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Terah Was Born Into a World the Ravens Were Eating

The seed never made it under the soil. Ravens took it off the surface the year Terah was born, until the fields went hollow.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Mastema Kept a Tenth
  2. A Boy Born Into Hollow Fields
  3. Abram Ran Toward the Cloud
  4. The First Full Harvest

The seed never made it under the soil. Ravens took it off the surface, grain by grain, the year Terah was born. Not a few birds at the edges of fields. A cleaning. They came down on the sown ground before the plough could bury anything, and they left the furrows bare.

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People ate what they had stored and planted again. The ravens came back. They planted a third time. The birds came back again. Fruit was stripped before it could ripen. What little grain survived was scratched out of the earth with a whole day's work for a handful. The generation that received Terah was starving slowly, year by year, in a land that should have been able to feed them.

Mastema Kept a Tenth

After the flood, God bound the spirits who had corrupted the world before the waters came. Mastema (משטמה), hostility, chief of those spirits, came forward with a bargain.

"Leave some of them before me," he said. "Let them listen to my voice. Without them I cannot execute the power of my will on the sons of men." He wanted agents. He wanted the capacity to lead astray, to corrupt, to test. Great, he said, is the wickedness of the sons of men. He claimed he needed a workforce to match it.

God agreed, and did not agree all the way. Nine-tenths of the spirits were bound in the place of condemnation. One-tenth remained, active in the world, answerable to Mastema. That was the arrangement that governed the years of Terah's birth. The ravens were his permitted instruments. The famine they made was the exercise of a legal tenth under the post-flood decree.

Prince Mastema sent the birds to devour the seed that had been sown, to destroy the land and rob human beings of their work. A hungry people is easier to bend. A hungry line is easier to thin before it can produce the son who will leave Ur.

A Boy Born Into Hollow Fields

Terah grew up in that hollow world. His fathers had taught the researches of the Chaldees: how to read the sky, how to take omens, how to treat the heavens as a chart a man might outguess. In Ur the idol trade ran beside the empty granaries. Desperate people paid for any object that promised to mediate between their prayers and a sky that would not feed them.

Terah learned the business. He learned to carve the figures and set the prices. He learned to treat the gods as merchandise in a market that never went satisfied. The ravens kept coming. The seed kept dying on the surface. A man can grow used to hunger the way he grows used to a crooked beam in a roof. He stops looking up.

He took a wife from the Chaldees. The household waited on harvests that did not come. Into that house a son would be born who would not learn to stop looking up.

Abram Ran Toward the Cloud

When Abram was fourteen, sowing season came again. Everyone went out to the fields, working together, and also guarding. A dark cloud of ravens came down, hungry, ready to take the seed off the dirt before the earth could close over it.

The boy did not wait for nets. He ran toward the cloud.

He did not wave his arms only. He spoke. "Do not come down. Return to the place you came from."

The ravens turned back.

He turned them back seventy times that day. Seventy. Not a single bird stole a single seed in the land where Abram stood guard. No net. No trap. The boy who would later refuse his father's gods and leave the Chaldean sky-reading stood in a field Mastema had been stripping for years, told the birds to go, and they went.

The First Full Harvest

That year the earth produced. The fields yielded what they were supposed to yield. The family harvested enough to eat and enough to store. It was the first full harvest in years, and it happened because a fourteen-year-old refused to let the permitted tenth finish its work.

Abram did more than shout. He taught the people a plough that covered the seed as it went, so the surface no longer offered a free meal to every black wing. Speech first. Then a tool. The birds lost their legal snack. Mastema's tenth was still in the world. It did not get that field.

Terah had been born into a world the ravens were eating. His son, still a boy, took the field back by mouth and by wood. The famine that had named those years did not get to name the line that would walk out of Ur toward a God the Chaldean charts had never held.

Mastema kept his tenth. Abram kept the seed under the soil. The next planting went in covered, and the ravens found dirt where grain had been.

TerahMastemaRavensJubileesAbramChaldeesFamineDemons
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From the tradition

Sources

3 sources

The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Book of Jubilees 10:14Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

Here, we get a glimpse into a celestial negotiation, a cosmic bargain struck about the fate of humanity. It's a negotiation that hinges on a character you might not know so well: Mastêmâ.

Who is Mastêmâ? He's described as the "chief of the spirits," and in this passage from Jubilees 10, he approaches the Creator with a request. It’s not exactly a humble request, either. He essentially asks for a workforce, a retinue of spirits to carry out his will.

Why?

The Mastêmâ says these spirits are essential. He argues that without them, he won't be able to "execute the power of my will on the sons of men." In other words, he needs these spirits to tempt, to corrupt, and to lead humanity astray. He claims "these are for corruption and leading astray before my judgment, for great is the wickedness of the sons of men. The text implies a cosmic system where temptation, the yetzer hara (the "evil inclination"), is not just a random occurrence but an active force, managed and deployed. What are we to make of it?

So, what's the divine response? Does God grant Mastêmâ’s wish completely?

No. There's a compromise. God decrees that only a tenth of the spirits will remain with Mastêmâ, while the other nine-tenths are cast down "into the place of condemnation. A celestial bureaucracy, haggling over percentages of demonic influence.

But even with only a tenth, Mastêmâ still has power. He still has the ability to influence humanity. It raises some serious questions. Does this absolve us of responsibility for our actions? Are we merely puppets dancing to the tune of demonic influence? Jewish tradition generally argues against that. We are endowed with free will, the ability to choose good over evil, even when the whispers of temptation are loud.

Perhaps the story of Mastêmâ and the spirits is not meant to be taken literally. Perhaps it's a metaphor for the internal struggles we all face, the constant battle between our higher and lower selves. Maybe the "spirits" are simply the negative thoughts and impulses that we must learn to control.

Whatever the interpretation, this passage from the Book of Jubilees offers a powerful glimpse into the complex and often unsettling world of Jewish angelology and demonology. And it's a battle that, ultimately, we have the power to win.

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Book of Jubilees 11:17Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

Book of Jubilees turns to Terah and the Heavenly Realms.

So, what does Jubilees tell us about Terah?

Jubilees 11 tells us that Terah's father, whose name is not mentioned here, taught him the "researches of the Chaldees." What does that mean? It means he taught him divination and augury, reading the signs in the heavens. In other words, astrology and other forms of predicting the future were part of his upbringing. It was a world steeped in what we might call pagan practices.

A world where people looked to the stars for guidance, trying to decipher the will of the divine through celestial patterns.

The text goes on to tell us that in the thirty-seventh jubilee (Jubilees divides time into these 49-year periods), in the sixth week, in the first year of that week, Terah took a wife. Her name was ’Îjâskâ, the daughter of Nêstâg of the Chaldees. And seven years later, she bore him Terah. So, we even get a little family genealogy!

But here's where things get even more interesting. The Book of Jubilees doesn’t just give us family history. It also offers a glimpse into the spiritual battles that were supposedly raging at the time. That Prince Mastêmâ – we might think of him as a kind of chief of the evil spirits – sent ravens and birds to devour the seed that had been sown in the land. His goal? To destroy the land and rob humanity of their hard work.

Why? What’s Mastêmâ’s motivation? Perhaps it's simply to sow chaos and prevent prosperity. Or maybe it’s a more targeted attack, an attempt to prevent the birth of someone significant. After all, Terah is the father of Abraham, a pivotal figure in the history of monotheism. Could this be an attempt to thwart God's plan?

The Book of Jubilees paints a picture of a world constantly under threat, where even the simple act of sowing seeds is a battle against cosmic forces. It adds a layer of drama and intrigue to the familiar story of Abraham's origins.

What does this all mean for us? Abraham didn’t emerge from a vacuum. He was the son of Terah, who was raised in a world of astrology and spiritual conflict. It emphasizes the idea that transformation is possible, that people can rise above their circumstances and choose a different path. And perhaps, it also serves as a reminder to be mindful of the seeds we are sowing, both literally and figuratively, and the forces that may try to thwart our efforts.

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Book of Jubilees 11:31Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

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.

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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