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Terah Married Twice and the Famine Swallowed Both Marriages

Terah married twice in the years Mastema's ravens stripped the fields bare. The hungry world he survived was the one he passed on to Abraham.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. A Marriage Inside the Barren Years
  2. Abram and the Brothers
  3. The Second Marriage
  4. What Abraham Inherited

A Marriage Inside the Barren Years

Terah married in the thirty-ninth jubilee, in the second week, in the first year. His wife was Edna, the daughter of Aram, the daughter of his father's sister. A marriage inside the extended family, the kind that pulled kinship networks tighter when the harvest had been failing for years and kinship networks were the only reliable insurance against starvation. The birds had stripped the fields bare. The fruit trees had been picked before ripening. Terah married Edna inside that siege.

The years continued barren. Not a single bad harvest but a sustained failure that ran through the decades of Terah's young adulthood. The ravens came before the seed could take root. What little the earth produced required enormous labor to protect. A generation grew up learning to guard the fields against birds and to plant seed that might or might not survive until planting time. Terah and Edna built their household in that world.

Abram and the Brothers

Edna bore Abram in the fortieth jubilee, in the second week, in the seventh year. The date is precise in the Book of Jubilees, which tracks the family through the jubilee calendar the way a ledger tracks accounts. Abram arrived into the famine years, into the household of a man who carved idols for a living, into a world that Mastema's birds were systematically destroying one field at a time.

Nahor came next. Then Haran, though his birth came from a different household. The three brothers who appear in Genesis as bare names in a genealogy were children born inside the particular pressure of those famine years, shaped by scarcity in the way that children are always shaped by the world that meets them before they can understand it.

The Second Marriage

Edna died. The text does not linger on it. Terah took a second wife: Pelilah, the daughter of Mkury. She bore him a son named Zuo. A second family built inside the same conditions, the same barren years, the same ravens arriving before the planting could take hold.

This is the domestic texture that the Torah strips away. Genesis gives Terah a genealogy, the father of Abram, Nahor, and Haran, and then fast-forwards to the departure from Ur. The Book of Jubilees gives him marriages and losses, a first wife and a second wife, a household built over decades in a world being eaten by birds. He was not simply the father of a patriarch. He was a man who buried a wife and remarried and kept his household alive in years when keeping a household alive required daily struggle against forces he could not see or name.

What Abraham Inherited

The world Terah passed on to Abram was the world the famine had shaped. A household that made its living from idols because the land had not provided enough to live on honestly. A father who had learned to be practical about gods, who understood that a carved figure was a product and that people in desperate circumstances would pay for the hope a product represented. A tradition of idol-making that was, at its root, an economic response to famine.

Abram grew up inside this. He was literate, Terah taught him, and he paid attention to what he read and what he saw. And what he saw was a world organized around objects that could not help, sold by a father who had spent his life surviving a catastrophe that the objects had done nothing to prevent. The critique of idolatry that would eventually lead Abram to burn the house down was not an abstract theological position. It was the conclusion of a boy watching his father's livelihood operate in the ruins of a world that Mastema's birds had stripped bare before he was old enough to stand in the fields himself.


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

Book of Jubilees 11:22Book of Jubilees

Them is often remembered as just labels, but sometimes, they carry a whole story within them, a whisper of the past echoing into the present. Take the name Terah, for instance. It But the Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text that retells the stories of Genesis with some… intriguing additions, gives us a reason you might not expect.

A world where even the simple act of planting seeds becomes a battle. That's the picture painted for us in Jubilees 11. Before Terah was even born, his family faced a devastating problem: ravens. Not just a few ravens, but enough to devour the seeds as soon as they were sown.

"Before they could plough in the seed, the ravens picked (it) from the surface of the ground," the verse says. Think about the frustration, the despair! You work the land, you prepare the soil, you plant your future… and then, a flock of birds wipes it all away.

This, according to Jubilees, is why he was named Terah. "And for this reason he called his name Terah, because the ravens and the birds reduced them to destitution and devoured their seed.” The name itself becomes a lament, a constant reminder of hardship and loss. It's a far cry from the triumphant, celebratory names readers often associate with newborns.

The troubles didn't end with the seeds, either. The years became barren, the fruit trees were stripped bare. "And the years began to be barren, owing to the birds, and they devoured all the fruit of the trees from the trees: it was only with great effort that they could save a little of all the fruit of the earth in their days." Talk about a bleak existence!

So, what does it all mean? Is it just a quirky etymological explanation? Perhaps. But it also speaks to the precariousness of life in ancient times. The constant struggle against nature, the ever-present threat of famine, the vulnerability of early agricultural societies.

And in the midst of all this hardship, life goes on. The Book of Jubilees matter-of-factly states: "And in this thirty-ninth jubilee, in the second week in the first year, Terah took to himself a wife, and her name was ’Êdnâ, the daughter of ’Arâm the daughter of his father's sister." Life, even shadowed by ravens and barren fields, finds a way.

Isn't it fascinating how a single name, Terah, can unlock a whole world of stories? It reminds us that even the smallest details can hold profound meaning, and that the past is always present, echoing in the names we carry and the stories we tell. It makes you wonder about the hidden stories behind the names in your own family. What tales of hardship, resilience, and love are waiting to be uncovered?

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Jasher 8Book of Jasher

One fascinating source for these expanded narratives is the Book of Jasher, a work of Jewish folklore and legend. Now, it's important to note that this isn't the Sefer haYashar (סֵפֶר הַיָּשָׁר) mentioned in the Bible itself (Joshua 10:13 and (2 Samuel 1:1)8). Instead, it's a much later work, likely medieval, that draws upon and expands biblical narratives. And Chapter 8 tells a truly captivating tale surrounding the birth of Abraham.

The Book of Jasher recounts that on the very night Abram (later Abraham) was born, a grand feast was held at Terah's house. Terah, as you may know, was Abram's father. But this wasn't just a family affair. The servants of Nimrod, yes, that Nimrod, the mighty hunter and king, were there, along with all of Nimrod's wise men and conjurors! Quite the guest list. They ate, they drank, they rejoiced. But as the night deepened, something extraordinary happened.

As the wise men and conjurors left Terah's house, they looked up at the heavens. And what did they behold? According to the Book of Jasher, a massive star appeared in the east, streaking across the sky. But here's the kicker: it swallowed up four other stars, one from each corner of the heavens! Imagine seeing that!

Understandably, the wise men were astonished. But these weren't just casual stargazers. They were sages, skilled in interpreting celestial signs. They put their heads together and, understood the meaning of this cosmic event. This star, they declared, signified the child born to Terah that very night. This child would grow to be powerful, fruitful, and would possess the entire earth, he and his descendants forever. This child and his offspring would slay great kings and inherit their lands. A pretty weighty prediction, wouldn't you say?

So, what did they do with this earth-shattering prophecy? They knew they couldn't keep it a secret from Nimrod. If the king found out later that they had concealed such a significant omen, they feared severe punishment. So, they went to Nimrod and told him everything. They described the star, its trajectory, and their interpretation: that Terah's newborn son would become a powerful ruler, overthrowing kings and seizing their lands.

Naturally, Nimrod wasn't thrilled. The wise men suggested a preemptive strike: "Give his father value for this child," they urged, "we will slay him before he shall grow up." In other words, buy the baby from Terah and kill him to eliminate the threat.

Nimrod liked the sound of that. He summoned Terah and demanded the child, promising to fill Terah's house with silver and gold in exchange. Talk about a terrible bargain!

But Terah was cunning. He pretended to agree but asked for a moment to share something with the king first, a story to get his advice. He told Nimrod of a man who wanted to trade him silver, gold, straw and animal feed for the king's beautiful, prized horse. Terah then feigned seeking the king's wisdom, asking if he should make the trade.

Nimrod was incensed! "Art thou so silly, ignorant, or deficient in understanding, to do this thing, to give thy beautiful horse for silver and gold or even for straw and provender?" The king's reaction was exactly what Terah was hoping for.

Terah then cleverly turned the king's words back on him: "Like unto this has the king spoken to his servant. what shall I do with silver and gold after the death of my son? who shall inherit me?" Ouch!

Nimrod was furious, but Terah, seeing the king's anger, played his final card. He offered Nimrod anything he wanted, even his son, saying all he had was the king's. He then begged for three days to consider the matter, a request Nimrod granted.

During those three days, Terah concocted a plan. When Nimrod sent for the child, Terah substituted a baby born to one of his servants that very day! Terah brought this child to Nimrod, received the payment, and watched in horror as Nimrod, believing it was Abram, dashed the baby's head against the ground.

The Book of Jasher tells us that "the Lord was with Terah in this matter, that Nimrod might not cause Abram's death." It was, the text says, "the will of Providence" that Abram should live.

After this deception, Terah secretly hid Abram, along with his mother and nurse, in a cave, providing them with monthly provisions. Abram remained hidden for ten years. Nimrod and his advisors believed they had killed the prophesied child, never knowing the truth.

What are we to make of this story? It's a thrilling tale of intrigue, deception, and divine intervention. It highlights the lengths to which people will go to protect their power, and the resourcefulness of those who resist tyranny. It also emphasizes a key theme in Jewish tradition: that God works in mysterious ways, often using human agency to fulfill divine purposes. The Book of Jasher, in this chapter, gives us a glimpse into the anxieties and hopes surrounding the birth of one of the most important figures in Jewish history, and how those anxieties played out in a world filled with magic, prophecy, and political intrigue.

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Book of Jubilees 11:31Book of Jubilees

Let me tell you a story from the Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text that expands on stories from the Torah.

It’s sowing season. The time when farmers scatter seeds, entrusting their future harvest to the earth. Everyone’s out in the fields, working together, but also guarding their precious seeds. Why? Because ravens love to swoop down and snatch them up. And Abram, a mere lad of fourteen years, is right there with them.

The scene: A dark cloud descends – a swarm of ravens, hungry and ready to devour the freshly sown seeds. Disaster looms! But young Abram? He doesn't panic. He runs towards the approaching menace.

Here’s where the story takes a turn that’s pure Jewish folklore. Abram doesn't just wave his arms or shout. He speaks to the ravens. He cries out, "Descend not! Return to the place whence ye came!"

And here’s the kicker: They listen. The ravens turn back.

Can you believe it?

The Book of Jubilees tells us that Abram turned back the clouds of ravens seventy times that day. Seventy times! And not a single raven managed to steal a single seed in the land where Abram stood guard.

What does this story tell us? It's not just about a boy shooing away birds, is it?

It's a glimpse into the unique character of Abraham. Even as a young boy, he possesses an innate authority, a power of speech, a connection to the world around him that transcends the ordinary. He understands that words have power, that intention matters. That even the natural world responds to a righteous heart. We often see Abraham as the patriarch, the founder of a nation, the man who made a covenant with God. But stories like this, from texts like the Book of Jubilees, remind us that even the greatest figures start somewhere. They have moments, even as children, that hint at the extraordinary destiny that awaits them.

This small episode in the field becomes a powerful symbol. It speaks to Abraham's inherent ability to protect, to nurture, and to command respect, not through force, but through the sheer force of his will and the purity of his intention. Perhaps, in those fields long ago, he was already sowing the seeds of faith, the seeds of a legacy that would resonate for millennia.

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Book of Jubilees 12:16Book of Jubilees

Book of Jubilees turns to Terah and the Promised Land.

Can you imagine crafting deities, shaping them with your own hands, knowing they were just stone and wood? Terah did. And his son, Haran, played a crucial, albeit tragic, role in this world.

Jubilees chapter 12 tells a dramatic story. One night, disaster struck. Fire engulfed the house of idols. Panic erupted! In a desperate attempt to save these manufactured gods from the blaze, people rushed in.

"And they arose in the night and sought to save their gods from the midst of the fire."

Among them was Haran. He hastened to rescue these inanimate objects, these symbols of faith for his family. But the fire, a force far more powerful than any idol, had other plans.

"And Haran hasted to save them, but the fire flamed over him, and he was burnt in the fire, and he died in Ur of the Chaldees before Terah his father, and they buried him in Ur of the Chaldees."

A heartbreaking scene, isn’t it? Haran’s devotion, misguided as it was, led to his demise. He perished in the very act of trying to protect these idols, right before his father's eyes.

What a powerful image of the futility of idolatry! The idols couldn't save themselves, let alone Haran.

The story doesn't end there. Following this tragedy, Terah, along with his sons, decided to leave Ur of the Chaldees. "And Terah went forth from Ur of the Chaldees, he and his sons, to go into the land of Lebanon and into the land of Canaan, and he dwelt in the land of Haran." They set out for new lands, eventually settling in a place called Haran – perhaps named in memory of the lost son?

And what about Abraham? "and Abram, dwelt with Terah his father in Haran two weeks of years." the verse says that Abraham, or Abram as he was known then, lived with his father in Haran for "two weeks of years" – which, based on Jubilees' unique calendar system where a "week of years" is seven years, would be fourteen years.

This sets the stage for Abraham’s own journey, his own break from idolatry, and the beginning of a new covenant. It's a reminder that even within families steeped in tradition, individuals can forge their own paths, guided by their own understanding of truth.: what idols do we cling to today, perhaps unknowingly? What are we so busy trying to save that we might be missing the bigger picture? The story of Haran serves as a potent reminder to examine our own allegiances and to consider what truly matters.

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