So, I am retelling the story of Genesis 22 through the eyes of Isaac, Abraham's son. Most of you don't get to ask about how the boy felt about his father trying to slaughter him. Was he traumatized? Or even about Sarah, his Mom. We just read through, with all the admiration for Abraham, the Father of Faith.

You get to look at all that and more.

I see him in my dreams. And in the dream, he would be by his mother's side, who would be taking him away by the hand. And they would be very tired and hungry and thirsty, trudging through the wilderness of Beer-sheba. I would be sitting somewhere in the wilderness, somewhere far away from them. And there would be bread and milk and fish all around me.

I would call out to him. And he would turn around and look at me. Then he would break away from his mother's grip and begin to run back towards me. He would run as fast as a horse. There would be a pack of wolves trying to catch him, but he would outrun them all. Then a mountain would rise out of the ground and try to separate the two of us, but he would fly like a bird and land at my side. Then we would hug each other tight and long. We would be so happy that we would be crying together. I would give him all the bread and milk and fish. He would eat and drink. And then he would look at me and say:

"Brother, you know I didn't do it, right?"

I would say, you didn't do what? He would keep saying it as he sank into the sand. I would be trying to pull him out, but he would continue to sink and sink, and I would be pulling his hand and be screaming:

"Ishmael!"

Until I wake up.

My name is Isaac. I am twelve years old, or maybe thirteen—Mama and Papa never quite agree on how old I am. I don't know that they agreed on anything, anyway; except for this rather strange journey to Moriah.

Mama woke up very early this morning to bathe and prepare me. Papa had Ezek and Jerem chop up some wood and bind them up. Perezah was in the kitchen, cooking a very large cauldron of goat-meat gravy. He's not singing or whistling or humming a psalm as he used to do whenever he was cooking. Everyone just went about their own business in silence.

When Jerem and Ezek were done chopping and binding the wood, they loaded Papa's donkey. Perezah poured out the goat-meat gravy into two large jars, and Papa had them loaded on the other donkey. Everything was set. I asked Mama, why wasn't she preparing, or wasn't she coming with us? She said, follow your Papa and Jerem and Ezek. I will meet you people at Moriah, you hear? I nodded agreement. Mama hardly lets me leave her side, so I knew she would come.

She stood at the door and watched us mount the donkeys. I waved her goodbye. But she didn't wave back.