Abraham, Abraham, you are old and cannot hear:what if you miss my small voice amongst the creakingof your own grief, kill your son unknowingof what he will be, and commit Israel to nothing?
Abraham, you must know or hope that Godwill not allow your son to die; you must knowthat this is a test, but then whyare you so bent on Isaac’s destruction?Look at your eyes; there is more than fearthere. I see in your eyes desperation,a manic passion to do right by your Godwhom you are not able to see or know.
Am I too late? I will try to stayyour old hands, the knife clenchedwithin them, intent on ending life.
Will you hear my small voice amongst the creaking,or will it be the chance bleating of a passing ram?