannot do what is my will, only what is the Lord’s will. I explained that even if Balak gave me enough silver and gold to fill his house (surely a large house!), I still could do only what the Lord would let me do. Although I doubted I would be able to help them, out of pity I invited them to stay the night while I tried again to learn what the Lord wanted.

Dathan, here is where it begins to get confusing. I am sure I was told on this second night to go with these men, but to do only what I was told to do by the Lord. Since this is not a new commandment, I was not puzzled, although I was a bit confused over the change of mind, since I had been told at the last visit not to go with the people.

It matters not. I knew I had been told to go, so I packed my saddlebags and mounted my dear Jerusha and started out with this company. About a third of the way there, Jerusha walked off the road into a nearby field. This is not like her, so I struck her and pulled her back on the road. About half-way there, we were on a narrow path that led between two neighboring vineyards, bordered by a stone wall. Jerusha pulled over to the right wall and squeezed against it so that my foot got badly scraped. Well, I gave her a mighty flog then to let her know what pain I was in, and set us back on the road. Not much further along, we were in a very narrow passage and Jerusha simply folded herself up beneath me so there was no going ahead. Fortunately the Moabites were ahead of me and couldn’t see how recalcitrant my donkey had become, but I was very upset at her betrayal. In truth, I was angry and my foot was sore, so I hit her with my staff. Then she turned her head and asked me, “What have I done to you, that you struck me these three times?”

Yes, Dathan, Jerusha my donkey spoke to me in words as clear as a human being’s. I was so stunned that I couldn’t even breathe. Finally, I got enough air to tell her that she had made a fool of me in front of strangers and that if I’d had a sword instead of a staff I would have killed her.

Then Jerusha said, “Am I not your donkey which you have ridden all your life to this day? Have I been in the habit of treating you this way?”

And I had to confess that she never had. She is the gentlest of donkeys and almost never balks at my orders.

As I was contemplating what had just occurred, I looked up at the path ahead and saw a huge angel with a sword blocking the road. No wonder Jerusha had stopped; it was a frightening figure. But I had not even seen it until now. Dathan, I have never been so scared in my life. I simply fell face down in the road, with my forehead in the dirt.

Then the angel spoke and said, “Why have you struck your donkey these three times? I have come out as an adversary, because your way is perverse before me. The donkey saw me, and turned away from me these three times. If it had not turned away from me, surely just now I would have killed you and let it live.”

I could think of no answer except to say that I was sorry, that I had no idea it was there to oppose me and I would just turn around and go home. (I was desperate to get out of the place and be back in my nice old tent in Pethor, where I could soak my sore foot in the Euphrates.) But the angel said, “Go with the men; but speak only what I tell you to speak.” If I thought I was scared before, now I was really terrified, for I realized that this was not an angel, but the Lord himself and I had been conversing with Him. And he was telling me to go on. But if that is what he wanted, then why did he say he had come as my adversary?

I reached Balak’s camp with no more incidents.

Balak was true to his word and did everything I told him to do in the way of building altars and of arranging the animals for sacrifice, but I was never able to do what he wished. For two nights, I listened for the Lord’s message. Each time, I was told to bless the Israelites. When I approached Balak, the words tumbled out of my mouth. I had no control over what I was saying—and all of it blessings for Balak’s enemies. After a third and fourth try, Balak and I agreed that it was hopeless, so he allowed me to return home.

So now I am home, with a donkey who has never spoken since, but who seems to understand that something very strange happened on that trip. I am more confident than ever that I can communicate with the Lord, but am still very confused about why I was told not to go the first time and then was told I could go, but was forcefully stopped along the road and then allowed to go on. Is it possible that our Lord has an occasional change of mind?

Do write and tell me what you think. I understand that Rathmos is planning some purchases, in your area but will be returning to Pethor in a month or so, and I am sure he would be willing to carry your letter. Especially since the new wine here will be ready by then.

Signed, Balaam

Submitted by Molly Pickering Grose, New York, New York (based on Numbers 22–24).

Pursuing Knowledge

From its position on a small grassy hillock overlooking the place where the azure river branched into four parts, the serpent scanned the area for sign of the woman, hoping to catch her during her morning stroll. Standing on its hind legs for a better view, it gently rocked its tapered head from side to side, the rhythm of its motions matching the sway of the deep grass in the wind. From time to time it cast a glance behind it, to an isolated tree whose tangle of gnarled branches supported a full canopy laden with dark, red fruit.

It was no accident that the serpent was standing beneath this particular tree of the many thousands in Eden. It had chosen this spot with deliberate and calculated care. For this tree was unique. It was special.

It was magical.

In the fibers and juices of its fruit coursed the light of divine wisdom, the power of comprehension, the awesome capacity for moral discernment. The knowledge of good and evil. To eat the fruit was to acquire this knowledge and ascend toward godhood.

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The serpent alone among the inhabitants of Eden knew this well for it had, in defiance of the express command of Yahweh, leader of the gods and highest among the Host of Heaven, secretly eaten the fruit. Whether by chance or design it had been gifted with the faculty of cunning and had sensed, in some deep and instinctive way, that there was something suspicious in Yahweh’s warning that to eat the fruit of the tree—to even touch its bark or its leaves—would bring immediate death. Why would Yahweh put such a source of terrible danger in the middle of the garden, let alone allow it to thrive there unguarded?

The results of eating the fruit had been both immediate and profound. The divine knowledge had exploded within the caverns of the serpent’s mind like the light of the noon sun, sharpening its perceptions, expanding its awareness. It was as if an invisible window into the workings of the world had suddenly been opened, exposing new vistas of understanding. And in that moment the serpent had understood with a shattering clarity of mind that the residents of Eden had been deceived to prevent them from acquiring the knowledge of good and evil, lest they threaten the privileged position of the gods.

The serpent had tried to encourage other animals in the garden to follow its example, wanting them to share in its glorious discovery. But whether out of fear of Yahweh, simple contentment with their current situations or outright disbelief in the serpent’s astonishing claims, all had steadfastly declined its offer.

It hoped the ones called man and woman would be different. Alone among the creatures of Eden, they had been created in the image and likeness of Yahweh and His Host. Yet in every other respect they had been denied the privileges and attributes of the gods, being consigned to living out their lives in quiet servitude, forever ignorant of the incredible possibilities open to them. The serpent was confident that once they realized how they had been cheated and learned of the powers in the fruit of the forbidden tree, they would respond to its offer.

The woman soon appeared on the banks of the river, emerging from a narrow crevice between a cluster of nearby hills. She walked slowly, gathering fruit for herself and the man. She did not notice the serpent, even as it stepped out of the shadow of the tree.

“Woman.” It spoke softly so as not to startle her.

She stopped and turned her head toward it, her long hair the color of the sunset falling down over her shoulders.

“Do you know who I am?” the serpent asked.

She nodded gently and said, “You are the one called serpent.”

The serpent gestured briefly to the fruit in her arms. “I notice you gather fruit from the trees of the riverbank often, but you never take fruit from this tree.” It tipped its scaly head in the direction of the tree behind it, but kept its eyes focused forward.

“Why do you not eat of this tree also?”

The woman seemed surprised by the question. “Do you not know? Yahweh has forbidden us to eat the fruit of that tree, for it is deadly and we will surely die if we touch the tree or eat of its fruit. But He has said that we may eat freely of every other tree in the garden.”

The serpent chuckled softly, shaking its head gently. “You have been deceived, woman. The fruit of this tree will not harm you. Yahweh has only told you this to frighten you. He does not want you to know the truth, that the fruit of this tree gives all who eat it the knowledge of good and evil and makes them like the gods.”

The woman grinned skeptically and started to walk away.

The serpent had planned for this eventuality. It snatched a large piece of fruit hanging heavily from one of the lower branches and with the woman looking on in complete astonishment, consumed the fruit in its entirety. It then took another piece from the tree and extended it toward her.

“It is not right that you and the man, who share the body and form of the gods, should be denied the ability to know the world as they do,” it said softly, lifting the fruit closer to her full, pink lips.

The temptation was clearly too much for the woman, the offer and the promise too profound to ignore. She dropped the fruit in her arms to the ground and cradled the serpent’s hand in her own. Then, with her eyes closed, she raised the fruit to her lips and took a small bite. When no harm followed she took a larger one. The changing expression on her face, a shift from apprehension to wide-eyed wonderment, confirmed for the serpent that the fruit was having its intended effect.

“Now go,” it said, handing her still more fruit. “Go and give some also to the man, so that both of you may ascend together to your rightful place among the gods.”

The serpent followed the woman at a distance, to a small glen where she and the man resided. From a nearby hilltop it watched with gratification as both feasted on the fruit it had given her. There was a look of elation and ecstasy on both their faces.

But only for a short time. They had barely finished the fruit when their joy began to 053give way to mounting despair. Glaring at each other through hollowed eyes, their faces sagging, they backed away from one another, their hands falling across their genitals. A soft moan of pain arose from deep in the man’s soul.

The serpent stared down at them with surprise. The pain inherent in the power of moral discernment, the agony that accompanied self-awareness, these had come to the serpent only gradually, not in a sudden, cataclysmic rush. And, being an animal, it had not found them overwhelming in any event. Still, it had sensed the importance of not telling the woman the entire truth up front, that the knowledge of good and evil was both a glory and a curse, a source of incredible freedom and a terrible burden.

The serpent was still watching the man and woman later that evening, when Yahweh walked into the glen, His long, shimmering hair dancing in a gentle breeze. The man and the woman heard Him coming and hid themselves among the bushes.

“Where are you?” Yahweh called out. There was no sign of concern or anger on His bold face. Clearly He knew nothing about what had happened.

Slowly, the man and the woman stood from their hiding places, clutching handfuls of large leaves and brush, which they held across their genitals.

“Why were you hiding?” Yahweh asked.

His eyes on the ground, the man said weakly, “I was naked and afraid.”

“How did you know that you were naked?” Yahweh demanded. “Did you eat of the tree which I said was forbidden?”

The man nodded, whimpering. He gestured toward the cowering form of the woman in the shade of a tree. “She gave me the fruit and told me it would do no harm. And I listened to her and ate it.”

Yahweh’s face turned as red as the forbidden fruit. He looked as much alarmed as angry. He yelled, “What have you done, woman?”

“The serpent deceived me,” she muttered. “I only ate it because the serpent said we would be like gods, knowing good and evil.”

Instinctively the serpent ducked into the grass, but it made no difference.

Turning His dark face to the sky, Yahweh roared to all the world, “Because you have done this, serpent, cursed are you among all animals! Upon your belly shall you crawl and dust shall you eat all the days of your life!”

Yahweh then turned to the man and woman and began to level curses upon them also. But the serpent heard little of this. It was writhing on the ground, a sensation of fire coursing through its veins. To its horror its legs and arms withered then disintegrated as if consumed by an unseen force. Not so much as a scar remained.

Even in its agony the serpent found the strength to follow Yahweh as He stormed out of the glen. It soon discovered that it could move quickly by twisting its body in a side-to-side winding motion. It slithered through the thick foliage and hid in the grass when it saw Yahweh stop beneath the tree of knowledge.

Yahweh summoned the bene elohim (sons of God) and explained the situation to them.

“They have become like us now,” He said with alarm, “knowing good and evil. If they should find the tree of life and eat also of its fruit and live forever…”

He did not need to finish. All among the bene elohim understood that the man and woman would attain full godhood if they ate of the tree of life and become immortal. Hardly a situation the gods were willing to tolerate. It was damaging enough to the order 054of things that the man and woman now shared in the power of their knowledge.

All agreed that the man and woman had to be barred from the garden in order to keep them from finding that tree. Yahweh left the group to expel them without delay and the bene elohim departed.

The serpent’s mind reeled under the impact of what it had just heard. It had known nothing of the tree of life or its power to impart immortality. And there was more: It had apparently not occurred to Yahweh, even as He pronounced judgment on the serpent, that it too had eaten from the tree of knowledge. In her testimony the woman had said nothing of this fact and Yahweh had not seen fit to expel it from the garden also.

Still possessed of its knowledge it realized in an instant what it must do. Somewhere out there was another tree, one that could make it immortal—make it even more like Yahweh and His host. What tremendous possibilities!

What sweet revenge.

The serpent set off into the uncharted depths of the garden.

Submitted by Bruce Martin Wildish, Mississauga, Ontario (based on Genesis 3).

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Keep Reading:

Several more of our favorite short stories appear on our Web site, www.biblereview.org. These include Roena Oesting’s “Call Me Hagar,” Marvin Mishkin’s “The Story of Jonah,” yellow mouse’s “Swineherd,” Daniel G. Shaw’s “De Profundis Clamo,” Paul Austin’s “Debtors,” Julie R. Frady’s “Isaac,” Steve Tarnofsky’s “David and Goliath,” and Judith Landt’s “Moneychanger.”

First Place: “Home Is Where…,”by Susan Gabbay (aka Lot’s Wife) Second Place: “Divining the Divine,”by Molly Pickering Grose (aka Balaam) Third Place: “Pursuing Knowledge,”by Bruce Martin Wildish (aka the Serpent) When we printed a small announcement for our short story contest in the April 2000 issue of BR, we really weren’t expecting a big response. Actually, we weren’t sure anyone would respond. We were—to put it mildly—wrong. Nearly 100 readers eagerly accepted our invitation to rewrite a biblical story from the viewpoint of a lesser character. And nearly 100 readers thanked us for the opportunity. It was, they […]