'We'll give him insurance!' fumed Hani. 'Ever' time that Staircase opens it makes a tunnel in spacetime. It nudges random planetoids out of the way. That scheming polecat has just inconvenienced a thousand solar systems in formation!' With a majestic flap of wings, Hani flew into the shaft of light streaming down the staircase.

Ori blinked. I never knew Hani paid such close attention to sidereal engineering.

Oh, Hani isn't all fun and games. That angel is a big geek. Collects statistics, which is a very bad habit.

The voice in Ori's head was startling. 'Oh, hi, Prajapati! I'm glad you're still around. We could use some perspective here.' Ori didn't ask what 'statistics' were. (Ori didn't want to know.)

Chuckle. I've been here all along. I just didn't want to get into a discussion with Hani. That angel could talk an ophan into wearing sunglasses. Follow Hani into the lightstream, honey. I don't want that Ya'akov to see you yet, and this way, he can't tell one angel from another.

This was true, because as Ori approached it was evident that the entire soprano section was dancing, enraged, at the top of the Staircase. 'Not again! You're interrupted cantata practice again! That's twice in one century!' The others weren't far behind.

Ya'akov probably couldn't understand them (Ori hoped) because what they sounded like was a very fierce (but totally harmonious) rendition of 'Gloria in excelsis Deo'. This frustrated and amused Ori in equal measure, partly because Latin hadn't been invented yet.

Ori glanced at Ophaniel and confirmed Hani's assessment: indeed, that angel looked about to have, if not a cow, at least a lesser form of livestock. Angelic fits weren't a good idea in the skies over Mesopotamia/Canaan. They tended to start urban legends. Urban legends turned into fireside tales, then myths, and finally ended up in somebody's sacred scriptures and had to be explained in some way. Ori did not want future generations to have to make up a moral to account for spontaneous unseasonable meteor showers. Theologians tended to have overactive imaginations and were too liberal with the footnotes.

Ori was about to suggest opening a negotiating session akin to the one that had got the portal closed last time, twenty years previously.

Twenty years? How time flies, thought Ori. For some reason Prajapati found this hilarious.

Before Ori could say anything to calm down the Choir, or make a move toward the 'supplicating' human with his foot on the doorbell, Hani had flown down the light beam and landed right in front of Ya'akov.

Hani glared at the human in a way that was unmistakably confrontational.

'Just what do you want this time, feller?' Hani demanded in a voice that was commanding and an accent that was, well, not.

How does Hani do that? wondered Ori. Manage to have a hick accent, no matter what language we're speaking?

When you figure it out, let me know, replied Prajapati. Some of the emergent properties of this universe puzzle even me.

Ori decided to ignore the unsettling implications of that remark, including the business about 'this universe', and concentrate on the problem at hand, which was getting Ya'akov off the portal stone. (Again.) Ori was about to fly down and help negotiate, when Prajapati said No. Let Hani do it. This is going to be interesting.

So Ori hung back with the rest of the angels, and watched while Hani dealt with Ya'akov.

'What in the key of G-flat major do you want, you whiny nincompoop?' roared Hani, glaring at the man on the stone. Ori was impressed, having never heard Hani get that loud before. If you didn't know better (and humans didn't), you might be intimidated. The angels watched, curious: even the heavenly choir practice was stilled as they waited to hear what Ya'akov would say.

None of the host, however, were prepared for what came next. Instead of answering, Ya'akov let out a roar of his own. Okay, it was a puny sort of a roar. If the Choir hadn't been playing a rest nobody would have heard it. It didn't exactly set the wilderness to echoing. Nevertheless, it was unexpected. The angels all blinked.

Then Ya'akov charged. Seizing Hani around the waist, the human attempted a tackle. Surprised, Hani took a step backward – but Ya'akov clung to his feathered opponent like a limpet.

The Choir blinked twice.

'Let go of me!' yelped Hani. But instead of letting go, Ya'akov held on tighter, attempting another wrestling hold. Having seen Sumerian wrestling, Ori recognised the technique.

'Hani! Don't let him throw you!' yelled Ori. Why is he doing this? Ori wondered.

The wrestling match commenced in earnest – Ya'akov seeming determined and Hani too surprised by the whole thing to put up much of a defence at first, merely fending off the holds of his ridiculous opponent.

The angelic host, fascinated, sat down on the steps to watch. Somebody ran upstairs for snacks.

Well, punch holes in me and call me a flute, thought Ori. They're fighting back now.

I guess it was just a matter of time, said Prajapati. Awe only lasts for so long. And Hani did provoke him. He's been through a lot in the last twenty years, you know.

'Really?' said Ori aloud, since nobody could hear him in the crowd noise, anyway. Ori sat down on a step and accepted a bowl of what looked like buttered popcorn. Tasted like it, too. Far up the Staircase, some angels had formed a doowöp quartet and were singing something about the eye of a tiger.

While Hani and Ya'akov wrestled, Prajapati explained.

You remember when you met Ya'akov last time, he was on his way to his uncle's place?

Ori nodded. Prajapati continued. His uncle lives in Paddan Aram. Back then Ya'akov was younger. And single. The first thing he did was fall in love with his cousin, a pretty girl by the name of Rakhel.

'Darfdatdat?' mumbled Ori in the wrong language and with a mouthful of tasty popcorn.

Prajapati laughed. Yes, they're allowed by the local ordinances. Rules about inbreeding can be exaggerated, although they probably need to tone it down after this. Their parents and grandparents were related, too. Anyway, the problem isn't Rakhel. The problem is her dad. Let us say that when it comes to character, there is a strong family resemblance between Ya'akov and his uncle Laban.

Do tell, thought Ori. It looks like we've got time. Indeed, it seemed as if the wrestling match wasn't going to end any time soon: what with Hani trying to get away and Ya'akov determined not to let that happen, the contest seemed to be set to go on all night. The angels started placing bets.

'What are you guys betting?' yelped Ori in alarm, and heard Prajapati chuckle.

Who's going to dust the music stands, sort the scores for a week, stuff like that. Don't worry, they're mostly harmless. Oh, yeah, Ya'akov and Laban. Ori settled in to learn the tale while angels passed out chocolate-covered raisins. The quartet came up with a new number called 'In the Still of the Night":

In the still of the night

I held you

Held you tight. . .

If Hani hears that... thought Ori, but waved the thought away and listened to Prajapati tell the tale of Ya'akov:

Laban promised Ya'akov he could marry Rakhel if he would work for him for seven years as an assistant supervising herdsman. Sort of indentured servitude in exchange for matrimony. Humans come up with the oddest commercial arrangements. Anyway, they agreed to the bargain, and there was a wedding. The bride hid her blushes beneath a veil, and the partying went on all night. It was dead dark by the time the couple got to bed.

'We care about human weddings, why?' wondered Ori.

'What did you say?' A burly basso profundo punched Ori in the side, then bellowed, 'Get him in a half-nelson, Hani! This is the most fun I've had since the Milky Way got started!' Ori sighed.

Now, back to what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted... oh, yes. We care about human weddings, this one in particular, because these two are the biggest con artists in Mesopotamia. Worse than Nimrod. When Ya'akov woke up in the morning, he found out that he wasn't married to Rakhel after all. The wedding had been for her older sister Leah.

Ya'akhov was furious. Nobody asked Leah what she thought about it. Or Rakhel, either, for that matter. At breakfast, Laban was in full oil-on-troubled-waters mode. Can't marry the younger daughter before the older one, it's against local laws, etc. Tell you what I'll do, he says, like the used camel salesmen he started out as: give me another seven years and I'll throw in Rakhel, too. You'll be a patriarch before you know it.

Ori choked on a kernel of popcorn and was rescued by an angel passing out fizzy drinks. 'They allow polygamy?'

Of course they do, was the reply. If it's a bad idea, these people are all for it.

Ya'akhov accepted the offer. He now had two wives. But he didn't stop at two. Leah and Rakhel are also...a bit competitive. In their case, it was the baby-making department. At first, Leah was having all the babies and poor Rakhel was having none. She blamed this on me, naturally – or rather, the 'God with no name', who got constantly petitioned.

Before you ask, yes, I can interfere sometimes. But there's a price. And who do these women think they are, expecting me to put half the planet in disarray just so they can one-up their sister with another infant? That is NOT a good reason to be having babies. And it's not like they ever offer to do anything helpful in return, oh, no. It's, 'Let me have a boy baby (boys are better, for some reason) and I'll put up another standing-stone monument for you,' or 'Let me have the most kids and I'll name one after you.' They are as bad as the men.

The worst thing the sisters did was to rope their MAIDS into the whole business. Once Leah stopped having babies, she 'gave' Ya'akov her maid Zilpah. To marry. Because then Zilpah's babies were part of Team Leah. Not to be outdone, Rakhel 'gave' him HER maid, Bilhah. The maids had nothing to say about it. Last I paid any attention, they were up to 11 boys among them and an unspecified number of girls. They give me a pain, these people.

Ori listened in fascination but kept one eye on the wrestling match. Once, Hani seemed about to become airborne – only to be slammed back to the mat by Ya'akov. Since the 'mat' was a flat piece of limestone, Ori winced, worried that his friend might be hurt. Ori made a move to go and help Hani, but Prajapati demurred, saying they needed to 'play fair' and mumbling something Ori didn't catch about 'history'. So Ori sat back down and listened to Prajapati complain about Ya'akov some more.

Once Ya'akov and Laban were related by marriage, they settled down to cheating each other at business. You've seen some of what Ya'akov's accumulated over the years. That's just the tip of the – ...a small corner of the ziggurat. Those two were in the livestock trade, big-time. Cows, sheep, goats, camels, donkeys, horses: anything on four feet. And the by-products, of course: milk, wool, leather, things like that. They don't mind trading in people, why would they care about animals? Only most of the time, they're very careful with the livestock. Otherwise it brings down the prices.

Laban never played fair with Ya'akov. He's a slippery character, is Laban: worse than Ea Nasir. Laban changed the terms of their agreement seven times. Ya'akov got tired of it – after all, these were Laban's daughters and grandchildren the man was cheating. Ya'akov decided to get even as only Ya'akov could. He studied animal husbandry by bribing the oldest and wisest herdsmen in the area. Then he made a deal with Laban: he, Ya'akov, would take all the spotted, speckled, and dark lambs and kids in the flock as his wages.

Laban was really pleased about this – and tried to keep his spotted and speckled ewes and she-goats away from Ya'akov's.

Ya'akov had studied enough animal reproduction to write a book about it. But he didn't write a book, oh, no. He kept this information to himself. It would be tedious to explain how he did it, but he made his flocks grow and Laban's shrink, and Laban couldn't figure out how he did it. It basically requires a sophisticated understanding of genetics and the reproductive habits of sheep and goats. Really odd when you realise that the human who could explain all this won't be born for several thousand more years¹.

'That family sounds hard to deal with,' commented Ori. Down in the arena – that is, on the flat portal stone – Ya'akov was taking a pounding as Hani buffeted him with beating wings. The stubborn human refused to let go.

Finally [said Prajapati]Ya'akov had enough capital to set out on his own. He packed the whole family and started back in this direction. He didn't tell Laban he was going because Laban would have tried to stop him. In fact, once Laban found out about it, he DID try to stop him, coming out with an armed force. That's this trip, by the way. You've already seen the reception committee on this end. When he set out from Paddan Aram, his father-in-law was ready to fight him.

'Ya'akov seems to have that effect on people,' commented Ori, waving a cup for a refill. One of the catering angels obliged.

He does, indeed. This time it was because somebody stole Laban's household gods. Now, Ya'akov may be very scientifically-minded and all, but he and his whole clan have a superstitious streak a yard wide. As it happened, Rakhel stole those household gods – she's particularly fond of the Inanna statue, which she used to play dress-up with as a kid...

'Wait a minute!' interrupted Ori. 'I thought these people worshipped you. Or at least, the 'God with no name'. What's all this polytheism about?'

From humans you want logic? How long have you been here, anyway? They like to hedge their bets. Besides, what's a Mesopotamian fashion doll among friends? Anyway, Rakhel's still got those gods because she's as devious as the rest of them.

When her father's men showed up to search her wagon, she hid the gods in the sofa cushions and claimed she couldn't get up because she was having her period. They have a taboo about it.

'They obviously fail to fear retribution from those gods when they take their names in vain.'

Or they think I'll protect them, laughed Prajapati. The bottom line is: these people do what they please and then make up what they consider to be good excuses for their behaviour. And no, I'm as interested as you are to see what reason Ya'akov has for angel-wrestling. Other than to release twenty years of pent-up frustration about his relatives.

They were about to find out.

As the first rays of dawn were peeking over the horizon, Hani decided to throw the match. The tired angel simply sat down on the stone.

'All right, Bubba,' said Hani, panting, 'you win. Thou hast wrassled with Heaven and hast prevailed. Boy, hast thou prevailed. Thou shalt henceforth be known as the Divine Wrassling Champeen of Mesopotamia. Happy? What else do you want? Spit it out!'

Still hanging onto Hani, Ya'akov studied the angel and then, in fact, practically spat it out: 'I. Want. A. Blessing.'

'A blessin'? Son, ain't I done blessed you seven ways to breakfast? I've declared you the champion. What else do you want?'

'A. Real. Blessing. Like the one Esaf got.' Ya'akov's eyes glistened with hope: hope balanced against the memory of every slight and disappointment of his life. Every angel watching saw this at the same time, and every angel suddenly understood that Ya'akov was a human who hoarded hurt as if it were money in the bank. Ugly money, sure. But something that accrued to him as personal capital.

Hani got it, too. Placing a hand gently on the man's shoulder, Hani pronounced solemnly, 'You shall have it. Because thou hast wrassled with Heaven and hast prevailed, I hereby give thee a new name. Instead of Ya'akov, thou shalt be...' Hani faltered for a moment, unable to come up with an impressive-sounding name.

For a moment, all was silence – the noisy Staircase-full of angels held their breath, the birds of dawn temporarily forgot to tweet, and even the nearby brook flowed more quietly. Then, out of a pale sky, from behind the fading stars, came a deep Voice.

Everybody heard it.

'Israel,' it said.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

31.07.23 Front Page

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