Samuel: Chapter 11

 

Push the bounds

to find the story 

tell it anew

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This chapter continues and intensifies the Book of Samuel's redemptive dialogue with the closing of the Book of Judges. If the opening chapters revisited the relationship to women and to vows, here we return to the painful linchpins of the closing of Judges: the relationship of individual to tribe and national framework. These issues come to a head in the final stories of Samson, and Pilegesh bGiva--the rape of the concubine at Geva and its aftermath. If Samson represents the extreme of individuality, the story of Geva exemplifies its opposite: nameless characters acting within a context of mob rule.   

Samson is consecrated before birth, a nazarite who is set apart. The "spirit of god pulses within him"--he is never "like one of the people." In his superhuman strength, he is the archetypal superhero, his fight against the Philistines that of a lone vigilante. He is a leader who dies, as he lived, separate from his people. It is only after death that he can p be brought back "to his fathers" for reintegration.

On the other side of the pendulum is the Israelite response to the incident at Geva, in which "all Israel, brothers" unite as one to fight Benjamin. This is a model of national identity sans individual leadership, where the people themselves seem to spontaneously self-organise into a cohesive national group. Yet it is a group that allows no individuality, with every dissent ruthlessly destroyed.   

Both these stories are framed by the refrain: "In those days there was no king in Israel."

This chapter returns to these painful stories, to recontextualise them in the context of "a king in Israel."

Here, the tragedy of Geva seems to run in reverse, as though time can be turned back and redeemed. The allusions to Geva introduced in the previous chapters become more explicit and insistent. Now it is Jabesh Gilead, destroyed in the aftermath of the war on Benjamin, that is attacked. As in the case of the concubine, there is a threat of mutilation.  The people of Yabesh, like the Levite in Geba, send messengers to "all the border of Israel"--yet this is a message that seeks help, not revenge. As in  the case of Geva, there is a response of helpless weeping. 

Ironically, help comes when the message reaches Geva itself. This time it is Saul who acts the part of the Levite, tearing apart flesh--but this time of animals, rather than a woman. Like the Levite, he sends these body parts to "the borders of Israel" to call in the people for war. Yet this time, it is not just a wordless horrific message, but an explicit command.  And the people come, "as one." In this iteration, the rejected tribe of Benjamin comes to the rescue of the city it indirectly destroyed, rewarding Yabesh's hesitancy about joining the civil war. This time, Saul takes responsibility, and the weeping is turned to "joy" (a leitword repeated several times at the closing of this chapter.)

When "the spirit of God descends upon him," Saul not only acts the part of the Levite. He also channels Samson's preternatural power in tearing apart the lion.  Similarly, Nahash's threat to poke out the right eye of the people of Jabesh  echoes Samson's prayer to be "avenged of one of his eyes."  The book of Samuel evokes Samson from its very opening, with the figure of Samuel--also a Nazarite consecrated before birth--recreates his vast powers, yet places them within the safe confines of the Mishkan. Now Saul also channels the inspired. charismatic leader, yet his power is placed within a national context, as the cleaving of the animal is used to call the nation together.  

Saul's first battle as king weaves together the two sides of Judges' pendulum, placing the individual within the national structure, while placing a leader at the head of the faceless masses--a leader who heads off threats of violence. 

 Yet Saul can only play this part via Samuel. The merging between himself as Samuel continues in this chapter, as there is a consistent pattern of triangulations--between Saul, Samuel and God; and between Saul, Samuel and the people. The people follow "after Saul... and after Samuel... and fear God." The people go to Samuel to initiatite the recrowning of Saul. Samuel, as prophet, continues to enable linkage and communication.  

 

Judges: Chapter 20

 United as one

against one--

answer now

no questions.

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If the opening of the Book of Judges detailed the movement from individual to tribe, its closing begins the movement from tribe to nation, as "all the Israelites... the community assembled as one" in Mitzpeh. The all-inclusive, national nature of the gathering is emphasized five times in two verses, and reinforced by the use of the rare verb k'h'l--from the same root of the hakhel, the ceremony in which the king reads to the full assembly of the people every seven years.

Yet this idealized version of an "assembly of God" unified as "one man" is undermined in the very next section, in which we are told that "Benjamin heard that the Israelites had assembled." It is not all the assembly, nor all the tribes: the sudden cohesion of the national group takes place around the creation of an outgroup: Benjamin. This retroactive exclusion casts an ironic light on the sonorous opening--and on the characterization of the gathering as the "assembly of God".

The irony gains force, as the Levite, now described as "the husband of the murdered woman" rather than the "master" of the abandoned concubine, gives his testimony. The story matches the Levite's new persona of grieving husband, and is a mix of subtle distortions and lies-by-omission. Like the Dannites, the Levite knows how to control the narrative: Now it is the entire city of Geva that attacked him, rather than the rabble; they saught murder, not rape; and they somehow captured his wife, with no mention of how he actively shoved her out the door to the surrounding mob. There are hints to his heartlessness, as he psychopathically describes how he  "took hold of my concubine and I cut her in pieces," yet no one questions him. He closes his testimony with a call for action, demanding "a plan here and now!"

The Israelites "answer as one," no questions asked. War on Geva is the plan. They gather against the city, 'as one man, friends,"--the irony now heavy and ugly. Benjamin is told to hand over the perpetrators for execution. Turned into an outgroup, its people sentenced sans trial, Benjamin hunkers down defensively and refuses.  As the tribe gathers for war, with its troop of elite left-handed warriors, we are returned to the opening of the book, with Ehud, the left-handed savior from Benjamin. All this power will now be turned against the nation, instead of acting to save it. 

The past continues to reverberate, as the people ask God "who shall advance for us first, to fight Benjamin?" echoing the question that opened this book, "who shall advance for us first, to fight the Canaanites?" The fight against an external enemy has turned inward. Now, as then, the answer is Judah--but with a crucial difference. If in the fight against the Canaanites, God promises victory, here He is notably silent as to the outcome. Israel, deaf to nuance, rush to action, no questions asked. Only after they are soundly beaten do they begin to think about whether they should have attacked "my brother Benjamin" in the first place.

The  Israelites win by setting a trap--a near-perfect replication of the battle of Ai.  As in Ai, the warriors are lured out of the city, leaving it vulnerable to an ambush party that sets it on fire.  As with Ai, the warriors only realize their mistake when they turn to see the column of smoke rising from the city behind them. The intertextual links are numerous: the "about thirsty" and "about thirty-six" slain; the use of the lottery; the escape toward the desert;  the repeated mentions of Bet El; the phrase "for an outrage (nevela) has been done in Israel."

The linkage to Ai is illuminating, both for its similarities and its differences. Ai, Israel's first defeat, came to teach a bitter lesson in the cost of ationhood and collective responsibility: all of Israel were held accountable for Achan's nevela, and the entire nation was defeated for his sin. No wonder then Israel's immediate and unified desire to "stamp out this evil" when a nevela is committed in Geva: all are responsible, all will be punished. 

Yet it is here that the two lotteries are revealing. In Ai, it is God who initiates the lottery to identify the guilty party, narrowing down from tribe, to clan, to person.   Even after Achan is selected, Joshua waits for a confession, and then seeks to back the confession with concrete proof. Only then does Joshua punish Achan. Here, the nation initiates the lottery to select warriors to destroy Geva. Collective guilt is assigned, with no confession, or attempt at proof.  And in meting out punishment, the nation is as ruthless to the entire tribe of Benjamon as they were to the guilty Achan. The destruction of the cities of Benjamin goes beyond the destruction meted out on Ai: even their animals and belongings are decimated. 

Indeed, if Geva recreated Sodom, here the Israelites recreate Sodom's destruction, leaving nothing but fire. 

Yet this stands in stark contrast to Abraham, who begs God to consider if there are any righteous in Sodom who might redeem it. Here, there is no search for redemption, only the unifying surge of indignation, which ironically leaves the most guilty party unpunished]