The great bear

A grieving woman sought refuge with bears disguised as humans. One bear warned her not to reveal their secret to protect its cubs. Returning home, she betrayed them, prompting men to attack. To spare its cubs from capture, the bear killed them, then sought revenge, killing the woman. The bear and attacking dogs ascended to the sky, forming the constellation Qilugtussat, symbolizing caution towards bears.

Source: 
Eskimo Folk-Tales 
collected by Knud Rasmussen 
[Copenhagen, Christiania], 1921


► Themes of the story

Transformation: The bears in the story possess the ability to take on human form, highlighting themes of physical transformation and the fluidity between human and animal identities.

Prophecy and Fate: The woman’s betrayal and the subsequent celestial transformation suggest an inevitable sequence of events shaped by destiny.

Supernatural Beings: The narrative features bears with human characteristics and the celestial transformation into the constellation Qilugtussat, emphasizing the presence of supernatural elements and the connection between earthly events and the cosmos.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Inuit peoples


A woman ran away from her home because her child had died. On her way she came to a house. In the passage way there lay skins of bears. And she went in. And now it was revealed that the people who lived in there were bears in human form.

Yet for all that she stayed with them. One big bear used to go out hunting to find food for them. It would put on its skin, and go out, and stay away for a long time, and always return with some catch or other. But one day the woman who had run away began to feel homesick, and greatly desired to see her kin.

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And then the bear spoke to her thus: “Do not speak of us when you return to men,” it said. For it was afraid lest its two cubs should be killed by the men.

Then the woman went home, and there she felt a great desire to tell what she had seen. And one day, as she sat with her husband in the house, she said to him: “I have seen bears.”

And now many sledges drove out, and when the bear saw them coming towards its house, it felt so sorry for its cubs that it bit them to death, that they might not fall into the hands of men.

But then it dashed out to find the woman who had betrayed it, and broke into her house and bit her to death. But when it came out, the dogs closed round it and fell upon it. The bear struck out at them, but suddenly all of them became wonderfully bright, and rose up to the sky in the form of stars.

And it is these which we call Qilugtussat, the stars which look like barking dogs about a bear.

Since then, men have learned to beware of bears, for they hear what men say.


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The Robber and the Two Pilgrims

A story unfolds around two robbers, one married, the other a lone thief. When the married one’s daughter is born, she’s given to the single robber, who raises her. A mystical bird warns her against opening the door to a prince’s pursuit. Through layered tales of betrayal, justice, and tragedy, the narrative weaves fate, loyalty, and peril, culminating in feasts, wisdom, and the inevitability of choices.

Source
Moorish Literature
   romantic ballads, tales of the Berbers,
   stories of the Kabyles, folk-lore,
   and national traditions
The Colonial Press,
   London, New York, 1901


► Themes of the story

Love and Betrayal: Elements of romantic relationships and betrayal are evident, especially concerning the woman and the prince.

Prophecy and Fate: The mystical bird’s warnings and the unfolding events suggest themes of destiny and foretold outcomes.

Forbidden Knowledge: The story touches on the pursuit of hidden truths, as seen in the prince’s quest to uncover the identity of the woman.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Berber peoples


Translated by J. Rivière
and Chauncey C. Starkweather

Two robbers spent their time in robbing. One of them got married, and the other continued his trade. They were a long time without seeing each other. Finally the one who was not married went to visit his friend, and said to him:

“If your wife has a daughter, you must give her to me.”

“I will give her to you seven days after her birth.”

The daughter was born, and the robber took her to bring up in the country. He built a house, bought flocks, and tended them himself. One day some pilgrims came to the house. He killed a cow for them and entertained them.

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The next day he accompanied them on their pilgrimage. The pilgrims said to him:

“If you come with us, two birds will remain with your wife.”

The woman stayed in the country. One day the son of the Sultan came that way to hunt. One of the birds saw him and said to the woman, “Don’t open the door.” The prince heard the bird speak, and returned to the palace without saying a word. An old woman was called to cast spells over him, and said to the King:

“He could not see a woman he has never seen.”

The prince spoke and said to her: “If you will come with me, I will bring her here.” They arrived.

The old dame called the young woman, “Come out, that we may see you.”

She said to the bird, “I am going to open the door.”

The bird answered: “If you open the door you will meet the same fate as Si El-Ahcen. He was reading with many others in the mosque. One day he found an amulet. His betrothed went no longer to school, and as she was old enough he married her. Some days after he said to his father, ‘Watch over my wife.’ ‘Fear nothing,’ answered the father.

“He started, and came back. ‘Watch over my wife,’ he said to his father again. ‘Fear nothing,’ repeated his father. The latter went to the market. On his return he said to his daughter-in-law, ‘There were very beautiful women in the market,’ ‘I surpass them all in beauty,’ said the woman; ‘take me to the market.’

“A man offered 1,000 francs for her. The father-in-law refused, and said to her: ‘Sit down on the mat. The one that covers you with silver may have you,’ A man advanced. ‘If you want to marry her,’ said her father-in-law, ‘cover her with silver, and she will be your wife.’

“Soon Si El-Ahcen returned from his journey and asked if his wife were still living. ‘Your wife is dead,’ said his father; ‘she fell from her mule,’ Si El-Ahcen threw himself on the ground. They tried to lift him up. It was useless trouble. He remained stretched on the earth.

“One day a merchant came to the village and said to him, ‘The Sultan married your wife,’ She had said to the merchant, ‘The day that you leave I will give you a message,’ She wrote a letter to her husband, and promised the bearer a flock of sheep if he would deliver it.

“Si El-Ahcen received the letter, read it, was cured, ran to the house, and said to his father: ‘My wife has married again in my absence; she is not dead. I brought home much money. I will take it again.’

“He took his money and went to the city where his wife lived. He stopped at the gates. To the first passer-by he gave five francs, to the second five more.

“‘What do you want, O stranger?’ they asked. ‘If you want to see the Sultan we will take you to him,’ They presented him to the Sultan.

“‘Render justice to this man,’ ‘What does he want?’ ‘My lord,’ answered Sidi El-Ahcen, ‘the woman you married is my wife,’ ‘Kill him!’ cried the Sultan. ‘No,’ said the witnesses, ‘let him have justice,’

“‘Let him tell me if she carries an object,’ Si El-Ahcen answered: ‘This woman was betrothed to me before her birth. An amulet is hidden in her hair,’ He took away his wife, returned to the village, and gave a feast.

“If you open the door,” continued the bird, “you will have the same fate as Fatima-ou-Lmelh. Hamed-ou-Lmelh married her. Fatima said to her father-in-law, ‘Take me to my uncle’s house,’ Arriving there she married another husband. Hamed-ou-Lmelh was told of this, and ran to find her. At the moment he arrived he found the wedding over and the bride about to depart for the house of her new husband. Then Hamed burst into the room and cast himself out of the window. Fatima did the same, and they were both killed.

“The intended father-in-law and his family returned to their house, and were asked the cause of the misfortune. ‘The woman was the cause,’ they answered.

“Nevertheless, the father of Hamed-ou-Lmelh went to the parents of Fatima and said: ‘Pay us for the loss of our son. Pay us for the loss of Fatima.’

“They could not agree, and went before the justice. Passing by the village where the two spouses had died they met an old man, and said, ‘Settle our dispute,’ ‘I cannot,’ answered the old man. Farther on they met a sheep, which was butting a rock. ‘Settle our dispute,’ they said to the sheep. ‘I cannot,’ answered the sheep. Farther on they met a serpent. ‘Settle our dispute,’ they said to him. ‘I cannot,’ answered the serpent. They met a river. ‘Settle our dispute,’ they said to it. ‘I cannot,’ answered the river. They met a jackal. ‘Settle our dispute,’ they said to him. ‘Go to the village where your children died,’ answered the jackal. They went back to the village, and applied to the Sultan, who had them all killed.”

The bird stopped speaking, the pilgrims returned. The old woman saw them and fled. The robber prepared a feast for the pilgrims.


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Salomon and the Griffin

King Salomon foretells the union of a boy and girl from separate kingdoms, despite a griffin’s vow to prevent it. The griffin isolates the girl, but fate guides the prince to her. Following her cunning plan, they trick the griffin into reuniting them at Salomon’s house. Salomon proclaims their destined union, shaming the griffin into exile. Divine will triumphs over resistance.

Source
Moorish Literature
   romantic ballads, tales of the Berbers,
   stories of the Kabyles, folk-lore,
   and national traditions
The Colonial Press,
   London, New York, 1901


► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The narrative is driven by King Salomon’s prophecy about the destined union.

Trickster: The young girl devises a clever plan to deceive the griffin and achieve her goal.

Forbidden Quest: The couple’s journey to unite is fraught with obstacles imposed by the griffin, making their union a challenging endeavor.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Berber peoples


Translated by Réne Basset
and Chauncey C. Starkweather

Our Lord Salomon was talking one day with the genii. He said to them: “There is born a girl at Dabersa and a boy at Djaberka. This boy and this girl shall meet,” he added. The griffin said to the genii: “In spite of the will of the divine power, I shall never let them meet each other.” The son of the King of Djaberka came to Salomon’s house, but hardly had he arrived when he fell ill; then the griffin carried away the daughter of the King of Djaberka and put her upon a big tree at the shore of the sea. The wind impelled the prince, who had embarked. He said to his companions, “Put me ashore.” He went under the big tree and fell asleep. The young girl threw leaves at him. He opened his eyes, and she said to him: “Beside the griffin, I am alone here with my mother. Where do you come from?”

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“From Djaberka.”

“Why,” she continued, “has God created any human beings except myself, my mother, and our Lord Salomon?”

He answered her, “God has created all kinds of human beings and countries.”

“Go,” she said, “bring a horse and kill it. Bring also some camphor to dry the skin, which you will hang on the top of the mast.” The griffin came, and she began to cry, saying, “Why don’t you conduct me to the house of our Lord Salomon?”

“To-morrow I will take you.”

She said to the son of the King, “Go hide inside the horse.” He hid there.

The next day the griffin took away the carcass of the horse, and the young girl departed also. When they arrived at the house of our Lord Salomon, the latter said to the griffin, “I told you that the young girl and the young man should be united.”

Full of shame the griffin immediately fled and took refuge in an island.


Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page

King Alexander’s Adventures

Alexander the Great, prophesied as a mighty conqueror, achieved legendary feats, including taming a rebellious horse, quelling uprisings, and dominating known lands by age 33. He treated the Jews with respect, heeding their counsel and granting religious freedoms. His ambitious exploits took him to mythical lands, encounters with Amazons, and the River of Life. Despite divine warnings, his hubris led to his death upon entering Babylon, sealing his legacy.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919


► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: Alexander’s life is influenced by prophecies predicting his future conquests and encounters.

Quest: His ambition to conquer the known world leads him on extensive military campaigns.

Conflict with Authority: Alexander challenges existing rulers and empires, asserting his dominance over established authorities.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology


I. THE VISION OF VICTORY

More than two thousand years ago there lived a king in the land of Macedon who was a great conqueror, and when his son, Alexander, was born, the soothsayers and the priestesses of the temples predicted that he would be a greater warrior than his father. Alexander was a wonderful boy, and his father, King Philip, was very proud of him when he tamed a spirited horse which nobody else could manage.

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The wisest philosophers of the day were Alexander’s teachers, and when he was only sixteen years of age, Philip left him in charge of the country when he went to subdue Byzantium. Alexander was only twenty when he ascended the throne, but before then he had suppressed a rebellion and had proved himself possessed of exceptional daring and courage.

“I shall conquer the whole world,” he said, and although he only reigned thirteen years and died at the age of thirty-three, he accomplished his ambition. All the countries which were then known had to acknowledge his supremacy.

King Alexander was a drunkard and very cruel, but he treated the Jews kindly. When they heard he had been victorious over Darius, king of Persia, who was their ruler, and that he was marching on Jerusalem, they became seriously alarmed. Jadua, the high priest, however, counseled the people to welcome Alexander with great ceremony.

All the priests and the Levites donned their most gorgeous robes, the populace put on their holiday garb, and the streets of the city were gaily decorated with many colored banners and garlands of flowers. The night before Alexander arrived at the head of his army, a long procession was formed of the priests, the Levites, and the elders of the city, each carrying a lighted torch. At the gates of the city they awaited the approach of the mighty warrior.

In the early morning, before the sun had risen, Alexander made his appearance and was astonished at the magnificent spectacle which met his gaze. At the head of the procession stood the high priest in his shining white robes, with the jewels of the ephod glittering on his breast. To the surprise of his generals, Alexander descended from his horse and bowed low before the high priest.

“Like unto an angel dost thou appear to me,” he said.

“Let thy coming bring peace,” replied Jadua.

Parmenio, the chief of Alexander’s generals, had promised the soldiers rich store of plunder in Jerusalem, and he approached the king and said:

“Wherefore do you honor this priest of the Jews above all men?”

“I will tell thee,” answered Alexander. “In dreams have I often seen this dignified priest. Ever he bade me be of good courage and always did he predict victory for me. Shall I not then pay homage to my guardian angel?”

Turning to the priest, he said, “Lead me to your Temple that I may offer up thanksgiving to the God of my guardian angel.”

It was now daylight, and the priests walked in procession before King Alexander past cheering multitudes of people. At the Temple the king removed his sandals, but the priests gave him a pair of jeweled slippers, fearing that he might slip on the pavement. The king was pleased with all that he saw and desired that a statue of himself, or a portrait, should be placed in the holy building.

“That may not be,” replied the high priest, “but in honor of thy visit all the boys born in Jerusalem this year shall be named Alexander.”

“It is well,” said the king, much pleased; “ask of me what you will, and if it be in my power I shall grant it.”

“Mighty monarch,” said Jadua, “we desire naught but to be permitted to serve our God according to our laws. Permit us to practice our religious observances free and unhindered. Grant also this privilege to the Jews who dwell in all thy dominions, and we shall ever pray for thy long life and triumph.”

“It is but little that ye ask,” replied the king, “and that little is easily granted.”

The people cheered loudly when they heard the good news, and many Jews enrolled themselves in the army.

Alexander stayed some time in Jerusalem, and messengers arrived from Canaan to ask him to compel the Jews to restore them their land.

“It is written in the Books of Moses,” they said, “that Canaan and its boundaries belong to the Canaanites.”

Gebiah, a hunchback, undertook to answer.

“It is also written in the Books of Moses,” he said, “‘Cursed be Canaan; a servant shall he be unto his brethren.’ The property of a slave belongs to his master, therefore Canaan is ours.”

Alexander gave the envoys of Canaan three days in which to reply to this, but they fled from Jerusalem.

Messengers from Egypt came next, asking for the return of the gold and silver taken by the Israelites from the land of Pharaoh.

“What says Gebiah to this?” asked Alexander.

“We shall return the gold and silver,” answered the hunchback, “when we have been paid for the many, many years of labor of our ancestors in Egypt.”

“Truly a wise answer,” said Alexander, and he gave the Egyptians three days to consider it. But they also fled.

When Alexander left Jerusalem he sought the advice of the wise men of Israel.

“I desire,” he said, “to conquer the land beyond the Mountains of Darkness in Africa; it is also my wish to fly above the clouds and behold the heavens, and also to descend into the depths of the sea and gaze with mine own eyes on the monsters of the deep.”

How to accomplish these things he was instructed by the wise men, but they warned him never to enter Babylon.

“For shouldst thou ever enter the city of Babylon,” they said, “thou wilt assuredly die.”

King Alexander thanked them for the advice and the warning, and set forth on his adventures.

II. THE LAND OF DARKNESS AND THE GATE OF PARADISE

After many days King Alexander came to the Mountains of Darkness. Acting on the advice of the wise men, he had provided himself with asses from the land of Libya, for they have the power of seeing in the dark, and also with a cord of great length. Mounted on the asses, he and his men plunged into the realms of darkness, unwinding the cord as they went, so that they might find their way back with it.

Around them was blackest darkness and a silence that inspired the men with awe. The asses, however, picked their way through the tall trees that grew so high and so thick that not the least ray of light could penetrate. How many days they traveled thus they knew not, for day and night were alike. The men slept when they were tired, ate when they were hungry and trusted to the asses and the cord.

At last when they emerged into the light they were almost blinded by the sun, and it was some time before they could see properly. Then, to their great astonishment, they found that there were no men in the land, only women, tall and finely proportioned, clothed in skins and armed with bows and arrows.

“Who are ye?” asked Alexander.

“We are the Amazons, women who are skilled in war and in the art of hunting,” they answered.

“Lead me to your queen,” commanded Alexander, “and bid her surrender, for I am Alexander, the Great, of Macedon, and conqueror of the world. I fight not by night, for I scorn to steal victories in the dark, and my men are armed with magic spears of gold and silver and are therefore invincible.”

The queen of the Amazons appeared before him, a beautiful woman, with long raven hair.

“Greeting to thee, mighty warrior,” she said. “Hast thou come to slay women?”

“Perchance it is you who will triumph over me,” replied Alexander.

The queen of the Amazons smiled.

“Then shall it be said of thee,” she replied, “that thou wert a valiant warrior who conquered the world, but was himself conquered by women. Is that to be your message to history?”

King Alexander was a man of learning and of wisdom, as well as a great soldier, but the words of the queen of the Amazons were such that he could not answer. He bowed low before the queen and with a gesture indicated that he had naught to say.

“Then it is to be peace,” said the queen. “At least, before thy return, let me prepare for thee a banquet.”

In a hut made of logs and decorated with skins, a rough wooden table was placed before Alexander and on it was laid a loaf of gold.

“Do ye eat bread of gold?” asked the king, much surprised.

“Nay,” replied the queen. “We are women of simple tastes, but thou art a mighty king. If thou didst but wish to eat ordinary bread in this land, why didst thou desire to conquer it? Is there no more bread in your own land that thou shouldst brave the dangers of the dark mountains to eat it here?”

Alexander bowed his head on his breast. Never before had he felt ashamed.

“I, Alexander of Macedon,” he said, “was a fool until I came to the land beyond the Mountains of Darkness and learned wisdom from women.”

With all haste he returned through the land of eternal night on his Libyan asses. But in the flight the cord was broken. He had to trust entirely to the asses, and many long and weary days and nights did he journey before he saw the light once more.

Alexander found himself in a new and beautiful land. There were no signs of human beings, nor of animals, and a river of the clearest water he had ever seen, flowed gently along. It was full of fish which the soldiers caught quite easily. But a strange thing happened when, after having cut up the fish ready for cooking, they took them to the river to clean them. All the fish came to life again; the pieces joined together and darted away in the water.

At first Alexander would not believe this, but after he had made an experiment himself, he said: “Let all who are wounded bathe in this river, for surely it will cure every ill. This must be the River of Life which flows from Paradise.”

He determined to follow the stream to its source and find the Garden of Eden. As he marched along, the valley through which the stream flowed, became narrower and narrower, until, at last, only one person could pass. Alexander continued his journey on foot with a few of his generals walking behind. Mountains, thickly covered with greenest verdure, towered up on either side, the silent river narrowed until it seemed a mere streak of silver flowing gently along, and there was a delicious odor in the air.

At length, where the mountains on either side met, Alexander’s path was barred by a great wall of rock. From a tiny fissure the River of Life trickled forth, and beside it was a door of gold, beautifully ornamented. Before this door Alexander paused. Then, drawing his sword, he struck the Gate of Paradise with the hilt.

There was no answer, and Alexander knocked a second time. Again there was no reply, and a third time Alexander knocked with some impatience.

Then the door slowly opened, and a figure in white stood in the entry. In its hand it held a skull, made of gold, with eyes of rubies.

“Who knocks so rudely at the Gate of Paradise?” asked the angel.

“I, Alexander, the Great, of Macedon, the conqueror of the world,” answered Alexander, proudly. “I demand admittance to Paradise.”

“Hast thou brought peace to the whole world that thou sayest thou art its conqueror?” demanded the angel.

Alexander made no answer.

“Only the righteous who bring peace to mankind may enter Paradise alive,” said the angel, gently.

Alexander hung his head abashed; then, in a voice broken with emotion, he begged that at least he should be given a memento of his visit.

The angel handed him the skull, saying: “Take this and ponder o’er its meaning.”

The angel vanished and the golden door closed.

The skull was so heavy that, with all his great strength, Alexander could scarcely carry it. When he placed it in a balance to ascertain its weight, he found that it was heavier than all his treasures. None of his wise men could explain this mystery and so Alexander sought out a Jew among his soldiers, one who had been a student with the rabbis.

Taking a handfull of earth the Jew placed it over the eyes and the skull was then as light as air.

“The meaning is plain,” said the Jew. “Not until the human eye is covered with earth–in the grave–is it satisfied. Not until after death can man hope to enter Paradise.”

Alexander was anxious to hasten away from that strange region, but many of his soldiers declared that they would settle down by the banks of the River of Life. Next morning, however, the river had vanished. Where all had been beautiful was now only a desolate plain, bounded by bare rocky mountains, reaching to the clouds.

With heavy hearts Alexander’s men began their march back.

III. THE WONDERS OF THE WORLD

One day a strange rumbling noise was heard, and toward evening the army halted by the side of a river even more mysterious than the River of Life. It was not a river of water, but of sand and stones. It flowed along with a roaring sound and every few minutes great stones were shot up into the air.

Alexander asked the Jewish soldier if he could explain.

“This,” said the Jew, “is the Sambatyon, the river which ceases to flow on the Sabbath.”

“And what lies beyond?”

“The land of the Lost Ten Tribes of Israel,” was the answer. “None have seen this country.”

“Cannot the river then be crossed?” asked Alexander.

“Not by all who wish to cross.”

The next day was Friday, and Alexander waited until the evening to see what would happen.

An hour before sunset, at the time of the commencement of Sabbath, the river ceased to flow. The rumbling died down and the Sambatyon appeared like a broad expanse of shining yellow sand.

“To-morrow I shall cross with my army,” said Alexander, but next morning the Sambatyon was enveloped in dense black clouds.

Alexander could not see a yard in front of him, and when he ventured on to the sand, the horses sank into it. Flames were also seen in the clouds. After the sun had set and the Sabbath had ended, the clouds cleared away, the rumbling began again and the sand flowed once more like a river.

Alexander was disappointed for a while, but at last he consoled himself with the thought that he had conquered the whole world.

“Now must I carry out my project of ascending above the clouds and afterward descending into the sea,” he said, and he proceeded to carry out the instructions given to him in Jerusalem.

Four huge eagles were caught and chained to a big box. At each end of the box was a pole, and on the end of each a brilliant jewel was placed. When all was in readiness, Alexander entered the box and carefully closed the doors.

“Thus did Nimrod ascend into the sky,” he said, “but he was a fool. He shot arrows into the air, and when the angels returned them stained with blood, he thought he had killed God. I desire only to see the heavens, not to conquer them.”

He gave the signal, and the heads of the eagles chained to the poles were uncovered. The moment they saw the dazzling jewels they tried to snatch them, but could not. So they continued to rise higher and higher until the box was carried above the clouds. By looking through the windows at the top and bottom of the box, Alexander could see how high he was. For a long time he saw nothing but clouds, which appeared like a vast sea beneath him, but when these cleared away, he saw the earth again.

So high was he that the world looked like a ball. Until then he had not known the earth was round. The seas enveloping the greater part of the globe looked like writhing serpents.

“Now I can understand,” he said, “why the wise rabbis say that the great fish, the leviathan, surrounds the world with its tail in its mouth.”

Then he looked above. The sun seemed further away than ever.

“Heaven is not so near as I thought,” he said, and seeing himself but a tiny speck miles above the earth and still further away from the heavens, he grew afraid for the first time in his life. With a stick he knocked the jewels from the poles outside the box, and the eagles, seeing them no longer, began to descend. Alexander breathed more freely when he was safe on the ground again, but he would not tell his generals what he had seen.

“Wait until I have descended into the sea,” he said.

Under his orders, a diving bell of clear thick glass, bound with iron, had been constructed. Alexander entered the bell, all the joints were then tightly secured with pitch, and the bell lowered from a ship into the ocean by means of chains.

Before he entered, Alexander took the precaution to put on a magic ring, which his wife, Roxana, had sent him. This, she said, would protect him against the monsters of the deep.

Down, down into the watery deep sank the bell, and for some time Alexander could see nothing. When his eyes grew accustomed to the strange, greenish light, he noticed multitudes of queer fish darting round about the bell. Many were of a shape never conjectured by man, some were so tiny that he could scarcely see them, and others so large that one of these monsters actually tried to swallow the bell. But Alexander showed the magic ring which glowed like a blazing star and the monster darted away.

So deep down sank the bell that no light could at last penetrate from the sun. Most of the fish, however, were luminous, and Alexander was almost dazzled by the changing of the brilliant lights as the denizens of the deep swam swiftly around the bell. Shells of wondrous beauty did he see, together with pearls of great size. The treasures of the deep were revealed to him, and he saw that the riches on land were as nothing compared with them. He saw the coral insects at their work of building, and of entrancing beauty growing in the oozy bed of the ocean.

“I wonder,” said Alexander, “if I dare venture forth and take some of these beautiful gems back with me. The ring will protect me.”

Alexander was one of the bravest men that ever lived, and he immediately set about trying to open the bell. In doing so, he rattled the chains by which it was lowered, and Robus, the officer in charge, took this as a signal to raise the bell.

In his excitement he dropped the chains into the sea, and they fell with a big crash on the bell and smashed it to pieces. When Robus saw what had happened, he cast himself into the sea in a gallant endeavor to rescue his master.

Down below in the glittering depths of the ocean, Alexander saw the fish hurrying away in great fear and he heard the rattling of the chains as they dropped through the water. He looked up and saw them crash on the bell. A terrible, buzzing sound filled his ears, a thousand dazzling colors danced before his eyes and made him giddy.

With great presence of mind he remembered his ring, and immediately a big fish swam underneath him, raised him from the wreckage of the bell and rose swiftly to the surface. Alexander emerged just as Robus dived into the sea. At once he showed the fish his ring and it dived and brought his gallant officer safe to his side.

“I have seen enough,” said Alexander, when he was safe on land, “more than mortals should see. I have learned that the earth is for man and that the air above and the waters beneath are for the other and more wonderful creatures of God.”

He made preparations to return to Macedon, but his army was wearied with long marching and begged of him to let them rest. Accordingly, he halted outside Babylon. Sickness seized him, but he remembered the warning of the rabbis and would not enter the city. For days he wandered around until his soldiers showed signs of mutiny. Then, throwing caution to the winds, Alexander entered Babylon.

At once his illness took a serious turn, and in a few days he died. When the Jews heard the news, they mourned him sincerely, for they knew that they had lost a good friend. All that remains as a memorial of Alexander is the city of Alexandria, which he founded in Egypt. It stands to this day.


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King for Three Days

Godfrey de Bouillon, a central figure of the First Crusade, led an army to Jerusalem in 1095, committing atrocities against Jews along the way. He sought a prophecy from Rabbi Rashi, who foretold his brief rule as Jerusalem’s king and the decimation of his forces. Despite initial success, Godfrey’s army dwindled, fulfilling Rashi’s prophecy. His legacy contrasts starkly with Rashi’s enduring scholarly influence.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919


► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: Rashi’s prophecy about Godfrey’s brief reign and the decimation of his forces underscores the inevitability of fate.

Good vs. Evil: The narrative contrasts Godfrey’s violent crusade with Rashi’s moral stance, highlighting the struggle between opposing forces.

Echoes of the Past: The historical context of the Crusades and its impact on future generations are central to the narrative.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology


Godfrey de Bouillon was a famous warrior, a daring general and bold leader of men, who gained victories in several countries. And so, in the year 1095, when the first Crusade came to be arranged, he was entrusted with the command of one of the armies and led it across Europe in the historic march to the Holy Land.

Like many a great soldier of his period, Godfrey was a cruel man, and, above all, he hated the Jews.

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“In this, our Holy War,” he said to his men, “we shall slay all the children of Israel wherever we shall fall in with them. I shall not rest content until I have exterminated the Jews.”

True to his inhuman oath, Godfrey and his soldiers massacred large numbers of Jews. They did this without pity or mercy, saying: “We are performing a sacred duty, for we have the blessings of the priests on our enterprise.”

Godfrey felt sure he would be victorious, but he also wanted to obtain the blessing of a rabbi. It was a curious desire, but in those days such things were not considered at all strange, and so Godfrey de Bouillon sent for the learned Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, better known by his world-famed name of Rashi.

Rashi, one of the wisest sages of the Jews, came to Godfrey, and the two men stood facing each other.

“Thou hast heard of my undertaking to capture Jerusalem,” said Godfrey, haughtily. “I demand thy blessing on my venture.”

“Blessings are not in the gift of man; they are bestowed by Heaven–on worthy objects,” answered Rashi.

“Trifle not with words,” retorted the warrior, “or they may cost thee dear. A holy man can invoke a blessing.”

But Rashi was not afraid. He was becoming an old man then, but he was as brave as the swaggering soldier, and he faced Godfrey unflinchingly.

“I can make no claim on the God of Israel on behalf of one who has sworn to destroy all the descendants of His chosen people,” he said.

“So, ho!” exclaimed Godfrey, “you defy me.”

But he stopped his angry words abruptly. He had no wish to quarrel with any holy man, for that might make him nervous. And nervousness, then, was misunderstood as superstition. Besides, the rabbi might curse him.

“If you will not bless,” he said, “perhaps you will deign to raise the veil of the future for me. You wise men of the Jews are seers and can foretell events–so they say. A hundred thousand chariots filled with soldiers brave, determined and strong, are at my command. Tell me, shall I succeed, or fail?”

“Thou wilt do both.” Rashi replied.

“What mean you?” demanded Godfrey, angrily.

“This. Jerusalem will fall to thee. So it is ordained, and thou wilt become its king.”

“Ha, ha! So you deem it wisest to pronounce a blessing after all,” interrupted Godfrey. “I am content.”

“I have not spoken all,” said the rabbi, gravely. “Three days wilt thou rule and no more.”

Godfrey turned pale.

“Shall I return?” he asked, slowly.

“Not with thy multitude of chariots. Thy vast army will have dwindled to three horses and three men when thou reachest this city.”

“Enough,” cried Godfrey. “If you think to affright me with these ominous words, you fail in your intent. And hearken, Rabbi of the Jews, your words shall be remembered. Should they prove incorrect in the minutest detail–if I am King of Jerusalem for four days, or return with four horsemen–you shall pay the penalty of a false prophet and shall be consigned to the flames. Do you understand? You shall be put to death.”

“I understand well,” returned Rashi, quite unmoved, “it is a sentence which you and your kind love to pronounce with or without the sanction of those whom you call your holy men. It is not I who fear, Godfrey de Bouillon. I seek not to peer into the future to assure my own safety.”

With these words they parted, the rabbi returning to his prayers and to his studies which have enriched the learning of the Jews, while Godfrey proceeded to lay a trail of innocent Jewish blood along the banks of the Rhine in his march to Palestine.

History has set on record the events of the Crusade. Godfrey, after many battles, laid siege to the Holy City, captured it, and drove the Jews into one of the synagogues and burned them alive. Eight days afterward, his soldiers raised him on their shields and proclaimed him king.

Godfrey was delighted, but two days later he thought the matter over carefully and decided that he could not live in Jerusalem always. So next day he called together his captains and said:

“You have done me great honor. But I must return to Europe, and it would be more befitting that I should be styled Duke of Jerusalem and Guardian of the Holy City than its sovereign.”

That night, however, he suddenly remembered the prediction of Rashi.

“For three days I have been King of Jerusalem,” he muttered. “The rabbi of the Jews spoke truth.”

He could not help wondering whether the rest of the prophecy would be fulfilled, and he became moody. He was joyful when he gained a victory, but there came also disasters, and he was plunged into despondency. The reverses affected the buoyancy of his troops, disease decimated their ranks, and desertions further depleted their numbers. Slowly but surely his mighty army dwindled away to a mere handful of dissatisfied men and decrepit horses.

It was a ragged and wretched procession that he led back across Europe, and daily his retinue grew smaller. Men and horses dropped from sheer fatigue helpless by the wayside, and were left there to die, with the hungry vultures perched on trees, patiently waiting for the last flicker of life to depart before they set to work to pick the bones of all flesh.

Godfrey de Bouillon had gained his victory, but at what cost? Thousands of men, women and children had been murdered, thousands of his soldiers had fallen in battle, and now hundreds of others had dropped out of the ranks to end their last hours on the ghastly road that led from Jerusalem back to western Europe. Do you wonder that Godfrey was unhappy, and that he thought every moment of the words of Rashi?

At length he reached the city of Worms where Rashi dwelt. With him were four men, mounted on horses.

“It is well,” he said, with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, as he surveyed the remnants of his once proud army. “The rabbi has failed.”

Godfrey bade his men fall into line behind him and he proudly rode through the gate of the city. As he did so, he heard a cry of alarm. He turned hastily and saw a huge stone falling from the city’s gate. It dropped on the soldier riding just behind him, killing both man and horse.

“You have spoken truth; would that I had taken heed of your words,” he said to the rabbi. “I am a broken man. You will assuredly achieve great fame in Israel.” And so it has come to pass. Should you, by chance, ever visit the city of Brussels, the capital of Belgium, fail not to look upon the statue of Godfrey de Bouillon, with his sword proudly raised. It stands in the Place Royale but a few minutes’ walk from the synagogue. Should you ever be in the ancient city of Worms that stands on the Rhine, do as other visitors, Jews and Gentiles–enter the synagogue that was built many centuries ago, and you will see the room where Rashi studied and the stone seat on which he sat. And not far from the synagogue you will see the ancient gate of the city, named in honor of Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, the Rashi Gate. Perhaps it is the very one under which Godfrey de Bouillon passed into the city with his three mounted companions, as the legend tells.


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From Shepherd-Boy to King

On a desolate plain, young shepherd David hears a mystical call foretelling his kingship. Exploring a barren hill, he discovers it’s the horn of a sleeping unicorn, which awakens and lifts him skyward. Escaping a lion’s pursuit with a deer’s help, David is safely led back home. The event later inspires a Psalm when David becomes King of Israel, celebrating courage and divine destiny.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919


► Themes of the story

Hero’s Journey: David’s transformation from a humble shepherd to a destined king embodies the classic hero’s journey, marked by trials and personal growth.

Prophecy and Fate: The mystical call predicting David’s future kingship highlights the role of destiny and prophecy in shaping his life.

Trials and Tribulations: David faces challenges, including encounters with wild animals, that test his bravery and resolve.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology


On a desolate plain, a little shepherd-boy stood alone. His day’s work was over and he had wandered through field and forest listening to the twittering of the birds and the soft sound of the summer breezes as they gently swayed the branches of the trees. He seemed to understand what the birds were saying, and the murmuring of the brook that wound its way through the forest was like a message of Nature to him. Sweet sounds were always in his ears, his heart was ever singing, for the shepherd-boy was a poet. At times he would turn around sharply, thinking he had heard some one calling. One day he was quite startled.

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“David, David,” he thought he heard a voice calling, “thou shalt be King of Israel.”

But he could see nothing, except the trees and the flowers, and so he left the forest and stood in the desolate plain. In the distance he saw a very high hill and as he approached nearer he noticed on the summit a tall tree, without branches or leaves. With great difficulty he climbed the hill. It was quite smooth, bare of vegetation and without rocks, and little David noticed that it gave forth none of those sweet sounds like music that came from other hills.

The summit gained, he looked at the tree in wonderment. It was not of wood, but of horn.

“‘Tis strange,” said the boy. “This must be a magic mountain. No tree, or flower, or shrub, can grow in this barren earth.”

He tried to dig a clod of earth out of the ground, but could not do so, even with his knife, for the ground was as hard as if covered with tough hide.

David was greatly puzzled, but, being a boy of courage, he did not begin to run down the mountain.

“I wonder what will happen if I stay here,” he said, and he seated himself at the foot of the mysterious horn that grew at the summit and looked about him.

Then he noticed a most peculiar thing. The ground was rising and falling in places as if moved by some power beneath. Listening intently, he also heard a curious rumbling noise, and then a loud-sounding swish. At the same time he saw something rising from the other end of the mountain and whirl through the air.

“That is just like a tail,” exclaimed David in surprise.

The next minute he had to cling with all his might to the horn, for the whole mountain was moving. It was rising, and soon David was quite near the clouds. The earth was a great distance away, and, judging by a tremendous shadow cast by the sun, David could see that he was clinging to the horn of a gigantic animal.

“I know what it is now,” he said. “This is not a mountain, but a unicorn. The monster must have been lying asleep when I mistook it for a hill.”

David began to puzzle his brain as to a means of getting down from his perilous perch.

“I must wait,” he said, “until the animal feeds. He will surely lower his head to the ground then and I will slip off.”

But a new terror awaited him. The roar of a lion was heard in the distance, and David found that he could understand it.

“Bow to me, for I am king of the beasts,” the lion roared.

The lion, however, was so small compared with the unicorn that David could scarcely see it. The unicorn, as soon as it heard the command, began to lower its head, and soon David was enabled to slip to the ground. To his alarm he found himself just in front of the lion. The king of the beasts stood before him with blazing eyes, lashing its sides with his tail. David lost not a moment. Drawing his knife from his belt, the brave boy advanced boldly toward the lion.

Just then a sound attracted the attention of both the boy and the beast. It was a deer.

“I will save thee, boy,” it cried. “Mount my back and trust to my speed.”

Before the lion could recover from its surprise, David had sprung on to the back of the deer which started to run at lightning speed. David clung tightly to its back. Behind him a fierce roar indicated that the lion was in pursuit. Across the desolate plain and through the forest the chase continued, and when David came within sight of human habitations again, the deer stopped.

“Thou art safe now,” the deer said to him. “Thou art to become king, and my command was to save thee. Fear not, I will lead the lion astray.”

David thanked the deer that had so gallantly saved his life, and as soon as he had slid from its back it dashed off again, faster than ever with the lion still in pursuit. Soon both were out of sight.

David sang light-heartedly as he returned to his humble home and years afterward, when he was king of Israel and remembered his escape, he put the words of his song into one of his Psalms.


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The Story of Bostanai

In ancient Persia, the tyrannical King Hormuz sought to eliminate the descendants of King David among the Jews. Following a chilling dream symbolizing his cruelty, Hormuz spared a lone survivor, an infant named Bostanai. Raised as a prince, Bostanai proved his royal lineage through his fortitude and wisdom. Ultimately, he became a beloved leader, ensuring peace and prosperity for Persia’s Jewish community.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919


► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The survival and rise of Bostanai align with the prophecy concerning the House of David.

Good vs. Evil: The narrative contrasts the tyrannical King Hormuz with the virtuous Bostanai.

Cultural Heroes: Bostanai emerges as a hero who ensures peace and prosperity for Persia’s Jewish community.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology


In the days of long ago, when Persia was a famous and beautiful land, with innumerable rose gardens that perfumed the whole country and gorgeous palaces, there lived a king, named Hormuz. He was a cruel monarch, this Shah of Persia. He tyrannized over his people and never allowed them to live in peace. Above all, he hated the Jews. “These descendants of Abraham,” he said to his grand vizier, “never know when they are beaten. How many times it has been reported to me that they have been wiped out of existence, or driven from the land, I know not. Yet nothing, it seems, can crush their spirit. Tell me, why is this?”

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“It is because they have a firm faith in their future,” answered the vizier.

“What mean you by those words?” demanded the king, angrily.

“I speak only of what I have heard from their wise men,” the vizier replied, hastily. “They hold the belief that they will be restored as a united people to their own land.”

“Under their own king?” interrupted Hormuz.

“Under a descendant of the royal House of David,” the vizier answered, solemnly.

The king stamped his foot with rage.

“How dare they think of any other Shah but me,” he exclaimed, for his one idea of ruling over people was that he had every right to be cruel to them. Then he said suddenly, “Think you that if there were no more people who could trace their ancestry to this–this David, their faith would be shattered?”

“Peradventure, it may be so.”

“It shall be so,” cried the king. “There shall be no remnants of this House of David.”

He summoned his executioners, and when they were lined up before him, he surveyed the evil-looking band with a cunning gleam in his eye.

“Unto you,” he said, in a rasping voice, “I hand over all the descendants of the House of David to be found among the Jews in the whole of the realm of Persia. Slay them instantly. See to it that not a single one–man, woman, or child–is left alive. Woe betide you, and you my counselors”–this with a meaning glance at the grand vizier–“if my commands are not carried out to the letter. To your duties. Ye are dismissed from the presence.”

Waving them away, he indulged his fancy in thoughts of the coming executions, chuckling the while.

From day to day he received reports that his commands were being carried out. The land was filled with weeping, for the cruel butchery was worse than war. None could defend themselves. Mere suspicion was enough for the executioners. They wasted no time with doubts, but slew all who were said to belong to the House of David. The Shah looked over the list each night and chuckled. At last he was informed that all had been slaughtered.

“‘Tis well, ’tis well,” he said, rubbing his hands, gleefully, “I shall sleep in peace tonight.”

He slept in a bower in a rose garden, and nowhere in the world are the roses so magnificent and so sweet-scented as in Persia.

“I shall have pleasant dreams,” he muttered, but instead he had a nightmare that frightened him terribly.

He dreamed that he was walking in his rose garden, but instead of deriving pleasure from the beautiful trees, he was only angered.

“Are there no white, or yellow, or pink roses?” he asked, but received no answer. “All red, deep, deep red,” he muttered, in his troubled manner.

“Tell me,” he demanded fiercely, stopping before a tree heavily laden with flowers, “why are you so red today?”

And the roses spoke and replied, “Because of the innocent blood that has been shed. It is royal blood that has drenched the ground, and none but crimson roses shall bloom this year in Persia.”

“Bah!” screamed the enraged Shah and, drawing his scimitar, he began hacking right and left among the flowers. The beautiful blooms fell to the ground in great showers until the garden was so littered with the red petals that it seemed flooded with a pool of blood. At last only one tree remained, and as the Shah raised his sword to cut it down, an old man stepped from behind it and confronted the king.

“Who art thou, and whence camest thou?” the monarch asked fiercely.

No answer did the old man make. Gazing sternly into the eyes of the Shah, he raised his hand suddenly and unexpectedly, and struck the king such a violent blow that he fell sprawling to the ground. He lay half-stunned among the red petals, looking up at the old man.

“Art thou not satisfied with the destruction thou hast wrought?” the old man asked. “Must thou take the life of the last rose tree?”

The old man stooped to pick up the scimitar which had fallen from the king’s grasp.

“No, no,” screamed Hormuz, fearing that he was to be slain. He scrambled to his knees and with clasped hands pleaded to the old man. “Take not my life,” he begged. “Spare me, and I shall spare the last tree and cherish it tenderly.”

“So be it,” said the old man, holding the sword above his head. It dropped to the ground, and looking up, Hormuz saw that the stranger had vanished.

The Shah awoke. His body trembled with fear, his head was wracked by a burning pain. He looked round shudderingly to see if the angry old man still stood above him with the threatening sword. Then he sent for his wizards.

“Expound to me my horrid dream,” he said.

Their interpretations, however, did not please him.

“Ye are fools,” he cried. “Make search and find me a man of wisdom who understands these mysteries. Seek a sage among the Jews.”

The royal servants hastened to do the king’s bidding. Full well they knew that when Hormuz was in a rage, lives were quickly forfeit.

They seized the aged rabbi of the city and brought him before the Shah.

“Canst thou interpret dreams?” asked the king, abruptly, dispensing with the usual ceremonies.

“I can explain the meaning of certain things,” returned the rabbi.

“Then fail not to unravel the mystery of my dream,” said Hormuz, and he related it. “The secret I must know,” he concluded, “or—-.” But he stopped. He was afraid to add the usual threat of death that morning.

“‘Tis a simple dream,” said the rabbi, slowly. “The things of which men–and even kings are but men–dream in their sleep are connected with the deeds performed by day. Thy garden represents the House of David which thou hast sought to destroy. The old man was King David himself, and thou hast promised to cherish and nurture his one remaining descendant.”

The Shah listened in silence. Then, with a flash in his eye he said, “But all the descendants of this King David were slain.”

“All but one,” said the rabbi. “There is a boy babe, born on the day the executions ceased.”

“Where is he?” asked Hormuz.

“Your vow….” the rabbi began, nervously, for he did not wish to hand over this child to death.

“My promise shall be faithfully carried out,” interrupted the monarch.

“The boy is in my house,” said the rabbi. “His mother, who escaped the massacre, died when he was born.”

“Bring him hither,” commanded Hormuz. “Fear not.”

From his finger he drew a ring and handed it to the learned man.

“This is my bond,” he said. “The possession of this ensures thy safety.”

The child was brought to the palace, and the Shah looked at him with intent gaze.

“He shall be brought up as a prince,” said the king. “Servants, attendants and slaves shall he have in great number to minister unto all his needs. He shall be treated with the utmost kindness. And because of my dream in the garden, I name him Bostanai.”

The Shah did this because “bostan” is the Persian word for rose garden.

He touched the child with his jeweled scepter and all present bowed low before the babe and showed him the respect and devotion due to a prince.

Hormuz, however, was too cruel to be quite satisfied. He feared to harm the boy, but he wanted some proof that Bostanai was really a descendant of King David. The child grew up into a handsome, clever youth, and Hormuz, partly out of fear, but partly because he had really grown to love the boy, kept him constantly by his side.

One day, while sitting in the bower in the garden, he watched the boy among the roses. The day was hot and a drowsiness came over the king. He had not slept in that bower since the night of his fateful dream, and he was not happy about doing so now. But he did not lack courage, and he called the boy to him.

“Bostanai,” he said, “stand guard by the door, and move not while I sleep.”

Hormuz slept soundly and peacefully for some time, and when he awoke he saw the lad standing motionless where he had placed himself.

“Bostanai,” he called, and when the boy turned, he was startled to see blood trickling from a wound on his face.

“What is that?” he asked, anxiously.

“The sting of a wasp,” Bostanai replied.

“Is it not painful?”

For answer, the boy only smiled.

“How did it happen?” asked the king.

“The wasp stung me while I stood guard.”

“But couldst thou not brush it away?”

“No,” replied the boy, proudly. “King David was my ancestor, and in the presence of a king I must stand motionless until bidden to make any movement.”

Then, before the king could catch him, he swooned from loss of blood, and fell to the ground. He soon recovered, however, and the Shah’s doubts were set at rest.

“I know now thou art truly of the House of David,” he said, “for none other could have shown such fortitude.”

Bostanai became the Shah’s favorite, and when he grew up he was made the ruler of a province. He lived happily, and through him the Jews of the land also lived in prosperity and peace.


Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page

The Water-Babe

Princess Bathia, Pharaoh’s daughter, discovers baby Moses in the Nile and raises him as her own. A playful yet symbolic act of Moses wearing Pharaoh’s crown sparks suspicion among court magicians, especially Bilam. To test his innocence, Moses is presented with fire and jewels, choosing fire, which burns him and causes a lifelong lisp. Later, Moses wields Reuel’s magical staff, destined to lead Israel’s liberation.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919


► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The magicians interpret Moses’ actions as omens, indicating a destined role in future events.

Trials and Tribulations: Moses faces early challenges, such as the test with fire and jewels, shaping his character and future.

Sacred Objects: Reuel’s magical staff, which Moses later wields, holds significant symbolic and mystical importance in leading Israel’s liberation.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology


Floating in a basket on the River Nile, Princess Bathia, the daughter of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, found a tiny little water-babe. Princess Bathia was a widow and had no children, and she was so delighted that she took the child home to the palace and brought it up as her own. She called the babe Moses.

He was a pretty little boy, full of fun and frolic as he grew up, and he became a favorite with everybody in the palace.

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Even the cruel King Pharaoh, who had ordered that all the Hebrew boy babes should be drowned, loved to play with him. His ministers of state and magicians, however, frowned when they saw Moses, as soon as he could toddle and talk, making a play-mate of the king. They warned Pharaoh that it was dangerous to give a strange child such privileges, but Princess Bathia only laughed at them. So did her mother, the queen, and King Pharaoh took no notice.

When Moses was three years old, Princess Bathia gave a birthday party in his honor. It was really a big banquet and was attended by the king and queen and all the courtiers. Moses was seated at the head of the table and his eyes opened very wide with wonderment at everything he saw. It seemed such a ridiculous lot of solemn fuss to him. He would rather have played on the floor, or climbed on to the table, but of course they would not allow him.

“What does all this mean?” he asked of the king who was seated next to him. “Tell me,” and he playfully pulled King Pharaoh’s beard.

The courtiers looked on horrified, and Bilam, the chief magician, cried out, “Beware, O king, this is not play.”

“Heed not these words, my father,” said the princess. “Bilam is ever warning thee. If thou wert to take notice of all that he says, thou wouldst not have a moment’s peace. Take our little babe on thy knee and play with him.”

To please the princess, King Pharaoh did so, and Moses amused himself by playing with the glittering jewels on his majesty’s robes. Then he looked up and stared hard at the king’s head.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing.

“That is the royal crown,” answered Pharaoh.

“No it is not; it is only a funny hat,” replied Moses.

“Beware,” chimed in Bilam, solemnly.

“Let me put the hat on,” said Moses, reaching up his little hands, and before they could stop him, he had taken the crown from the king’s head and had put it on his own.

Princess Bathia and the queen laughed merrily, but Bilam looked very grave.

“Your majesty,” he said, in a voice trembling with passion, “this is not the foolish play of a babe. This child, remember, is not as other children. Came he not from the river? There is meaning in his action. Already does he seek to rob thee of thy royal crown. ‘Tis a portent of evil.”

Pharaoh thoughtfully stroked his beard.

“What sayeth Reuel?” he asked, turning to his second chief magician.

“I say the child is but a babe and that this action means nothing,” answered Reuel.

The queen and the princess agreed with Reuel, who was their favorite, but Bilam would not allow the matter to pass lightly.

“I, Bilam, am chief of thy counselors,” he said, “and deeply learned in the mysteries of signs and portents. There is a meaning in all things. Remember, O King, this child is of the Hebrews, and escaped thy decree. This play of his hath a meaning. Should he be permitted to grow up, he will rebel against thee and seek to destroy thy rule. Let him be judged, O king.”

“Thy words are wise,” said Pharaoh, who was himself annoyed with Moses, and he ordered three judges to try the child for his offence.

Moses thought it was a new game and he clapped his hands gleefully when they took him to the court of justice and stood him in front of the judges. He heard Reuel plead on his behalf, but he did not understand it.

“I say he is but a babe and does things without meaning,” Reuel exclaimed. “Put him to the test, and see if he knows the difference between fire and gold. Place before him a dish of fire and a dish of jewels and gold. If he grasps the jewels, it will prove that he is no ordinary child; if he places his hand to the fire, then shall we be assured he is merely a foolish babe.”

“So be it,” said Bilam, “and if he grasps the jewels let his punishment be instant death.”

Pharaoh and the judges agreed, and two dishes, one containing burning coals and the other gold and precious stones were brought in and placed before Moses. Everybody looked on keenly as Moses stared at the dishes. Princess Bathia made signs to him, but Bilam ordered her to cease and it was Reuel who comforted her and dried her tears.

“Take my magic staff,” he said, handing to her a stick that seemed to be made of one large precious stone. “This was given to Adam when he left the Garden of Eden and has been handed down to me through Enoch and Noah, through Abraham and Jacob unto Joseph who left it in my keeping. Take the staff and Moses will obey whatsoever be thy wish.”

The princess took the staff and pressed it to her lips.

“I wish,” she said, “that my little water-babe shall seize the burning coals.”

Moses thrust his fingers into the fire and pulled out a glowing coal. With a cry, he put his fingers in his mouth to ease the pain and burned his tongue with the coal. Ever afterward he lisped.

The princess snatched Moses and pressed him tightly to her bosom.

“Give me the magic stick,” she said to Reuel, “so that I may guard and protect the child.”

“Canst thou read this word?” asked Reuel, pointing to a word engraved on the staff.

“No,” said the princess.

“Then it cannot be thine,” answered Reuel. “Whosoever reads this name can understand all things, even the thoughts of animals and birds. Fear not for Moses. In years to come this staff shall be his.”

And so it came to pass. Years afterward, when Moses was a man and fled from Egypt, he married a daughter of Reuel who became a Hebrew and took the name of Jethro. Reuel planted the staff in his garden and Moses saw it. He read the magic word, and touching the staff it came out of the ground into his hands. With this staff Moses performed the wonderful things in Egypt when he delivered the children of Israel from bondage, as is related in the Bible.


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The Star-Child

Abraham’s birth under a fateful star alarmed King Nimrod’s magicians, predicting his descendants would overthrow the king. To save Abraham, his parents tricked the king with a slave’s child. Abraham grew questioning idol worship, eventually destroying idols to demonstrate their powerlessness. Confronted by Nimrod, he survived a fiery furnace unharmed, inspiring people to worship one true God. His wisdom and courage earned Nimrod’s reluctant respect.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919


► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The narrative begins with a prophecy observed by King Nimrod’s magicians, foretelling that Abraham’s descendants would overthrow the king. This prediction sets the course of the story, highlighting the inescapable nature of destiny.

Divine Intervention: Abraham’s survival and his miraculous escape from the fiery furnace, emerging unharmed, suggest a higher power guiding and protecting him, emphasizing the role of divine influence in human affairs.

Conflict with Authority: Abraham challenges King Nimrod’s idol worship, directly confronting the king’s beliefs and authority, showcasing the tension between individual conviction and established power.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology


When Abraham was born, his father, Terah, who was one of the chief officers of King Nimrod, gave a banquet to a large number of his friends. He entertained them most sumptuously, and the merriest of the guests was the chief of the king’s magicians. He was an old man, exceedingly fond of wine, and he drank deeply. The feast lasted throughout the night, and the gray dawn of early morning appeared in the sky before Terah’s friends thought of rising from the table.

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Suddenly the old magician jumped to his feet.

“See,” he cried, excitedly, pointing through the open door to the sky. “See yon bright star in the east. It flashes across the heavens.”

The others looked, but said they could see nothing.

“Fools,” shouted the old man, “ye may not see, but I do. I, the wisest of the king’s magicians and astrologers, tell you it is an omen. See how the brilliant star darts across the sky! It has swallowed a smaller star, and another, even a third, yet a fourth. It is an omen, I say, a portent that bodes ill. And, moreover,” he added, growing still more excited, “it is an omen connected with the birth of the little son of Terah.”

“Nonsense,” cried Terah.

“Talk not to me of nonsense,” said the magician, sternly. “I must hasten to inform the king.”

Hurriedly he left the house of Terah, followed by the other magicians, some of whom now said they also had seen a star swallow four others. They did not think it wise to contradict their chief, although he had drunk a great deal of wine and could not walk steadily.

King Nimrod was awakened from his sleep, and his magicians appeared before him.

“O King, live for ever,” said the chief, by way of salute. “Grave indeed is the news that has led us to disturb thee in thy slumbers. This night a son has been born unto thy officer, Terah, and with the coming of the dawn a warning has appeared to us in the skies. I, the chief of thy magicians, did observe a brilliant star rise in the east and dart across the heavens and swallow four smaller stars.”

“We observed it, too,” said the other magicians.

“And what means this?” inquired the king.

“It means,” said the chief magician, mysteriously, “that this star-child will destroy other children, that his descendants will conquer thine. Take warning. Purchase this child from thy officer, Terah, and slay it so that it may not grow up a danger to thee.”

“Thy advice pleases me,” said the cruel king.

In vain Terah protested. King Nimrod would not disregard the warning of his magicians, but he consented to give Terah three days in which to deliver up the child. Sad at heart Terah returned home, and on the second day told his wife the terrible news.

“We must not allow our little son, Abraham, to be slain,” she said. “If he is to become great he must live. I have a plan. King Nimrod will not be satisfied unless a child is slain. Therefore, take thou the child of a slave to him and tell him it is Abraham. He will not know the difference. And so that the trick shall not be discovered, take our child away and hide it for a time.”

Terah thought this an excellent idea, and he carried it out. The sick child of a slave, which was born only a few hours before Abraham, was taken to King Nimrod who killed it with his own hands, and Terah’s little boy was secretly carried by his nurse to a cave in a forest. There Abraham was carefully nurtured and brought up.

From time to time Abraham was visited by his father and mother, and not until he was ten years old did they think it safe to bring him from the cave in the forest to their home. Even then they deemed it best to be careful. Their elder son, Haran, was a maker of idols and Abraham became his helper without Haran being told it was his brother.

Abraham, the star-child, was a strange little boy. He did not believe in the idols.

“I worship the sun by day and the moon and the stars by night,” he said to Haran.

“There are times when you cannot see the sun by day, nor the moon and stars by night,” said Haran, “but you can always have your idol with you.”

This troubled little Abraham for a while, but one day he came running to his brother and said, “I have made a discovery. I shall no longer worship the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars. There must be some mighty power behind them that orders them to shine, the sun by day and the moon and stars by night. That great power shall be my God.”

Abraham asked all sorts of queer questions of his father. “Who made the sun and the moon and the stars?” he asked.

“I know not,” replied Terah.

“I have asked all your idols, your gods, and they answer not,” said Abraham.

“They cannot speak,” said Terah.

“Then why do you pray to them and worship them?” persisted the boy.

Terah did not answer. Abraham asked his mother, but she could only tell him that the gods who created everything were with them in the house.

“But Haran made those silly things of wood and clay,” said Abraham, and at last they refused to answer his awkward questions.

Mostly he stood at the door of the house, gazing at the sky as if trying to read the secrets behind the sun and stars.

“Thou shouldst have been placed with an astrologer,” said Haran to him one day. “Thou art a child of the stars.”

Terah heard this and was angry with Haran, for he feared that the secret of the child’s birth might be betrayed.

“I know not why my father keeps thee here,” said Haran afterward to Abraham. “Thou art becoming lazy. I have worked enough this day and will go out to the woods to watch the hunting. Stay thou here. Perchance a purchaser may come. Be heedful and obtain good payment for the idols.”

Not long after Haran left, an old man entered the shop and said he wished to buy an idol.

“I dropped my idol on the ground yesterday and it broke,” he said. “I must have a stronger one.”

“Certainly thou must have a god so strong that naught can break it,” answered Abraham. “Tell me, how old art thou?”

“Full sixty years, boy,” replied the man.

“And yet thou hast not reached years of wisdom,” said Abraham. “See how easy it is to break thy gods,” and he took a stick and smashed one of the idols with a single blow.

The old man fled from the shop horrified.

Next, a woman entered.

“I am too poor to have an idol of my own,” she said. “Therefore, I have brought a little food as an offering to one of the many gods here.”

“Offer it to any idol that pleases thee,” said Abraham, with a laugh.

The woman placed it before the smallest idol.

“This idol is small and surly,” said the boy. “It does not accept thy offering,” and he raised his stick and smashed it.

“Try a bigger idol with thy offering,” he said, and the woman did so.

“Thou also hast no manners,” said Abraham, addressing the god; “eat, or I shall smash thee to pieces.”

The idol, of course, did not eat, and so Abraham broke it, and the woman rushed out into the street in great alarm.

Abraham tried all the idols in turn with the food, and as each was unable to eat, he broke them all except the largest. Before this idol, which was as tall as a man, he paused. Then, laughing loudly, he placed the stick which he had used in the idol’s hand.

By this time, a crowd, attracted by the cries of the old man and the woman, had gathered at the door.

“What hast thou done?” they demanded, angrily.

“I? Nothing,” answered Abraham. “See, the largest idol holds in its hand a big stick. It seems to me that he has been angry and has killed all the others. Ask him why he did this.”

The people stood bewildered until Terah and Haran returned.

“What is the meaning of this?” they asked, pointing to the broken idols.

“Oh! Such fun,” replied Abraham. “There has been a fight here. A woman brought a food offering to the gods, and they quarrelled because they all wanted it. So the big fellow here got angry, and, taking up the stick which you see he still holds, he beat the others and smashed them to bits.”

“Absurd!” cried Haran. “The idols cannot do these things.”

“Ask the big fellow to strike me if I have told lies,” returned Abraham.

“Cease your nonsense,” commanded his father.

“What funny gods yours are,” said Abraham, musingly, standing before the big idol. “Do you think he will hit me if I smack his face?”

Before anybody could stop him, he smacked the idol’s face and then knocked off its head with the stick.

Some of the people ran off to the palace, and soon came an order from King Nimrod that the idol-breaker should be brought before him. Abraham, Haran and Terah were seized by the guards and marched off to the palace.

“Which of you broke the idols?” asked the king, angrily.

“I did, because they were rude and would not accept the offering,” said Abraham. “How can they be gods if they have no sense?”

“Not altogether a foolish remark,” said Nimrod, smiling. “If idols please thee not, then worship fire which has the power to consume.”

“Fire itself can be quenched by water,” replied Abraham.

“Then worship water,” returned Nimrod.

“But water is absorbed by the clouds,” said the boy.

“And clouds are blown by the wind,” said Nimrod.

“Man can withstand the force of the wind,” said Abraham.

“So he will talk all day long, this child of the stars,” exclaimed Haran.

“Child of the stars!” said the chief magician. “Now I understand. O king, this must be no other than the child of Terah against whom, at his birth, we warned your majesty. The message of the stars has come true. He has dared to destroy our gods. Soon he will destroy us.”

“Is this, in truth, the child of the stars?” asked Nimrod, of Terah, but the latter did not answer.

“It is in truth, your majesty,” said Haran. “I have long suspected it.”

“Then why didst thou not inform me?” exclaimed the king in a rage. “I will test this star-child with the power of my god, fire. And thou, Haran, for thy neglect, must also suffer. Guards, let them be bound and cast into the furnace to which I pray daily. Terah, thou art their father. I can forgive thee; thou wilt suffer sufficiently in losing both thy sons to my god.”

The fire was made so hot that the men who endeavored to cast Abraham and Haran into the flames were caught and burned to death. Twelve men in all perished before Terah’s sons were thrown into the furnace. Haran was burned to ashes at once, but to the surprise of the vast crowd that stood at a safe distance, Abraham walked unharmed in the flames, the fetters which bound him having been consumed.

When King Nimrod saw this, he trembled.

“Come forth, boy,” he cried to Abraham, “and I will pardon thee.”

“Bid your men take me out,” he answered.

All who approached the terrific fire, however, were burned to death, and at last when Nimrod said he would bow down before Abraham’s God the boy came forth unharmed.

All the people bowed down before the boy who told them to rise, saying, “Worship not me, but the true God who dwells in Heaven beyond the sun and the stars and whose glory is everywhere.”

King Nimrod loaded the boy with presents and bade him return home in peace.


Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page

The Higgledy-Piggledy Palace

Sarah, renowned for her unmatched beauty, faced peril when Pharaoh sought to claim her as queen, believing her to be Abraham’s sister. Protected by divine intervention, Pharaoh endured mysterious torments, including physical blows and a restless night. Stricken with leprosy, he relented, releasing Sarah and Abraham with great riches. Abraham warned Pharaoh of future divine retribution if his descendants oppressed theirs—a prophecy later fulfilled.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919


► Themes of the story

Forbidden Love: Pharaoh’s desire to take Sarah, believing her to be unmarried, introduces a romantic pursuit that defies moral boundaries.

Prophecy and Fate: Abraham’s warning to Pharaoh about future repercussions for oppressing his descendants introduces a prophetic element that foreshadows future events.

Good vs. Evil: The story portrays the moral struggle between the virtuous protagonists and the oppressive ruler, emphasizing the triumph of righteousness.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology


Sarah, the wife of the patriarch Abraham, and the great mother of the Jewish people, was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. Everybody who saw her marveled at the dazzling radiance of her countenance; they stood spellbound before the glorious light that shone in her eyes and the wondrous clearness of her complexion. This greatly troubled Abraham when he fled from Canaan to Egypt. It was disconcerting to have crowds of travelers gazing at his wife as if she were something more than human. Besides, he feared that the Egyptians would seize Sarah for the king’s harem.

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So, after much meditation, he concealed his wife in a big box. When he arrived at the Egyptian frontier, the customs officials asked him what it contained.

“Barley,” he replied.

“You say that because the duty on barley is the lowest,” they said. “The box must surely be packed with wheat.”

“I will pay the duty on wheat,” said Abraham, who was most anxious they should not open the box.

The officials were surprised, for, as a rule, people endeavored to avoid paying the duties.

“If you are so ready to pay the higher tax,” they said, “the box must contain something of greater value. Perhaps it contains spices.”

Abraham intimated his readiness to pay the duty on spices.

“Oh, Oh!” laughed the officers. “Here is a strange person ready to pay heavy dues. He must be anxious to conceal something–gold, perchance.”

“I will pay the duty on gold,” said Abraham, quietly.

The officers were now completely bewildered.

“Our highest duty,” said their chief, “is on precious stones, and since you decline to open the box, we must demand the tax on the costliest gems.”

“I will pay it,” said Abraham, simply.

The officers could not understand this at all, and after consulting among themselves, they decided that the box must be opened.

“It may contain something highly dangerous,” they argued.

Abraham protested, but he was arrested by the guards and the box forced open. When Sarah was revealed, the officials stepped back in amazement and admiration.

“Indeed, a rare jewel,” said the chief.

It was immediately decided to send Sarah to the king. When Pharaoh beheld her, he was enraptured. She was simply dressed in the garments of a peasant woman, with no adornment and no jewels, and yet the king thought he had never seen a woman so entrancingly beautiful. When he saw Abraham, however, his brow clouded.

“Who is this man?” he demanded of Sarah.

Fearing that he might be imprisoned, or even put to death if she acknowledged him as her husband, Sarah replied that he was her brother.

Pharaoh felt relieved. He smiled on Abraham and greeted him pleasantly.

“Thy sister is exceeding fair to gaze upon,” he said, “and comely of form. She hath bewitched me by her matchless charm. She shall become the favorite of my harem. I will recompense thee well for thy loss of her. Thou shalt be loaded with gifts.”

Abraham was too wise to betray the anger that surged in his heart.

“Courage, my beloved,” he whispered to Sarah. “The good God will not forsake us.”

He made pretense of agreeing to Pharaoh’s suggestion, and the chief steward of the king gave him an abundant store of gold and silver and jewels, also sheep and oxen and camels. Abraham was conducted to a beautiful palace, where many slaves attended him and bowed before him, for one on whom the monarch had showered favors was a great man in the land of Pharaoh. Left alone, Abraham began to pray most devoutly.

Meanwhile, Sarah was led into a gorgeous apartment where the queen’s own attendants were ordered to array her in the richest of the royal garments. Then she was brought before Pharaoh who dismissed all the attendants.

“I desire to be alone with thee,” said the king to Sarah. “I have much to say to thee, and I long to feast my eyes on those features of beauty rare.”

But Sarah shrank from him. To her, he appeared ugly and loathsome. His smile was a vicious leer, and his voice sounded like a harsh croak.

“Fear not,” he said, trying to speak tenderly and kindly. “I will do thee no harm. Nay, I will load thee with honors. I will grant any request that thou makest.”

“Then let me go hence,” said Sarah, quickly. “I desire naught but that thou shouldst permit me to depart with my brother.”

“Thou jestest,” said Pharaoh. “That cannot be. I will make thee queen,” he cried, passionately and he made a move toward her.

“Stop!” cried Sarah. “If thou approachest one step nearer….”

Pharaoh interrupted with a laugh. To threaten a king was so funny that he could not refrain from a hoarse cackle. But Sarah had become suddenly silent. She was looking not at him, but behind him. Pharaoh turned, but observed nothing. He could not see what Sarah saw–a figure, a spirit, clutching a big stick.

“Come,” said the king, “be not foolish. I cannot be angry with a creature so fair as thou art. But it is not meet–nay, it is not wise–to utter threats to one who wears a crown.”

Sarah made no reply. She was no longer afraid. She knew that her prayers, and those of Abraham, had been answered, and that no harm would befall her. Pharaoh mistook her silence and advanced toward her. As he did so, however, he felt a tremendous blow on the head. He was stunned for a moment. On recovering himself he looked all round the room, but could see nothing. Sarah continued to stand motionless.

“Strange,” muttered Pharaoh. “I–I thought some one had entered the room.”

Again he moved toward Sarah, and once more he received a staggering blow–this time on the shoulder. It was only by a great effort of will that he did not cry out in pain. He concluded he must have been seized by some sudden illness, but after a moment he felt better and bravely tried to smile at Sarah.

“I–I just thought of something most important,” said he, attempting to offer some explanation for nearly toppling over in an undignified manner. He stood nearer to Sarah and began to raise his hand to touch her.

“If thou layest but a finger on me, it will be at thy peril,” exclaimed Sarah, her eyes flashing angrily.

“Pshaw!” he cried, losing patience, and he raised his hand.

This time the cudgel of the spirit invisible to Pharaoh did not strike him: it came down gently and rested lightly on the king’s out-stretched arm. And Pharaoh could not move it. He grew pale and trembled.

“Art thou a witch?” he gasped, at last.

Sarah was so angry when she heard this insult that she flashed a signal with her eyes to the spirit, and the latter plied his cudgel lustily about the king’s head and shoulders, making the monarch break out in most unkingly howls of pain.

“Thy pardon, thy pardon, I crave,” he managed to scream. “I mean not what I said. I am ill–very ill. My body aches. My arm is paralyzed.”

The cudgeling ceased and Pharaoh was able to move his arm. He writhed in agony, for he was bruised all over. He rushed hastily away, saying he would return on the morrow. Sarah found herself locked in, but she was not again disturbed.

Pharaoh, however, had further adventures. The spirit was in merry mood and had a night’s entertainment at the king’s expense. No sooner did the king lie down upon his bed than the spirit tilted it and sent him sprawling on the floor. Whenever Pharaoh tried to lie down the same thing happened. He went from one room to another, but all efforts at rest were unavailing. Every bed rejected him and every chair and couch did the same, although when he commanded others to lie down they did so quite comfortably. He tried lying down with one of his attendants, but while the latter was able to remain undisturbed, Pharaoh found himself bodily lifted, stood upon his head, spun around and then rolled over on the ground.

His physicians could provide no remedy, his magicians–hastily summoned from their own slumbers–could afford no explanation, and Pharaoh spent a terrible night wandering from room to room and up and down the corridors, where the corners seemed to go out of their way to bump against him and the stairs seemed to go down when he wanted to walk up, and vice-versa. Such a higgledy-piggeldy palace was never seen. Worse still, with the first streak of dawn he noticed that he was smitten with leprosy.

Hastily he sent for Abraham and said: “Who and what thou art I know not. Thou and thy sister have brought a plague upon me. I desired to make her my queen, but now I say to you: Rid me of this leprosy and get thee hence with thy sister. I will bestow riches on ye, but get ye gone, and speedily.”

With a magic jewel which he wore on his breast, Abraham restored Pharaoh to health, and then departed with Sarah. These final words he said to Pharaoh:

“Sarah is not my sister, but my wife. I give thee this warning. Should thy descendants at any time seek to persecute our descendants, then will our God, He, the One God of the universe, surely punish the king with plague again.”

And, many years afterward, as you read in the Bible, the prediction came true.


Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page