The book of Judges opens by telling us how the tribes of Israel failed to obey God in driving out the inhabitants of the land God had promised them. This sets the stage for a host of grisly stories that display the depravity of people, and the often imperfect answers to this disobedient state.
But, before I address the problem at hand–how a father sacrificed his beloved and only daughter to God–I want to take a detour into my graduate school days in order to understand something critical about narrative.
I was sitting in the foreign languages building at the university listening to a talk by our visiting lecturer from Germany about Kafka. She observed that Kafka’s tales often had the trappings of a fairy tale or a children’s fable: talking animals, archetypal figures (fathers, sons, daughters). But, unlike stories for for children, fables for grown-ups lack the moral or resolution.
The adults have to interpret the moral of the story for themselves.
This is how I feel about the book of Judges. We are presented with enough details to frame the stories, but the judgment of the characters’ actions and the meaning of the stories is left up to us.
If we are up to the challenge, interpreting such stories can provide us with insights into the nature of reality and the character of God, but the risk is that we can also develop grave misunderstandings.
These tales can stir feelings in us akin to the visceral reaction to the beauty of a sunset or the terror of a violent storm. And identifying and dealing with these reactions is difficult, yet important work.
Jephthah’s Daughter
In Judges 11, Jephthah agrees to take on a campaign against various rivals to the tribes of Israel in the region. But, Jepthah isn’t being wholly altruistic. He demands that “If you bring me home again to fight against the Ammonites, and the LORD gives them over to me, I will be your head.” (v. 9) In exchange for victory, he vows (vv. 30-31) to sacrifice the first thing he sees come out of his house as a burnt offering to the Lord.
At this point, as a reader of this passage for the first time (as an adolescent), I got a sinking feeling that he’d regret this oath. Now, as a parent of a daughter, knowing the rest of the passage, I feel sickened. He sees his daughter exit the house dancing and singing for his victory, and knows what he must do–if he is to fulfill his oath.
Contrast this passage with the passage where Abraham is to sacrifice his promised son, and the reality that Isaac was spared by an angel and a substitute sacrifice almost makes this passage seem misogynistic. Where was the angel to cry “halt” for Jephthah’s daughter? (She isn’t even given a name.)
But, not so fast. God did not initiate Jepthah’s vow. Nor did God command the sacrifice of a daughter as a test of obedience. Indeed, God seems mysteriously silent on the whole affair.
Jephthah’s daughter goes “up and down on the mountains to weep” for her virginity (v. 37) with some friends for two months before consenting to be sacrificed. We are given this little humanizing detail of her aspirations: to experience sexual relations and presumably a continuity of her family line. That would have perhaps been “success” for a woman at the time, whatever we think of that notion.
Also, the choice of the mountains is a tantalizing detail, associated as the often were with the gods ( a ziggurat temple is thought to have been modeled on the mountains in the region as a place where heaven and earth meet, for instance; not to mention the meeting of God and Moses at a mountain). We are simply not told what she experiences during her wanderings with her friends, although the possibility of an encounter with God is intriguing, even if unsubstantiated by the text.
The Moral of the Story
We are told that Jephthah’s daughter is mourned by the “daughters of Israel” in v. 40, so her tragic and needless death is not forgotten, especially by the women. One lesson seems to be an act of remembrance.
When I was in Germany, visiting the Dachau concentration camp, the mantra “Never Again” was present in several languages on-site. We may not be able to undo the past, whether it is a personal or national tragedy or crime against humanity.
But, we can keep the memory fresh so as to not repeat the same offense. It is staggering that something such as a foolish oath can bring the death of a beloved child, but it begs the question: Are we willing to sacrifice others in a way we ought not to gain something for ourselves?
Do I sacrifice to gain:
A few moments of internet recognition (Am I guilty of looking to my phone more than those around me)?
Some comfort (Am I guilty of privileging myself over the needs of others)?
Success (Do others have to give up their dreams and aspirations so I can achieve mine)?
The list could go on, and is not meant to be a legalistic checklist. But, we can leverage the visceral feeling of horror and disgust that this chapter leaves us with to do what all stories (and even more so, scripture) call us to do. In the words of a poet (Rilke), confronting a work such as this issues a call to us: “You must change your life.”
Perhaps the text itself is the voice of God calling out: “halt!”
In Judges 11, a woman is murdered because of a man's rash decision. This story serves as a warning to men: do not commit this offense again. Women should never be sacrificed on the altar of man's gain Click To Tweet
