chana

My name is Chana. My husband’s name is Elkanah son of Yerocham, son of Elihu, son of Tochu, son of Tzuph, the Ephraimite. I call him Elkanah. Elkanah has a second wife, Peninnah.

Now, I tried to like Peninnah. I told myself, she’s a good woman, she’s a good mother, and she’s a good wife to Elkanah. But last year, she started acting really cruelly toward me. Peninnah has ten sons and four daughters, and at the time, I didn’t have any children. Elkanah and I had tried and tried, but I couldn’t get pregnant. It was something that was deeply sad to me, and something I didn’t like to talk about.

But Peninnah would never give it up. One day, we were hanging the washing to dry, and she asked me when I was planning to have a child. Now, she already knew what my situation was, and I knew she was only asking to upset me. I told her that I couldn’t have children, and she clutched her laundry to her chest and made this mock-sympathetic face and said, “Oh, Chana, how terrible, to never have a child! God must have closed your womb!”

And worse than that, she had this stupid running joke about all the children I didn’t have. “Have you bought a sweater for your eldest son? Have you bought a shirt for your second son? What time is your youngest daughter coming home from school?”

But I really tried not to hate Peninnah. I figured she must be a miserable person herself to rejoice in tormenting me this way. I think that because I was Elkanah’s first wife, she always resented me and felt threatened that his love for me was more powerful than his feelings for her. I tried to be sympathetic toward her.

Every year, we would all go up to Shiloh to worship and Elkanah would make a sacrifice to God. He would always give Peninnah plenty of portions of the sacrifice for all of her sons and daughters, and of course he would only give me one portion. And this made me sad. I am not a greedy person, it wasn’t that I wanted more meat – I wanted children to share the meat with. I would think about Peninnah’s two youngest sons quarreling over the most tender pieces, and I would daydream about sharing a meal with children of my own.

And last year at Shiloh, after watching Peninnah’s children eating together, after one too many “jokes” about what presents I was planning to buy for my youngest daughters, I couldn’t take it anymore. I started crying during dinner, and I got up from the table and went outside. Elkanah came out and asked me what was wrong. He didn’t know what to say. He hugged me and said, “Come back inside and eat. Don’t I mean more to you than ten sons?”

I appreciated the comfort of his arms, but that was not the right thing to say. Of course I love him. But my love for my husband has no bearing at all on the grief I feel about not having a child.

After dinner, I went back to the temple and stood before God and prayed. I was crying so hard that I could barely speak. I said: “O God of Hosts, if You will look upon the suffering of Your maidservant and will remember me and not forget Your maidservant, and if You will grant Your maidservant a male child, I will dedicate him to God for all the days of his life; and no razor shall ever touch his head.”

As I was praying, Eli, the priest, came over to me and asked me to leave. I asked him why, and he said, “You’re obviously drunk – I see your lips moving with no sound coming out. What are you doing here? Come back when you sober up.” I was shocked that he misinterpreted my grief for inebriation. I said, “No, my lord.” Eli was not my lord. I told him I hadn’t had anything to drink at all, but that I was in such great distress that I could hardly speak, and I was speaking out the fullness of my grief and misery.

Eli apologized and said, “May God answer your prayer.” The next day, we packed up and returned to Ramah. That night, Elkanah and I went to bed, and we conceived a child, finally, the child that I had prayed for. The following fall, on Rosh Hashonah, my son was born. I named him Samuel, which is a perfect name, because it means “I have asked God for him.” It was such a joy to have a son, and I took pleasure in doing all the things that Peninnah had once teased me about doing – I bought him sweaters, I bought him shirts, I made him mashed carrots, I sang him songs. But when Samuel was weaned, I kept true to my promise of dedicating him to God.

I took Samuel up to Shiloh with me, along with some materials for sacrifice: a young bull, some flour, and a jar of wine. I was sad to say goodbye to my son, but felt good about releasing him into the service of God. I offered the sacrifice, and then brought Samuel to Eli. Eli must have been surprised to see me again, the same woman he had mistaken for a drunk, now returned with the proof of my answered prayer. I said to Eli, “What I asked for I have received, and now I lend him to God – for his whole life, he is lent to God.”

And I sang,

I talked to God and I got what I wanted.
My prayers were answered
And that’s why I’m thankful.
Those who doubted me are quiet now,
And I smile at their quietness.
There is no one else like God.

God can lift things into the heavens
And God can scatter things in the dirt.
God seats a poor woman among nobles
And pitches a rich man into the gutter.
Those with too much power falter.
Those who struggle find a foothold.
The barren woman bears seven children,
While the mother of many feels forlorn.

It was God who built the pillars of the earth
And arranged the earth upon them.
No one will ultimately win by force
Wickedness and hatred will falter,
But God’s hand is open to everyone.
God is a rock
And there is no rock like God.
Ask God for what you want
For everything is in God’s hands.