Night fell upon Sodom, and with it came two radiant beings cloaked in human form. They arrived at the city gate, where Lot sat watching. Something in them—an unnatural glow, a presence beyond mortal—moved him to rise swiftly.
"My lords," Lot said urgently, bowing low. "Come to my house. Rest, wash your feet, and rise early to go your way."
They hesitated. "We will spend the night in the square."
But Lot's voice tightened. "Please. It is not safe here."
With that, they agreed and followed him. In his home, he prepared a humble feast—unleavened bread—and they ate. But peace did not last.
Before they could sleep, the silence outside shattered. A mob surged through the streets—men from every corner of Sodom, young and old. They surrounded Lot's house, their voices loud, lustful, and wild.
"Where are the men who came to you tonight?" they howled. "Bring them out, that we may know them!"
Lot stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
"My friends, do not do this evil," he pleaded.
But desperation took hold of him, and in a shameful act of misguided protection, he said, "I have two daughters, virgins—take them instead. But do not harm these guests. They are under the shelter of my roof."
The mob roared. "This foreigner dares to judge us? We'll do worse to you!"
They lunged forward.
Then suddenly, the door flew open. The two visitors reached out and yanked Lot back inside. With a single motion of their hands, they struck the men outside with blindness—young and old alike. Staggering, the mob clawed at the walls, unable to find the door they once threatened.
"Do you have anyone else here?" the angels asked. "Sons-in-law, daughters, anyone? Take them. Leave. Now."
"The outcry against this city has reached Heaven. We've come to destroy it."
Lot ran to warn his sons-in-law. "Flee! The LORD will destroy the city!"
But they laughed in his face. To them, he sounded like a madman.
Dawn painted the sky. The angels grabbed Lot, his wife, and his daughters by the hands. Mercy, not merit, pulled them out of the doomed city.
"Run! Don't look back! Don't stop. Flee to the mountains!"
But Lot, trembling, protested. "Please, not the mountains! Let me escape to that little town—Zoar. It's small... I will be safe there."
"Very well," one said. "But hurry. We can do nothing until you arrive."
As Lot reached Zoar, the sun broke across the land.
Then Heaven opened.
Fire rained down from the sky—blazing sulfur, a divine storm. Sodom and Gomorrah became ash. The entire valley—every plant, every breath—was consumed. Smoke rose like a furnace into the morning sky.
Lot's wife, heart heavy with longing, turned and looked back.
She froze where she stood—her body turned to salt, a monument of disobedience and regret.
Far off, Abraham stood once more on the ridge overlooking the valley. He saw the smoke curling into the heavens. The cities were no more. But God remembered Abraham and had rescued Lot for his sake.
Lot fled Zoar, afraid. He climbed into the mountains with his daughters and hid in a cave, far from all civilization. The silence was thick, the world around them desolate.
One night, the older daughter said, "There are no men left. Let's preserve our family line. We will give our father wine, and I will lie with him."
And so it happened. Lot drank deep and knew nothing.
The next night, the younger sister did the same. Again, he was unaware.
From those acts, two children were born.
The older daughter bore Moab, ancestor of the Moabites.
The younger bore Ben-Ammi, father of the Ammonites.
And so from ash and judgment, two nations were born—twisted from survival, yet woven into the tapestry of destiny.