I have been spending a lot of my time reading and re-reading the text of Genesis 12-25 as I work on writing my master’s thesis. In the project, I am exploring the family of Abraham, and the many systems within the narrative that create conflict between the characters. As part of my analysis, I have written some midrash for each of the key characters, based on the research I have done and the pieces of the text I want to pull to the forefront. This first story is from the perspective of Lot, Abraham’s nephew.

---

My uncle Abram has been good to me, but I can’t continue to live in his household. Though he was obligated to take me in when my father died, he didn’t have to be kind to me. Yet he was. He gave me everything. I was his chosen heir, since he had no son of his own.

            But I always knew that I wasn’t enough for him. Every year that his wife, my aunt Sarai, grew older, every year that she did not produce a child of his own body for him—I saw how it weighed on him. He only wanted me because I was the next best thing. He would not have chosen me at all if it were up to him.

            I knew this from the time we left Ur, and I knew this when we left Haran. I even knew this about him when we went from Canaan down to Egypt because of the famine. I knew that in his heart, he only took me with him to secure his legacy. He was a rich man, and he was concerned about the future of his name. He was obsessed with that promise that YHWH had made with him. When he looked at me, I knew that he did not want the descendants to come through me. For I am Nahor’s son, not Abram’s. He knew this, though he never said so aloud.

            Your great-uncle Abram was a trickster, my girls, and when we went down to Egypt, he played a trick on all of us. He said he was afraid for his life because of your great-aunt’s beauty. He told a lie, that wasn’t really a lie, to save himself. “Tell them you’re my sister,” he said to my aunt. “Tell them that you’re my sister, so I will be spared.” Girls, you must understand, my aunt was a beautiful woman, but there was no indication that my uncle’s life would have been forfeit because of her. But he told this lie anyway, because it was partially the truth. Yes, it is true, girls. Your great-grandfather Terah was the father of them both. You may sneer, but this is how things are done in our family. One day, you will understand.

            So Abram sold Sarai into Pharaoh’s house, because he was afraid. I have no doubt he was afraid, but I don’t think he was afraid for his life. I think he was afraid that if Sarai remained his wife, that he would die without a child of his own body. He tried to be rid of her, which means he tried to disown me.

            Don’t look so shocked. Doesn’t it make the most sense? You girls do not know uncle Abram, and his obsession with the things YHWH has spoken.

            He tried to disown me, right before my very eyes, by giving away his wife. And so, when we left Egypt, with all the sheep, donkeys, goats, cattle, servants and slaves in tow, taking Sarai with us away from the house that had been struck with plague on account of her mistreatment, I decided I would disown him before he could disown me. Sarai was barren, and she was old. What would happen if she died, and he took another wife, who was not barren? I stewed over this thought, raging over it so that my anger spilled out of me, infecting my herders, who in turn fought with uncle Abram’s herders. He knew I was unhappy, that I had been unhappy since we went into Egypt, and so he came to me to settle the dispute.

            “Let us separate,” he said, “If you want. We are kinsmen, we should not quarrel.” But all I heard was “go.” So I went, and I took my flocks and my herders and I came here to Sodom, where the people do not listen to Abram’s god. Abram thinks his god has chosen him over everyone else on earth, and it shows in the way he treats others.