Many psalms in the later sections of the Book of Psalms begin with the exclamation, “praise the Lord!” (106:1; 111:1; 112:1; 117:1; 135:1; 146:1; 147:1; 148:1; 149:1; 150:1), whilst some end with that same exclamation (105:45; 106:48; 115:18; 117:2; 135:21; 146:10; 147:20; 148:14; 149:9; 150:6). We find this phrase at the beginning and at the end of Psalm 149, which is offered by the lectionary as the psalm for this coming Sunday.
Singing (v.1) is mentioned often in the psalms: “how good it is to sing praise to our God” (147:1), “with my song I give thanks to him” (28:7), “I will praise the name of God with a song” (69:30), and so the people of Israel are encouraged to “sing to God … lift up a song to him who rides on the clouds” (68:4), “raise a song, sound the tambourine, the west lyre with the harp” (81:2). A whole sequence of “songs of ascent” are included in this book, reflecting the journey of pilgrims as the approach the temple to bring their offerings (psalms 120—134).
, was a staple part of the temple liturgy. The Chronicler regularly reports the role that “the singers” had in the Temple, where “they were on duty [to sing] day and night” (1 Chron 9:33). They were to “play on musical instruments, on harps and lyres and cymbals, to raise loud sounds of joy” (1 Chron 15:16; see also 2 Chron 5:12–13; 9:11; 23:13; 29:28; 35:15).
In the return of the people to the city after the Exile, singers take their place alongside “the gatekeepers and the temple servants” (Ezra 2:70; 7:7; 7:24; Neh 7:1, 73; 10:28, 39; 12:45–47; 13:5). Often in these passages they are mentioned in association with the Levites. It was the descendants of Levi who had been appointed to take care of the Tabernacle (Num 1:51–53; 1 Sam 6:15; 2 Sam 5:24; 1 Ki 8:4) and then the Temple (1 Chron 6:48), “living in the chambers of the temple free from other service” (1 Chron 9:33–34).
Psalms are often communal. This particular psalm which we hear this coming Sunday is set “in the assembly of the faithful” (Ps 149:1), as others seem to be (Ps 7:7; 89:5; 107:32). Still other psalms reflect a setting in “the sanctuary of the Lord” (Ps 60:6; 68:35; 96:6; 108:7; 150:1). Sing “a new song” is often enjoined by the psalmists (33:3; 40:3; 96:1; 98:1; 144:9; and here, 149:1). This refrain is picked up by the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders in heaven (Rev 5:9) and then “the one hundred and forty-four thousand who had [the Lamb’s] name and his Father’s name written on their foreheads” (Rev 14:1–2). These latter texts have occasioned much interest in what, exactly, that “new song” was. But who knows?
The instruction to “let them praise his name … making melody to him with tambourine and lyre” (v.3) is repeated in “praise the Lord with the lyre, make melody to him with the harp of ten strings” (Ps 33:2) and further expanded in the complete orchestral array that is mentioned in Ps 150:1–6, as well as in narrative texts concerning the band of prophets coming to meet Samuel and Saul (1 Sam 10:5) and the sons of Jeduthun (1 Chron 25:1–8). Job notes that faithful people “sing to the tambourine and the lyre” (Job 21:12) and David, of course, was recognised for his skill with the lyre (1 Sam 16:14–16, 23; 18:10).
The role of playing the tambourine appears to have been linked with young girls (Ps 68:25) and women (1 Sam 18:6), following the example of “the prophet Miriam, Aaron’s sister” (Exod 15:20). There are tambourines in the instrumental array in the time of David (2 Sam 6:5; 1 Chron 13:8) and they are noted by Jeremiah (Jer 31:4) and in Judith’s “new psalm” of praise to God (Judith 16:1).
Their presence at weddings is reflected in the sad tale of the wedding of the family of Jambri, where weapons concealed amongst “the tambourines and musicians” are used to perpetrate a huge slaughter, such that “the wedding was turned into mourning and the voice of their musicians into a funeral dirge” (1 Mac 9:37–41).
A group of terracotta figurines dating to the eight-seventh century BCE. These small figurines, six–eight inches tall, represent female figures playing the hand-drum, which was probably a woman’s instrument in ancient Israel. These terracottas are in the collection of the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. Photo by Carol Meyers, Duke University; from https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/women-with-hand-drums-dancing-bible
Dancing in temple worship (v.3) is also noted in other psalms; on Zion “singers and dancers alike say, ‘all my springs are in you’” (Ps 87:7), and praising God “with tambourine and dance” is encouraged in the great final psalm of praise (Ps 150:4). Dancing appears also in the narrative texts concerning Miriam (Exod 15:20), the daughter of Jephthah (Judg 11:34), Saul (1 Sam 8:6), and David (2 Sam 6:5; 1 Chron 13:8; 15:29).
The psalm ends with a celebration of the ways that God’s justice will be implemented (Ps 149:6–9), which is bracketed by reference to “the faithful” who “exult in glory” (v.5) and the closing affirmation, “this is glory for all his faithful ones” (v.9). These “faithful ones” are active in offering praise in other psalms (Ps 30:4), for they are valued by God. The psalmists affirm that the Lord “will not forsake his faithful ones” (Ps 37:28) and that their death is “precious … in the sight of the Lord” (Ps 116:15).
Yet regarding God’s just actions as the “glory” which God grants to these “faithful ones” is a reminder of the realities of the world in which the Israelites lived. It was marked by conflicts and battles, by bloodshed and killings, by invasions and deportations, so the judgement of God was sought by the “faithful ones” in brutal terms. With “two-edged swords”, with fetters and chains of iron, so “the judgement decreed” by the Lord God will take place (vv.6–9).
After which, the psalmist takes breath, and concludes, “Praise the Lord!” Indeed!
Whenever Christians think about the Spirit—and specifically about the dynamic force that is displayed by the Holy Spirit—our attention goes most immediately to the story of the Day of Pentecost in Acts 2. That’s when the coming of the Spirit was experienced as “a sound like the rush of a violent wind [which] filled the entire house where they were sitting”, followed by “tongues, as of fire … resting on each of them” (vv.2–3). And, of course, the chaos that resulted—“all of them … began to speak in other languages” meant that the crowd that heard them were bewildered, amazed, astonished, and thought that they were drunk!
That’s a disruptive event initiated and impelled by the Spirit right there. The story of Pentecost is a story about God intervening, overturning, and reshaping the people of God. The Spirit certainly was active at Pentecost; but this was not the first time that Jewish people had experienced the Spirit. Pentecost was far from being the first time that the Spirit came and caused upheaval!
Hebrew Scripture refers to the actions of the spirit at many places throughout the story of Israel. In the Exodus from Egypt, the foundational story of Israel—an incredibly disruptive and disturbing experience, to be sure!—the Spirit was at work. “You gave your good spirit to instruct them, and did not withhold your manna from their mouths, and gave them water for their thirst” is how Ezra recounts the story (Neh 9:20–22). It was the work of the Spirit to release the captives from Egypt, lead them through the challenges of the wilderness, and then bring them into the land promised to them.
The Spirit which had guided Moses and was then gifted to chosen elders (Num 11:16–25) was subsequently imparted to Joshua (Num 27:18; Deut 34:9) and then to a string of Judges: Othniel (Judg 3:10), Gideon (6:34), Jephthah (11:29), and Samson (13:24–25; 14:6,19; 15:14). Each of these men led their people through dangerous, challenging, and turbulent experiences, as they sought to impose Israelite domination on the peoples already living in Canaan.
We might justifiably have a different ethical assessment of this process today—invasion, colonisation, and massacre are familiar dynamics, unfortunately, in the Australian context—but for our present purposes we can note that the Spirit was the energising force in this long and disruptive process. It was disruptive for the inhabitants of the land, as they lost homes, families, and cultural heritage. It was disruptive for the invading Israelites, as they followed they call of their leaders to enter and inhabit the land that they believed God had long promised to them.
The Spirit was also active during the period of kingship in Israel. Saul, after he was anointed as king, was possessed by the Spirit and fell into “a prophetic frenzy” (1 Sam 10:6, 10). During his reign, the Spirit continued to operate through David (1 Sam 16:13; 2 Sam 23:2) and presumably gifted Solomon with “his very great wisdom, discernment, and breadth of understanding as vast as the sand on the seashore” (1 Ki 4:29–34; and see Prov 2:6–11). Perhaps Solomon was the model for the spirit-gifted wisdom exhibited by Joseph (Gen 41:33, 38–39), when the ancestral sagas were collected and compiled into the book of Genesis?
It was the Spirit seen in these first three kings who would be seen as the agent for God to be at work in subsequent rulers (Isaiah 11:2). In addition, the prophetic frenzy manifested by Saul might well be regarded as the prototype for later prophetic activity. It signals just how powerfully the work of the Spirit can disrupt and disturb individuals, and a collective group.
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The clearest example of this personally disruptive impact is found in the story of the priest Ezekiel, son of Buzi, who was dramatically called to be a prophet. After Ezekiel saw a striking and bizarre vision of a winged chariot, bearing four winged figures (Ezek 1:4–28), he fell on his face; but the Spirit grabbed hold of Ezekiel, entering into him and raising him up onto his feet (Ezek 2:2). Ezekiel has the same visceral experience many more times (Ezek 3:12, 14, 24; 8:3; 11:1, 24; 37:1; 43:5). The work of the Spirit was anything but calm and measured for Ezekiel.
In his prophecies, Ezekiel notes that the Lord God promised to mete out the same dramatic treatment to the Israelites during their exile (Ezek 11:19; 36:26–27; 37:14). Being seized by the Spirit would reorient the hearts and refashion the lives of the exiles, as they look to a return to the land. That is thoroughly disruptive!
Other prophets also look to the activity of the Spirit to be both disruptive and also transformative. The Spirit would inspire prophecies amidst dramatic portents (Joel 2:28–42); the Spirit would declare the way of justice in the midst of the injustices perpetrated by the people, which presages ruin for the land (Micah 3:8–12); and the Spirit would equip leadership during the return to the land, ahead of the tumult of God “shaking the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land” (Haggai 1:14—2:9).
The book of Isaiah contains various exilic oracles which point to the Spirit as the agent of declaring justice to the people (Isa 42:1–9; 61:1–11) and wreaking revenge on the enemies of Israel (Isa 48:14–16). Once again, the disruptive dimension of the Spirit’s work is evident.
In later texts in Hebrew Scripture, there are indications that the spirit inhabits human beings simply through the fact that they exist as the creations of God (Job 27:3; 32:18; 33:4; Zech 12:1). Indeed, all of creation came into being through the spirit of God (Ps 104:30). The act of creation itself was a fracturing of an existing state, a breaking-open of what was for it to become something other than what it had been. Creative activity is disruptive activity.
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So the last thing to note about the Spirit in Hebrew Scripture is the first thing that is said about it in the opening chapter of Genesis—the post-exilic priestly document which recounts the foundational creation myth of the Israelite peoples. As the story of creation is placed at the very beginning of the first scroll in the Hebrew Scriptures (Gen 1:1—2:4a), it is explicitly noted that it was by the spirit of God that the creation came into being (Gen 1:1-3).
That creative act began with complete chaos, and shaped and formed the “formless void and darkness” of the very beginning, to become an ordered, cohesive, complex system of inter-relating parts. The status quo of formless nothingness was disrupted, as the wondrously beautiful creation was shaped by “a wind from God [which] swept over the face of the waters” (Gen 1:2). Interpreters over the centuries have assumed that this wind was in fact the Spirit of God, active from the very beginning of God’s creative act.
The Holy Spirit was already integral to the faith of the ancient Israelites. The Holy Spirit continued to play a key role for the early Christians. The Holy Spirit remains a force to be reckoned with in our own times, today. The Spirit may well be how God is calling us to disrupt the status quo of the church today!
The instructions are clear: “take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they eat it” (Exod 12:7).
The explanation is also clear: “I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike down every firstborn in the land of Egypt, both human beings and animals … the blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live: when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague shall destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt” (Exod 12:12–13).
It’s a story of hope, expressed in joy; and it’s a story about death, filled with despair. We will hear it this Sunday, as it is offered as the Hebrew Scripture reading for Pentecost 15 (Exodus 12:1–14). It all depends on where you stand as you hear the story. Are you in the shoes of the escaping Hebrews? Or in the shoes of the Egyptians who saw their beloved children slaughtered?
The story that is told about the Exodus in the Hebrew Scriptures is a story filled with hope. It tells of the liberation of an oppressed people, suffering under the burdens of forced labour; it recounts the sequence of events that led to the miraculous escape from slavery, crossing through the Sea of Reeds, travelling unhindered through the wilderness, into a land which the story claims was promised by God—a promised land, gifted to a chosen people by a holy God.
The story that is told in the Hebrew Bible about the Exodus is also a story filled with violence. There is the violence executed in Pharaoh’s actions in having the young boys murdered. There is the violence that is threatened by the Egyptian army as their chariots and horses thunder in hot pursuit of the escaping Israelites.
Worse, there is the insistent violence in the series of increasingly damaging plagues which God is said to have sent against the Egyptians. And finally, there is the climactic and catastrophic violence of the surging of waters over the army and their horses, as they as swamped and drowned in the middle of the Sea of Reeds.
It is a difficult story to take at face value; what sort of people remember such a tale of incessant violence? and what sort of a God takes sides with one group of people and acts in such a vicious way against their opponents? Furthermore, how can we accept this story as part of our canon of scripture, when it is so filled with violent act after violent act?
The Crossing of the Red Sea by Nicholas Poussin (1633–34)
This is not the only place that we encounter violence in the Hebrew Scriptures; as the story goes on, it proves to be one of invasion, massacre, colonisation, and dispossession of people in the land of Canaan; and then, a string of battles take place in various locations, as the invading Israelites gradually exert their dominance over the indigenous people of the land.
All of this violence is indeed of deep concern, and it can be seen to place the whole of those scriptures under a cloud. However, I don’t want to fall into the supercessionist trap, the approach taken in the second century by Marcion of Sinope, who discarded the whole of the Old Testament—and, indeed, a significant part of the New Testament! We have these stories as part of our scriptures, and we need to hear them, ponder them, and engage critically with them.
Nor do I want to gloss over the fact that acts of violence, both those committed by human beings, and those attributed to the Lord God, can be found in many parts of the New Testament. It is a ubiquitous problem. Violence is expressed in many texts in scripture—both Jewish and Christian—and, indeed, is found in the texts of many other religious traditions. Human beings live, and die, by violence. We can never escape it, it seems.
If we take these texts as a literal account of historical events, we have significant theological issues to address. And there are a number of difficult historical questions that must be addressed, if we want to hold to the claim that Exodus is reporting an historical “as it really happened”. Where is the evidence for the escape of a huge number of people at that time? (There is none.) Who was the Pharaoh of the time? (There are two very different suggestions about this.)
What about the evidence for the huge crowd that spent 40 years in the desert? Where are the bones of the dead, the remains of campsites, from that crowd, if that is accepted to be the massive crowd 600,000 males (plus their women and children) that would set forth into the wilderness (see Exod 12:37) and then their descendants? There is absolutely no evidence for these archaeological remains, at all.
But such a forensic historical interrogation is not my approach to the story of the Exodus, nor to other parts of Hebrew Scripture, nor, indeed, to the narratives found in the New Testament.
So my approach to these texts has been to undertake an appreciative enquiry approach: what is this text saying? what drives the energy of the writer? what issues of concern do I read and hear—explicitly in the words used, and implicitly, in between and under what is said? what elements can I affirm, as contributing constructively to the Hebrew Scriptures’ understandings of God? and, as a consequence of that, to the New Testament’s understandings of God?
To begin, we need to recognise that the Exodus was seen as the paradigm for liberation—political, cultural, social, religious—which has shaped Jewish life for millennia. It is no wonder that it was picked up as a key motif for early followers of Jesus, to describe his significance: preaching the kingdom of God, the righteous-justice of a compassionate God, a challenge to the collective political, social, and religious status quo, and a liberating way of being for those following him.
A group of priests in the exile in Babylon collected and collated materials from earlier traditions, and developed a series of stories that conveyed in saga form the key elements of their national story. Symbolism and poetry were the paramount features of these stories, originally oral, later written on scrolls.
In the latter stages of the Exile or perhaps in the early stages of return to the land and rebuilding society, the stories and sagas were drawn into the set of scrolls we know as the Torah, the first part of the TaNaK. Symbolism featured prominently in these poetic stories and narrative rehearsals of the past.
The Passover occupies a central place in the long, sweeping narrative that is told in Hebrew Scripture. As well as the story of the Passover which led to the exodus from Egypt (Exod 12–15) and the thrice-documented priestly regulations governing the annual celebration (Lev 23:4–8; Num 28:16–25; Deut 16:1–8), the story is told of celebrating Passover at key moments in that ongoing narrative: at the foot of Mount Sinai (Num 9:1–14), at Gilgal when about to enter the land of Canaan (Josh 5:10–12), when the Temple worship was restored under Hezekiah (2 Chron 30:1–27), and during the great reformation that took place under Josiah (2 Ki 23:21–23).
The priest-prophet Ezekiel, in his vision of the restored land and new Temple, seen during the Exile, insists that the Passover be celebrated on a recurring annual basis (Ezek 45:21–25). Even though the Temple that was eventually rebuilt was of a different size and shape, when the Exiles returned under Darius, the Passover was celebrated at the dedication of the rebuilt Temple (Ezra 6:19–22).
Over time, interpreters under influence from later developments in thinking began to “reify” and “historicise” these symbolic sagas and develop the idea that they reported “events that actually happened”. They didn’t—as we have noted, there is no evidence outside the Bible for the sequence of events found in the Exodus saga. But the story had a potency for these priestly writers as the land was restored, the Temple rebuilt, society reconstructed.
The Passover story, leading up to the escape of the Exodus, that Jews recall and relive each year and which Christians remember on a regular basis in the eucharistic celebration, tells the age-old scapegoat dynamic in a dramatic story filled with symbolism. It too was not an historical event, but a story developed to explain the special significance of the people of Israel and their faith in a god who took extraordinary steps to secure their freedom.
Of course, within the emerging Jewish movement that had a focus on Jesus as an authoritative teacher of the Torah, a key way of grappling with the fact that Jesus was put to death as a criminal, hung on a cross under the orders of the Roman Governor, was to draw on this story of blood shed, lambs sacrificed, and salvation gained.
The timing of the death of Jesus is placed within the Passover festival by all four canonical Gospels. That is the festival that remembers the story of what happened to Israel, long ago—and that passes on the story that this happens year-in, year-out, as the faithful people of Israel remember and relive their national salvation.
One Gospel even locates the actual hour when Jesus dies on the cross as being “on the day of preparation for the Passover” (John 19:14, 31). Jesus, already identified in this Gospel as “the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world” (John 1:29, 36), dies when the Passover lambs are being slaughtered in preparation for the Passover meal that evening. (The other three Gospels, of course, place the last meal of Jesus with his disciples at the Passover meal—Mark 14:12–25 and parallels—and thus, in their chronology, he dies on the day after Passover.)
Jesus is remembered as the “paschal lamb … who has been sacrificed” (1 Cor 5:7); it is by the shedding of his blood that atonement with God takes place (Rom 3:25), that faithful people are justified (Rom 5:9), that peace is achieved (Col 1:20), that redemption occurs (Eph 1:7). One writer makes much of this, emphasising that this redemption is eternal (Heb 9:12; 13:20), opening up “a new and living way” (Heb 10:19–20). It is his shed (sprinkled) blood makes Jesus “the mediator of a new covenant” (Heb 12:24) and that his faithful people are sanctified (Heb 13:12).
So this ancient story, passed down by word of mouth and then written in scrolls that themselves were passed down for reading and understanding, sits deeply within the self-understanding of both Jewish and Christian people. It is a story we cannot avoid.
“The Lord made his people very fruitful, and made them stronger than their foes, whose hearts he then turned to hate his people, to deal craftily with his servants” (Ps 105:24–25). These words appear in the psalm that is offered by the Revised Common Lectionary this coming Sunday (Ps 105:1–6, 23–26, 46b).
“Dealing craftily” is presented as something quite negative; a characteristic of the way that the “foes” of Israel deal with the “servants” of the Lord. The reference is made in the course of providing a summation of one part of the Joseph episode within the overall story of Israel that is told by this psalm.
In the course of the 45 verses of this psalm, there are summaries of key episodes in this story, from the ancestral covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (vv.7–11), through the times involving the elderly Jacob, his sons, the famine in Canaan, and the rescue provided by Joseph in Egypt (vv.12–25), on to the period of Moses and Aaron (vv.26–36), the Exodus from Egypt and wilderness wandering (vv.37–42) and then the entry into the land of Canaan (vv.43–45).
This lyrical retelling of the story of Israel fits it well for singing on the first day of Passover, remembering the escape from slavery in Egypt. However, the portion offered by the lectionary this Sunday tells of a time prior to that, when “Israel came to Egypt; Jacob lived as an alien in the land of Ham” (v.23). Of that period, the psalmist sings that “the Lord made his people very fruitful” (v.24).
This presumably reflects the time after the severe famine in Canaan (Gen 43:1), when, after various machinations, Jacob and his family relocate to Egypt, and Joseph, having revealed his true identity to his family (Gen 45:1–5), “settled his father and his brothers, and granted them a holding in the land of Egypt, in the best part of the land, in the land of Rameses, as Pharaoh had instructed; and Joseph provided his father, his brothers, and all his father’s household with food, according to the number of their dependents” (Gen 47:11–12).
Of course, soon after this, famine hit Egypt as well (Gen 47:13). Joseph’s scheme for surviving the famine works (Gen 47:14–26), the country survives, and “Israel settled in the land of Egypt, in the region of Goshen; and they gained possessions in it, and were fruitful and multiplied exceedingly” (Gen 47:27). This bounty is reiterated in the opening chapter of Exodus, which declares that “the Israelites were fruitful and prolific; they multiplied and grew exceedingly strong, so that the land was filled with them” (Exod 1:7).
All of this is conveyed in the highly compressed summation of the psalm, “the Lord made his people very fruitful” (Ps 105:24). But then, according to the psalmist, the Lord turned the hearts of the Egyptians “to hate his people, to deal craftily with his servants” (Ps 105:25). This marries with the way that the narrative continues in Exodus, which notes that “a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph”, and so “they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labour” (Exod 1:11).
The Egyptians are described as acting “shrewdly” (Exod 1:10). Is this the same as the psalmist’s note that the foes of Israel “dealt craftily” with them (Ps 105:25)? The Hebrew word used in the quasi-historical narrative of Exodus is chakam, which is most often translated as “act wisely”. Thus it is applied to Solomon (1 Ki 4:31), the simple who are made wise through “the decrees of the Lord” (Ps 19:7; so also 119:97–100), the instruction of Wisdom herself (Prov 8:33), and the activity (as whispily vain as it is) of the Preacher, Qohelet (Eccles 2:15, 19). The way the Egyptian treated the Israelites had a certain cunning involved—they acted with a canny, shrewd wisdom.
The Hebrew word chosen in the poetry of the psalmist’s song is nakal, “to be crafty, deceitful, or knavish”, according to Brown, Driver, and Briggs. This word is also employed in the Genesis narrative, when the brothers of Joseph plot to kill him. “Here comes this dreamer; come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits”, they say (Gen 37:19–20), as he approaches them in his “long robe with sleeves” (Gen 37:3). Such behaviour is described in various translations as being a conspiracy or a plot—the translation offered here for nakal.
Attributing this mode of behaviour to the sons of Jacob should not surprise us—after all, they have inherited the DNA which has previously led their ancestors to lie, deceive, and even threaten to murder their own child! Remember: Abraham lying about his wife Sarah as his sister (Gen 12 and again in Gen 20) and threatening to sacrifice his own son (Gen 22); Isaac, who also lied that his wife Rebekah was his sister (Gen 26); and Jacob, the deceiver, who stole his birthright from his twin brother Esau (Gen 27) and then deceived his father-in-law Laban and profited from his flock (Gen 30–31). They are not exactly wonderful role models!
But the Exodus narrative attributes such “shrewdness” to the Egyptians, as the foes of Israel (Exod 1:10); a shrewdness that overlaps, as we have seen, with divinely-granted wisdom. The Egyptians were being wise in pressing the foreigners in their midst to work for them in their building projects. And no, they were not being used as slave labour to build the great pyramids of Egypt. Those structures are dated to “the Old Kingdom”, from 2686 until about 2160 BCE—well, well before any possible dating of the Israelites were in Egypt.
It’s interesting that the psalmist called out the Egyptians for what they saw them to be—shrewd, conniving, deceitful—whereas the Exodus story leaves open a sliver of possibility they the Egyptians were being shrewd and wise in the way they use (and, it would seem, greatly abused) the Israelites living in their land. Interesting.
“The angel of the Lord appeared to [Moses] in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight’ … and [when] the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’ Then he said, ‘Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.’” (Exod 3:2–5)
The story of the burning bush is well-known; it is the moment when Moses, the murderer who has fled from Egypt (2:11–15), is galvanised by a striking event to become the one who will “go [back] to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (3:10), to become Moses the liberator. The transformation is striking—although perhaps the transformation is not quite as dramatic as many envisage.
It may well be the case for Moses that a strong sense of justice undergirds both his act of killing the Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew (2:11), and his commitment to deliver the Israelites from “the misery of Egypt” (3:17). Moses was passionate about the need for justice in society. Paradoxically, this passion led him to say NO to a man he witnessed committing a crime, and YES to a body of people who were suffering oppression in a foreign land.
Of course, common sense says that Moses should not have taken things into his own hands when he saw that Egyptian man beating one of his fellow-Israelites. But the passion within him—passion for fairness and justice—boiled up inside him and overflowed into unjust actions. This was in keeping with the charge given to the father of his people, when God mused about Abraham, “I have chosen him, that he may charge his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice” (Gen 18:19).
No wonder Moses fled, escaping the wrath of Pharaoh, travelling east across the desert areas of the Sinai Peninsula, all the way to Midian! (Exod 2:15). His action, out of proportion with the crime he saw being committed, was unjust. It is not a very propitious start for Moses, the man who towers over the story of the people,of Israel—ironically, best remembered as Moses the lawgiver!
Mind you, throughout Genesis, we have been regaled by tales of men behaving badly—Abraham lying about his wife Sarah as his sister (Gen 12 and again in Gen 20) and threatening to sacrifice his own son (Gen 22); Isaac, who also lied that his wife Rebekah was his sister (Gen 26); and Jacob, the deceiver, who stole his birthright from his twin brother Esau (Gen 27) and then deceived his father-in-law Laban and profited from his flock (Gen 30–31). They are not exactly wonderful role models!
Yet the story about Moses that we are offered in the lectionary this week presents Moses in a much more positive light, and it contains two fundamental elements in the story of Israel: the declaration that Moses stands on holy ground, and the revelation of the name of God.
Holy ground
God’s word to Moses, after calling for his attention, is to declare that “the place on which you are standing is holy ground” (Exod 3:5). This is the first occurrence of the concept of holiness in the Torah—the word is absent from all of the narratives in Genesis. And it is fascinating that this “holy ground” is in Midian, both far away from Egypt and far away from Canaan, the land that would subsequently be decreed as holy (Exod 15:13; Jer 21:23; Zech 2:12). This God is now able to appear in places far away from Canaan., and declare them holy.
A central motif in Hebrew Scripture is that holiness was a defining character of the people of Israel. A section of Leviticus (chapters 17—26) is known as “The Holiness Code”; its main purpose was to set out laws to mark Israel as different from the surrounding cultures. “You shall not do as they do in the land of Egypt, where you lived”, God told Moses, “and you shall not do as they do in the land of Canaan, to which I am bringing you” (Lev 18:2).
The rules of Leviticus were meant to set the Israelites apart from the Canaanites and Egyptians, who at that time had customs and rituals that were not to be adopted by the Israelites. Moses is instructed to relay to the people, “you shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2), and to remind them to “consecrate yourselves therefore, and be holy; for I am the Lord your God. Keep my statutes, and observe them; I am the Lord; I sanctify you” (Lev 20:7). The whole book details those many statutes and commandments, all designed to keep the practices of the Israelites “holy to the Lord” (Lev 19:8; 23:20; 27:14–24).
Once the Temple was constructed, as a holy place within that holy land, those who ministered to God within the Temple, as priests, were to be especially concerned about holiness, both in their daily life and in their regular activities in the Temple (Exod 28–29; Lev 8–9). The priests oversaw the implementation of the Holiness Code, explaining the various applications of the word to Israel, that “you shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2; also 20:7, 26).
In the years before and during the exile, a number of prophets took to addressing the Lord God as “the Holy One of Israel” (Hos 11:9, 12; Isa 1:4; 5:9, 24; 10:20; 12:6; 17:7; 29:19; 30:11–15; 31:1; 37:23; 41:14–20; 43:3, 14; 45:11; 47:4; 48:17; 49:7; 54:5–6; 60:9, 14; Jer 50:29; 51:5; Ezek 39:7; Hab 1:12; 3:3). The psalmists also pick up this phrase (Ps 71:22; 78:41; 89:18), reflecting the affirmation made by Hannah, “there is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God” (1 Sam 2:2).
As a consequence, Israel is regularly assured that the whole nation is a “chosen people” (Deut 7:6–8, 14:2; Ps 33:12; Isa 41:8–10, 65:9), set apart as “a kingdom of priests, a holy nation” (Exod 19:4–6), called to be “a light to the nations” (Isa 42:6, 49:6). So in the towns and villages of Israel, by contrast to the centralised priests, the scribes and Pharisees provided guidance in the interpretation of Torah and in the application of Torah to ensure that holiness was observed in daily living of all people in Israel.
These dispersed teachers undertook the highly significant task of showing how the Torah was relevant to the daily life of Jewish people. It was possible, they argued, to live as God’s holy people at every point of one’s life, quite apart from any pilgrimages made to the Temple in Jerusalem. These figures, scribes and Pharisees, are evident in a number of interactions with Jesus that are reported in the Gospels—interactions focussed on interpreting the Torah (Mark 7:1–23 and Matt 15:1–20 exemplify such encounters).
Perhaps the origins of this localised interpretive role are told in the post-Exilic narrative of Nehemiah, when “the priest Ezra brought the law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could hear with understanding”, ably assisted by men who “helped the people to understand the law, while the people remained in their places”, explaining the significance of “this holy day” and other matters (Neh 7:73b—8:12). The story explains the modus operandi of these teachers.
Certainly, the culture and religion of the Israelites was to be marked by a concern for holiness. This is read back into the foundational narrative of the call given to Moses, “to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (Exod 3:10, 17). When he hears this call in Midian, Moses is standing on holy ground (3:1-12).
The Name of God
Although he is in Midian, far away from Canaan (later to become Israel), Moses encounters the God who is most firmly identified with that land. It is “the Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob” who appeared to Moses (Exod 3:6, 16). This is the first occurrence of this characteristic linkage of the Lord God with the three patriarchs (see also Exod 3:15–16; 4:5; 6:3, 8; 33:1; Lev 26:42; Num 32:11; Deut 1:8; 6:10; 9:5, 27; 29:13; 30:20; 34:4; 2 Ki 13:23; Jer 33:26).
Identified, therefore, as “the God of your ancestors” (in Hebrew, elohe abotekem) (3:15, 16; 4:5), a distinctive term is added into the mix, and highlighted by God as “my name forever … my title for all generations” (3:15). The term is regularly translated as Lord, and is often capitalised to indicate its distinctive nature. In fact, the name comprises just four consonants (transliterated as yhvh or yhwh).
Despite its apparent simplicity, the meaning of the word has occasioned intense discussion amongst interpreters over the centuries. First, we should note that many Jews today adhere to the age-old prohibition and do not speak the name of God. This is based on the third of the Ten Commandments, “You shall not take his name in vain” (Exod 20:7; Deut 5:11).
Rabbi Baruch Davidson, writing on the website chabad.org, explains: “Although this verse is classically interpreted as referring to a senseless oath using G‑d’s name, the avoidance of saying G‑d’s name extends to all expressions, except prayer and Torah study. In the words of Maimonides, the great Jewish codifier: ‘It is not only a false oath that is forbidden. Instead, it is forbidden to mention even one of the names designated for G‑d in vain, although one does not take an oath. For the verse commands us, saying: “To fear the glorious and awesome name. Included in fearing it is not to mention it in vain.’” See
Since Hebrew words are constructed with a set of consonants as the base, to which a variety of vowels can be added, this short word is often expanded to either Jehovah or Yahweh. The former places the vowels of the word Adonai (meaning “lord”) to form the artificial term Jehovah, a title that has been popularised by the Jehovah Witnesses. The latter is a more accurate rendition of the blending of these consonants with the vowels of the verb to be, hayah, forming Yahweh.
The name of God that is given to Moses in this story is often referred to as the Tetragrammaton (meaning “four letters”), because it is a four-letter word, yud-hey-vav-hey (יהוה). This name is derived from the verb “to be”, which has led to speculation that it could be translated as “I am who I am” or “I will be whom I will be”—revealing nothing, really, about the nature of this divine being, other than the existence of God. It is a curious “revelation”. What has Moses actually learnt about God in this encounter??
This name is certainly mysterious. What does it mean to say, “I am who I am”? or “I will be who I will be”? The mystery of each phrase invites the listener or reader to pause, ponder, and consider what is being conveyed. This is not a direct propositional statement, declaring a closed statement along the lines of, “God is love”, or “God is all-knowing”, or “God desires justice”, or other such statements. It is, rather, mystical, evocative, inviting, something that is invitational and encouraging exploration. Perhaps that, in itself, is enough of a basis for our considering as to who God is and what God desires?
Jewish mystical literature actually teaches that there are seventy names for God; and if you explore the biblical texts (the Torah), the developing rabbinic literature (Mishnah, Talmud, and Midrash) and then the proliferation of Jewish mystical terms, God is referred to by almost more names than can be counted.
Rabbi Stephen Carr Reuben asks “Why so many names, and why does God tell Moses that the name he knows God by is different from that of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?” As he explores this question, he notes that “Every name reflects a quality in relation to human beings that each of us can choose to emulate in our own lives. Thus in Jewish mysticism, the ideal state is to be in harmony with the Divine by emulating the attributes reflected in the great diversity of divine names.”
The rabbi offers some examples: “As God is called, ‘The Compassionate One’ (HARAKHAMAN in Hebrew), so each of us can strive to be compassionate in our behavior toward others. As God is called EL SHADDAI (The Nurturer), so we can be nurturing of the dreams and longings of others. As God is called The Righteous Judge (DAYAN EMET), so we can express righteousness and stand up for justice in our lives.”
What, then, of the revelation to Moses? Rabbi Carr Reuben suggests that “when God tells Moses that he was known by a different name to the patriarchs, it is because every moment in history, and every challenge we face personally demands that we draw upon a different quality of holiness to emulate in our lives. We must choose the name of God that captures the essence of the attributes of Godliness that is appropriate to the moment, and up to the challenge of the day.” See
With this Sunday’s Hebrew Scripture passage, we move on from the ancestral sagas that featured the three patriarchs of Israel (Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob) and their four matriarchs (Sarah and Rebekah, Leah and Rachel), as well as the twelve sons of Jacob, their sister Dinah, and the escapades in Egypt that proved to be their salvation. We move now into the story of Moses, who occupies a unique place in the story of Israel: Moses the lawgiver, Moses the prophet, Moses the teacher.
Whereas land has been the location for the Genesis stories, with movement happening between Chaldea (later Babylonia), Canaan (later Israel), and Egypt, water now enters the story in a significant way. Indeed, water is present and plays a prominent role in both readings from the Hebrew Scriptures that the lectionary provides for this coming Sunday (Exod 1:8–2:10; Psalm 124).
In the story told in Exodus, the situation of the Israelites is grim. Whilst life in the time of Joseph had been flourishing, in this story, “a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph” (Exod 1:8). The situation of the Israelite descendants of Joseph was marred by envy (v.9), distrust and scheming (v.10), oppression (v.11), intensified fear (v.12), and the ruthless imposition of tasks (v.13).
Life for the enslaved Israelites was bitter (v.14), and then in peril, as the king of Egypt plotted to murder all the males born to the Israelites (v.15–16). That scheme, however, was foiled by Shiphrah and Puah, who refused to follow through the instructions of the king (v.17) and gave a devious answer about this (v.19). The role that these women play—the first of a number of women—will provide to be important.
In this narrative, the river Nile features prominently (Exod 1:22; 2:4–6). The Nile was the place where Pharaoh threatened to drown “every boy that is born to the Hebrews” (1:22). That river is where the woman married to “a man from the house of Levi” placed her child, inside “a papyrus basket … plastered with bitumen and pitch” to make it waterproof (2:3). It is where the daughter of Pharaoh bathes, and discovers the basket, and the child inside it (2:5–6). That river was the salvation for this particular child, even if it was the threatened place of death for many other children.
In the Psalm, water is present in the floods that threaten the people of Israel. “The flood would have swept us away, the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone the raging waters” (Ps 124: 4–5). That water surges and sweeps with menace, generating fear and anxiety amongst the land-living Israelites. Those waters portended doom.
The sea was integral to God’s creative works: “yonder is the sea, great and wide, creeping things innumerable are there, living things both small and great” (Ps 104:25). The early part of the priestly narrative about God’s creating activity indicates that controlling and corralling the waters was an essential first step (see Gen 1:6–7, 9–10), and also that those waters provided the source of life for “swarms of living creatures” (Gen 1:20).
Yet the sea was a threatening place for the people of Israel, accustomed to life on the land, planting grapevines and herding sheep in “the land of milk and honey”. Later in the story of Moses, the sea of reeds was the place of destruction for Egypt (Ps 114:1–8), although it was also the location of salvation for Israel, as is celebrated in David’s song of praise (2 Sam 22:1–4, repeated at Ps 18:6, 12–19).
For sailors, the sea could be a place of great danger (Ps 107:23–31)—the story of Jonah attests to this (Jon 1:4–17), as does the final trip of Paul as he is taken as a prisoner to Rome (Acts 27:14–20). Yet the power of the roaring sea, as majestic as it is, pales into insignificance beside the majesty of the Lord on high (Ps 93:3–4). In the sea lurks the great sea monster, Leviathan (Job 3:8; Ps 104:26) of whom Job muses, “who can confront it and be safe?” (Job 41:11). It is only the Lord who is able to subdue Leviathan (Ps 74:14; Isa 27:1).
The dangers of the sea which the Israelites escaped may well be reflected in Psalm 124, recalling the threat of floods sweeping them away, torrents rising over them, raging waters submerging them. That psalm concludes, with a sigh of relief, “our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth” (Ps 124:8). The Lord is somehow able to overcome that threat for the Israelites. And that story, as we shall note, has resonances with the earlier narrative of “the great flood” that subsumed the whole earth, and from which only a chosen handful of people and animals survived (Gen 7—9).
The same movement towards salvation takes place in the Exodus narrative, as the unnamed baby is taken out of the river, brought into the household of Pharaoh, the very one who would have the child killed, and nurtured by his own daughter’s nursemaid (Exod 2:6–10). The waters are paradoxical forces, for they sustain and protect life even as they threaten to overwhelm life.
And lest we overlook this element too quickly: the saving of this child depends on a sequence of women who took steps to ensure his safety. We have already noted the actions of Shiphrah and Puah (1:19). Now, we should note the unnamed mother of this child, who placed him in the basket on the river (2:3), and her sister-in-law, also unnamed, who “stood at a distance to see what what happen to him” (2:4).
Then, there was the daughter of Pharaoh, who saw the basket (2:5), her unnamed maid, who took pity on the child (2:6), the sister of this maid, who suggested and then procured someone to nurse the child (2:7). And then, another unnamed woman, “a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child” (2:7–9), which ensured that the child would survive (2:9–10). And finally, back to Pharaoh’s daughter (still unnamed), who bequeathed the name Moses on the rescued child (2:10). So many women, so many important interventions—and so many names not known!
The name of the child taken out of that river is known, and it is given at the end of the story: Moses. This is considered to be an Egyptian name, not an Israelite name—for although the child was born to an Israelite mother, he was raised in the household of an Egyptian family (and a privileged and powerful one, at that!). Moses (Hebrew Mosheh) signifies the “drawing out” of the child from the water (Exod 2:10). And just as he was saved by Egyptian women, so he will later be instrumental in the saving of his people from the Egyptians. A neat piece of irony in the larger storyline.
The story, like many others in these early narrative books, is told as an aetiology, to explain the meaning of the person’s name, as here, or as with Ishmael, Esau, and Jacob, and the new name, Israel, and his twelve sons and two grandsons Ephraim and Manasseh, and others; or the name of a place, as with Beersheba, or Bethel, or Peniel, amongst quite a number of locations named in Genesis. The story is constructed to explain the significance of the name of the people (or place). So for Moses, it is that he was “drawn out” of the waters, where by rights he should have died.
Which provides the groundwork for another ironic twist in the story, for as Moses is rescued out of the water and nurtured to ensure that he lives, so in a subsequent chapter of the story, the people he comes to lead will likewise be rescued from out of the waters of the sea, and will celebrate their saving at the hand of the Lord God (Exod 14:15–15:21). His name and his origins encapsulate a central feature of the story that will unfold in his life.
And those pursuing them, the Egyptian army, meet the fate that was most feared by the Israelites: “you blew with your breath, the sea covered them, they sank like lead in the mighty waters” (Exod 15:10; see a narrative explanations of this, that the sea was held back by the outstretched hands of Moses, at 14:21–28).
But this is jumping ahead to the story told in the lectionary excerpt we are offered in two weeks time! For today, we sit with the story of the origins of the one who was “drawn out of the water”—the child Moses.
In an earlier post, we noted that the book of Genesis is dominated by people whose stories shaped the self-understanding and identity of the nation of Israel. Written in the form that we now have them by the priests who had held the stories of Israel through the decades of Exile, those stories comprise oral tales, told and retold over centuries before that Exile, remembered and passed on because they offered insights into who the people of Israel had become—committed, resilient, crafty, and faithful.
We heard these stories, from the second Sunday after Pentecost (Gen 12) through now to the twelfth Sunday after Pentecost (Gen 45). The stories are dominated by the men—Adam and Noah, Abraham and Isaac, Jacob and his twelve sons, most notably Joseph. In these stories, as we have noted, the men dominate. There are, to be sure, women who also play key roles in the stories that are collected into this first narrative book, as we have noted—Sarah and Hagar, Rebekah, Leah and Rachel, as well as others with lesser prominence in the stories (or, indeed complete absence from the story).
This blog focusses on women in Genesis 38 and onwards. On the women who were overlooked by the lectionary in the earlier chapters, see
In this blog, we turn first to Tamar, the wife of Er, whom Judah, son of Jacob, had conceived with his Canaanite wife, Shua (Gen 38:2–6). Tamar was sister-in-law to Onan and Selah, the two brothers of Er. With Er being struck dead for his sinfulness, Onan is urged by Judah to fulfil the responsibility of the Levirate law (Deut 25:5–10) by marrying Tamar and producing heirs (Gen 38:7–8).
Onan is remembered, however, for disobeying this instruction of his father-in-law; “since Onan knew that the offspring would not be his, he spilled his semen on the ground whenever he went in to his brother’s wife, so that he would not give offspring to his brother” (37:9). As this displeased God, Onan is struck dead (37:10)—a harsh penalty!
Judah then wants to reserve Tamar “until my son Shelah grows up”, when they can marry, in accordance with the Levirate law (37:11). Through a series of misunderstandings, Judah ends up impregnating Tamar, whom he appeared to believe was a temple prostitute (38:12–19). Nobody said that the men of this family were all upstanding moral exemplars!
However, Tamar was canny. She asserts herself when she lies with Judah, asking him for his signet, cord, and staff—so that she can later identify the father of the child and call him to account. Professor Tikva Frymer-Kensky, of the University of Chicago, writing in the Jewish Women’s Archive, notes that this liaison was not illicit; it was in accord with the Levirate law. She also describes Tamar as “assertive of her rights and subversive of convention” and as “deeply loyal to Judah’s family”.
Months later, on learning that Tamar was pregnant, and not realising that he was responsible, Judah wanted her to be burned (38:24)—at which point “the big reveal” occurs, as Tamar shows the signet and the cord and the staff that she had taken from the man who impregnated her (38:18, 25). Judah, to his credit, accepts responsibility (38:26). Tamar gives birth to twins, Perez and Zerah (38:27–30).
Perez has a claim to fame in that the male line of descent from him arrives, eight generations later, at Jesse, father of David (Ruth 4:18–22) and thus of Jesus (Matt 1:3–6; Luke 3:32–33). So the origin of this ancestor of Jesus is a fascinating tale, consistent with a number of other enticing tales related to others amongst his ancestors.
Professor Tikva Frymer-Kensky notes that the assertive and loyal qualities of Tamar also show up in Ruth. “The blessing at Ruth’s wedding underscores the similarity in its hope that Boaz’s house ‘be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah’ (Ruth 4:12). These traits of assertiveness in action, willingness to be unconventional, and deep loyalty to family are the very qualities that distinguish their descendant, King David.”
Less well known amongst the descendants of Perez is Jashobeam, son of Zabdiel, “chief of all the commanders of the army” at the time that David was preparing to build the Temple, who had charge “of the first division in the first month; in his division were twenty-four thousand” (1 Chron 27:2–3). Years later, on return from exile in Babylon, “all the descendants of Perez who lived in Jerusalem were four hundred sixty-eight valiant warriors” (Neh 11:6).
The story of Onan, Tamar, and Judah is disturbing. Tamar was a faithful woman, obeying instructions to be married, to obey the Levirate law, and to wait for the appropriate time for another marriage. She asserts her rights and remains faithful in adversity. Yet Tamar is surrounded by men who misbehave badly—a sinful husband (Er),struck dead; his disobedient brother (Onan), also struck dead; and their opportunistic father (Judah), who at least, in the end, appears to recant of his deeds. Poor Tamar!
Writing elsewhere on the Jewish Women’s’ Archive about her namesake, Dr Tamar Kadari notes that whilst “the Rabbis spare no criticism of Judah and his sons, pointing out the sins that were responsible for their bitter fate”, they display a different attitude toward Tamar, praising her as “a woman with sterling qualities, who maintained the strictures of modesty and faithfully observed the laws of niddah”. (The laws of niddah govern the behaviour of menstruating women.)
Nevertheless, noting that Judah obeys the Levirate laws, she comments further that “the Rabbis find Judah’s conduct praiseworthy: even though the Torah had not yet been given, he nonetheless took care to observe all the commandments (Lev. Rabbah 2:10)”. One midrash claims that Tamar prayed: “May it be Your will that I not leave this house empty” (Gen. Rabbah 85:7), which indicates that her true aim “was to cleave to the house of Judah and provide a successor for his line”.
Dr Kadari reports that another midrash argues that it was “inconceivable that Judah thought [Tamar] to be a harlot because she covered her face, since, if anything, prostitutes show their faces. Rather, out of modesty, Tamar had always covered her face in her father-in-law’s home. Thus, when she disguised herself as a harlot and revealed her face, Judah did not recognize her (BT Sotah 10b).”
She further notes that “Another midrashic account has Judah saying: ‘This one is a harlot; of what concern is she to me?’ and continuing on his way. Once he had passed by, Tamar raised her eyes to God and said: ‘Master of the Universe, am I to go forth with nothing from the body of this righteous one?’ Then God immediately sent the angel Michael to bring Judah back (Tanhuma [ed. Buber], Vayeshev 17).” It was Tamar’s persistence in prayer that ensured the lineage of Judah.
And finally, amongst numerous other fascinating midrashic explanations that Dr Kadari reports, we note that it was seen that, because of his honesty in admitting he was the father and excusing Tamar from blame, Judah is blessed with the full line of the thirty kings of Judah, from David through to Zedekiah (Gen. Rabbah 97:8).
5 The wife of Potiphar
The wife of Potiphar is an intriguing presence in the section of Genesis that focusses on Joseph, one of Jacob’s twelve sons, while he was in Egypt (Gen 37—50). Potiphar was “one of Pharaoh’s officials, the captain of the guard” to whom the Midianites had sold Joseph (Gen 37:36). Potiphar’s wife is never named, but she plays a key role in Joseph’s story while he is serving as overseer to the household of Potiphar.
First, this woman attempts to seduce Joseph (39:7, 11–12), then she accuses Joseph of trying to seduce her (37:14–18). Of course this enraged Potiphar, who put Joseph in prison (37:19–20). No due process and fair trials in ancient Egypt, it seems! However, “the Lord was with Joseph and showed him steadfast love”; he enjoyed the favour of the chief jailer and “whatever he did, the Lord made it prosper” (37:21–23).
Some years ago, my wife Elizabeth Raine did a study of this particular woman (in a series that she wrote and taught about “ Women in the Bible”). She found that artists and commentators alike across the centuries have had a field day with the promiscuous nature of this unnamed woman—she was a shrewd villain, a seductress, a deceiver, the embodiment of temptation.
A third century text (attributed to the late 1st century bishop, Clement of Rome) railed against her: “did not a woman conceive an excessive passion for the beauty of this chaste and upright man? and when he would not yield and consent to gratify her passionate desire, she cast the righteous man into every kind of distress and torment, by bearing false witness”.
She found an online PowerPoint display that said, “no doubt she went on with her immoral behaviour; perhaps one day her husband found out the truth of her character, perhaps not; but certainly, one day, she will pay the ultimate penalty of her sinful life, separation from God, in a place of torment”.
However, we do not know whether Potiphar’s wife did want a sexual liaison. Perhaps she was jealous of Joseph when he replaced her as head of the household? Perhaps she did long for the emotional intimacy that Potiphar was not providing? The text is silent.
Jewish interpretation of this story seeks to be sympathetic about this woman. The Testament of Joseph, a 2nd century Jewish text, relates that Potiphar’s wife initially embraced Joseph like the son she lacked, and only gradually did she become seductive with him. Her nakedness before Joseph occurs when she is beset by grief at not being able to draw close to Joseph.
A little earlier, the Jewish scholar Philo of Alexandria sees Potiphar as a eunuch—he was an official in the court, so this was not an unusual supposition. His wife wished to “be with a man”, but as he tells the story, Philo presents the story as an allegory: the woman represents the physical pleasure of the body, but Joseph, committed to celibacy, represents the soul.
The Rabbis, of course, have various explanations: Joseph was attracted to the woman, but cooled off when an image of his parents appeared before him; or the woman wanted to seduce him in order to produce a son, which Potiphar had not given her, and that she saw a vision in which the stars showed that she would have children with Joseph; or Joseph is compelled by a vision from God to resist at all costs.
As is the case with a number of unnamed female figures in scripture, this particular woman is bequeathed a name as later tradition develops. The medieval commentator Sefer HaYashar, in his commentary on the Torah, gave her the name Zuleika.
In the Quran, this story is told in chapter 12. The woman Zulaikha overhears a group of women speaking about the incident involving Yusuf, verbally shaming Zulaikha for what she did. Wikipedia offers a helpful summary: “Zulaikha, angered by this, gives each woman a knife and calls for Yusuf. Upon his arrival, the women cut themselves with their knives, shocked by his beauty. Zulaikha, boosted by proving to the women that any woman would fall for Yusuf, proudly claims that Yusuf must accept her advances, or he will be imprisoned. Yusuf prays to Allah, begging Allah to make them imprison him, as Yusuf would rather go to jail than do the bidding of Zulaikha and the other women. Allah, listening to Yusuf’s request, makes the chief in power believe Yusuf should go to prison for some time, and so Yusuf does.”
6 Asenath
Whilst in Egypt, Joseph gained a reputation for his interpretations of dreams; he rose to power when he interpreted a dream of the Pharaoh (Gen 41:14–37). Pharaoh installed him into an office in his court and “set him over all the land of Egypt” with all the trappings of high office (Gen 41:41–43). Further, “Pharaoh gave Joseph the name Zaphenath-paneah; and he gave him Asenath daughter of Potiphera, priest of On, as his wife. Thus Joseph gained authority over the land of Egypt” (Gen 41:45).
So it is that Asenath, daughter of an Egyptian priest, wife of Joseph, enters the story. (As we noted in an earlier post, there is a rabbinic midrash that says that Asenath was the product of the union of Dinah and Shechem who was given to Potiphar’s wife to be raised.) She gives birth to two sons: Manasseh, meaning, “God has made me forget (nashani) completely my hardship and my parental home”, and Ephraim, meaning, “God has made me fertile (hiprani) in the land of my affliction”. These sons, grandsons to Jacob, would later have a key role (but the lectionary doesn’t include this part of the story). See Gen 41:50–52; 46:20.
Dr Kadari notes that “there are two approaches to the issue of Asenath’s descent in the Rabbinic texts”. One view sees Asenath as “an ethnic Egyptian who converted in order to be married to Joseph”, which is a plain reading of the text. The second approach argues that “Asenath was not an Egyptian by descent, but was from the family of Jacob, directed by God to end up in Egypt so that Joseph would find a suitable wife from among the members of his own family.”
In either case, Dr Kadari notes that Asenath is “accepted as part of the family and her sons are accepted as worthy descendants by Jacob.” The midrash that Asenath was the result of the rape of Dinah, as noted above, provides such an explanation. See
Dr Kadari notes that “the traditions that maintain that Asenath was a convert present her as a positive example of conversion, and include her among the devout women converts”. She cites Hagar, who was Egyptian, Zipporah the Midianite, Shiprah and Puah, Egyptian midwives, and the Egyptian wife of Pharaoh in the story of Moses, and the Rahab the Canaanite, Ruth the the Moabite, and Jael the Jenite. Asenath stands in fine company!
The closing chapters of Genesis contain a series of poetic blessings on the twelve sons of Jacob—those twelve men who are remembered as “the twelve tribes of Israel” (Gen 49)—before recounting a key familial reconciliation, the death of the great partriarch Jacob, and then the death of his son Joseph (Gen 50). The story ends with this long poetic set of blessings and then with these two key men of the sagas reconciled. And still, the women are missing from the story.
7 Asherah?
To conclude, we might note that there is another female who has been completely absent from the narrative of Genesis. She a figure that we know was present throughout the period when Israel was ruled by kings, a period when these stories were shaped and crafted to serve as as aetiological explanations for the nature of Israel. This woman is the goddess Asherah, whose presence is signalled in later narrative books (1 Ki 15:13; 18:19; 2 Ki 21:7; 23:4–14; 2 Chron 15:16).
Writing in the Jewish Women’s Archive, Dr Susan Ackerman observes that there is evidence from a “late-thirteenth-century B.C.E. Lachish ewer” dedicated to Asherah which is “decorated with images of sacred trees”. See
She continues: “The Canaanite association of Asherah with sacred trees is also found in Israelite tradition. For example, one of the Canaanite epithets of Asherah, elat, “goddess,” is etymologically identical to the Hebrew word for the terebinth tree (ela). Another word for “terebinth” (alla) and two words for “oak” (elon and allon) are also closely related.”
As a result, Ackerman notes that “Gen 2:4b—3:24 may further suggest the association of Asherah with sacred trees, since the way that Eve, “the mother of all living” (3:20), is described in the Eden story mimics in certain respects the role of the Canaanite mother goddess Asherah. If a correspondence holds, then the trees of life and of knowledge in the Eden narrative may also reflect Asherah imagery.”
But beyond that story, it is not until the narrative quasi-historical texts which follow after the Pentateuch that we find reflections of “Israelite worship of “sacred poles or stylised trees associated with Asherah were erected by the Israelites” under the judges (Judg 6:25–26, 28, 30), the kings in the northern kingdom of Israel (1 Ki 14:15; 16:33; 2 Ki 13:6; 17:10, 16; 23:15; and parallel references in 2 Chronicles) and kings in the southern kingdom of Judah, in the south (1 Ki 14:23; 15:13; 2 Ki 18:4; 21:3, 7; 23:6, 14; and parallel references in 2 Chronicles).
Since the books of the Pentateuch—and Genesis in particular—were compiled and written during and after that long period of time, as the exiles returned to Israel, might there be nuances and hints in these ancient sagas concerning Asherah?
The lectionary, in characteristic style, picks and chooses select passages that it offers, week by week, as we move through the ancestral narratives that have been collected and consolidated in Genesis. As we have noted before, these stories have been told and retold, collected and written down, because they have shaped the self-understanding and identity of the ancient nation of Israel.
Written in the form that we now have them by the priests who had held the stories of Israel through the decades of Exile, these stories comprise oral tales, told and retold over centuries before that Exile, remembered and passed on because they offered insights into who the people of Israel had become—committed, resilient, crafty, and faithful. They have the nature of aetiology, explaining character through narrative, and they function as myths, or stories told in an entertaining style that are designed to convey important information .
So this week we jump from last Sunday’s tale of Joseph, sold off to the Egyptians (Gen 37), to this coming Sunday’s fraternal encounter. We now find Joseph as an important official in the court of Egypt, confronted by his starving brothers, who are begging for help from the grain-rich Egyptians (Gen 43–45). What has happened in between these two stories?
First, Potiphar made Joseph his personal attendant; he was in charge of the entire household. There is a subplot concerning Potiphar’s wife and Joseph, resulting in Joseph being imprisoned (Gen 39; but the lectionary skips over this). However, the chief gaoler liked Joseph and put him in charge of all the other prisoners, including Pharaoh’s butler and baker. One night both the butler and the baker had strange dreams, which Joseph interpreted in ways that soon came true. Joseph gained a reputation as a dream interpreter (Gen 40; again, we jump over this).
Two years later, Pharaoh had two dreams that his magicians could not interpret. Joseph was summoned and told Pharaoh that the dreams forecasted seven years of plentiful crops followed by seven years of famine. Following Joseph’s advice, Pharaoh made Joseph his second-in-command. He gave Joseph his ring and dressed him in robes of linen with a gold chain around his neck. Pharaoh gave him the Egyptian name Zaphenath-paneah and found him a wife named Asenath, daughter of Poti-phera the priest of On (Gen 41, not included in the lectionary).
Joseph traveled throughout Egypt, gathering and storing enormous amounts of grain from each city. During these years, Asenath and Joseph had two sons: Manasseh, meaning, “God has made me forget (nashani) completely my hardship and my parental home, and Ephraim, meaning, “God has made me fertile (hiprani) in the land of my affliction”. These sons, grandsons to Jacob, would later have a key role (but the lectionary doesn’t include this part of the story).
After seven years, a famine spread throughout the world, and Egypt was the only country that had food. Joseph was in charge of rationing grain to the Egyptians and to all who came to Egypt. The famine affected Canaan, so Jacob sent ten of his sons to Egypt. He kept back Benjamin, Rachel’s second son and Jacob’s youngest child, the son who had intervened to save Joseph years earlier (Gen 42).
The story assumes a rollicking-good-yarn feeling, as Joseph recognises the brothers but does not let on, and sends them back to Canaan. He kept Simeon in jail pending their return with Benjamin, as instructed, despite Jacob’s misgivings (Gen 43).
The brothers return to Egypt with Benjamin, along with a gift for Joseph as well as double the necessary money to repay the money that was returned to them. Again, there is a comedy-of-errors feel, as Joseph acts is if he does not know the brothers when they actually do; in the end he instructed his servant to fill the brothers’ bags with food, return each one’s money a second time, and put his own silver goblet in Benjamin’s bag. Then he sends his servant after them, to accuse them of theft. Benjamin is detained; Judah pleads with Joseph to release him (Gen 44). Will he do so?
This is the point at which the lectionary takes up the story (Gen 45:1), as Joseph reveals his true identity to his brothers. It is a narrative that is fraught with emotion: Joseph could no longer control himself (v.1), he wept loudly (v.2), his brothers are dumbstruck and dismayed (v.3). After a lengthy speech of explanation (vv.4–13), Joseph bursts into tears, as does Benjamin (v.14), and then Joseph “kissed all his brothers and wept upon them” (v.15). The emotions are deep-seated and visceral; the physical actions described signal the profound effect that the experiences have had on Joseph and his brothers.
What does this note mean, that Joseph “fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck” (v.14)? A discussion of this story on the Jewish website chabad.org notes that these chapters of Genesis tell “no mere family drama. The twelve sons of Jacob are the founders of the twelve tribes of Israel, and their deeds and experiences, their conflicts and reconciliations, their separations and reunions, sketch many a defining line in the blueprint of Jewish history.”
In particular, the website (based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the leader of the ultra-conservative Chanda-Lubavitcher movement, adapted by Yanki Tauber) comments that “The Talmud (Megillah 16b) interprets their weeping on each other’s necks as expressions of pain and sorrow over future tragedies in their respective histories”.
The website offers the Talmudic explanation: “[Joseph] wept over the two Sanctuaries that were to stand in the territory of Benjamin and were destined to be destroyed … and Benjamin wept over the Shiloh Sanctuary that was to stand in the territory of Joseph and was destined to be destroyed.”
Through a series of rabbinic treatments of biblical texts concerning “the neck” and “the Temple”, the conclusion is drawn: “The Sanctuary is the “neck” of the world, the juncture that connects its body to its head. A person’s head contains his highest and most vital faculties — the mind and the sensing organs, as well as the inlets for food, water and oxygen — but it is the neck that joins the head to the body and channels the flow of consciousness and vitality from the one to the other: the head heads the body via the neck. By the same token, the Holy Temple is what connects the world to its supernal Vitalizer and source. It is the channel through which G‑d relates to His creation and imbues it with spiritual perception and material sustenance.”
So rabbinic midrashic interpretation sees deep significance in the comments about Joseph and Benjamin each “falling on the neck” (Gen 45:14). See
The scene is also marked by tears. When “he fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck”, Joseph wept (Gen 45:14). There have been tears before in the stories told in Genesis. When he first meets his cousin, “Jacob kissed Rachel, and broke into tears” (Gen 29:11). Reunited with Jacob, “Esau embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him; and they wept” (Gen 33:4).
There are more tears after this particular story concerning Joseph, too. Reunited with his father, Jacob, Joseph embraces “him around the neck [and] wept on his neck a good while” (Gen 46:29). When Jacob dies, “Joseph flung himself upon his father’s face and wept over him and kissed him” (Gen 50:1). After his father’s death, when his brothers tell him that Jacob had commanded Joseph not to seek revenge, “Joseph was in tears as they spoke to him” (Gen 50:17).
Writing on this story on the Haaretz website, Dr Ariel Seri-Levi, of the Ben Gurion University of the Negev, notes that there were three reasons for weeping in Hebrew Bible stories: mourning for a dead person (Abraham for Sarah, at Gen 23:2; the prophet for Jerusalem at Lam 1:16; Joseph as Jacob dies, at Gen 50:1); distress directed toward a leader, either divine or human (the Israelites in the wilderness, Num 11:4, or the residents of Jabesh Gilead, 1 Sam 11:4–5); and weeping on “an encounter or reunion between relatives or close friends”. The weeping of Joseph, and Benjamin, in this scene, is of this nature.
Dr Seri-Levi writes that such “weeping confirms and expresses their bond. Thus, weeping does not necessarily express an emotional collapse or inner turmoil; conversely, a person’s avoidance of weeping does not necessarily reflect indifference.” He relates this to the need that Joseph had, initially, to conceal his identity, and then, at the release when he felt able to reveal his identity. It is a part of the craft of the storyteller, deployed to intensify emotion in the listener, or reader. It is a way to ensure we find ourselves “in the story”, right in the midst of all that is taking place.
*****
The section offered by the lectionary ends, then, in a very prosaic manner: “and after that his brothers talked with him” (Gen 45:15). The fractured relationships amongst the twelve has been repaired; the lines of communication between estranged individuals have been restored. It just remains for this to be communicated to Jacob—which is done in the rest of chapter 45. Jacob and his whole family, sixty-six persons in all, relocate to Egypt (Gen 46), but famine eventually strikes even Egypt (Gen 47).
Beyond the lectionary offerings from Genesis (since we jump, on the following Sunday, to Exodus 1), the book concludes with grand scenes of blessing and farewell. Jacob blesses Joseph (Gen 48:15–16), Joseph’s sons Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen 48:17–22), and then the full complement of his twelve sons (Gen 49:1–28), before Jacob dies amd is buried (Gen 49:29—50:14). In due time, Joseph himself comes to the end of his earthly life; aged 110, he was “embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt” (Gen 50:26).
“Here comes this dreamer. Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams” (Gen 37:19–20). There it is: “brotherly love” on display, for everyone to see!
The sons of Jacob, who became the sons of Israel, and then gave their names to “the twelve tribes of Israel”, as we saw in an earlier blog, are terrible role models. They show us fraternal jealousy and hatred at its worst. The story offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Pentecost 11A, pulls no punches (37:1–4, 12–28). These sons could be mean!
We have left behind the stories of the three patriarchs of Israel, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and their wives, the four matriarchs Sarah, Rebekah, Leah, and Rachel—although Jacob is still alive, and he will figure in some of the final scenes of Genesis in chapters 46 and 48—50. We turn our attention to Joseph, who had been born to Jacob’s wife Rachel, after years of waiting.
Only after his first wife Leah had given birth to six sons and a daughter, did Rachel give birth, as God “heeded Rachel and opened her womb” (Gen 30:22). As a sign of the passing of her barren state, Rachel declared, ‘God has taken away my reproach’; and we read that “she named him Joseph, saying, ‘May the LORD add to me another son!’ (Gen 30:23). That son, Benjamin, came years later, although Rachel tragically died giving birth (Gen 35:16–20).
We meet Joseph in the passage offered by the lectionary, which notes that, as he grew, Joseph was the favoured son (Gen 37:3). Of course, this fostered the jealousy of his brothers, who “hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him” (Gen 37:4). And so the scene is set for the problematic sequence of events that ensues, as his brothers initially plot to kill him (Gen 37:19–20), before Reuben intervenes (Gen 37:21–23).
We have already seen that the ethical standards of the people in these ancestral stories leaves something to be desired. Cheating, stealing, rape, incest, murder, and double dealing appear to be par for the course. Yet these brothers who plot to kill Joseph are the men who give their names to the tribes of Israel—names that are given pride of place in the priestly garments (Exod 1:1–4; 28:9–12, 21, 29; 39:6–7, 14) and in the later history of the people (1 Chron 2:1–2).
That these stories of their murky ways of operating have been preserved, passed on, and preached on with regularity, is quite remarkable! Perhaps we should reflect that human beings have always been flawed? Or that we should well expect that the ethical standards and cultural practices of our time are different from what held sway in past eras?
And perhaps we need also to note—and take caution from the observation—that this particular incident, selling Joseph for twenty pieces of silver, has fed into the unhelpful stereotype of the Jews who are always and in every way concerned about money. It’s a stereotype that has fed the burgeoning antisemitic attitude and actions of people throughout the Middle Ages, past the Enlightenment on into the modern age—culminating, of course, in the horrors of the Shoah (Holocaust) in Nazi Germany.
Back to the story of Genesis 37. That the brothers plot to kill Joseph, and are only dissuaded by the intervention of Reuben (Gen 37:21–23), is clearly a mark against them. That Judah then suggests that they sell him to a passing caravan of Ishmaelites (Gen 37:25–28), whilst it saves the life of Joseph, is yet another mark against the brothers.
Christian readers will perhaps compare the “twenty pieces of silver” that was paid for Joseph (Gen 37:28) with the thirty pieces of silver paid to Judas for handing Jesus over to the authorities (Matt 26:15). However, a number of passages in Hebrew Scriptures provide a more fitting contrast to the price paid for Joseph.
Abimelech, in his unsuccessful attempt to install himself as king in Israel, took “seventy pieces of silver out of the temple of Baal-berith with which [he] hired worthless and reckless fellows, who followed him” (Judg 9:4). So twenty pieces are significantly less.
And the story is told in Judges about when the lords of the Philistines bribed Delilah with eleven hundred pieces of silver to hand over Samson to them (Judg 16:5; 17:1–5), and in the Song of Songs the (poetically-exaggerated) claim is made that Solomon expected a thousand pieces of silver from each of the keepers of his vineyard (Song 8:11). So twenty pieces pales into utter significance, by comparison. Was Joseph worth so little.
The irony is that Israel as a whole is identified with reference to Joseph at a number of places in the Hebrew Scriptures. Both narrative texts and prophets refer to the whole nation as “the house of Joseph” (Josh 17:17; 18:5; Judg 1:22–23, 35; 2 Sam 19:20; 1 Ki 11:28; Amos 5:6; Obad 1:18; Zech 10:6).
The psalms sing of “the descendants of Jacob and Joseph” (Ps 77:15) and bring petitions to God, “Shepherd of Israel, you who lead Joseph like a flock” (Ps 80:1). Psalm 81 places Joseph alongside Jacob and Israel: “it is a statute for Israel, an ordinance of the God of Jacob, he made it a decree in Joseph, when he went out over the land of Egypt” (Ps 81:4–5). The name of Joseph was revered in the ongoing traditions of Israel.
So let us treasure and reflect on this story, in which Joseph is sold off to foreign travellers. His life had been saved from the plotting of his brothers by a compassionate intervention by one of their number; but he is taken off into Egypt—for what fate?
*****
Reading the story chapter-by-chapter, as it appears in Genesis, we don’t yet know the significance of Egypt (other than the account of the time that Abram and Sarai spent in Egypt in Gen 12:10–13:12). But people hearing the story when it was written into the scrolls, after the return from Exile, would know of the time of slavery spent by their ancestors in Egypt, when “the Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service” (Exod 1:13–14). They know the ominous threat that lies over Joseph at the end of this week’s story: “they took Joseph to Egypt” (Gen 37:28).
That fate is symbolised by the note in the immediately following verses, that the brothers of Joseph dipped his coat into the blood of a slaughtered goat and brought it back to Jacob. When Jacob recognized the coat, he concluded that “a wild animal has devoured him; Joseph is without doubt torn to pieces” (Gen 37:33). Jacob mourned for many days; despite the best efforts of his family, “he refused to be comforted, and said, ‘I shall go down to Sheol to my son, mourning” (Gen 37:35).
The narrative leaves Joseph with the tantalising comment that he was sold by the Midianites to Potiphar, one of Pharaoh’s officials (Gen 37:36), before veering off to tell a long story about Judah and Tamar (Gen 38). The question remains: what fate awaits Joseph?
The book of Genesis is dominated by people whose stories are told because they have shaped the self-understanding and identity of the ancient nation of Israel. Written in the form that we now have them by the priests who had held the stories of Israel through the decades of Exile, those stories comprise oral tales, told and retold over centuries before that Exile, remembered and passed on because they offered insights into who the people of Israel had become—committed, resilient, crafty, and faithful.
The stories are dominated by the men—Adam and Noah, Abraham and Isaac, Jacob, and his twelve sons, most notably Joseph. Indeed, the closing chapters of Genesis contain a series of poetic blessings on those twelve men, who are remembered as “the twelve tribes of Israel” (Gen 49), before recounting a key familial reconciliation, the death of the great partriarch Jacob, and then the death of his son Joseph (Gen 50). We have heard these stories, from the second Sunday after Pentecost (Gen 12) through to the tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Gen 32).
In these stories, the men dominate. There are, to be sure, women who also play key roles in the stories that are collected into this first narrative book. Sarah and Hagar get a place in the story alongside Abraham. Rebekah is there, with Isaac; and Leah and Rachel too, with the manipulation of their father Laban and the lust of their husband Jacob. Here we have the four great matriarchs of Judaism, arrayed alongside their husbands: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob with Leah and Rachel. The stories told give insight into the characters of these women; they serve as role models in the ongoing story of Israel.
There are also servants co-opted to produce children when the matriarch looked like she would not reproduce: Hagar, Zilpah, and Bilhah—important women, but not included in the traditional list of matriarchs. They take their place in the story largely because of the male offspring they produced. And when we come to the twelve sons of Jacob, there are wives who are noted, but nothing further is revealed about them—except for Asenath, the wife of Joseph.
But who have we missed, in the stories from Genesis which have been offered by lectionary over the past few months? Seven women, or groups of women, should be noted. In this post, I will deal with those who appear in the section of Genesis which is dominated by Abraham and Isaac (Gen 12:1—28:9). The women in the chapters beyond this, which tell the story of Jacob and his sons, and especially of Joseph, that will be considered in a later post.
1 The wife and daughters of Lot
First, there is reference to the wife and two daughters of Abraham’s son-in-law, Lot. Lot is noted in the genealogical material listing the descendants of Terah, his grandfather (Gen 11:31). Lot accompanies Abram and Sarai and “all the possessions that they had gathered, and the persons whom they had acquired in Haran” as they journeyed to Canaan (Gen 12:5); he then moves with them into the Negeb, en route to Egypt (Gen 13:1).
We learn that “Lot chose for himself all the plain of the Jordan, and Lot journeyed eastward”, and so “Lot settled among the cities of the Plain and moved his tent as far as Sodom” (Gen 13:11–12). There is no mention of any female associated with Lot in any of these instances. However, after Abraham entertains visitors who stay with him at Mamre, as they are travelling to Sodom (Gen 18:1–16), and then after Abraham debates with God about the threat to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen 18:17–33), Lot is visited by “two angels” (Gen 19:4).
He offers them hospitality; but the people of Sodom call for Lot to release those two people “so that we may know them” (Gen 19:5). So Lot offers, in their place, his “two daughters who have not known a man” (Gen 19:8). This is the first indication that Lot was married with children; and the way his virgin daughters are offered as sexual objects for the people of Sodom is a horrifying introduction to them!
So, warned by these “two angels” to leave the area, Lot hesitates (Gen 19:15–16). What they say to Lot is the first reference to his wife: “get up, take your wife and your two daughters who are here, or else you will be consumed in the punishment of the city” (Gen 19:15). They also advise him, “do not look back or stop anywhere in the Plain; flee to the hills, or else you will be consumed” (Gen 19:17). Lot leaves Sodom, but “Lot’s wife, behind him, looked back, and she became a pillar of salt” (Gen 19:26). And that is how she is best known—not by her name, not as the daughter of her father, but as Lot’s wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt.
Dr Tamar Kadari, writing in the Jewish Women’s Archive, notes that in a later rabbinic text, this woman is given the name Idit, and a story is told about her reluctance to obtain salt from her neighbours, as Lot has requested. This becomes the reason for her punishment, being turned into a pillar of salt. Another text she cites, attributed to Rabbi Eliezer, says that Lot and his wife were actually saved from the destruction of the city; but there were two married daughters who had remained in Sodom, so she looked behind her to see them for the last time. When she did this, she saw the back of the Shekhinah (the Divine Presence), and so she was transformed into a pillar of salt.
Lot’s daughters went with Lot into the hills nearby; the biblical text describes their devious acts of making their father drunk and both having sexual intercourse with him, thereby producing two sons, Moab and Ben-ammi (Gen 19:30–38). From these two children of incestual rape (of a man, by his daughters, no less!), the despised Moabites and Ammonites descended. Of these people, none are permitted to enter God’s assembly (Deut 23:3; Neh 13:1–2) and good Israelites were later forbidden to marry them (Ezra 9:1–2). Those prohibitions explain the awful nature of these aetiological tales about Lot’s family.
Lot, his disobedient wife, and his aggressively incestual daughters, certainly provides a stark tale (none of which is included in any lectionary offering!). The anonymous women in the story are certainly strong characters. Their actions are told to explain the character of near neighbours with whom the Israelites later had difficult relationships. We remember these women, but perhaps not for the usual reason we seek to remember characters in the biblical text.
Next, there is the sombre tale of Dinah, the sole female child of Jacob, birthed by Leah after the six sons she had produced (Gen 30:21). This story is told in Gen 34, after Jacob, after he had left Laban in Paddan-aram, had encountered his brother Esau, after a long period of separation (Gen 33:1–17). Jacob and his family settled in Shechem in Canaan, where he bought land and erected an altar (Gen 33:18–20).
Dinah was raped by a man who bore the name of the town, Shechem (Gen 34:2)—but immediately “his soul was drawn to Dinah … he loved the girl and spoke tenderly to her”, and asked his father to be married to her (Gen 34:3–4). Was it possible that a relationship that was formed on the basis of crass selfishness and the forceful expression of power could develop into one shaped by love and respect? The text seems to hint …
However, what ensues is a tale of family revenge for the dishonouring of Dinah. When the sons of Jacob came in from their work in the fields, they were, quite rightly it would seem, “indignant and very angry, because [Shechem] had committed an outrage in Israel by lying with Jacob’s daughter, for such a thing ought not to be done” (Gen 34:7).
Shechem’s princely father, Hamor, attempted to negotiate, but the words of the brothers were deceptive (Gen 34:13–19). They convinced Hamor that they were “friendly with us” and he, in turn, persuaded “the men of the city … at the gates of the city” to “agree with them, and they will live among us” in peace (Gen 34:20–23), on condition that the men of the city be circumcised—which they were (Gen 34:21).
But the sons of Jacob (remember, these are the men who are honoured in ongoing Israelite and Jewish traditions as the venerable men who have their name to the twelve tribes of Israel) then pounce: “two of the sons of Jacob, Simeon and Levi, Dinah’s brothers, took their swords and came against the city unawares, and killed all the males”, including Hamor and Shechem (Gen 34:25). They “took Dinah out of Shechem’s house, and went away” (Gen 34:26).
Then, “the other sons of Jacob came upon the slain, and plundered the city … they took their flocks and their herds, their donkeys, and whatever was in the city and in the field” (Gen 34:27–30). This massive over-reaction was to avenge the fact that “their sister had been defiled” (Gen 34:27). Their father, Jacob, was unimpressed; “you have brought trouble on me”, he said, “by making me odious to the inhabitants of the land”, lamenting that “my numbers are few, and if they gather themselves against me and attack me, I shall be destroyed, both I and my household” (Gen 34:30).
What did Dinah make of this wholescale, and out-of-proportion, revenge attack? She is silent—indeed, she is absent from the text from verse 26, when her brothers removed her from the house of Shechem. In contrast, we hear their voice loud and clear, in their riposte to their father: “should our sister be treated like a whore?” (Gen 34:31). Nothing will dissuade them of the “rightness” of their actions. Men, standing up for women, by acts of violence and destruction; women, absent from the story, as their honour is defended. It is a sorry tale.
Writing on the biblical text in the Jewish Women’s Archive, Professor Rachel Adelman observes that the narrative “is rife with gaps and ambiguities, in which Dinah’s silence and the divide between father and brothers loom large”. The story, she posits, presents “the impossibility of integration with the Canaanites in the land”—the story of Dinah and Shechem demonstrates that this produces disastrous results.
Furthermore, Dr Adelman notes that “boundaries of identity are forged through negotiations over the destiny of the young woman’s body”—in other words, the silent, debased, raped female is the fulcrum around which the identity of the nation of Israel is shaped. “In the context of the honor-shame socio-cultural milieu, the daughter’s voice hardly matters. Even when the Hivites are willing to remove the Israelite symbol of “disgrace” (the foreskin) from their male bodies in order to intermarry with Jacob’s family, their status as the tainted ineluctable “other” remains.”
Then, Dr Adelman observes that “contemporary feminist readers seek to reclaim the voice of the silenced Dinah, to reassert her own agency and even desire to be with Shechem … alternatively, if she was raped, her own pain and anguish must be heard over the violent clamor in defense of male honor.” Dare we listen carefully, to hear that silent female pain, over the noise of male revenge?
Dr Tamar Kadari, also writing in the Jewish Women’s Archive, observes of Dinah that “the Rabbis present her as possessing many positive qualities, as was fitting for the daughter of the progenitors of the Israelite nation.” They attempt to rehabilitate Dinah by recounting her later marriage—one account has her married to Job, because she is a “shameless woman [ha-nevalot]” (Job 2:10), which they connect with the shame [nevalah] of Dinah (Gen 34:7).
Another explanation is that Dinah married her brother, Simeon. Dr Kadari explains the rabbinic midrash: “a son was born from this union, “Saul the son of a Canaanite woman” (Gen 46:10); Dinah was the ‘Canaanite woman’, because her behavior was like that of the Canaanites.” A final claim is that Dinah, impregnated by Shechem, gave birth to Asenath, who was transported to Egypt and raised by the barren wife of Potiphar. And then, along came Joseph!
But that is skipping ahead; more on Asenath in the next blog on this topic.
A group of women are noted and indeed named in association with Esau, the brother of Jacob. The narrative first notes that “when Esau was forty years old, he married Judith daughter of Beeri the Hittite, and Basemath daughter of Elon the Hittite; and they made life bitter for Isaac and Rebekah” (Gen 26:34–35). The note of family discord is not unusual in these ancestral narratives! But who is the “they” in this comment? Just those wives of Esau? Or is Esau himself included? It depends on how patriarchal and sexist we think the text is.
Next, we are told that “when Esau saw that the Canaanite women did not please his father Isaac, Esau went to Ishmael and took Mahalath daughter of Abraham’s son Ishmael, and sister of Nebaioth, to be his wife in addition to the wives he had” (Gen 28:9). So Mahalath joins Judith and Basemath as named wives of Esau.
Later genealogical listings offer the names of Adah, Oholibamah, and Basemath, but not Judith. First, we learn that “Esau took his wives from the Canaanites: Adah daughter of Elon the Hittite, Oholibamah daughter of Anah son of Zibeon the Hivite, and Basemath, Ishmael’s daughter, sister of Nebaioth. Adah bore Eliphaz to Esau; Basemath bore Reuel; and Oholibamah bore Jeush, Jalam, and Korah. These are the sons of Esau who were born to him in the land of Canaan.” (Gen 36:1–5).
Then, after Esau took his family and “settled in the hill country of Seir; Esau is Edom” (Gen 36:8), we learn that “these are the names of Esau’s sons: Eliphaz son of Adah the wife of Esau; Reuel, the son of Esau’s wife Basemath” (Gen 36:10). Only two wives are noted at this point.
The text continues, “the sons of Eliphaz were Teman, Omar, Zepho, Gatam, and Kenaz. (Timna was a concubine of Eliphaz, Esau’s son; she bore Amalek to Eliphaz.) These were the sons of Adah, Esau’s wife. These were the sons of Reuel: Nahath, Zerah, Shammah, and Mizzah. These were the sons of Esau’s wife, Basemath. These were the sons of Esau’s wife Oholibamah, daughter of Anah son of Zibeon: she bore to Esau Jeush, Jalam, and Korah.” (Gen 36:10–14). So three wives are named in this final passage.
Sadly—as is often the case—these genealogical listings focus on the male descendants. Whether any daughters were born, or survived beyond birth, is not stated. The gender bias is clear; we hear only about the sons. And we know nothing about the life of most of these men in the subsequent generation—and in association with them, the women married to them or any sisters they had; nothing is revealed by the text. So many questions; so little information!!
As a family historian, this is a familiar problem: tracing the male line is easier than connecting in the females, men are mentioned more frequently in published sources, many women remain mute and invisible in the family story. It takes effort and intention to retrieve even a little of them for our attention. Let us at least attend to the women included in the stories that are told, and honour them for the roles they played and the contribution they made to the larger story.
An Informed Faith 