4 min read

Abraham Rode to See Ishmael and Never Got Off the Camel

A father missing his firstborn rode into the desert to find him. He did not dismount at the tent. He left a coded message and rode home.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Morning He Said I Miss My Son
  2. The Wife at the Tent Door
  3. The Message Ishmael Understood
  4. The Reunion They Had in Jubilees

The Morning He Said I Miss My Son

The day Sarah demanded Hagar be sent away was, according to the old rabbinic tradition, the worst day of Abraham's life. Not the furnace in Ur. Not leaving his father in Haran. Not even the binding of Isaac, which ended with an angel's voice and a ram in the thicket. The sending away of Hagar ended with nothing. No substitute appeared. Abraham wrote her a bill of divorce, tied a length of cloth around her waist as a legal marker, and watched his firstborn son walk into the desert holding a waterskin.

Ishmael had been a boy. By the time Abraham told Sarah he was going to look for him, Ishmael was a man with sons and tents of his own, somewhere deep in the wilderness of Paran.

Abraham said it plainly, the tradition records. I yearn to see him. I have not seen him in a long time.

Sarah said: you may go, but you may not get off the camel.

The Wife at the Tent Door

He found Ishmael's camp around midday. Ishmael was not there. He was out hunting, tending camels, somewhere beyond the visible edge of the camp. A woman came out of the tent. She was Ishmael's wife.

Abraham stayed on the camel. He asked after his son. The woman complained. She told the old man on the camel about how hard it was, how little they had, how difficult the desert was, how exhausting everything was. She invited him in. He declined.

He told her: when your husband comes home, give him a message from an old man who passed by. Tell Ishmael the peg of his tent is not good. He should find a different one.

He turned the camel around and rode back to Canaan.

The Message Ishmael Understood

When Ishmael came home and heard what the man on the camel had said, he knew immediately. The peg of a tent means the wife. His father had come, seen the woman he had married, and judged her. The message was: divorce her.

Ishmael divorced her and married again, a woman named Fatimah, from the house of his mother's people.

Three years later, Abraham rode out a second time. Ishmael was gone again. This wife came out of the tent and offered water. She offered bread. She spoke about the camp with gratitude, with abundance, with warmth. Abraham stayed on the camel. He asked her to bring him something to eat, because a man who had ridden since morning had a right to rest his bones a little, even if he could not dismount.

She brought food and water. He ate on the camel.

When he was done, he told her: when your husband comes home, tell him the peg of his tent is very good. He should keep it.

The Reunion They Had in Jubilees

The Book of Jubilees, a second-century BCE rewriting of Genesis, refuses to leave Abraham and Ishmael estranged. It gives them a third encounter, a real one, at Abraham's table in Hebron, with Isaac present and a burnt offering made on the altar Abraham had built there years before.

Ishmael arrived. Isaac was already there. They sat together and ate. Jubilees says simply that both sons came together, and the offering went up, and Abraham blessed both of them. No coded messages on camels. No wife at the tent door. Just an old man with two sons at the same table, and all the years between them folded into a meal.

The Torah records the moment they buried him side by side at Machpelah. Ishmael's name first, Isaac's name second. The rabbis noticed. The firstborn had been restored to his place in the list, if not in the land. At the grave, the order of the tent had been corrected.

AbrahamIshmaelHagarSarahPatriarchsGenesisExile
← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

7 sources

The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Legends of the Jews 5:197Legends of the Jews

It wasn't the battles with kings or the famine in the land that weighed heaviest on his heart. No, it was the separation from his son, Ishmael, that caused him the most profound grief. Can you imagine?

The story goes that after Sarah insisted, Abraham had to send Hagar, his concubine, and their son away. And that night, the Holy One, Blessed be He, appeared to Abraham. The Almighty comforts Abraham, reminding him of the sacred bond he shares with Sarah. "Abraham," God says, "knowest thou not that Sarah was appointed to be thy wife from her mother's womb?" The message is clear: Sarah is your true companion, the wife of your youth. Hagar, while important, doesn't hold the same divinely ordained place.

God emphasizes the truth in Sarah's words. "What Sarah spoke unto thee was naught but truth," God tells Abraham, "and let it not be grievous in thy sight because of the lad, and because of thy bondwoman."

So, with a heavy heart but a sense of divine instruction, Abraham acted. The next morning, he rose early. He gave Hagar a get, a bill of divorcement, formally ending their relationship. And then, he sent her and Ishmael away.

Now, here's a detail that might make you pause: the verse says that Abraham "first binding a rope about her loins that all might see she was a bondwoman." It's a harsh image, isn't it? It serves as a visible marker of her status, a constant reminder of her former position.

What are we to make of this? Perhaps it was a way to protect Abraham's reputation, or maybe it was simply a reflection of the social norms of the time. Whatever the reason, it adds a layer of complexity to an already difficult situation.

This episode in Abraham's life, as retold in Legends of the Jews, is a reminder that even the most righteous figures face agonizing choices. It's a evidence of the enduring power of family dynamics, the weight of societal expectations, and the complexities of faith. It also begs the question: how do we balance compassion with what we believe is right, especially when those two things seem to be in conflict? Food for thought, isn't it?

Full source
The Midrash of Philo 18:1The Midrash of Philo

One such moment comes to us in (Genesis 17:18). Abraham, after hearing God's promise of a son, Isaac, through Sarah, turns to God and says, "O may my son Ishmael live before thee!"

Why did he say that?

What was he really asking? What was he hoping for? And what does it tell us about Abraham's character?

The Midrash of Philo, a collection of interpretations and expansions on the Torah, offers a fascinating glimpse into this very question. We have to remember the context. God has just told Abraham, then still called Abram, that he will have a son with Sarah, a son who will carry on the covenant. This son will be named Isaac, Yitzchak in Hebrew, meaning "he will laugh." A beautiful, joyous name, foretelling a future filled with promise.

But Abraham already has a son. Ishmael.

So, when Abraham utters those words, "O may my son Ishmael live before thee," it's not necessarily a rejection of God's promise. Instead, it can be viewed as a father's heartfelt concern for his firstborn. He's not saying, "Forget about Isaac, just bless Ishmael." No, the Midrash of Philo suggests something deeper.

Perhaps Abraham is thinking about inheritance. About legacy. About the future of his family as a whole. He’s not trying to circumvent God’s will, but rather, seeking a way for Ishmael to also share in the divine blessing. He's asking "Can't we find a way for both my sons to be blessed?" What parent wouldn't want the best for all their children? Even when one child is destined for greatness, the love for another doesn't simply vanish. Abraham's words might be interpreted as a reflection of his deep paternal love and concern.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) invites us to consider the complexities of human relationships, even within the context of divine promises. It reminds us that faith and doubt, hope and fear, can coexist within the same heart. Abraham's plea is a evidence of his humanity, his vulnerability, and his unwavering love for his children.

So, the next time you read that verse, (Genesis 17:18), pause for a moment. Consider the weight of Abraham's words. Consider the father's heart behind the plea. It's in these moments of contemplation, in these explorations of the spaces between the lines, that we can truly begin to understand the depth and richness of our tradition. What does this brief exchange tell us about how we should approach relationships with those we love? About how we can balance celebrating one person's success while still holding space for another's needs? These are questions worth pondering, aren't they?

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:201Legends of the Jews

Ishmael’s story doesn't simply vanish; it continues, filled with hardship, growth, and a surprising encounter with his father.

In Ginzberg's, Legends of the Jews, Ishmael's wife bore him four sons and a daughter in the wilderness. God, remembering Abraham, blessed Ishmael with flocks, herds, and tents, allowing him to prosper. Yet, despite this divine blessing, a rift formed between Abraham and his son, fueled by distance and, perhaps, Sarah's enduring influence.

Time passed, and Abraham, yearning to see his son, decided to visit Ishmael. "I will go and see my son Ishmael," he said to Sarah, "I yearn to look upon him, for I have not seen him for a long time." And so, he journeyed into the wilderness, riding his camel, driven by a father's love and a deep-seated longing.

Upon arriving at Ishmael’s tent around noon, Abraham found only Ishmael's wife and children. Ishmael was out hunting. Abraham, still mounted on his camel, for he had sworn to Sarah not to dismount, asked her for water. Her response? "We have neither water nor bread." She didn’t even offer him basic hospitality, nor did she inquire about his identity. Worse, she was inside the tent, berating her children and cursing Ishmael. Can you imagine Abraham's heartbreak, witnessing this scene?

Abraham, witnessing this lack of hospitality and respect, called the woman out of the tent. Still on his camel, he delivered a cryptic message: "When thy husband Ishmael returns home, say these words to him: A very old man from the land of the Philistines came hither to seek thee... When thou comest home, put away this tent-pin which thou hast placed here, and place another tent-pin in its stead."

What did this all mean? The "tent-pin," of course, was a metaphor. Abraham was telling Ishmael, through his wife’s behavior, that his marriage was not working.

When Ishmael returned and heard his wife's account, he immediately understood. He knew it was his father, and he recognized the wisdom in Abraham’s words. Heeding his father's veiled instruction, Ishmael divorced his wife.

Later, Ishmael moved to the land of Canaan and found another wife, whom he brought back to his tent, to the place where he dwelt.

This brief episode offers a fascinating glimpse into the life of Ishmael. It reveals the challenges he faced, the importance of honoring one's parents, and the subtle, yet powerful, ways in which familial bonds could still exert influence, even across vast distances and years of separation. It also emphasizes the importance of hospitality, a value deeply ingrained in Jewish tradition.

What does this story tell us about family, about legacy, and about the enduring power of even indirect communication? It's a reminder that even when relationships are strained, the echoes of family wisdom can still resonate, guiding us toward better choices and a more fulfilling life.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:202Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Abraham Visited Ishmael After Three Years Apart.

Well, according to the Legends of the Jews, a collection of fascinating expansions on the biblical narrative compiled by Louis Ginzberg, there's more to the story. It tells of a touching, if somewhat indirect, encounter between father and son after a long separation.

The story goes that after three years apart, Abraham felt a longing to see Ishmael. So, he set out on his camel, journeying into the wilderness to find his son. Reaching Ishmael's tent around noon, Abraham inquired about his son, only to be greeted by Ishmael's wife. She explained that Ishmael was out hunting and tending to the camels.

This is where it gets interesting. The woman invited Abraham to rest and have some bread, but Abraham declined, saying he was in a hurry. He only asked for a little water. She quickly brought him water and bread, urging him to eat and drink. Abraham did, and his heart was merry. He even blessed his son, Ishmael.

Before leaving, Abraham gave Ishmael's wife a cryptic message. "When Ishmael comes home," he said, "tell him that a very old man from the land of the Philistines came hither, asked after thee, and thou wast not here. I brought him out bread and water, and he ate and drank, and his heart was merry. And he spoke these words to me: 'The tent-pin which thou hast is very good, do not put it away from the tent.'"

Then, Abraham rode off.

What's the meaning of this strange message? The "tent-pin," in this context, is understood to be a metaphor for Ishmael's wife. Abraham was subtly testing her character. Was she worthy of Ishmael? Was she honoring him?

When Ishmael returned, his wife relayed the old man's words. Ishmael, recognizing the hidden message and understanding it was from his father, realized his wife had indeed honored Abraham. He praised the Lord. This act of hospitality and the woman's good character were vital.

Following this, Ishmael took his family and belongings and journeyed to see his father in the land of the Philistines. Abraham then told Ishmael about the issues he’d had with Ishmael’s first wife and how she’d failed to honor him. Ishmael and his children then dwelled with Abraham for many days.

This little story, tucked away in the Legends of the Jews, gives us a glimpse into the complex relationship between Abraham and Ishmael. It wasn't a clean break, a complete severing of ties. There was still love, concern, and a desire for connection. It shows us that even within the grand narratives of chosen people and divine promises, there's always room for the deeply human stories of fathers and sons, of family, and of the quiet ways we show love and concern for one another, even from a distance. What does this tell us about how we should treat our own family members, even when relationships are fraught? Perhaps, like Abraham, we should look for ways to connect and offer blessings, even if they are delivered indirectly.

Full source
Book of Jubilees 22:6Book of Jubilees

The Book of Jubilees, a text not found in the Hebrew Bible but considered sacred by some, gives us a peek behind the curtain, fleshing out stories we think we know. And one of those stories involves Abraham, Isaac, and Ishmael.

Abraham is getting older. Isaac, who's got his own holdings in Beersheba, is in the habit of visiting his dad, checking in, you know, the usual. But then, Ishmael shows up too.

The text simply says, "Ishmael came to see his father, and they both came together, and Isaac offered a sacrifice for a burnt-offering..." But let's pause there for a second. What was the atmosphere like? Awkward? Joyful? A mix of both? We can only imagine.

In Jubilees 22, Isaac offers a korban (a sacrificial offering) olah, a burnt offering, on the altar Abraham built in Hebron. Think about the symbolism here: offering a sacrifice on the very altar built by his father. It's a powerful image of continuity and connection. He also brings a thank-offering, a korban todah, and throws a feast for Ishmael.

Is this reconciliation? Forgiveness? Or simply a shared meal between brothers, acknowledging their shared parentage? Again, the text leaves us to ponder.

And it doesn't stop there. Rebecca, Isaac's wife, gets in on the act. She bakes new cakes from the season's first grains, the bikkurim, and sends them with her son Jacob to Abraham. It's more than just a sweet treat, though. It’s an offering of the first fruits of the land, a way to give thanks to the Creator. She wants Abraham to eat and bless the "Creator of all things" before he passes.

A blessing before death. A family gathering. Shared food. Shared history. Isn't it interesting what surfaces as life nears its end?

This passage in Jubilees isn’t just about historical events, is it? It’s about the enduring power of family, the complexities of relationships, and the importance of gratitude. It asks us to consider what we offer – to our families, to our communities, and to the Divine – before our time is done. What kind of "cakes" are we baking? What kind of feast are we preparing? What kind of blessings are we offering?

Something to think about, isn’t it?

Full source
Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 271Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

After Abraham sent Ishmael away into the wilderness with his mother Hagar, the patriarch did not forget his firstborn son. According to Pirkei de Rabbi Eliezer and the Midrash Hagadol on Genesis, Abraham visited Ishmael's home on two separate occasions. And each visit became a test of character.

The first time Abraham came, Ishmael was not home. His wife answered the door. Abraham, who did not identify himself, asked for food and water. The wife refused. She complained bitterly about her life, about the hardships of the desert, about Ishmael's absences, about the poverty they endured. She offered the old stranger nothing. Not even a cup of water.

Abraham left without revealing who he was. But he left a message for Ishmael: "Tell your husband that an old man came by and said to change the threshold of his house." Ishmael understood immediately. The "threshold" was his wife. He divorced her and married another woman.

Some time later, Abraham returned. Again, Ishmael was away. But the new wife received Abraham with warmth and generosity. She brought him food and drink, offered him shade and rest, and treated the unknown stranger with the dignity that the Torah demands for every guest. She did not complain about her circumstances. She spoke well of her husband.

Abraham left a second message: "Tell your husband that the threshold of his house is good. Let him keep it." When Ishmael heard these words, he understood that his father had approved of his new wife.

The tale was told across Jewish communities as a lesson in hakhnasat orchim (הכנסת אורחים), the sacred duty of hospitality. A person's true character is revealed not in how they behave before important people, but in how they treat a stranger at the door. Abraham's test was simple but devastating: the first wife failed, the second passed, and the difference determined the course of a family's destiny.

Full source
Gaster, Exempla no. 271; cf. Pirkei deRabbi Eliezer 30The Exempla of the Rabbis (1924)

After Abraham had sent his son Ishmael away to live with his mother Hagar, Ishmael settled in the wilderness and married a Moabite wife. Years passed. Abraham wanted to see how his son was faring, but he did not identify himself. He came to the tent disguised as a traveler, asking for water and shelter.

Ishmael's wife was home alone. She looked at the dusty old man standing at her door and decided he was not worth her trouble. She refused to bring him water. She refused him bread. She did not recognize that the stranger was her own father-in-law. Abraham left the tent without introducing himself. Before he went, he gave her a message for her husband. Tell Ishmael, he said, that an old man came by, and told him to change the threshold of his house.

When Ishmael came home and heard the message, he understood immediately. He knew his father's voice. He knew what a "threshold" meant in that voice. He divorced the wife who had shown no hospitality, and he married another woman.

Some time later, Abraham returned a second time. Again he was a stranger at the door. The new wife welcomed him. She brought water to wash his feet. She brought bread. She spoke gently. Abraham blessed her and commended her to her husband, though Ishmael by now understood that his father had been quietly inspecting his household.

The Exempla, preserving a midrash known from Pirkei deRabbi Eliezer chapter 30, uses the word "threshold" as a euphemism for the wife herself. A household's hospitality is not a decoration. It is the threshold over which every visitor must pass. Abraham, the great host of Genesis 18, could not abide a son whose doorway was shut to the stranger. Change the threshold, he said, and Ishmael understood.

Full source