lambs to Abimelech, who was then king of that distant place, and swore an oath with him. In fact the name could also mean “well of the oath,” but one never knows the meanings of these ancient names exactly. Perhaps it means both. After all, Isaac, Abraham’s son of his very old age, later went to the same place and dug some wells there, after the Philistines had stopped up the wells his father had dug. A part of both of these old stories is the lie both Abraham and Isaac told about their wives, Sarah and Rebekah. It seems that both father and son were fearful for their lives in this foreign place, so they told the two Abimelechs that their wives were really their sisters. So quite innocently, the two kings, themselves father and son, took the women into their harems and richly rewarded their “brothers” in the bargain. Fortunately, neither kings had gotten around to exercising their kingly sexual rights with the two before a dream told the first Abimelech the truth, and the second Abimelech saw with his own eyes the intimacy between Isaac and Rebekah that was not the intimacy of a sister and brother. So lies were long connected to the southern Beer Sheba.
But Joel and Abijah brought lying and wantonness and debauchery to new heights very soon after their arrival in the deserts of the south. They quickly established their absolute authority in the whole territory, invoking the holy name of their father as surety for their power. They demanded a percentage of all trade done in the cities, the main one of Beer Sheba, but also Aroer, Arad, and other villages dotting the countryside. All travelers, bound for Egypt and returning from there were steeply taxed as they passed between the Judean hills. And as they watered their donkeys and camels before the long trek through the vast southern deserts, Joel and Abijah were certain to get a huge cut of the services rendered. In less than a year, the boys had grown wealthy and began to have built a larger house than any other one in the area.
But large taxes and service fees were not enough for the two. They established competition for tax collecting and water services and traveler assistance, pushing aside those families who had long controlled these activities. And with competition came bribes in order to secure the rights to perform the services, so Joel and Abijah got money first from those who would win the contracts and money from those who received the services. And after another six moons, they decided to build a larger house still with a central fountain and an upper story to catch the evening desert breeze.
Justice disappeared from Beer Sheba. Or better said, the only justice was justice as determined by Joel and Abijah that was in fact no justice at all. And the people of the territory grew angry and frustrated, and no one, save those who shared in the bribes and kick backs, cared for Joel and Abijah and wished that the great Samuel would do something about his greedy sons. For however far Beer Sheba was from Ramah, news of the evil boys soon got back to the father. The news came at a most inopportune time. Right in the middle of a magnificent whole-burnt offering of an unblemished sheep, honoring the feast day of Abraham, a messenger rushed into the temple to whisper to Samuel, now nearing the fantastic age of sixty winters, that there was trouble in Beer Sheba and that a contingent of the people of that place were on their way for a confrontation. Samuel, rather too quickly, concluded his part of the ritual and handed over the final words to his assistant, and then hurried from the sanctuary.
Stripping off his priestly robes, he demanded further information about what was happening in Beer Sheba.
“My lord,” stammered the messenger, choosing his words with great care, “your sons are not as successful in their work as you had hoped. Many in the territory are confused about their leadership, and are hopeful that you will be able to help them by giving them the guidance and direction only the chief priest and prophet in the land can give.”
Sweat was forming on his neck under the colorful tunic that southerners often wore. He stood waiting while Samuel pondered his words.
“Why are my sons not successful? What exactly is confusing about their leadership? I have already provided to them all the direction and guidance they need to be good leaders for their people. Just what exactly is the problem?”
The famous thundering voice began to sound as Samuel continued to ask his questions. The messenger regretted the day he had been chosen to speak on behalf of the people of Beer Sheba.
“O Samuel,” he began, “I cannot say what is the problem; I myself have never had any problems with your sons, who are, as far as I know, excellent community leaders.”
This was less than the truth. The messenger had abundant evidence of Joel’s extortionate demands and Abijah’s insatiable sexual and material desires. The boys were monsters, but he had no intention of ever using such a word with their father.
“I pray that you ask the delegation of citizens that will arrive before the setting of the sun; they will be able to answer your questions.”
He hoped that Samuel would release him before he drowned in the rivers of sweat now cascading down his back.
“You may go,” Samuel said irritably, “but if you see this so-called delegation, tell them I eagerly await what they have to say.”
The messenger backed out of Samuel’s presence as slowly as decorum dictated but as swiftly as fear demanded. He ran to the local inn for a tall jar of beer to settle his nerves. He did not envy those who would meet with Samuel this night to bring to him news of his terrible sons.
Samuel brooded in his chambers. What have my sons been up to? They know the proper sacrifices and prayers. They have my authority to do what needs to be done. Surely no one in that backwater Beer Sheba would have the nerve to challenge my authority as prophet and priest of YHWH? Surely no country rube would have the gall to question any interpretation of YHWH’s law that I have been called to give? My sons are extensions of my own self; they are my heirs! To question them is to question me! We will see what these grumblers, if that is what they are, have to say.
And just as Samuel continued to reflect on this unexpected turn of events, the citizens of Beer Sheba appeared on the threshold of his house. He gathered himself, tamping down his fiery fears the better to listen carefully to what these country folk had in mind.
“Welcome, my brothers. I trust my servants have offered you appropriate hospitality. I would not want it said that Ramah was a latter-day Sodom!”
He said this attempt at a joke rather too loudly and laughed rather too loudly at the jest. He noted that few smiles lighted the faces of the men of Beer Sheba.
“Come, you have travelled such a distance. How many days is it to your home?”
No one replied to Samuel’s jocularity. Their faces were hard, determined. They were on a definite mission. Samuel ceased his banter and waited for one of them to speak. Finally, one who appeared the eldest among them, stepped forward, looked at Samuel without a trace of apprehension, and began.
“Samuel, you are old, and your sons are not anything like you. They are bribe-takers, extortionate lovers of too much wine and too much food and too much intimacy with too many women. Since they came to our home, our lives are a misery, our pockets lighter by half at least, our girls unsafe, our neighbors suspicious one of another. We demand that you act. First, remove your cankered sons from us; lance them like the foul boils that they are! Second, choose a king who will rule over us, like the Philistines have, like all other powerful and successful nations have.”
The man was brutally blunt, and the demands of these people were equally clear. Depose his sons and choose a king. Samuel was speechless. His rheumy eyes opened wider as the man talked, the veins in his neck, now folded and refolded like the discarded skin of a snake, bulged red as he listened. His tangled beard shook briefly as he attempted to assimilate what this madman wanted. Reject his own sons? Choose a king? A king in Israel? Like the other nations around, all those pagan nations? Slowly he turned his back on the group and said nothing.
