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What Ishmael Prayed When the Water Ran Out

When Hagar and Ishmael ran out of water in the desert, Hagar turned to the idols of her youth. Ishmael turned to God and asked only to die differently.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. When the Water Ran Out
  2. Ishmael's Prayer for Mercy in Dying
  3. The Well Created at Twilight on the Sixth Day
  4. Why the Angels Argued Over Ishmael
  5. What Happened to Ishmael After

When the Water Ran Out

The water ran out somewhere in the wilderness of Beersheba, and the two of them responded in opposite ways.

Hagar placed Ishmael under an olive tree when he could no longer walk. She walked away a bow's length and sat down facing away from him. She did not want to watch him die. The Torah says she wept (Genesis 21:16). The Book of Jubilees, written in the second century BCE, adds a detail: she prayed. But not to the God of Abraham. She addressed her supplications to the idols of her Egyptian youth. She was her father's daughter, in the end, reaching back to what she had known before the household that had changed her.

Ishmael's Prayer for Mercy in Dying

Ishmael prayed differently.

The Ginzberg tradition preserves his words almost verbatim: O Lord of the world, if it be Your will that I shall perish, let me die in some other way, not by thirst. The tortures of thirst are great beyond all others.

This is not the prayer of someone who expects rescue. It is the prayer of someone who has accepted that he might die and is asking only for mercy in the manner of dying. He has not appealed to his father's merits or to his own righteousness. He has asked for less suffering in the form of death he is accepting.

The tradition reads this as genuine piety. And it is that prayer, not Hagar's weeping, that the angel hears.

The Well Created at Twilight on the Sixth Day

An angel called out to Hagar from above. Why do you weep? The child is not dying. God has heard the voice of the lad where he is. Arise, lift him, hold him by your hand -- for I will make him a great nation.

God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She ran to it, filled the skin, and gave the boy to drink. The Ginzberg tradition adds a detail about this particular well: it was Miriam's well, one of the ten things created on the sixth day of creation at the boundary between the week and the Sabbath, at the edge of regular time. The miraculous objects exist in the world but wait for the moments when they are needed.

Why the Angels Argued Over Ishmael

The Book of Jubilees preserves a difficult detail alongside the rescue: a declaration that Ishmael and his sons and his brothers were not the ones God chose to approach him, that the covenant ran through Israel, not through Ishmael. The Ginzberg tradition records that the angels in heaven argued about whether to save Ishmael at all. Some said: this child's descendants will one day make Israel suffer in the desert. Why should we open a well for him now?

The answer given was precise: judge the person by what he is now, not by what his descendants will do. Ishmael, at this moment, in this desert, is a righteous child. Judge him as he is. The well opened.

What Happened to Ishmael After

Ishmael grew up in the wilderness of Paran. His mother took him a wife from the land of Egypt -- a daughter of her own people, a return to origins. He became an archer, a man who lived in the open. The tradition records that Abraham visited him twice in later years, testing Ishmael's hospitality and finding it first wanting and then generous. The first visit, Ishmael was away and his wife gave Abraham neither food nor drink and spoke to him rudely about her husband. Abraham told her: tell your husband when he comes home to change the threshold of his tent. Ishmael understood the message and divorced her. The second visit, he was home, and the hospitality was what it should have been.

Abraham blessed him. They buried their father together at Machpelah, a fact the tradition reads as significant: whatever separation had occurred between Isaac's line and Ishmael's, at the grave of Abraham they stood side by side.

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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 17:18Book of Jubilees

Hagar knew that feeling intimately.

We find her story, or at least a piece of it, echoed in the Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text that retells and expands upon stories from the Hebrew Bible. This book, considered pseudepigrapha, writings whose authorship is falsely ascribed, offers fascinating details not found in the Torah itself.

Here, we catch up with Hagar after she's been cast out into the wilderness with her son, Ishmael. Can you imagine the fear, the thirst, the sheer desperation?

This teaching paints a vivid picture: "And an angel of God, one of the holy ones, said unto her, 'Why weepest thou, Hagar? Arise, take the child, and hold him in thine hand; for God hath heard thy voice, and hath seen the child.'"

It's a powerful moment. An angel, a messenger from the Divine, appears precisely when hope seems lost. The question, "Why weepest thou?" isn't accusatory, but rather an invitation to see beyond the immediate despair. It’s a reminder that even in the bleakest moments, God is present, listening.

And then comes the miracle: "And she opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water.." Just like that, salvation appears. It was there all along, perhaps, but she couldn't see it through her tears. She fills her bottle, gives her child water, and they are saved.

"and she arose and went towards the wilderness of Paran. And the child grew and became an archer, and God was with him.."

What a beautiful, understated line. "God was with him." Even in exile, even in the wilderness, Divine presence endures. Ishmael grows, thrives, and becomes skilled. He's not forgotten, not abandoned.

The narrative continues: "and his mother took him a wife from among the daughters of Egypt. And she bare him a son, and he called his name Nebaioth; for she said, 'The Lord was nigh to me when I called upon him.'"

Nebaioth, a new generation, a evidence of survival and faith. Hagar recognizes the Divine hand in their lives. “The Lord was nigh to me when I called upon him.” It’s a simple, profound statement of gratitude and acknowledgment. She called out, and she was heard.

Hagar's story, as told in the Book of Jubilees, is more than just a tale of survival. It's a reminder that even when we feel lost and alone, Divine presence can be found, sometimes in the most unexpected places – if only we open our eyes to see it. It's a comforting thought, isn't it?

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Book of Jubilees 17:14Book of Jubilees

Abraham is often remembered as this towering figure of faith, but the Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text from the Second Temple period, gives us a stark look at the consequences of his actions on those around him.

Abraham, early one morning, sends Hagar, his concubine, and his son Ishmael, into the wilderness. He gives them bread and a bottle of water, placing it all on Hagar's shoulders. Then…he sends them away. Just like that. The Book of Jubilees 17 tells us she "departed and wandered in the wilderness of Beersheba."

The water runs out. The child, Ishmael, is dying of thirst. He can't go on. He collapses.

Can you feel the desperation?

Hagar, a mother watching her child suffer, does the only thing she can think of. She lays him under an olive tree. Then, she walks away. Not far, mind you. Just a bow-shot's distance. Why? Because she can't bear to watch him die. “Let me not see the death of my child,” she cries, as she sits and weeps.

It’s a scene of utter desolation. A bow-shot. That’s how close she is to her son’s suffering, yet feels utterly powerless to stop it. This small distance becomes a vast chasm of despair.

The Book of Jubilees doesn’t offer a lot of commentary here. It simply lays bare the stark reality of their situation. It's a raw, unflinching look at the human cost of decisions made, even by those considered righteous.

What are we to make of this? Is this a story of abandonment? Of faith tested to its breaking point? Or is it a reminder that even in our darkest moments, hope, however faint, can still flicker? Perhaps it's all of these things, woven together in a tradition of human experience that continues to resonate with us today. A reminder that even in the wilderness, we are not always alone. And even a bow-shot distance can be bridged.

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Legends of the Jews 5:199Legends of the Jews

Their water is gone. Facing death by dehydration, Ishmael turns to God, pleading, "O Lord of the world! If it be Thy will that I shall perish, then let me die in some other way, not by thirst, for the tortures of thirst are great beyond all others."

It's a poignant moment, isn't it? A child confronting his mortality, begging for a different kind of end. And what about Hagar? The story tells us she didn't pray to God. Instead, she called upon the idols of her youth.

Ginzberg, in his masterful Legends of the Jews, doesn’t shy away from showing us the complexities of faith. In this moment of crisis, we see two very different responses to the same dire situation.

What happened next is nothing short of miraculous. Ishmael's prayer, the story says, was heard. God commanded Miriam's well to spring forth. Now, Miriam's well is no ordinary well. It was created in the twilight of the sixth day of creation, a source of life itself! According to tradition, this well followed the Israelites during their 40 years of wandering in the desert.

But here's where it gets even more interesting. Even after this incredible miracle, Hagar's faith remained… unchanged. She immediately filled the bottle with water, driven by fear that the well might vanish as quickly as it appeared. It’s a very human reaction, perhaps, but also a telling one.

Then, Hagar journeyed to Egypt with her son. There's a proverb attached to this part of the tale: "Throw the stick into the air as thou wilt, it will always land on its point." What does it mean? Well, Hagar was Egyptian, and to Egypt she returned, seeking a wife for Ishmael. There's a sense of inevitability here, a pull back to one's origins.

This small story, tucked within the larger narrative, offers a glimpse into faith, fear, and the enduring power of origins. It makes you wonder: What do we do when faced with the miraculous? Do we embrace it fully, or do we cling to our fears and familiar patterns? And how much are we shaped by where we come from?

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Book of Jubilees 15:36Book of Jubilees

There’s this fascinating ancient text, the Book of Jubilees, a work that retells the stories of Genesis and Exodus but with a very particular slant. It’s not part of the Hebrew Bible as we know it, but it offers incredible insights into how certain Jewish communities understood their relationship with God, with other nations, and with the divine realm.

In Chapter 15, we find a rather stark declaration: "For Ishmael and his sons and his brothers and Esau, the Lord did not cause to approach Him, and he chose them not.."

Ouch.

It continues, "...because they are the children of Abraham, because He knew them, but He chose Israel to be His people. And He sanctified it, and gathered it from amongst all the children of men.”

So, what’s going on here? Is this some kind of divine favoritism? Is God playing favorites?

Well, let's dig a little deeper. The Book of Jubilees isn’t suggesting that God doesn't care for other nations. Quite the opposite! It acknowledges that "there are many nations and many peoples, and all are His." But here's the kicker: "...and over all hath He placed spirits in authority to lead them astray from Him.”

Wait a minute. Angels leading people astray? It sounds wild. The idea here is that God delegates authority over the nations to various spiritual beings – angels, spirits, call them what you will. These beings, for whatever reason, might lead those nations away from a direct relationship with God. Think of it as different paths up the same mountain, perhaps, some more direct than others.

But what about Israel? This is where Jubilees throws us another curveball. "But over Israel He did not appoint any angel or spirit, for He alone is their ruler." No intermediaries. No delegated authority. Just God, directly guiding and watching over Israel. This is a pretty radical idea. God, in this view, takes a particularly hands-on role with the Jewish people. The text continues, stating He will "preserve them and require them at the hand of His angels and His spirits, and at the hand of all His powers in order.”

It’s a powerful statement about divine providence and a very specific understanding of the covenant between God and the Jewish people. It suggests a direct, unbroken connection. A unique responsibility, and a unique level of divine attention.

What does it mean for us today? Well, you could read it as a statement of chosenness, of special status. But maybe it’s more about responsibility. If God is directly involved in your life, guiding you without intermediaries, then you have a greater responsibility to live up to that connection, to act in a way that honors that divine attention.

It's a concept that invites introspection. Are we living up to our potential? Are we striving to connect with the Divine in a meaningful way? Perhaps the Book of Jubilees, with its ancient words, is still challenging us to consider the nature of our relationship with God, and the responsibilities that come with it.

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Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 21:16Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

The moment of turning is never where you expect it. In Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on (Genesis 21:16), the Aramaic paraphrase inserts a single gesture that changes the story's spiritual geography: Hagar cast away the idol. Only then does she weep.

The Hebrew says she sat a bowshot from her son and lifted her voice. The Targum of Pseudo-Jonathan adds what her hands did first. She drops the figure of pulchana nukhraya, the strange worship she had carried out of Egypt. The Aramaic is specific. She cannot cry to heaven while still holding another god.

The distance is measured, as the distance of an arrow from the bow, because she cannot bear to watch the child die. She sits opposite him, and the tears come. I am not able to see the death of the child.

This verse is the pivot. In the previous Targum, her prayer went unanswered. Here, she removes the obstacle. In the next verse, heaven will hear. The Aramaic has staged a miniature teshuvah.

The Maggidim drew the lesson without softening it: repentance begins with the hand, not the mouth. The takeaway: cast away what you have been holding. Only then will your crying carry.

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Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 94:5Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

Another interpretation of "as far as a bowshot" (Genesis 21:16): the distance of two bowshots is a mil. Rabbi Berechiah said: it means she was flinging words [matachat] against her Creator. She said: Yesterday You told me, "I will greatly multiply your offspring," and now he is dying of thirst! This is the meaning of what is written, "You have counted my wanderings; put my tears in Your bottle; are they not in Your record?" (Psalms 56:9). Like that woman with the bottle: "Are they not in Your record?" Just as it is written in Your book, "Be not deaf to my tears" (Psalms 39:13). To Hagar's tears You were not deaf; will You then be deaf to mine?

And should you say it was because she was a convert that she was beloved, I too am one, as it says, "For I am a stranger with You, a sojourner like all my fathers" (Psalms 39:13). "And an angel of God called to Hagar" (Genesis 21:17): through the merit of Abraham. "Where he is" (Genesis 21:17): through his own merit. The prayer of the sick person for himself is better than the prayer of others on his behalf.

The ministering angels sprang forward to accuse him. They said before Him: Master of the universe, a man whose descendants are destined to kill Your children with thirst, will You raise up a well for him? He said to them: What is he now, righteous or wicked? They said to Him: Righteous. He said to them: I judge a person only according to his present hour.

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Bereshit Rabbah 53:14Bereshit Rabbah

Even King David, the sweet singer of Israel, felt that way sometimes. And the ancient rabbis grappled with this very question too.

In Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic homilies on the Book of Genesis, we find a powerful passage (Bereshit Rabbah 53, to be exact) that uses the story of Hagar and her son Ishmael to explore this idea. You remember Hagar. Sarah’s maidservant, who was sent away into the desert with her son.

The verse in (Psalms 56:9) says, "You have taken account of my wandering. Put my tears in Your flask [nodekha]." The Rabbis connect this to Hagar, suggesting that God accepts our tears just as He did hers. Nodekha, that little flask for tears. what a potent image of God's attentiveness.

Then comes the kicker. David, in (Psalms 39:13), cries out, "Hear my prayer, Lord, and heed my cry; do not be silent at my tears!" He’s basically saying, "Wait a minute! You listened to Hagar, a stranger, but you’re silent to me? I'm also a stranger with You, a sojourner, like all my fathers!" It's a raw, vulnerable moment of questioning.

The text goes on, "God heard the voice of the lad; the angel of God called to Hagar from the heavens, and said to her: What is it with you, Hagar? Fear not, as God has heard the voice of the lad, as he is there" (Genesis 21:17).

Here, the Rabbis offer a fascinating interpretation. The angel's call to Hagar was "due to the merit of Abraham," but the fact that God heard Ishmael was "due to his own merit; the prayer of an ill person himself is superior to all others." So, even though Abraham's righteousness played a role, Ishmael's own plea, his raw need in that moment, carried immense weight.

But hold on, it gets even more complex! Rabbi Simon adds a layer of divine drama. He says the angels themselves questioned God. "Master of the universe," they argued, "a person who is destined to kill your children by thirst, will You produce a spring for him?" (referencing the future exiles at the hand of the Babylonians – see Eikha Rabba 2:4).

God's response? "What is he right now, righteous or wicked?" He judges each person in their present moment. "Rise, lift the boy," God commands (Genesis 21:18).

Then, "God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went and filled the skin with water, and gave the lad to drink" (Genesis 21:19).

Rabbi Binyamin offers a powerful insight: "Everyone has the presumptive status of being blind until the Holy One blessed be He opens their eyes." In other words, we don't truly see until God allows us to see. (This is derived from the verse "God opened her eyes.")

But even with this miracle, the passage ends with a touch of human frailty. "She went and filled the skin with water – this teaches that she was lacking in faith." She didn't fully trust that God would continue to provide.

So, what does it all mean? What are we supposed to take away from this interplay of text and interpretation?

Perhaps it’s this: Our prayers, even when tinged with doubt and questioning, are heard. God sees us in our present moment. And sometimes, we need our eyes opened to the blessings already present in our lives. Even when we lack faith, even when the future seems uncertain, there is always the possibility of a wellspring appearing, a lifeline thrown, a moment of grace. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to keep us going.

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