Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible: A Subversive Collaboration (Oxford Theology and Religion Monographs) 9780199656776, 0199656770

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O X F O RD T HEOL OGIC AL M ONOGRAPHS

Editorial Committee J. BARTON P. S. FIDDES D. N. J. MACCULLOCH

M. J. EDWARDS G. D. FLOOD C. C. ROWLAND

OXFORD THEOLOGICAL MONOGRAPHS EVANGELICAL FREE WILL Phillip Melanchthon’s Doctrinal Journey on the Origins of Free Will Gregory Graybill (2010) ISAIAH AFTER EXILE The Author of Third Isaiah as Reader and Redactor of the Book Jacob Stromberg (2010) CONTRASTING IMAGES OF THE BOOK OF REVELATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL AND EARLY MODERN ART A Case Study in Visual Exegesis Natasha F. H. O’Hear (2010) KIERKEGAARD’S CRITIQUE OF CHRISTIAN NATIONALISM Stephen Backhouse (2011) GENDER ISSUES IN ANCIENT AND REFORMATION TRANSLATIONS OF GENESIS 1–4 Helen Kraus (2011) BLAKE’S JERUSALEM AS VISIONARY THEATRE Entering the Divine Body Suzanne Sklar (2011) PAUL TILLICH AND THE POSSIBILITY OF REVELATION THROUGH FILM Jonathan Brant (2012) HINDU THEOLOGY AND BIOLOGY The Bhāgavata Purā na ̣ and Contemporary Theory Jonathan B. Edelmann (2012) ETHNICITY AND THE MIXED MARRIAGE CRISIS IN EZRA 9–10 An Anthropological Approach Katherine E. Southwood (2012) DIVINE PRODUCTION IN LATE MEDIEVAL TRINITARIAN THEOLOGY Henry of Ghent, Duns Scotus, and William Ockham JT Paasch (2012) THE SALVATION OF ATHEISTS AND CATHOLIC DOGMATIC THEOLOGY Stephen Bullivant (2012)

Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible A Subversive Collaboration

MEL IS S A A. JAC KSON

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Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Melissa A. Jackson 2012 The moral rights of the author have been asserted First Edition published in 2012 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Data available ISBN 978–0–19–965677–6 Typeset by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by the MPG Books Group, Bodmin and King’s Lynn

Acknowledgements The road that connects that first inkling of an idea for a doctoral thesis and that last moment of seeing the published monograph sitting on a library shelf is so long and winding and full of pit stops that, at the beginning, one can not begin to imagine what it will take to arrive at the end and, at the end, one can hardly begin to give thanks for the people, the places, and the moments that were the myriad vehicles of arrival from that beginning point to now. What follows is my meagre attempt to offer my immeasurable thanks. I am indebted to the people and the place that are Regent’s Park College, Oxford, for providing me space—in many ways. My heartfelt thanks are extended to my doctoral supervisor, John Jarick, who provided me space as well, space in which my ideas might grow and develop, yet who also offered wise advice and welcome guidance. As the course of this project shifted westward from Oxford, England, to Richmond, Virginia, USA, I was given the opportunity to return, this time as a lecturer, to the place where this whole project began for me over a decade ago when I was a master’s student at Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond. My deepest appreciation is offered to Mark Biddle, an inspiring professor who is now an admired mentor and colleague. I also must express thanks to Dan Schumacher, who has been an excellent teaching and research assistant and who is an excellent scholar already in his own right. My family must take much credit (like it or not) for this work. I especially thank my parents and my brother, for a lifetime of unwavering love and support. Lastly, I thank Brian, for his unique copyediting style and for complicating my life in such wonderful ways. All of these folks have taught me so much more about the importance of humour than could ever be contained in any volume, no matter how long or how learned. Thank you. Melissa A. Jackson Richmond, Virginia January 2012

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Contents Abbreviations Introduction 1. An Introduction to Comedy

viii 1 6

2. Trickster Matriarchs: Lot’s Daughters, Rebekah, Leah, Rachel, Tamar

41

3. Five Women of Moses’ Infancy: Shiphrah and Puah, Moses’ Mother and Sister, Pharaoh’s Daughter

67

4. Rahab

85

5. Deborah and Jael

99

6. Delilah

116

7. David’s Wives: Michal, Abigail, Bathsheba

142

8. Jezebel

171

9. Ruth

180

10. Esther

198

11. Conclusions: Comedy and the Hebrew Bible

221

12. Conclusions: Comedy, the Hebrew Bible, and Feminist Interpretation

234

Bibliography Index of Biblical References General Index

251 275 282

Abbreviations AB ABD

BDB

CBQ DH FCB JAAR JBL JPS JSOT JSOT, suppl. ser. NCBC NRSV OTL RSV VT WBC

Anchor Bible D. N. Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary (New York and London: Doubleday, 1992) Francis Brown, S. R. Driver, and Charles A. Briggs, Brown–Driver–Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1996). Catholic Biblical Quarterly Deuteronomistic History Feminist Companion to the Bible Journal of the American Academy of Religion Journal of Biblical Literature Jewish Publication Society Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series New Century Bible Commentary New Revised Standard Version Old Testament Library Revised Standard Version Vetus Testamentum Word Biblical Commentary

‘Is everything a joke to you, Gordon?’ ‘Only the important things.’ from the film V for Vendetta (2005) ‘Explaining jokes is the best way to kill them and that is what I am about to do.’ Kathleen M. O’Connor, ‘Humor, Turnabouts and Survival in the Book of Esther’ (2003)

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Introduction In 1994, Athalya Brenner—one of only a small handful of scholars who has written on the combined topics of feminist critique and humour in the Bible—wrote the following statement, encapsulating then-existing stereotypes of these two respective topics: ‘Feminists are by reputation angry, aggressive and serious individuals, mostly women, whereas humour is primarily associated with playfulness, joy and lightheartedness.’1 While attitudes have most certainly evolved in the direction of a more favourable view of feminist critique and its practitioners since Brenner’s observation, the stereotype still holds in numerous quarters of society and scholarship. A woman (or a man) has only to use the word ‘feminist’ in self-description to experience the lingering suspicion associated with the word. A similarly undeserved stereotype is reflected in the second half of Brenner’s statement, as well. An unexamined view of comedy would limit its range to ‘something that makes me laugh’, confining its function to the task of simply creating a momentary diversion from the ‘real’ cares of life and rendering comedy unable to serve any purpose more substantive. In sum, feminists (and by extension, their work) are by nature serious, and comedy is by nature inherently carefree, clearly a dichotomous construct that would prohibit any collaboration between these two. However, one has only to look beyond these superficial characterizations to recognize that neither stereotype holds true; neither is reflective of that which it proposes to describe. Humour has a multifaceted outlook on the world and, in total contrast to stereotype, presents a blithe front only in its more ineffectual forms. And feminist scholars will not be pigeon-holed into one dimension. Feminists are diverse in the personalities and creative in the approaches they bring to their critical work.

1

Athalya Brenner, ‘Who’s Afraid of Feminist Criticism? Who’s Afraid of Biblical Humour? The Case of the Obtuse Foreign Ruler in the Hebrew Bible’, JSOT 63 (1994), 38–55 (38). This article was reprinted in Athalya Brenner (ed.), Prophets and Daniel: A Feminist Companion to the Bible, FCB, 2nd ser. 8 (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 228–44.

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With these grossly inaccurate stereotypes duly dismissed, any misconception that the pair of ‘the feminist’ and ‘comedy’ work at cross-purposes can also be permanently abandoned. Indeed, it is a group of feminist scholars who have produced one of the most important contributions to the body of work dedicated to exploring comedy in the Bible: the 2003 volume Are We Amused? Humour about Women in the Biblical Worlds.2 Setting this pair of comedy and feminist critique alongside one another and thus putting them to work together, one discovers that any seeming divide between the two recedes and that a comic reading of the Hebrew Bible has much to offer the work of feminist-critical interpretation. As this monograph seeks to bring a comic reading of Hebrew Bible narrative into conversation with feminist-critical interpretation, the methodology employed is straightforward. To articulate this method at its most basic: after various components, features, and functions are established as contributors to comedy, (1) chosen texts are investigated for where and how they exhibit some correspondence to these components, features, and functions, and (2) discussion is undertaken to explore how the comedy in the texts can engage with and inform feminist critique. The method is primarily literary; much of the evidence provided for the existence of the comic in the Hebrew Bible is based on literary features of the text (for example, characterization, plot structure, and irony). However, a second task is to take a long look at the social/ psychological components of comedy (for example, its high tolerance for ambiguity and its application of situation ethics over fixed codes) and how comedy functions in society (for example, to draw boundaries, to subvert, and to contain). Phyllis Bird finds that these two components, the literary and the social, are inseparable in any case: ‘Adequate interpretation requires the employment of both literary criticism and social analysis.’3 Therefore, alongside the literary exploration are suggestions regarding how comedy might have functioned in ancient Israelite society. As a primarily literary investigation, this study is also largely synchronic. However, in instances where a diachronic look at the 2 Athalya Brenner (ed.), Are We Amused? Humour about Women in the Biblical Worlds, JSOT, suppl. ser. 383 (London: T&T Clark International, 2003). 3 Phyllis A. Bird, ‘The Harlot as Heroine: Narrative Art and Social Presupposition in Three Old Testament Texts’, Semeia, 46 (1989), 119–39 (119).

Introduction

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texts is especially relevant to a comic and/or feminist-critical reading of the texts, such an analysis is undertaken, albeit in a limited manner. The primary example of this diachronic consideration is reflecting on the influence of the redactional agenda of the Deuteronomistic History/Historian(s), an issue particularly relevant to the stories involving Rahab (Chapter 4) and Deborah and Jael (Chapter 5).4 A second example is a brief discussion of the influence of historical context on the interpretation of the book of Esther. With respect to the choice of texts under examination, each one bears two essential features: (1) the form of the text is narrative prose and (2) at least one of the narrative’s main characters is a woman. First, comedy does its fullest work when story is its vehicle. Comedy certainly exists in non-narrative forms, such as the proverb and the ‘knock-knock’ joke, but the majority of its forms involve spinning a yarn to draw in the audience so that its punch is felt with full effect. Even today’s stand-up comedy is delivered as a series of vignettes, mini-narratives told in succession with some form of linking thread, even if tenuous. Narratives, then, are an excellent vehicle by which to conduct an exploration into biblical humour. Second, as stories are built around characters, this monograph too is organized around characters, specifically female ones. The chapters contained in this work, while based on specific texts, are identified, not by biblical citation, but by character name. Arguably ‘characters’ do exist outside narrative texts, in books like Proverbs, with its female embodiments of wisdom and folly, and like Hosea, with his bride Gomer. However, for this study, narrative texts remain the focus, as they offer interesting and provocative, as well as the most developed, biblical characters. These women are comprised of ‘good girls’ and ‘bad girls’. They act independently and are under the thumb of patriarchy’s power. They lead and follow. They are wives and wombs. They are saviours and informers. They are foreigners and Israelites and caught somewhere 4 As is true for all influential theories, the proposal of a Deuteronomistic History/ Historian(s) (DH) has, since its original formulation, undergone and continues to undergo much development. Detailed engagement with DH theory is well beyond the scope of this work. The stance of this work, rudimentary as it is, accepts the existence of a DH that, in the most general of scopes, reflects a post-exilic historical context and a theological concern to preserve a particular ‘deuteronomic’ strain of Israelite tradition. What is acutely relevant to this study and is consistent with the broadest horizon of the DH is a context that (a) is patriarchal in structure and emphasis and (b) reflects a time after which the Israelites were a self-determining community.

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in between. They serve the system and subvert the system. The characters considered in this work have been chosen because their stories have caught the interest of feminist scholars and have shown themselves to have a compelling comic side as well. J. William Whedbee has written that ‘the surprising roles that women often play over against the male protagonists’ is a ‘hallmark’ of biblical comedy.5 This incisive observation undermines definitively any lingering notion of an incompatibility between feminist-critical concerns and comedy. Following on naturally, then, the choice of texts featuring women emerges, no longer as one of the least likely places, but instead as the most promising place from which to begin an exploration into the comedy of the Hebrew Bible. Broadly outlined, Chapter 1 of this monograph offers an introduction to comedy, Chapters 2–10 investigate specific biblical characters and their texts, and Chapters 11–12 outline the conclusions of the work. The specific characters and texts, each taken in turn, are the trickster matriarchs (Chapter 2), the women involved before, at, and after the birth of Moses (Chapter 3), Rahab (Chapter 4), Deborah and Jael (Chapter 5), Delilah (Chapter 6), three of David’s wives (Chapter 7), Jezebel (Chapter 8), Ruth (Chapter 9), and Esther (Chapter 10). Each chapter of this middle section examines the texts for evidence of the comic, following the three categories of comic elements explored in C 1: devices, features, and functions.6 The conclusions are divided into two chapters: one reflecting on comedy in the Hebrew Bible and one reflecting on comedy in the Hebrew Bible and feminist critique. Two particular issues discussed at some length in Chapter 1 are (1) comedy’s ongoing resistance to definition and (2) an objection to a study of the type undertaken here based on the charge that it applies to the biblical text a set of forms and constructs that developed postbiblically. As these two points also relate specifically to methodology, brief consideration of them must be made at this point, a prelude to the fuller discussion of them in Chapter 1.

5 J. William Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 281. 6 As often as possible in Chapters 2–10 this three-part framework of (1) literary devices and modes, (2) psychological and social features, and (3) psychological and social functions serves as the organizational structure. In a few cases, this three-part structure has not been rigidly forced onto the text when another method of organization presents itself as more useful.

Introduction

5

Paul Lauter discusses the usefulness of defining comedy with what he terms a ‘distinctive-feature analysis’—that is, looking across various examples of literature seeking to identify certain elements or features that recur in those examples.7 Speaking specifically of New Testament studies, Lorenz Nieting advocates a similar procedure of examining texts, unreservedly employing as a lens components of humour as they are known now in contemporary cultures. Then, as the next logical step in his process goes, ‘if we encounter one or more of those elements in a passage . . . we can at least wonder if the passage was meant to be funny’.8 Joel Kaminsky, in his examination of humour in the Isaac narratives, responds to the challenge that his view suffers from being anachronistic and unprovable, countering that—like the stalwart Documentary Hypothesis—his argument ‘is based both on cumulative evidence and on the argument’s ability to explain various nuances in the text that have been previously overlooked or ignored’.9 Drawing upon these three to assemble a Lauter–Nieting–Kaminsky combination, this monograph proposes something of a ‘distinctivefeature analysis’ paired with a ‘cumulative-evidence’ approach. Looking across numerous texts, utilizing present scholarly understanding of what constitutes ‘comedy’, observing recurrent elements, and recording these recurrences as they accumulate, this work undeniably reaches something like a comic ‘critical mass’ is undeniably reached. At that point, the argument in favour of humour as a pervasive part of Hebrew Bible narrative becomes too compelling to reject. A final note must be made with respect to methodology: this investigation is in no way intended to displace other scholarly readings of the same texts. The intention here is to disclose ‘yet another layer of meaning within the biblical text’.10 While comedy’s subversive nature necessarily undermines the validity of certain interpretative strategies, comedy’s subjective and elusive nature does not permit it ultimately to override other interpretations of a document as complex and multifaceted as the Hebrew Bible.

7 Paul Lauter, ‘Introduction: Approaches to Comedy’, in Paul Lauter (ed.), Theories of Comedy (Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, 1964), pp. xv–xxvii (xx). 8 Lorenz Nieting, ‘Humor in the New Testament’, Dialog, 22 (1983), 168–70 (168). 9 Joel S. Kaminsky, ‘Humor and the Theology of Hope: Isaac as a Humorous Figure’, Interpretation, 54 (2000), 363–75 (374). 10 Kaminsky, ‘Humor and the Theology of Hope’, 375.

1 An Introduction to Comedy Universal and particular. Objective and subjective. Unbounded and dependent. ‘Ubiquitous’ and ‘fugitive’.1 In defiance of any attempt to limit it, comedy is a ‘both/and’, rooted in an incongruous dichotomy, rooted itself in incongruity, a both/and that surely cannot coexist and yet does. Comedy’s universality, its pervasive existence in known times and cultures, is always accompanied by its relativity, its inextricable link to the time and culture that created it. As Peter Berger describes: ‘Humor is an anthropological constant and is historically relative.’2 Furthermore, the crucial perception of comedy, one’s ‘sense of humour’, is also relative, subjective, varying from person to person dependent upon an individual’s capacity to experience humour. Yet, this relative component also has its mirroring objective complement in what Berger terms the ‘comic phenomenon’, the ubiquitous, universal, pervasive nature of the comic experience. The subjectivity of comedy cannot and never should be denied; however, the urge to create, experience, and appreciate the comic in some form has existed across all known contexts. In the light of the compelling assertion that comedy has a universal component, an aspect about it that can be objectively known, one would think that a general definition of the comic could be established. However, this is emphatically not the case at all. Terms such as ‘comedy’, ‘(the) comic’, ‘humour’, and even ‘laughter’ elude attempts to define them with precision. The terms have interwoven definitions, which appear to rely in the largest part on the one doing the defining rather than on any scholarly consensus. Some scholars 1 Peter L. Berger, Redeeming Laughter: The Comic Dimension of Human Experience (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1997), p. xiii. 2 Berger, Redeeming Laughter, p. x.

An Introduction to Comedy

7

would prefer to retain ‘comedy’ primarily as a reference to the ancient Greek form or to those subsequent ones that mimic the ancient form closely, while at the spectrum’s other end scholars advocate using the word ‘comedy’ to refer to the broadest range of expressions. The multitude of forms comedy or humour has taken since those ancient times, as well as the continuing development of these forms throughout time and across culture, is another complicating factor. Before delving into the biblical texts and investigating them for signs of comedy, we will consider several issues that provide an introductory foundation for this investigation. First is an attempt to detangle relevant terms, such as ‘laughter’, ‘comedy’, ‘(the) comic’, and ‘humour’. Next is a brief consideration of the relationship between tragedy and comedy. The main focus of the chapter follows: an exploration of what comedy is and what comedy does; what are those components, features, and functions that contribute to the form called ‘comedy’. Then, as the focus of the work begins to move from comedy to comedy in the Hebrew Bible, a short section gives response to objections that have been raised in resistance to a study of this nature. Finally, to complete the bridge from comedy to comedy in the Hebrew Bible, offering a preview of the following chapters, the final section is a quick tour of where comedy’s components, features, and functions may be discovered in biblical texts.

DETANGLING TERMS Not a single scholar noted in this work’s bibliography claims to have the definitive definition for ‘humour’, ‘comedy’, ‘the comedic’, ‘the comic’, ‘wit’, or ‘laughter’. Instead, we are admonished that ‘an immense amount of laborious dullness has been expended on the vain effort to formulate a definition of humor upon which all the wiseacres of the world can agree’.3 And we are warned that ‘humor tends to die in the process of dissection’.4 And we are instructed of 3 George P. Eckman, ‘The Humor of the Bible’, Methodist Review, 93 (1911), 521–31 (521). 4 Doris Donnelly, ‘Divine Folly: Being Religious and the Exercise of Humor’, Theology Today, 48 (1992), 385–98 (390).

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humour’s tendency to be ‘highly fragile, fugitive, sometimes hard to remember’.5 And we are cautioned against expecting to uncover any forms and structures that all comedy shares in common.6 Despite the challenge presented in these statements, a discussion of relevant terms remains necessary, if only to detangle them until the final page of this monograph. So, beginning with the presumably most straightforward of terms, ‘laughter’ is an outward physiological response to a stimulus, and, while it can certainly be either feigned or stifled by those self-aware enough to do so, genuine laughter is a spontaneous and uncontrollable response. Laughter is the ‘overt expression’ that results from the experience of humour and comedy.7 Of the many philosophies and views that explore laughter, John Morreall groups them into three primary theories: Superiority Theory, Relief Theory, and Incongruity Theory.8 These theories attempt to explain laughter specifically as a response to humour. In the Superiority Theory, which was advocated by Plato, Aristotle, and then Thomas Hobbes in the modern era and was dominant in philosophy until the eighteenth century, one laughs scornfully from feelings of superiority over others. These feelings of superiority could derive from one’s own acts, thoughts, attributes, and so on, or through observing those same ‘inferior’ ones of others.9 The Relief Theory, emerging in the nineteenth century, relies more heavily on science, taking a largely physiological approach to the occurrence of laughter. This theory argues that nervous energy builds up in the body and needs to be relieved. Laughter provides such a relief.10 The Incongruity 5

Berger, Redeeming Laughter, p. xiii. Robert W. Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’, in Robert W. Corrigan (ed.), Comedy: Meaning and Form, 2nd edn (New York: Harper & Row, 1981), 1–13 (6). 7 M. Conrad Hyers, ‘Introduction’, in M. Conrad Hyers (ed.), Holy Laughter: Essays on Religion in the Comic Perspective (New York: Seabury Press, 1969), 1–7 (6). 8 John Morreall, ‘Introduction’, in John Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor, SUNY Series in Philosophy (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1987), 1–7 (5–6); cf. Simon Critchley, On Humour, Thinking in Action (London: Routledge, 2002), 2–3. 9 ‘Thomas Hobbes’, in Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor, 19–20 (19); cf. Plato, ‘Excerpt from Philebus, Numbers 47–50’, in Lauter (ed.), Theories of Comedy, 5–8. 10 ‘Herbert Spencer’, in Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor, 99–110 (105–7); cf. Sigmund Freud, Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious, Pelican Freud Library, 6 (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976), 302; ‘Sigmund Freud’, in Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor, 111–16 (111–12). 6

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Theory, its beginnings put forward by Francis Hutcheson writing in the mid-eighteenth century, is now a dominant theory regarding laughter as an expression of the experience of humour. In this theory, laughter occurs with the experience of the unexpected: broadly speaking, someone or something behaves in such a way that contradicts one’s expectation of how she/he/they/it should behave. However, as Morreall points out, ‘expectation’ is a key word, as what any given individual finds incongruous is shaped by that person’s specific experiences and the resultant expectations.11 However, Morreall further points out that, while laughter is indeed a bodily response to some stimulus, this stimulus need not be humorous. People laugh in situations other than humorous ones— for example, when embarrassed or when being tickled. Morreall argues that what differentiates humorous laughter from other types of laughter is the presence of the mental state of ‘amusement’.12 He goes on to point out, on the flip side, that, as laughter may occur without a state of amusement, not all ‘amusement’ evokes laughter or even intends to do so. Satire, black comedy, and gallows humour all belong in the realm of comedy and humour, yet do not necessarily seek to elicit laughter as a response. This ‘state-of-amusement’ condition is helpful in identifying a type of laughter that is specifically humorous in nature, yet laughter alone is certainly not ‘a sufficient explanation of comedy’.13 That which produces laughter is not always humorous or comic in nature. That which can be identified in some way as being humorous or comic does not always produce, nor intend to produce, laughter. While laughter is frequently a response to experiencing the comic, an exclusive relationship does not exist between humour/ comedy and laughter. 11 John Morreall, Taking Laughter Seriously (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1983), 60–1; cf. ‘Francis Hutcheson’, in Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor, 26–40 (26–32). Morreall argues that a theory of laughter should cover all types of laughter, including those not associated with humour, e.g. a baby’s laughter or inhaling nitrous oxide, ‘laughing gas’. Because these three theories address laughter specifically as a response to humour, Morreall adds his own theory intended to define all instances of laughter, humorous and not: ‘Laughter results from a pleasant psychological shift’ (Morreall, Taking Laughter Seriously, 39). Morreall does stipulate that the majority of laughter in response to humour can be explained by the perception of incongruity, the primary claim of the Incongruity Theory (Morreall, Taking Laughter Seriously, 60–84). 12 Morreall, ‘Introduction’, 4; cf. Elliott Oring, Engaging Humor (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2003), 163 n. 1. 13 Lauter, ‘Introduction’, p. xix.

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With the presence of laughter then deemed insufficient on its own to explain comedy, the question of what might be a sufficient explanation of ‘comedy’ presents itself, a further question being the term’s relationship to other related terms such as ‘(the) comic’ and ‘humour’. Each author writing on the topic seems to define the terms according to her/his own reckoning, and dictionary definitions often explain these terms in a frustratingly circular fashion, with the various words appearing in each other’s definitions. For example, the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of ‘comedy’ includes ‘a play characterized by its humorous or satirical tone’, while ‘humorous’ is defined as ‘the quality of being amusing or comic’. ‘Comic’ is designated as ‘causing or meant to cause laughter’, while ‘humour’ is defined almost identically: ‘causing laughter and amusement; comic’.14 Originally, ‘comedy’ was understood in a specific sense: as one half—tragedy being the other half—of the dramatic theatre form of ancient Greece. The word ‘comedy’ is from the Greek κωμῳδία, widely believed to be comprised of κω ˆ μoς (‘revel’) and ᾠδή (‘song’).15 Thus, the traditional, formal meaning of comedy refers narrowly to a dramatic performance of this particular Greek form. However, as dramatic forms have evolved over time and through social contexts and as the vehicles of delivery have proliferated, ‘comedy’ as defined in the narrowest sense of ancient Greek dramatic performance has given way to a much broader understanding of the term and its forms. ‘Comedy’ is now recognized in dramatic performance, but also in prose fiction and narrative poetry, for instance.16 Offering specific examples, Northrop Frye even goes so far as to say that ‘it would be 14 Catherine Soanes and Angus Stevenson (eds), Oxford Dictionary of English, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 345, 846–7; cf. ‘comedy’, ‘comic’, ‘humor’, ‘humorous’, [accessed 11 July 2008]. 15 Erich Segal (‘The Etymologies of Comedy’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 14 (1973), 75–81) embarks on an interesting investigation of the origins of the Greek κωμῳδία, proposing that the word ‘can lay claim to no fewer than three separate fathers’ (p. 75). He identifies these parents as (1) κω ˆ μα (‘sleep) and ᾠδή (‘song’), thus nightsong (p. 75); (2) κώμη (‘village’) thus a country song (p. 78); and (3) κω ˆ μoς, ‘the wild wine-soaked, no-holds-barred revel’ (p. 79). He goes on to say that modern etymologists and Greek scholars hold the third as the ‘true’ parent of ‘comedy’ (pp. 79, 80), but concludes that ‘it matters less who comedy’s true father was than what comedy’s true nature is. Hence we find all three suggestions helpful and can say that comedy . . . is named . . . a dreamsong of a revel in the country’ (p. 81; emphasis added). 16 M. H. Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 8th edn (London: Thomson Wadsworth, 2005), 38.

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silly to insist that comedy can refer only to a certain type of stage play, and must never be employed in connection with Chaucer or Jane Austen’.17 This wider sense of the term ‘comedy’ yields its more contemporary and popular meaning, one applied to media and expression outside the ancient Greek form and beyond the strictly staged arena. As the above OED example attests, the term ‘comic’ is most frequently defined as describing something that evokes laughter and/ or amuses, often with the word humorous designated as a synonym.18 Some writers differentiate between ‘comic’ and ‘comedic’: using ‘comic’ synonymously with ‘comical’ and using ‘comedic’ in a narrower grammatical sense as the adjectival form of ‘comedy’. However, this differentiation can be cumbersome, and the two separate terms are frequently disregarded, with ‘comic’ serving both usages. Thus, as with the term ‘comedy’, ‘comic’ also takes on a wider meaning and application.19 The word ‘humour’ derives from the Latin humere in reference to the four bodily fluids of blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile, the mixture and balance of which were believed to determine one’s physical and mental state of health. The word was later used in the Elizabethan form comedy of humours, in which each character was known by a dominant trait or ‘humour’. Another frequent use of the word ‘humour’ is in the phrase ‘sense of humour’, a purely subjective factor that facilitates one’s perception and experience of the comic.20 Robert Carroll, acknowledging the individual reader as the final definer of humour, offers the option that humour could be ‘stretched’ and made ‘an elastic term’ that could then include the ‘derogatory attitudes’ exhibited in humour. However, in what seems to be his preferred definition, humour would remain confined to ‘some genuine sense of wit and funniness’.21 While the exception of ‘gallows

17 Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957), 162. 18 Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 339. 19 Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 341. 20 Berger, Redeeming Laughter, p. xiv. 21 Robert P. Carroll, ‘Is Humour also among the Prophets?’, in Athalya Brenner and Yehuda T. Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, Bible and Literature Series, 23; JSOT, suppl. ser. 92 (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1990), 169–89 (188).

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humour’ has been offered above, the notion of what is ‘humour’ generally remains closely associated with laughter and that which is ‘funny’. While this discussion attempts to give some slight shape to the terms ‘laughter’, ‘comedy’, ‘(the) comic’, and ‘humour’ on their own, the interrelatedness of these concepts brings further convolution to an already difficult task. For example, some scholars clearly understand humour as a component under the heading of comedy. Morreall offers an example: ‘it is precisely in humor that we find the core of comedy.’22 Sigmund Freud apparently works to the same understanding, identifying both ‘joking’ and ‘humour’ as part of ‘the comic’. However, even he muddies the proverbial waters, as, in other discussion, he blurs this hierarchical distinction and appears to envision ‘humour’ and ‘the comic’ as two manifestations of the same thing, rather than as one being a part of the other. First, he names ‘joking’, ‘humour’, and ‘the comic’ as three distinct inspirations for laughter. Then, he compares ‘humour’ and ‘the comic’ side by side with respect to how an individual experiences them: he argues that a single person can experience something as ‘humorous’, whereas two are required to experience ‘the comic’, a second person needed in order to be found or made comic by the first.23 While Morreall and Freud (to an extent) place ‘humour’ under the heading of ‘comedy’, Yehuda Radday categorizes them in the inverse position relative to one another, instead placing ‘comedy’ and ‘the comic’ (without articulating what differentiates the two)—along with wit, joke, satire, irony, sarcasm, burlesque, caricature, travesty and parody—under the broader heading of ‘humour’.24 Still other scholars use these terms nearly interchangeably and without explanation or apology. Henri Bergson entitled his essay ‘Laughter’, yet the phrase ‘the comic’ features six times in the essay’s five subheadings, while ‘laughter’ appears in none of them.25 While

22 John Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1999), 13. 23 Freud, Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious, pp. 290–4. 24 Yehuda T. Radday, ‘On Missing the Humour in the Bible: An Introduction’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 21–38 (22). 25 Henri Bergson, ‘Laughter’, in Wylie Sypher (ed.), Comedy, 1st edn (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1956), 59–190; Morreall (‘Introduction’, 5) states his belief that ‘a more accurate’ title than ‘Laughter’ would have been ‘Humor’, or, even better, ‘Comedy’.

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J. William Whedbee usually opts for ‘comedy’ and ‘the comic’, he also uses ‘comedy and humor’ (or forms thereof) in tandem, again without any explanation of their affinity or difference.26 The relationships between the terms under discussion here are ultimately impossible to separate into neatly drawn categories. Radday describes the terms as being ‘fluid’, and he uses the imagery of ‘mansions in the house of Humour’ in which rooms are divided by sliding screen doors and the various mansions are connected to one another by open corridors.27 This co-mingling and cross-fertilization of terminology creates an array of synonymous words nuanced primarily by authorial definition, choice, and context. In the book of collected essays On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, the editors concede that the contributing authors are all operating with their own definitions and do not agree ‘on the fundamental issues of what humour in general or biblical humour in particular are, and about the latter’s affinity with laughing and laughter’ and that the reader, therefore, ‘has to settle for admitted subjectivity and a polyvalence of opinions’.28 In this monograph, I appeal to authorial prerogative myself in the ‘defining’ and utilization of terms. Following Frye and others, I utilize ‘comedy’ in its broad sense: applicable to the written word, as well as the performed drama, and to all recognized forms, not only that of the ancient Greeks. Furthermore, in using the terms ‘comedy’, ‘(the) comic’, and ‘humour’, I follow scholars such as Bergson and Whedbee, using them in a synonymous and thus interchangeable manner.

COMEDY AND TRAGEDY According to Aristotle, the earliest introduction and development of a comic form is unknown because, ironically, comedy ‘was not at

26

Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, see, e.g., 11, 15. Radday, ‘On Missing the Humour in the Bible’, 22–3. 28 Athalya Brenner and Yehuda T. Radday, ‘Between Intentionality and Reception: Acknowledgment and Application (A Preview)’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 13–19 (13–14). 27

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first treated seriously’.29 In ancient Greece, comedy, as a form, developed as the dramatic companion to tragedy. The tragic form was given official standing in 535 bce, the comic form later in 486 bce.30 These forms are believed to have emerged out of the religious rituals associated with Dionysus, and the first known, fully developed comedy is Aristophanes’ The Acharnians from c.25 bce. Before comedy was established as an independent dramatic form, satyr plays were performed as a component of tragedy, serving as a ‘comic relief ’ postlude. Tragedy had three parts, with a concluding fourth episode that parodied and inverted the first three. Euripides’ Cyclops treats ‘sportively’ a segment of the Odyssey—this is the only extant text believed to be a true satyr play.31 As comedy developed in form, it continued to employ some devices of tragedy, such as the agon (contest).32 However, it also developed its own inverting, parodic character, its ‘burlesque of the solemn and sacred’.33 Aristophanes’ works are mocking and satirical, pointed at specific targets. Unsurprisingly, then, tragedy itself was not simply a companion to comedy, but became also a target for it, and in a skilful comic’s hands ‘what was in one context tragic profundity could quickly be transformed into mere bombast’.34 Comedy’s ongoing mission to bring down the pretentious and overly serious was part of its character nearly from its beginning. Comedy began as tragedy’s younger relative, and the pair have remained close, joined in an inextricable relationship. Walter Kerr describes the contingent relationship: recognizing comedy and responding with laughter is not the first impulse—comedy comes along as a second response. Kerr elaborates, in language familiar to students of Genesis with its theme of the reversal of primogeniture: ‘So far as we know, comedy never has come first. It is something like the royal twin that is born five minutes later, astonishing everyone and deeply threatening the orderly succession of the

29 Aristotle, ‘Excerpts from Poetics, Chapters 1–9’, in Lauter (ed.), Theories of Comedy, 9–20 (14). 30 Walter Kerr, Tragedy and Comedy (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967), 20. 31 Kerr, Tragedy and Comedy, 20–5; and Berger, Redeeming Laughter, 15–17. 32 Ralph M. Rosen, ‘Aristophanes, Old Comedy, and Greek Tragedy’, in A Companion to Tragedy (2005), [accessed 7 July 2008]. 33 Kerr, Tragedy and Comedy, 25. 34 Rosen, ‘Aristophanes, Old Comedy, and Greek Tragedy’.

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house.’35 Comedy is a genre of its own, yet its identification depends in part on that which preceded it. Tragedy has been first established and with it those socially agreed ‘standards of seriousness which give [comedy] its essential definition’.36 For fuller definition, then, comedy requires its slightly older sibling, tragedy. In major aspects of form and outlook, comedy and tragedy reflect the opposite in one another. With respect to its main characters, tragedy’s stars are powerful and beautiful heroes; comedy’s stars are weak and unremarkable antiheroes. In classical manifestations, tragedy was understood to be inhabited by people of high position, who are portrayed as better than they are; while comedy was inhabited by lowly types, who are portrayed as worse than they are. The tragic character finds dealing ‘with the burden of human finitude’ an embarrassment and a curse; however, the comic character remains unembarrassed ‘by even the grossest expressions of his creatureliness’.37 Tragedy has little ‘give’ in it. It adheres to what Conrad Hyers describes as ‘military virtues’, virtues that are betrayed by anyone advocating ‘temperance and accommodation’. Comedy, however, counterbalances these ‘military virtues’ with another set that includes among its opposing virtues flexibility, moderation, and willingness to compromise.38 This rigidity/flexibility contrast is reflected in the usual plot lines of tragedy and comedy. According to Frye’s U-figure illustration, tragic plots follow an inverted U-shape, comic plots an upright U-shaped one.39 The trajectory of tragedy’s plot is increasingly inevitable, driven there by fate, with a resulting ‘sad’ conclusion, whereas comedy is resistant to fate, thrives on the unforeseen, and its plot most often resolves in a ‘happy’ ending. Tragedy’s end is funeral; comedy’s end is festival. Similarly, Søren Kierkegaard locates the difference between tragedy and comedy in the nature of the ‘contradiction’ found in

35

Kerr, Tragedy and Comedy, 19–20. Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 10. 37 Nathan A. Scott, Jr, ‘The Bias of Comedy and the Narrow Escape into Faith’, in Hyers (ed.), Holy Laughter, 45–74 (50); cf. Christopher Fry, ‘Comedy’, in Robert W. Corrigan (ed.), Comedy: Meaning and Form, 1st edn (San Francisco: Chandler, 1965), 15–17 (16). 38 M. Conrad Hyers, And God Created Laughter: The Bible as Divine Comedy (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1987), 116. 39 Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, 160. 36

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each: the contradiction found in tragedy is typified by suffering, whereas the contraction in comedy is painless. Tragedy despairs of ever finding a way out of tragic circumstances, so suffering is part of its inevitable end. However, comedy’s contradiction causes no pain, because comedy does not lose hope and finds a way out of grim situations.40 With regard to the experience of tragedy and comedy, perspective is key. Comedy and tragedy provide differing perspectives on the same world, differing attitudes towards the same events. Any given situation can be utilized to produce either comedy or tragedy. ‘What might be made of a combination of slinky people, foggy nights, and assorted murders’41 is determined by the reciprocating relationship between the writer and the audience. The writer shapes the material tragically or comically, which in turn cues the audience to respond appropriately. However, while the audience are led by the writer, the audience’s pre-formed and developing expectations of the piece they are witnessing also contribute ultimately to its categorization as comedy or tragedy.

WHAT COMEDY IS AND WHAT COMEDY DOES By now, the reader must realize that a succinct, encompassing statement of ‘comedy’ is not forthcoming. While scholars cannot offer a statement that would define comedy, they are more confident, however, in identifying characteristics, styles, motifs, devices, approaches, and so on that contribute to comedy. Therefore, while the difficulty of succinctly defining comedy remains, a broad profile of comedy can be assembled based on components that contribute to its making. The following study of what comedy is and does is divided into (a) literary devices, both linguistic and stylistic, and modes; (b) psychological and social features; and (c) psychological and social functions.

40 ‘Søren Kierkegaard’, in Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor, 83–9 (83–4). 41 Lauter, ‘Introduction’, p. xxv; cf. Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 7.

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Literary devices and modes Several literary characteristics contribute to comedy, including characterization, plot movement, linguistic devices, irony/reversals, repetition, and hiddenness/surprise. Furthermore, comedy can exist in various modes. Parody, farce, satire, and joke are noteworthy examples.

Comic characterization The characters of comedy are largely stock ones, underdeveloped or undeveloped, frequently identifiable through a single trait, a trait that sometimes even doubles as the character’s name. For example, as embodied in their classic form, two primary stock characters are eiron (self-deprecator, dissembler) and alazon (impostor, braggart).42 The butt of comedy’s joke provides a collection of these onedimensional characters, among them the fool, the buffoon, the rogue, the clown, the idiot, the churl, the windbag. The ‘hero’ of comedy—in a move of incongruity that is itself definitive of comedy—is instead a ‘not hero’, an antihero. Morreall even discards the phrase ‘comic hero’ as a misleading one, preferring the descriptor ‘comic protagonist’ instead. ‘Unlike the tragic hero, who strives for something great, the comic protagonist is typically striving merely to get along and have a good time.’43 In a conflict, this ‘not hero’ uses wit, cunning, and creativity rather than strength, power, or weaponry and frequently engages in indirect scheming rather than direct confrontation. Of course, the line between the categories of comic characterization is thin, and, in the turn of a page or the utterance of a line, the ‘not hero’ can quickly become the comic butt.

Plot movement A popular image by which to describe comic plot movement is with the shape of a ‘U’. Comedy’s opening scenario is a harmonious one; society is in a state of integration. Enter into this situation some challenge or test that jeopardizes the harmony, and the plot begins a downward movement. Then, as the plot is descending to its lowest 42 43

Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, 172. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 14–15.

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point, something or someone acts on it, changes its direction and causes it to swing upwards. At comedy’s ending, a new situation of harmony and integration is established, a harmony that typically includes the integration or reintegration into society of the ‘not hero’.44 Importantly, this re-established society is not merely a reproduction of the old one, but is instead a new and rejuvenated one. This newness is proclaimed in the comic ‘happy ending’ and frequently marked with celebration, ‘festivals of freedom and hope’:45 marriage, birth, feast, carnival. A community attains and celebrates its stability and equilibrium—even if they last only for the present moment.46

Linguistic devices Various types of wordplay largely comprise comedy’s toolbox of linguistic devices. This ‘verbal artifice’47 includes puns, double entendre, play on place and person names, and sound similarities. As wordplay is completely dependent on language, it is also a feature of comedy most susceptible to becoming lost in translation. Other types of comic linguistic device are hyperbole and its opposite, understatement. The back and forth of dialogue, as embodied in witty repartee, for example, is another of comedy’s linguistic devices.

Irony and reversals Edwin Good identifies irony as one ‘bridge’ between comedy and tragedy. ‘It is therefore clear’, he writes, ‘that we cannot simply classify irony as a category of laughter. Its appearance in tragedy forbids that, but at the same time its place in comedy and its sometimes humorous character restrain us from confining irony to “tragic irony”.’48 As a literary device, irony is certainly not 44 Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, 43, 162; cf. Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 7, and Edwin M. Good, ‘Apocalyptic as Comedy: The Book of Daniel’, Semeia, 32 (1984), 41–70 (45). 45 Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 281. 46 Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 9. 47 Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 8. 48 Edwin M. Good, Irony in the Old Testament, 2nd edn, Bible and Literature Series, 3 (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1981), 21; Carroll (‘Is Humour also among the Prophets?’) offers a differing view. He lists irony among a number of things ‘quite distinct from humour’, including satire, ribaldry, mockery, parody, and others. He states, without further argument: ‘Irony is certainly not humour’ (p. 169).

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exclusive to comedy; however, comedy certainly makes significant use of it. The word ‘irony’ derives from the classical dramatic character eiron, referenced above in the section on ‘Comic Characterization’, a character who knew more than she/he let on. The modern use of the word ‘irony’ remains rooted in the idea of dissembling or hiding— not so much for deception, but to achieve dramatic effect. With regard to irony, the use may be as simple and obvious as a character’s saying one thing, but clearly meaning another. However, sometimes irony is indicated only with less-than-overt clues, and the audience must be sensitive and suspicious as they ‘read [or listen] between the lines’.49 While irony can include both the character speaking and the audience in its ploy, at other times the irony is a conspiracy between storyteller and audience in which the teller makes the audience privy to information of which one or more characters are ignorant. The characters proceed unaware that their actions, speech, expectations, and so on will be upturned at some point in the course of the drama.50 Reversals are similar to irony, and the two frequently overlap in comedy, sometimes to the point of being virtually the same device. Reversals occur when an action, character, or similar takes an unexpected 180-degree turn. Corresponding to comedy’s incongruous nature and preference for ‘happy ending’, comic reversals usually take the form of subversions of expectation (for example, an underdog achieving victory) and/or upturns (for example, separated lovers being finally reunited).

Repetition Comedy’s repetition is ‘repetition overdone or not going anywhere’.51 A father tripping over his child’s toy is commonplace; a father falling over that same toy in the same spot every morning on his way to breakfast is laughable.

49 Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 142; cf. Good, Irony in the Old Testament, 21–5. 50 Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 143. 51 Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, 168.

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Hiddenness and surprise Hiddenness and surprise are products proceeding from the withholding and the revealing of knowledge about characters and plot movements. As with irony, the knowledge may be hidden from the characters and the audience or from the characters only. Within the cast of characters, some may have knowledge while others do not. In the triangle of storyteller, characters, and audience, only the storyteller holds all the knowledge and can choose when and how to bring the others ‘into the loop’, surprising them with a revelation of what was once hidden from them.

Comic modes As well as being comprised of a variety of components, comedy exists in a multitude of modes or expressions. Some of the most frequently occurring ones include parody, farce, satire, and joke. Parody is a mocking imitation of a specific subject, making particular use of exaggeration. Farce, similarly, uses exaggeration and crude caricature. Farce is physical, characterized by a mixture of sexuality, horseplay, and buffoonery, with its characters thrust into ludicrous and impossible situations.52 Satire is comedy as weapon. It is ‘the literary art of diminishing or derogating a subject by making it ridiculous and evoking toward it attitudes of amusement, contempt, scorn, or indignation’.53 Satire is very malleable, taking the form that best suits its message. Joke, characterized by its concluding ‘punchline’, has been categorized by Freud in two types: ‘innocent’ and ‘tendentious’. The first type of joke is benign, amusing, ‘an end in itself’; an ‘innocent’ joke inflicts no pain. In contrast, a ‘tendentious’ joke is a weapon, aimed and fired at a specifically chosen target in the hopes of drawing blood. ‘Innocent’ jokes are pleasurable; ‘tendentious’ jokes are the ones that ‘run the risk of meeting with people who do not want to listen to them’.54

52 53 54

Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 40. Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 284–5. Freud, Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious, 132–3.

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Psychological and social features As part of an extensive comparison between comedy and tragedy, Morreall has assembled a list of twenty psychological and social features of comedy.55 What follows is a summary of his list, as discussions of similar features in other scholarly works do not add any significant items to Morreall’s comprehensive inventory.

Psychological features Psychologically, comedy employs (1) complex conceptual schemes: comic protagonists engage in complicated, flexible thinking, matching the complexity and diversity of life itself.56 Similarly, comedy has (2) a high tolerance for disorder, with a number of diverse, unusual characters who are encouraged to view situations from unusual perspectives and who are involved in plots that are messier than those of tragedy. Comedy (3) does not need closure and can cope with ‘loose ends and unanswered questions’.57 Next comedy (4) seeks out the unfamiliar—the strange and new represent an opportunity, rather than a threat. Comedy also has (5) a high tolerance for ambiguity and multiple meanings; it is not interested in reaching some absolute truth. Therefore, (6) divergent thinking is encouraged. No correct answer exists, and no train of thought is off limits. While thought is divergent, it is (7) always critical as well.58 Being divergent and critical thinkers, comic characters tend (8) to remain emotionally detached from situations they face, thinking rather than feeling their way through problems. They use imagination and ingenuity. ‘They are adaptable, surviving by their wits and their wit.’59 From adaptable thinking emerges adaptable action— comic characters change as the situation changes. They are not prone to getting into ruts, but rather alter a course of action when opportunity or necessity calls for it. Thus ‘while tragedy emphasizes the inevitable, comedy emphasizes fortune and serendipity’.60 55 56 57 58 59 60

Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 22–39, 45. Morrell, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 22. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 23. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 24–5. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 26. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 28.

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Comedy is (9) pragmatic and its antiheroes are concerned not with the elevated ideals of truth and duty, but with physical need— how to obtain the next meal, how to get money to survive, how to find love that is reciprocated. Happiness, in comedy, ‘is something we cobble together here and now. At death what comic protagonists would ask for is not heaven, but simply more of the same.’61 Unlike tragedy, fate does not rule comedy; therefore finality is overcome by the perpetual (10) opportunity of a second chance. Mistakes, if not corrected, can at least be concealed to prevent them from causing harm. Even calamities bring an opportunity for improvisation. Comedy (11) is comfortable in ‘this limited material world’ and celebrates biological living, embracing the body and its physical needs, especially sexual ones.62 While the playful and the serious can coexist, comedy’s spirit (12) prefers playfulness over seriousness in approach to most circumstances in life. Solemnity and earnestness are not incumbent upon the comic thinker. Words and actions can be ‘just for the fun of it’, not for any higher truth or goal.63

Social features Just as the ‘hero’ of comedy is the ‘not hero’, the social vision of comedy is (13) antiheroic. Comedy exposes pretence to heroism and parodies the forms, both tragedy and epic, in which they star. Furthermore, the comic vision is (14) pacifist. Its ‘not heroes’ intend to survive, not die, for conviction or cause. In conflict, they talk their way out or run away. ‘Tragic heroes preserve their dignity but die in the process; comic protagonists lose their dignity but live to tell the tale.’64 Following on naturally, then, while tragedy’s concern with conflict requires vengeance, comedy (15) prefers forgiveness. Comic enemies may even become friends.65 Comedy’s vision of society is not elitist, but (16) egalitarian. Comedy values not just diversity of thought, but also diversity of character. ‘It makes for more fun.’ As comedy has a place for a wide 61 62 63 64 65

Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 9. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 9–31. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 33. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 34. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 35.

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range of characters, especially ones undervalued in society, comedy’s environs foster (17) increased sexual equality. Female characters, in comedy, are more commonplace with a wider variety of roles. Obviously, then, comedy (18) questions and tests authority and tradition, rather than blindly accepting them. Comedy by nature is iconoclastic. Furthermore, comedy is not committed to following a set of rules. It (19) prefers ‘situation ethics’ because ‘unique situations may require unique response’.66 In comedy, the basic unit is the group. Comedy (20) desires social integration, inclusion of all into the group. Loners are individuals to be incorporated into this group, and any who refuse risk becoming the butt. ‘Even when comedy presents problems of individuals, those characters do not go it alone, but get by with a little help from their friends.’67

Psychological and social functions A third way to understand what comedy is is to ask what comedy does, how it relates to reality and how it functions in society. Among its functions, comedy works to draw boundaries, as a means of revelation of self and society, as an instructive and corrective force, both to subvert and to preserve the status quo, as a means of containment, as a weapon, and to aid survival.

To draw boundaries The boundary-drawing function of comedy has both a positive and a negative aspect. On the positive side, it can help to build community, in societies or in groups within societies. ‘Humor implies . . . a fellowship of laughers with whom the humor is shared . . . those with similar ideas and kindred values.’68 People laughing with one another, for whatever reason, share something and thus are drawn closer together. This laughter is integrative, seen in comedy’s preference for an end that reincorporates its main character into a newly restabilized society.

66 67 68

Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 35–7. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 37. Oring, Engaging Humor, 56–7.

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However, this community-building can be negatively charged in character. People laughing together at another or at something that only they understand share something exclusive to them and thus are drawn even more closely together within a tightly demarcated circle. This laughter is segregative, drawing lines that bring some within the boundaries of the joke and leaving others outside it at a distance: ‘us’ and ‘them’.

As a means of revelation of self and society Comedy is revelatory in two primary senses: it reveals members of the audience to themselves, and it reveals a reality different from real reality. First, with respect to self, comedy holds up a mirror and, for those who dare to peer into it, the reflection is revealed to be their true selves. Thus, as the humans we think we are or claim to be contrasts with the humans we actually are, ‘humour can reveal us to be persons that, frankly, we would really rather not be’.69 The ‘butt of the laughter’ then is the comic character being played before us, but more significantly it is that same character as embodied in us.70 Secondly, with respect to society, comedy reveals an alternative one, and, as with humans above, highlights a contrast between what society is and what it can be or ought to be.71 ‘As long as it lasts, the comic posits another reality that is inserted like an island into the ocean of everyday experience.’ Humour reveals the current situation, and in so doing unveils a glimpse of another, better situation.72

As an instructive and corrective force Into a reality that has been revealed as less than ideal comes comedy’s instructive and corrective function. Brenner, in plotting the Hebrew Bible’s use of ‘laughter’-related words on a spectrum from

69

Critchley, On Humour, 12. Hyers, And God Created Laughter, 107. 71 Mark E. Biddle, ‘Humor’, in Katharine Doob Sakenfeld (ed.), The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, ii. (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2006), 915–17 (916). 72 Berger, Redeeming Laughter, 206. 70

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light-hearted to heavy, finds that Hebrew Bible humour is skewed toward ‘heavy laughter’.73 She attributes this trend of language use away from ‘light-hearted comedy’ towards ‘tendentious humour’ as ‘probably conditioned by the didactic nature or framework of most of the extant biblical literature’.74 Comedy’s forms, those in the Hebrew Bible included, intend to teach and to correct. An encounter with comedy calls upon one to face reality, to learn from the experience, and to work towards an improved reality so that it might more resemble that briefly glimpsed, redeemed world.75 In mid-seventeenth century France, the playwright Molière, under heavy criticism, argued his case in a preface to Tartuffe, defending as comedy’s virtue its corrective function: ‘nothing admonishes the majority of people better than the portrayal of their faults. To expose vices to the ridicule of all the world is a severe blow to them . . . People do not mind being wicked; but they object to being made ridiculous.’76 Comedy ‘involves the changing, the growing, the improvable in [human] experience’.77 The exposure of folly, vice, and other ills hopefully compels a harnessing of that change and growth for the purpose of improvement in the individual’s and society’s opinions, attitudes, and experience.78

To subvert, but also to preserve, the status quo Leaning on the revelatory aspect of comedy, Good makes the case for its subversive nature as well: ‘Comedy is always in some way subversive, if only because it proposes a vision of absurdity and its resolution in a new or reconstituted society.’79 As a subversive force, comedy takes shots ranging from ‘a mild joke to biting satire’80 at the establishment—its practices, traditions, institutions, and those who

73 Athalya Brenner, ‘On the Semantic Field of Humour, Laughter, and the Comic in the Old Testament’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 39–58 (57). 74 Brenner, ‘On the Semantic Field’, 43. 75 Critchley, On Humour, 17–18. 76 Molière, ‘Preface to Tartuffe’, in Lauter (ed.), Theories of Comedy, 155– 61 (157). 77 Lauter, ‘Introduction’, p. xxiv. 78 Brenner, ‘Who’s Afraid of Feminist Criticism?’, 41; Eckman, ‘The Humor of the Bible’, 522. 79 80 Good, ‘Apocalyptic as Comedy’, 42. Berger, Redeeming Laughter, 66.

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are its agents. In this form comedy is iconoclastic.81 People of power and systems of power are overthrown by their underlings’ making them the butts of the joke. However, comedy’s relationship to the status quo is more complex than this, as it can be conservative, as well as subversive. In an intentional, calculated way intended to uphold the status quo, comedy can also be utilized to denigrate those in certain segments of society (for example, sexist humour) or those outside society (for example, ethnic humour), thus enacting the negative side of comedy’s boundarydrawing, ‘us’ and ‘them’, tendency. This humour is ‘not laughter at power, but the powerful laughing at the powerless’.82 Therefore, at one pole, ‘comedy serves to undergird and conserve social norms’, while at the other ‘it takes dead aim at a tyrannical and oppressive society and attempts to subvert it’.83 Wylie Sypher summarizes this both/and idea: ‘comedy is both hatred and revel, rebellion and defence, attack and escape. It is revolutionary and conservative. Socially, it is both sympathy and persecution.’84

As a means of containment In this complex relationship between subversion and conservation, the establishment’s frequent answer is to attempt to contain comedy— in time or space or both—and thus control it. Carnival is an example of comedy contained in time and space; another is the jester who is invited into the monarch’s court. Comedy, in classical Greece, was contained on stage and as an integral part of tragedy. Berger writes: After the tears came laughter. This laughter did not annul or deny the emotions evoked by the tragic spectacle. But presumably it made these emotions more bearable, permitting the spectators to leave the theater and to return to their ordinary pursuits with a modicum of equanimity. Thus the domestication of the comic ecstasy was both psychologically and politically useful.85

As with boundary-drawing and subversion, containment has a positive and negative aspect. Positively, comedy contained allows a 81 82 83 84 85

John E. Benson, ‘The Divine Sense of Humor’, Dialog, 22 (1983), 191–7 (193). Critchley, On Humour, 12. Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 9–10. Wylie Sypher, ‘The Meanings of Comedy’, in Sypher (ed.), Comedy, 193–260 (242). Berger, Redeeming Laughter, 17.

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safe environment in which to express otherwise unacceptable and destructive thoughts and emotions, such as violence. Negatively, containment can be used by the powers that be as yet another means by which they can control elements seen as a threat.

As a weapon ‘Tendentious’ humour, to use Freud’s word, is a form of humour that takes up arms. Eivind Berggrav asserts that this form of maliciousness, ‘aimed only at wounding and creating bad blood’, does not belong to humour.86 While this could be partly true in a situation where the comic butt is present to receive the wound, what is more true is that violence is a regular component of comedy (albeit in keeping with comedy’s nature, without causing any actual physical pain or permanent bodily injury), and so comedy’s being used to wound intentionally is not at all surprising or out of place. Berggrav describes, with disapproval, this use of humour as ‘a kind of sugarcoating for poison’;87 however, this description is, in fact, against Berggrav’s disapproval, incredibly apt for that type of humour that is carefully aimed at a particular prey, present or absent. Of course, this comedy that is at war and in battle is humorous only for those wielding the weaponry and for their allies. This humour provokes an aggressive laughing at, not a conspiratorial laughing with. And, like subversion, this weapon can be brandished either by the established order or by the revolutionaries (or by both).88

To aid survival Especially for those who are subjugated, oppressed, endangered, vulnerable, weak, comedy aids survival. It does so, first of all, through mental escape, a glimpsing of the alternative reality on offer, an experience of ‘ek-stasis, “standing outside” the ordinary assumptions and habits of everyday life’.89 Second, features of comedy such as its flexibility, rejection of fate, focus on now, and violence without injury all teach endurance and enable survival for those who find 86 87 88 89

Eivind Berggrav, ‘Humor and Seriousness’, Dialog, 22 (1983), 206–10 (208). Berggrav, ‘Humor and Seriousness’, 208. Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 9. Berger, Redeeming Laughter, 16.

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themselves embattled in some way—physically, psychologically, personally, socially. Comic tales and comic characters model, in their world, a reality that may be aspired to in this one: ‘no matter how many times we may get knocked down or fall short, we somehow manage to pull ourselves up and keep on going.’90 The comic ‘not hero’ survives, keeping alive the promise that surviving real life is also possible. Comic characters carry on; we carry on; life carries on. Robert Corrigan expounds: The central intuition of comedy is an innate and deeply felt trust in life. In spite of the many failures we may and do experience—our tragic fate—the comic spirit expresses elation over our condition because it is so supremely conscious of the way life pushes on, of the many ways it continually asserts itself. The spirit of comedy is the spirit of resurrection, and the joy that attends our experience of the comic is the joy that comes from the realization that despite all our individual defeats, life does nonetheless continue on its merry way.91

Third, this confidence that defeat is not a permanent condition further ensures survival through the enabling of a courage and a confidence that offers a sense of liberation from what is pressing down. Inspiring a sense of freedom, no matter how limited or ephemeral, is a way through which comedy helps manage and minimize threat. An individual’s or a community’s ability to find humour in any given circumstance ensures that the circumstance will not completely dominate them. A threat ridiculed is a threat diminished. So, be it through escape or through confidence in the persistence of life or through a feeling of freedom, comedy enables survival— survival that is both figurative and real.

IN RESPONSE TO OBJECTIONS PRESENTED AGAINST A STUDY OF COMEDY IN THE BIBLE As the focus of this work moves from comedy on its own to comedy as found in the Hebrew Bible, response to several objections to a study of this sort needs to be made, objections that have been raised 90 91

Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 8. Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 8.

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over time from various quarters having an interest in the Hebrew Bible. Any interpretative perspective, at its outset, is bound to meet resistance, and the pursuit of comedy in the Hebrew Bible has been no exception. For example, Morreall is one scholar who has consistently and emphatically held that the Hebrew Bible lacks a comic vision of life, indeed that ‘the God of the Bible has no sense of humor’.92 His voice is one among many critical voices that have raised objections and highlighted barriers to an investigation of the Hebrew Bible for evidence of humour.93 One argument focuses on the shifting of any potential biblical humour from one setting to another. Despite comedy’s otherwise staunch resistance to definition, its ‘boundedness’ is one of its universally agreed-upon characteristics. Comedy is tied inextricably to its originating culture, time, and context. Humour grounded in ethnicity rarely crosses national borders. Political humour regenerates with each election and each change in power. ‘Dirty’ jokes are not welcome in children’s classrooms, and ‘knock-knock’ jokes are rarely told around the tables of sophisticated dinner parties. A primary complication of comedy’s being grounded in a particular context is that of translation, both a literal translation from one language to another and a literary translation, importing—intact— ‘the joke’. Ancient Israelite humour is unlikely to survive the punishing move from Hebrew to English (or any other modern language), and everyone has witnessed a joke writhing in the throes of death as the punchline fails to survive being transplanted from one locale to another. A second significant barrier to viewing the Hebrew Bible through the lens of comedy is the pervasive view that reading the Bible is a 92 John Morreall, ‘Sarcasm, Irony, Wordplay, and Humor in the Hebrew Bible: A Response to Hershey Friedman’, Humor, 14 (2001), 293–301 (301). This article is the second of three in an exchange between Morreall and Friedman; cf. Hershey H. Friedman, ‘Humor in the Hebrew Bible’, Humor, 13 (2000), 257–85, and Hershey H. Friedman, ‘Is there Humor in the Hebrew Bible? A Rejoinder’, Humor, 15 (2002), 215–22. See also Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 78, where he offers the same observation. 93 Willie Van Heerden (‘Why the Humour in the Bible Plays Hide and Seek with us’, Social Identities, 7 (2001), 75–96) discusses nine factors he identifies as affecting the search for humour in the Bible: ‘our views of humour and the Bible respectively; reading strategies; cultural factors like language, customs and prejudices; our philosophical traditions; the nature of religion; our social location; and personality’ (p. 75; cf. Donnelly, ‘Divine Folly’, 386–8).

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strictly ‘serious’ business. For people of faith, the book is Holy Scripture, and, for many, humour is perceived ‘as unworthy of the majesty of God’.94 For biblical scholars and theologians, the book is an object of study, a document to be engaged with intellectual rigour. Neither God’s majesty nor intellectual rigour is traditionally thought of as a laughing matter. This gravitas is incompatible, also, with the negative aspects assigned to laughter and humour dating as far back as the teachings of Aristotle and Plato.95 The suggestion that the Bible could inspire laughter is bad enough; to suggest it could inspire derisive, mocking laughter is inconceivable. The third challenge to using comedy as an aid to biblical interpretation is strongly related to the first and is the one levelled most consistently: ‘the risk of imposing later and perhaps alien schemas on the ancient biblical literature.’96 Even scholars who are positive about the concept of comedy in the biblical text can be cautious on this point. David Gunn is one such scholar, who, after an affirmative critique of some of the work in the 1984 Semeia volume dedicated to the topic of biblical humour, continues: ‘Nevertheless, I do sense a need for reserve, when it comes to applying such broad genre labels as comedy and tragedy to individual biblical texts let alone to the whole Bible, Jewish or Christian.’97 Comedy, as recognizable in this time and culture, was formed and defined in a context much later than that of the writing of the Hebrew Bible. The distance between an ancient Israelite sense of humour and a contemporary Western one creates the very real difficulty of negotiating between comedy in the text and comedy read into the text, in critical terms ‘the dilemma between textual intentionality and reader’s reception/response’.98 Thus, some scholars question the integrity of results derived from overlaying onto the ancient text an interpretative tool that came into formal existence in a later era. Yair

94

Donnelly, ‘Divine Folly’, 386. Radday (‘On Missing the Humour in the Bible’, 37–8) discusses the development of this seriousness over time for both Jews and Christians. 96 Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 6. 97 David M. Gunn, ‘The Anatomy of Divine Comedy: On Reading the Bible as Comedy and Tragedy’, Semeia, 32 (1984), 115–29 (123). 98 Brenner and Radday, ‘Between Intentionality and Reception’, 13–14; cf. Carroll, ‘Is Humour also among the Prophets?’, 170–1; Philip R. Davies, ‘Joking in Jeremiah 18’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 191–201 (191); Kaminsky, ‘Humor and the Theology of Hope’, 363. 95

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Zakovitch stands as one example voicing this objection. His selfdescription is that of a scholar ‘who addresses himself to questions arising from the text itself and not to those imported artificially from the outside’. He maintains a strictly limited definition of ‘comedy’ and ‘tragedy’ as forms borrowed from Greek drama and as such they remain ‘entirely alien to biblical literature’. He subsequently states: ‘The moment we begin to twist texts in order to make them fit principles imported from outside the world of the Bible, then I start shouting.’99 While the challenges to the study of comedy in the Bible presented above are credible, they are not insurmountable and can be answered convincingly. In response to the first barrier regarding the moving of the comic from one context to another, indeed translating any work from one language to another presents certain difficulty. The translation of the biblical text is no exception. The difficulty then that translation presents in the study of comedy in the Hebrew Bible can be overcome in the largest part, as this monograph and other scholarly works do, by working with the texts in the original language. Biblical Hebrew is not devoid of words that relate to humour. The language has within its known lexicon two similar words meaning ‘laugh’: ‫שחק‬ and ‫צחק‬, the latter being the root for the name Isaac: ‫יצחק‬. Brenner finds these two roots a combined 67 times in the Hebrew Bible, with the name ‘Isaac’ occurring an additional 108 times.100 Brenner does conclude that the range of words used in the Hebrew Bible for humour, laughter, and the comic is limited and ‘lopsided’ towards more derisive forms (for example, ‫ תלל‬and ‫לעג‬, both ‘mock’);101 however, one can concur with Edward Greenstein’s uncomplicated conclusion that the presence of words for laughter in the Hebrew Bible indicates the presence of humour in the same.102 Josef Chotzner affirms the idea that studying the Hebrew Bible in its original language is how one uncovers the humour there. However,

99 Yair Zakovitch, ‘[Tragedy] and [Comedy] in the Bible’, Semeia, 32 (1984), 107–14 (107, 109–110). For Zakovitch a lack of precision in the defining of categories is problematic. In the conclusion of his article, he advocates replacing the ‘demanding’ terms ‘comic’ and ‘tragic’ with the terms ‘optimistic’ and ‘pessimistic’ (pp. 113–14). 100 Brenner, ‘On the Semantic Field’, 46. 101 Brenner, ‘On the Semantic Field’, 57. 102 Edward L. Greenstein, ‘Humor and Wit: Old Testament’, in ABD iii. 330–3 (330).

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he also suggests that translators could ‘reproduce’ this humour, but have failed to do so through either ‘oversight or inability’.103 While I would not concur that translators can very easily or effectively ‘reproduce’ biblical humour in another language, my experience has been that students of the Hebrew Bible can be communicators or explicators, if not strict translators, of biblical comedy.104 The declaration that humour—specifically biblical humour—explained is (a) humour killed or (b) humour that was not there in the first place is simply not true. Using humour as an interpretative method, like the use of other methods, requires the development of skills specific to that method. Development of these skills then allows the practitioner to apply the interpretative strategy to any text being studied. As I have discovered in myself and others, while one might need some guidance in ‘translating’ the first and possibly the second ‘bits of humour’, a competent reader will quickly acquire the tools and the acuity to begin independent discovery of more and more texts in which humour may be found. A stance that interaction with the Bible must be ‘serious’ and that seriousness and comedy are incompatible creates a second barrier to exploring the Hebrew Bible through the comic. This unsmiling perspective towards the text is deemed by Brenner and Radday to be ‘inhibiting reverence’.105 One of comedy’s inherent qualities is ‘truth-telling’; comedy, in almost all of its forms, reflects some measure of reality—even if the reflection appears as an inverted, mirror image—and comedy is ineffectual if it does not reveal something ‘serious’ about that reality.

103 Josef Chotzner, Hebrew Humour and Other Essays (London: Luzac & Co, 1905), 12. The first chapter of this work is virtually a reprint of his booklet Humour and Irony of the Hebrew Bible (Harrow: J. C. Wilbee, 1883). 104 John Ellington, ‘Wit and Humor in Bible Translation’, Bible Translator, 42 (1991), 301–13, is a rather good basic introduction to biblical humour that is based in the use of language and the challenges presented for translation. Ellington concludes: ‘when it comes to translating wit and humor, in most cases it may be more sensible to admit defeat and cut our losses by focusing on the creation of helpful and meaningful footnotes to explain how the original readers might have understood the text’ (p. 313). While I cannot wholeheartedly affirm a default position of defeat and ‘cutting my losses’ in this endeavour and while ‘explaining’ anything about a group of imagined ‘original readers’ is a challenge at least equal to that of translating humour from an ancient language, I do affirm Ellington’s impulse towards the translator/scholar as guide and teacher for others seeking the humour of the Hebrew Bible. 105 Brenner and Radday, ‘Between Intentionality and Reception’, 13.

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Rather than obscuring a text, ‘the realization of the author’s wry smile or wink in the composition of a literary unit may lead to a clearer understanding of the story’s meaning and message’.106 Comedy disarms through amusement and laughter, rendering it an ideal agent to deliver a serious message in an unexpected fashion. Brenner writes of the complementary, not contradictory, relationship of the serious and the comic in her interpretation of Song of Songs 7, concluding that the woman described there is ‘comical— even ridiculous—as well as sexy. One response does not cancel the other out—on the contrary! . . . The aim of the poem, then, is serious. Yet the means is jocular.’107 Scott Spencer, too, finds a mutuality between the properly earnest and the unconventionally playful. Spencer writes with reference to the Hebrew Bible women named in the first chapter of the New Testament book of Matthew that ‘for those with eyes to see and ears to hear, unfettered by puritanical presumptions concerning the proper tone and subject matter of holy writ, they are downright hilarious. These are riotous as well as righteous women.’108 Berggrav emphatically disputes any insistence on a serious/comic incompatibility. He instead links firmly together the pair of ‘seriousness and humor’ as fast companions, ‘comrades for life’.109 Berggrav finds instead that humor’s opposites are those that are ‘stiff as a post and soft as jelly’.110 Postures such as intransigence and irresolution are the real opponents to comedy, not a lack of ‘seriousness’. Comedy does not undermine the serious; it underpins it. 106 Yair Zakovitch, ‘Humor and Theology or the Successful Failure of Israelite Intelligence: A Literary–Folkloric Approach to Joshua 2’, in Susan Niditch (ed.), Text and Tradition: The Hebrew Bible and Folklore, Semeia Studies (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1990), 75–98 (76); interestingly, Zakovitch is cited earlier in this section as supporting one objection, while he is cited in this section as disagreeing with another. Above, Zakovitch argues strongly against attempting to interpret the Hebrew Bible using comedy, defined by him specifically as a form of ancient Greek drama. Here, however, he argues that a sense of humour is an aid to biblical interpretation; yet he does not adhere to his criterion of precision in definition, offering no explanation of either of the terms ‘humour’ or ‘sense of humour’. 107 Athalya Brenner, ‘ “Come Back, Come Back the Shulammite” (Song of Songs 7.1–10): A Parody of the WASF Genre’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 251–75 (269). 108 F. Scott Spencer, ‘Those Riotous—Yet Righteous—Foremothers of Jesus: Exploring Matthew’s Comic Genealogy’, in Brenner (ed.), Are We Amused? Humour about Women in the Biblical Worlds, 7–30 (9). 109 Berggrav, ‘Humor and Seriousness’, 210. 110 Berggrav, ‘Humor and Seriousness’, 209.

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The third challenge to using the comic lens as a biblical interpretative tool, that of examining ancient texts using contemporary definitions and models, is answerable on several fronts. First and briefly, as already noted, the Hebrew language is not without words related to humour. Indeed, ‘laugh’ is embedded in the name of one of its patriarchs. A second response to this ancient texts/contemporary forms objection is the fact that comedy has been found to be universal among societies across time and culture. Kierkegaard states: ‘Wherever there is life, there is contradiction, and where there is contradiction, the comical is present.’111 This assertion of the comic’s universality is supported in other studies conducted about humour in the ancient cultures of the Near East and others. In his thesis on biblical humour, J. M. Bullard surveys examples of humour from several ancient societies,112 and two entries in the Anchor Bible Dictionary explore humour in Mesopotamia and ancient Egypt. In The Anchor Bible Dictionary entry on Mesopotamia, Benjamin Foster finds Mesopotamian humour ranging from the scatological to the refined.113 Both Bullard and Foster find in Akkadian and Sumerian writings forms of humour, such as parody and satire, in texts including proverbs, folktales, letters, and poems. Bullard identifies punning in Enuma Elish and the Gilgamesh Epic. Foster references trickery in the Akkadian folktale ‘Poor Man of Nippur’ and a Sumerian narrative poem ‘Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta’. Bullard also looks briefly at Hittite and Ugaritic works, in which he finds humorous anthropomorphisms. In Ugaritic texts he also identifies wordplay, euphemisms, and ‘coarse bawdry’. Finally, he looks at ancient India, China, and Japan—finding in India riddles, satirical verse, and proverbial humour; in China puns and satire; and in Japan jokes and wit. Bullard, as well as Edmund Meltzer writing in The Anchor Bible Dictionary,114 point out humour in ancient Egyptian art. Bullard

111 ‘Søren Kierkegaard’ in Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor. 83–9 (83). 112 John Moore Bullard, ‘Biblical Humor: Its Nature and Function’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Yale University, 1961), 56–73. 113 Benjamin R. Foster, ‘Humor and Wit: Mesopotamia’, in ABD iii. 328–30. 114 Edmund S. Meltzer, ‘Humor and Wit: Ancient Egypt’, in ABD iii. 326–8.

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offers an example of an incongruous scene in which a lion and a unicorn are engaged in a game of chess. In addition to art, ancient Egyptian humour also occurs in narrative, poetry, and proverbs. Wordplay and satire are also both prominent in Egyptian humour. Bullard mentions Papyrus Anastasi I, a satire that was used as a copy exercise for schoolchildren for centuries. As well, Meltzer identifies joking and burlesque in the arsenal of Egyptian humour. Two other interesting works are Flemming Hvidberg’s book Weeping and Laughter in the Old Testament,115 and Michel Clasquin’s article on humour in ancient India and China.116 Hvidberg argues that weeping and laughter were components of Canaanite religious practice in annual festivals celebrating the dying and rising of the gods, thus inspiring weeping in the death and laughter in the resurrection.117 He further argues that the Israelites would have been influenced by this practice. One example he offers is that of Yahweh’s laughing, which in Hvidberg’s view is ‘undoubtedly a feature which has been transferred to the God of Israel from Canaanite deities’.118 Clasquin looks at changes in Buddhist attitudes towards humour over time and across culture, from India to China. A number of his points sound notes very familiar for the study of biblical humour. He discusses, with particular regard to ancient Indian humour, a discomfort on the part of later readers with the strongly scatological and sexual nature of the humour. Thus an effort results to ‘dehumorize’ this humour by suppressing it in translation or heavily theologizing it.119 In his conclusion, Clasquin finds that applying the basic premiss of the Incongruity Theory reveals this Asian religion and philosophy to be ‘inherently humorous’, as it minimizes the seriousness of the ‘real world’ and points to something beyond it.120 115 Flemming Friis Hvidberg, Weeping and Laughter in the Old Testament: A Study of Canaanite–Israelite Religion (Leiden: Brill, 1962). 116 Michel Clasquin, ‘Real Buddhas Don’t Laugh: Attitudes towards Humour and Laughter in Ancient India and China’, Social Identities, 7 (2001), 97–116. 117 Hvidberg, Weeping and Laughter, 1. 118 Hvidberg, Weeping and Laughter, 153. 119 Clasquin, ‘Real Buddhas Don’t Laugh’, 100–2. 120 Clasquin, ‘Real Buddhas Don’t Laugh’, 113; Clasquin does note that ‘incongruity’ is a Western import into his argument and that the humour of India and China would not have been self-consciously ‘incongruous’; however, he finds the term at home in and instructive to his discussion. The same is easily said for this study of the nature of the Hebrew Bible’s humour.

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These studies all offer further evidence of comedy’s ubiquitousness, even in ancient cultures contemporary with that of the Israelites in the Hebrew Bible. A sense of humour and a desire to express it have been observed in cultures studied across time and distance. To find these among the ancient Israelites, therefore, should not be surprising, but anticipated. George Eckman even suggests that not finding humour in the Hebrew Bible would be ‘a striking anomaly’ and, if this lack was indeed discovered, one should be suspicious that ‘some redactor, jealous of [the literature’s] reputation’, had exercised a purge.121 Finally, the question of the usefulness of applying contemporary methods and models to examine ancient texts is one that ultimately must be answered by every interpretative method and model in use today. All biblical scholars are engaged, to lesser and greater degrees, in a process of backwards-looking—working from a context that is removed in time and place from that which is being studied, yet all the while making statements now about that ancient society then. For example, using archaeology as a tool to understand biblical times may appear at first as an empirical manner of exploration. A dig may produce tangible artefacts. However, that vessel fragment or metal tool is still only a clue. It must be studied and interpreted, and meaning must be extracted from it—a process certainly not impervious to error or to the production of multiple, differing viewpoints. David Robertson affirms the value of fitting onto a text an outside framework, saying: ‘The questions we ask originate in the interpretative model; if the text provides suitable answers, then we conclude that the model works. What a suitable answer consists of probably depends more on the taste, education, and experience of the interpreter than anything else.’122 He continues, arguing that, when utilizing new patterns/ models, ‘the proper test to apply to them is a heuristic one: do they or do they not enrich and deepen our comprehension of the text’.123 Studies sociological, philological, psychological, and so on are all subject to the chasm of time and culture existing between then and now. Those tools of interpretation are not discarded because this is so; neither should a search for comedy in the ancient text be discarded. 121

Eckman, ‘The Humor of the Bible’, 521. David Robertson, ‘Tragedy, Comedy, and the Bible: A Response’, Semeia, 32 (1984), 99–106 (102). 123 Robertson, ‘Tragedy, Comedy, and the Bible’, 103. 122

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Concepts, definitions, and forms devised in a culture, context, and time after that of the texts being studied is an undeniable drawback to the work of this monograph. The Ancient Israelite’s Guide to Comedy would most surely be a welcome addition to this volume’s bibliography. Maybe such a text awaits in some as-yet-undiscovered Middle Eastern cave. Until that discovery is made, the challenges to this process of seeking comedy in the Hebrew Bible are not to be dismissed as without merit; however, they are not nearly sufficient to scupper the search. As Good observes: ‘The ancient authors were not writing in order to adhere to my categories. Since theirs are not entirely accessible to me, I must make do with mine.’124 A final response to these barriers is one that sums up the other responses and in so doing speaks to all the objections. The point is about expectation. M. C. Hazard posits: ‘Why should [wit] not be employed for God instead of only for the devil?’125 Envisioning other incarnations of cosmic consequence, Zakovitch observes: ‘We must be prepared to smile, snigger, or even laugh out loud; fire will not descend from the heavens, nor will bears come out of the woods to punish our presumed irreverence.’126 If one is not prepared to encounter humour in the Hebrew Bible, one will never encounter it. Yet, ‘to the mind intent upon finding them’, many instances of this humour will present themselves.127 If one remains open to the possibility of comedy’s existence in the Hebrew Bible, yet another door into the ancient text is ajar, waiting to be walked through.

DEFINITION THROUGH ILLUSTRATION In the light of the apparent impossibility of formulating a definition of the comic that is either all-inclusive or precise, numerous scholars turn to yet another approach: definition through illustration. Eckman, employing a meal metaphor, suggests that an example of comedy is a morsel, ‘the taste of which one can relish without being able to give a scientific analysis of its flavor’.128 Corrigan proposes ‘identifying’ 124 125 126 127 128

Good, ‘Apocalyptic as Comedy’, 62–3. M. C. Hazard, ‘Humor in the Bible’, Biblical World, 53 (1919), 514–19 (514). Zakovitch, ‘Humor and Theology’, 76. Eckman, ‘The Humor of the Bible’, 523. Eckman, ‘The Humor of the Bible’, 522.

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the comic, rather than attempting to define it.129 In one of the earliest contributions to the study of humour in the Bible, Chotzner stipulates that he offers examples, rather than definitions, of the ‘flashes of genuine humour, which here and there illuminate [the Bible’s] pages’.130 Whedbee’s strategy is to ‘concentrate on exemplary texts rather than attempting an exhaustive cataloguing and analysis of every conceivable comic form in the Bible’.131 On the other hand, helpfully, if a strategy of using positive examples to identify comedy should fail, Radday is confident that one might, along with him, ‘at least demonstrate that [we] know what humour is not’.132 In summary, even after a long look at ‘comedy’—terms related to it, theories attempting to explain it, features and components that comprise it, functions it serves—comedy yet remains incompletely defined without examples that embody it. Completing the shift that began in the previous section, moving from comedy to specifically Hebrew Bible comedy, and returning to Eckman’s meal metaphor, then, here are some morsels to whet the comic appetite before the presentation of the Hebrew Bible’s humorous main course. Each of the three ‘theories of laughter’ is a part of the Hebrew Bible story: comedy of superiority follows naturally from Israel’s selfunderstanding as God’s chosen people over all other people; the pressure of life lived under the rule of another people is relieved in the laughter of Esther, and every underdog who wins the day—women repeatedly besting men, outsiders brought inside—is another instance of comic incongruity. The story of Delilah and Samson brought together with the concluding episode in Samson’s narrative arc is one demonstration of comedy’s relationship to tragedy. Comedy’s ‘not hero’ is evident in Tamar, Jael, Bathsheba, and Esther to name a few, while the fool is easily recognized in Isaac, Pharaoh, the Israelite spies, and Ahasuerus. Jacob, Laban, and David are all tricksters tricked. According to Radday, biblical humour 129 Robert W. Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’, in Robert W. Corrigan (ed.), Comedy: Meaning and Form, 1st edn (San Francisco: Chandler, 1965), 1–11 (4). 130 Chotzner, Hebrew Humour and Other Essays, 1. 131 Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 11. For others advocating a definition through illustration approach, see Hyers, And God Created Laughter, 7; and Francis Landy, ‘Humour as a Tool for Biblical Exegesis’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 99–115 (100). 132 Radday, ‘On Missing the Humour in the Bible’, 31.

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‘knows fools, misers, braggarts, offenders, and grotesque figures, but it also knows charmers, beautiful women (on the prowl) and naïve youths’.133 Plot movements in the stories of Jael and Esther, as examples, move along the U and end ‘happily’ in victory and celebration. Linguistic devices can be found in the play on the name of Abigail’s husband Nabal, the ‘Fool’, and in the hyperbolic description of the Persian court of Ahasuerus. Dialogue and repetition are part of the fateful conversation between Delilah and Samson. Irony abounds in the story of an Egyptian Pharaoh thwarted by two slaves and oblivious to the fact that his daughter is raising the enemy under his roof. Things hidden in Hebrew Bible comedy: Moses, Laban’s teraphim, Tamar’s pregnancy, Jael’s intentions, Delilah’s true allegiance, Esther’s true identity. The account of events just before and after Moses’ birth parodies the Pharaoh and all Egypt through him as their representative; Esther is complete farce; Rahab’s competence satirizes the Israelite spies; Samson tells a joke. Not all in the list of Morreall’s psychological and social features applies to biblical comedy. However, the majority of them do. Features including divergent thinking, adaptability, pragmatism, and situational ethics drive the story of Tamar and Judah. The sexual component to the stories of Rahab, Delilah, and Bathsheba, for example, and the strength and prowess of those like Samson and David, exhibit the physicality of comedy. Rachel’s trickery tests the authority of her father; Tamar’s scheme tests the authority of sexual laws; Esther’s appearance before the king tests the rules of his court. Finally, all these characters and acts that go against the grain of expectation are certainly ‘not-hero’-ic. The comedy of the Hebrew Bible serves numerous functions. With foreign people and nations as the frequent butt, Hebrew Bible comedy certainly creates boundaries. Canaanites, Egyptians, Persians—they emerge as the ‘them’ to the Israelite ‘us’. In this aggressive humour against ‘them’, comedy’s use as a weapon is clearly exhibited: ready, aim, fire! The stories of an Israelite hero whose flaws are exploited by Delilah and an Israelite patriarch who forces the hand of his daughterin-law Tamar are revelatory of self and society, for both character and audience. Rebekah, Deborah, Abigail, Michal, and Jezebel subvert the biblical expectations of women as passive objects. Rahab, Jael, and Ruth subvert the Israelite expectations of foreigners as enemies. The 133

Radday, ‘On Missing the Humour in the Bible’, 38.

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theme of survival permeates Hebrew Bible humour. The matriarchs ensure the continuation of Abraham’s line; the women of Exodus 1–2 ensure the survival of the great deliverer Moses; Rahab assists the Israelites’ entry into Canaan; the book of Esther offers an assurance of survival to a diaspora people. As well, biblical comedy offers plenty of women who, despite all else, simply survive: Tamar, Rahab, Jael, Abigail, and the list continues. So now, with whetted appetites, we turn our attention fully to these Hebrew Bible characters and their humorous stories.

2 Trickster Matriarchs: Lot’s Daughters, Rebekah, Leah, Rachel, Tamar

Families pass on many traits and characteristics—exceptional hand– eye coordination, a love of spinach, good cheekbones. In the patriarchal narratives, a singular trait passed across and down the generations is trickery. From the patriarchal bookends of Abraham’s trickery of Pharaoh that significantly increases Abraham’s assets (Gen. 12:10–20) to Joseph’s trickery of his brothers that triggers the reuniting of his family in Egypt (Gen. 44:1–45.15), the stories of these first families are rife with tricksters and their antics. When it comes to these trickster characters in the Hebrew Bible, surely the most (in)famous one is Jacob, who makes his way ‘by dint of wit and guile’.1 Yet, this way of trickery in his family has begun before him and continues after him. His own mother, Rebekah, along with Lot’s daughters, Leah, Rachel, and Tamar, are the prominent women tricksters in this family line—they are the trickster matriarchs of Genesis.2 While scholars do not universally categorize the 1

Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 94. The list of female tricksters in the Hebrew Bible does not stop with these matriarchs. For example, Naomi Steinberg (‘Israelite Tricksters, their Analogues and Cross-Cultural Study’, Semeia, 42 (1988), 1–13) adds Delilah and the Israelite midwives. Marilyn Jurich (Scheherazade’s Sisters: Trickster Heroines and their Stories in World Literature, Contributions in Women’s Studies, 167 (Westport, CT, and London: Greenwood Press, 1998)) includes Jael, Delilah, Michal, and Esther. To this growing list, Ann W. Engar (‘Old Testament Women as Tricksters’, in John R. Maier and Vincent L. Tollers (eds), Mappings of the Biblical Terrain: The Bible as Text, Bucknell Review (London: Associated University Presses, 1990), 143–57 (143)) also adds Ruth. Claudia V. Camp (‘Wise and Strange: An Interpretation of the Female Imagery in Proverbs in Light of Trickster Mythology’, Semeia, 42 (1988), 14–36 (17)) uses the trickster type to study the ‘personified Wisdom and Strange Woman’ of Proverbs. 2

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trickster as a comic character, the overlap between tricksters/trickster tales and comic characters/comedy is so significant that the correlation is undeniable. However, bringing feminist critique into the frame adds a layer of complexity. The trickster tales function in ways shared with feminist-critical concerns. Yet, the tales as they are canonized have also been put to work for the interests of patriarchy. The resulting situation for readers is that no single interpretation can simultaneously champion the concerns and interests of all involved parties.

THE TRICKSTER DEFINED The character type that has come to be known as ‘trickster’ exists in many guises across centuries and across cultures. Examples of the trickster have been identified in traditions as diverse as the Chinese Ch’an culture during the late Ming Dynasty (seventeenth century)3 and in Ancient Greek mythology (Prometheus and Pandora, Hermes, Hera, among others)4 and literature (Homer, Virgil,5 Menander6). The original Don Juan of Spain is said to follow the type.7 Native American folklore is populated with tricksters, two significantly studied ones being the oft-occurring Coyote character and Wakdjunkago, the Winnebago Trickster. In her study on the female trickster, or trickstar as she dubs her, Marilyn Jurich cites trickster stories across the centuries from a multitude of countries, from England and Wales to Russia to Egypt to the Amazon region and beyond.8 3 Laurie Cozad, ‘Reeling in the Demon: An Exploration into the Category of the Demonized Other as Portrayed in The Journey to the West’, JAAR 66 (1998), 117–45 (118). 4 Marilyn Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster—Known as Trickstar—as Exemplified by Two American Legendary Women, “Billy” Tipton and Mother Jones’, Journal of American Culture, 22 (1999), 69–75 (69). 5 Richard D. Patterson, ‘The Old Testament Use of an Archetype: The Trickster’, Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society, 42 (1999), 385–94 (386). 6 Edwin M. Good, ‘Deception and Women: A Response’, Semeia, 42 (1988), 117–32 (120). 7 Volney P. Gay, ‘Winnicott’s Contribution to Religious Studies: The Resurrection of the Culture Hero’, JAAR 51 (1983), 371–95 (376). 8 Jurich, Scheherazade’s Sisters, 249–75.

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The tar baby motif found in the Brer Rabbit trickster tales of the nineteenth-century southern United States African American slave population, who brought the trickster with them from their home continent and merged it with the Native American folklore they encountered in the USA, has been traced back to Buddhist tales, but found also in Spain, France, Japan, the Philippines, the West Indies, and in several countries of Central and South America, as well as North American locations outside the southern states.9 Calling the trickster a ‘nearly universal literary character’, Victor Matthews adds Shakespeare’s Falstaff and the Norse god Loki to the list of tricksters.10 More contemporary with the Hebrew Bible, the Akkadian Tale of the Poor Man of Nippur11 is identified as yet another example of the trickster story. While the precise journey the trickster has taken over time and through culture cannot be traced, the word ‘trickster’ itself is primarily a scholarly construction, applied by scholar Daniel Brinton in the mid-nineteenth century in his work with Native American stories.12 By the end of the century, the term was part of the academic vocabulary, applied to a number of characters based, not on a precise understanding of the trickster, but on ‘a scholarly generalization based on data observed cross-culturally’.13

The trickster type The trickster type defies precise definition because it is inexorably linked to the culture from which it grows. Tricksters have taken as many forms as cultures that have told their stories, rendering ‘any universal statements about the function, and even the definition of

9 Enrique Margery, ‘The Tar-Baby Motif in a Bocota Tale: Blisigi Sigaba Gule (“The Opossum and the Agouti”)’, Latin American Indian Literatures Journal, 6 (1990), 1–13 (9). 10 Victor H. Matthews, ‘Jacob the Trickster and Heir of the Covenant: A Literary Interpretation’, Perspectives in Religious Studies, 12 (1985), 185–95 (186). 11 Patterson, ‘The Old Testament Use of an Archetype’, 386–7. 12 According to Hynes and Doty (William J. Hynes and William G. Doty, ‘Historical Overview of Theoretical Issues: The Problem of the Trickster’, in William J. Hynes and William G. Doty (eds), Mythical Trickster Figures: Contours, Context, and Criticisms (Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1993), 13–32 (14)), the word was in usage already to designate a person who lies or cheats. 13 Steinberg, ‘Israelite Tricksters’, 2.

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this character impossible’.14 However, despite tricksters being ‘fundamentally ambiguous and anomalous’,15 some commonalities exist in the diversity of trickster manifestations across time and culture, even as tricksters may be comprised of a changing combination of these general traits. Three general categories through which the trickster figure is analysed in this chapter are (1) the character itself, (2) the character’s path or pattern through the narrative, and (3) the character’s cultural/societal function(s). First, the character of trickster is one who deceives, who engages in trickery. This deception could come in various forms, ‘including duplicitous persuasive techniques (seduction, etc.), sleight-of-hand, and conjuring . . . and . . . disguise’.16 Tricksters enjoy success, but that success is not unequivocal or permanent. However, tricksters are survivors, living to trick again another day.17 They are both hero and buffoon, rebels against custom. They also exhibit skill at manipulating language.18 Tricksters are frequently demigods and creatures capable of shape- and gender-shifting. A variation on gender-shifting is the use of sexual disguise, often across gender.19 A final and significant characteristic of the vast majority of tricksters is their liminal existence at the edge of society. Tricksters are marginalized, creatures of low (or relatively low) social position. With regard to the second aspect, how a trickster progresses through her or his story, Susan Niditch has identified a five-step morphology that constitutes the trickster pattern. Niditch asserts that, even for narratives of different cultures, settings, and content, ‘the tales may be identical in terms of morphological structure’.20 The pattern as outlined goes: (1) the hero has low status, so (2) enacts a deception to improve her/his status. (3) The successful trick leads to improved status for the hero. (4) However, eventually the deception is revealed, and (5) while surviving, the hero is returned to marginal/ outsider/reduced status. 14

Steinberg, ‘Israelite Tricksters’, 4. William J. Hynes, ‘Mapping the Characteristics of Mythic Tricksters: A Heuristic Guide’, in Hynes and Doty (eds), Mythical Trickster Figures, 33–45 (34). 16 Margaret A. Mills, ‘The Gender of the Trick: Female Tricksters and Male Narrators’, Asian Folklore Studies, 60 (2001), 237–58 (240). 17 Susan Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore: Underdogs and Tricksters (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2000), p. xv. 18 Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster’, 70. 19 Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 54; cf. Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster’, 70. 20 Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 44–5. 15

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The third aspect to assist in painting the portrait of a trickster is the character’s cultural/societal function(s). Tricksters, as mentioned above, reside at society’s margins. It is in this location that their function in society is found. Tricksters cross, and thus break, boundaries. In the crossing of boundaries, they disrupt the established social order, subverting power structures and undermining the status quo. Tying this boundary-breaking, subversive quality of the trickster to the above five-step construct, Niditch summarizes the trickster’s narrative journey as having ‘an antiestablishment quality at the very source of its being’.21 Working from a literary structuralist perspective, Kathleen Ashley argues that tricksters cross the boundaries between binary categories, such as god/human and male/female, but more significantly between ‘good’/‘evil’, rendering them ‘inherently ambivalent and often morally ambiguous’.22 Mieke Bal adds religious and philosophical ambivalence to the moral, offering that ‘deception is what characterizes their behaviour’, but ‘ambivalence characterizes their being’.23 The trickster’s status as the ambiguous ‘situation-invertor’,24 who exists outside normal categories, allows her to be creative and resourceful, offering unexpected solutions to problems, a trait dangerous for the establishment.25 This creative aspect of the trickster is what William Hynes calls the ‘sacred/lewd bricoleur’, a character who uses the resources at hand, especially if they are related to the body and its functions.26 The trickster also works in society to uncover its inconsistencies, inequalities, and injustices. Jurich points out the paradox that, while tricksters deceive, they also are truth-tellers.27 Tricksters, in exposing the deficiencies of what is, offer an opportunity to see what might be. Thus tricksters can facilitate change—for themselves and/or for the larger society. ‘While they may be malicious and unscrupulous, they may also be beneficent, their “tricks” motivated and devised

21

Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 49. Kathleen M. Ashley, ‘Interrogating Biblical Deception and Trickster Theories: Narratives of Patriarchy or Possibility?’, Semeia, 42 (1988), 103–16 (105). 23 Mieke Bal, ‘Tricky Thematics’, Semeia, 42 (1988), 133–55 (136); cf. Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster’, 70. 24 Hynes, ‘Mapping the Characteristics of Mythic Tricksters’, 34, 37. 25 Ashley, ‘Interrogating Biblical Deception’, 106. 26 Hynes, ‘Mapping the Characteristics of Mythic Tricksters’, 34, 42. 27 Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster’, 70. 22

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to expose wrongdoing and, ultimately, responsible for bringing about a more humane condition, a more humane society.’28 Using ‘deeply humorous negative examples’, trickster stories reveal society’s values. Through their rule-breaking, tricksters reveal what rules really exist and the subsequent social response reveals ‘how seriously this rule is taken’.29 In exposing social deficiencies, tricksters and their stories—if allowed—function as social correctives, as society can choose to cease endorsing those deficient values brought to the fore by the rule-breaking, boundary-crossing trickster. As symbols of marginalization, outcast tricksters have much to offer society’s actual outcasts. They offer a form of defence and resistance. For Africans enslaved in the southern United States, the trickster tales offered a ‘psychological defence mechanism against the evils of the social system of slavery’.30 Trickster figures aid in coping with ‘insurmountable and uncontrollable forces in our own lives, personifying and in a sense containing the chaos that always threatens’.31 Tricksters also offer the marginalized figure with whom to identify. In their ‘sneakiness’, tricksters are made imperfect, and thus ‘human’. Furthermore, tricksters are admirable for their bravado; they possess ‘the nerve to use their wits’.32 The tricksters of story and the marginalized in life share misfortunes. Tricksters offer hope for these marginalized persons, as they promise that a measure of success is possible and that, at the very least, survival is probable. In resisting society’s established powers, tricksters are figures who demonstrate how to transform weakness into strength.

The trickster and her tales as comedy The trickster character is frequently associated with laughter and described as humorous or comical. Naomi Steinberg describes the trickster as ‘lusty and loud, a destroyer and a creator, both stupid and clever, but always comical’.33 In Jurich’s view, the trickster is 28

Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster’, 69. William J. Hynes, ‘Inconclusive Conclusions: Tricksters—Metaplayers and Revealers’, in Hynes and Doty (eds), Mythical Trickster Figures, 202–17 (207). 30 Steinberg, ‘Israelite Tricksters’, 3. 31 Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, p. xv. 32 Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 48. 33 Steinberg, ‘Israelite Tricksters’, 2. 29

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a source of laughter that ‘liberates as it defies and releases the Trickster to ridicule status and hierarchy’.34 Ann Engar compares trickery to a daring game that ends successfully, describing trickster stories as comedies that invite laughter to celebrate the trick.35 Tricksters are one of the stock characters of comedy, and the stories in which they take the spotlight belong to the arena of the comic as well. Comedy’s ‘not hero’ is easily seen reflected in the trickster. Both use wit over weapon, refusing to give up and escaping death. The ‘not hero’s’ unusual response to conflict links closely with a trickster’s having low status, thus preferring indirect deception over direct confrontation. The trickster’s co-star is also a comic stock character: the fool. A story with a trickster character must have a ‘tricked’ character. Seemingly in power, seemingly advantaged, the trickster’s counterpart is suddenly bested, beaten, and exposed as the fool. Trickster tales also overlap comedy with regard to the use of irony. Stories, inherently about the weak besting the powerful, rest at their centre, on the ironies of things not being as they seem or as one would expect. The normal and usual are turned on their head. In trickster stories, the comic incongruity governs as the expected outcome is the unexpected. Another comic element in stories built around trickery is the hiddenness/surprise pairing. Inherent in trickster tales is deception, and inherent in deception is hiddenness. Trickster stories utilize both masking (hiddenness) and unmasking (surprise)—the trick and the inevitable revelation of the trick. A trickster demonstrates several of comedy’s psychological and social features including flexibility, pragmatism, a tolerance for disorder and ambiguity, creative thinking, and adaptability. The trickster’s preference for indirect confrontation points towards comedy’s preference for pacifism. Also, the trickster shares comedy’s changing, situational ethics, and the tales frequently have a sexual or gendered aspect. Finally, already in the defining of the trickster above, the overlap with the social and psychological functions of comedy is evident: boundary-drawing (and boundary-crossing), revelation, instruction, subversion, and survival.

34 35

Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster’, 70. Engar, ‘Old Testament Women as Tricksters’, 148.

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Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible THE TRICKSTER MATRIARCHS

In many cultures, women have existed and do exist as secondary members of society, pushed to the margin. Unsurprisingly, then, female tricksters can be especially competent and their stories especially appealing in societies in which males dominate and women may be controlled and limited in their role. Without the availability of ‘more direct means’ it has been women who ‘have most often had to use both wit and “wiles” to achieve individual autonomy, if not use some form of strategy merely to survive’.36 Jurich further argues that women can rescue themselves and others through tricks, pursue what they need or desire through tricks, transform what they find unworkable or unworthy through tricks. Even in adversity and oppression, women are capable of tricking their way into more desirable positions, of using tricks to gain advantages for their communities . . . These trickstars can make life better for men as well as for women.37

Ashley makes a similar observation with regard to specifically biblical women, that, as ‘social marginals, often morally ambiguous, or in violation of cultural categories, they may be available to the society as a means of renewal or change’, offering solutions through the use of strategies that are not normally socially acceptable.38 When arguing that biblical characters fit the trickster description, one could be faced with counter-arguments similar to those raised regarding the application in general of ‘comedy’ to the biblical text. The response, therefore, is similar: as presented in the opening paragraphs of this chapter, the trickster character has crossed boundaries of culture and time; it is a ubiquitous folkloric antihero. A number of biblical characters display defining characteristics of this antiheroic trickster. When biblical characters do so, using the model of the trickster character and the trickster tale can be and indeed is an instructive approach through which to analyse them.

36 37 38

Jurich, ‘The Female Trickster’, 69. Jurich, Scheherazade’s Sisters, pp. xvii–xviii. Ashley, ‘Interrogating Biblical Deception’, 108.

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Lot’s daughters The story of how Lot’s daughters came to be matriarchs is depicted in Genesis 19:30–8.39 Having fled from the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and having lost their husbands-to-be and their mother, Lot’s daughters understand themselves to be in an inescapable situation with ‘not a man on earth to come into us after the manner of all the world’ (v. 31). These two women are, at this point, quite literally living on the edge of society. Their low status is compounded by their anonymity. Alice Ogden Bellis describes the daughters as ‘unnamed and therefore considered unimportant by the Biblical editors’.40 The daughters hatch a plot, which definitely involves their sexuality and which also involves their crossing over the boundaries normally governing social order: male over female, parent over child, age over youth. Their father’s drunkenness is the covering element they devise to disguise their trick. The older sister’s ‫ הנה‬of verse 34 alerts the reader to her improved condition as she seems to say, ‘Look, it worked!’ Therefore, the pair replay the scene again the following night (v. 35) with the younger daughter also achieving the same success (v. 36). This story concludes with the birth of two sons: Moab and Ben-ammi (vv. 37–8). Thus, Lot’s daughters become matriarchs, but not as other matriarchs of Genesis. These two have not continued Israel’s promised line. Instead they have borne children whose people will be the enemies of Israel, two sons whose very names become part of the joke: ‘From the Father’ (‫ )מואב‬and ‘Son of My People’ (‫)בן־עמי‬. Thus these characters move through Niditch’s five-step morphology, as we imagine stage four, the deception revealed, coming to pass as the young women’s pregnancy begins to ‘show’. Lot’s daughters’ engagement with Niditch’s fifth stage, that of the trickster’s survival but her return to outsider/reduced status, is an interesting one. Lot’s daughters do survive, but the question of whether they experience a reduction in status remains. This question is present in a similar way in the stories of Rebekah, Leah, and Tamar as well, and thus the issue is discussed further below, as the function of these trickster matriarchs is considered. 39 Portions of the sections on Lot’s daughters and Tamar are revised from Melissa Jackson, ‘Lot’s Daughters and Tamar as Tricksters and the Patriarchal Narratives as Feminist Theology’, JSOT 98 (2002), 29–46. 40 Alice Ogden Bellis, Helpmates, Harlots, and Heroes: Women’s Stories in the Hebrew Bible, 2nd edn (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007), 66.

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A significant irony in the story of Lot’s daughters centres around knowledge. Lot is manipulated by his daughters into participating with them in incest—unknowingly. Even as he ‘knows’ them sexually, he does not know (‫לא־ירע‬, vv. 33, 35) when they lie down and when they rise. The irony is compounded by the reader’s knowledge that, as gestation progresses, Lot will eventually come to know what has transpired. His lack of awareness and passive participation in this plot are further heightened as four times he is the object of the hiphil form of ‫‘( שקה‬to make drink’, vv. 32, 33, 34, 35), as the daughters ‘make’ their father drink. These trickster ‘not heroes’ certainly have found their fool in their father. His ignorance is played against his daughters’ shrewdness.

Rebekah Rebekah, in Genesis 27:1–40, devises and—with Jacob’s help— executes a plan in which the elderly and poor-sighted Isaac gives his blessing to the younger son, Jacob, ahead of the older one, Esau. Rebekah, a woman, and Jacob, a younger son, are certainly the more marginalized members of this family.41 Hiddenness in the form of disguise plays a pivotal role in this deception. A costume made of Esau’s garment plus hairy goat skins and food (vv. 15–17) transform Jacob into Esau, at least long enough to fool Isaac (v. 23), who indeed emerges as the trickster’s fool in this tale. As with Lot’s daughters, this story follows the outline of Niditch’s morphology through steps one to four. The heroine and her son are of a relatively low status. Rebekah listens in on Isaac’s instruction to Esau (v. 5) and conceives a plot to improve her or her son’s status—that is, to obtain what is rightly Esau’s blessing for Jacob instead (vv. 8–10). The trick is successful, as Isaac mistakes Jacob for Esau and grants Jacob his irrevocable blessing (vv. 27–9). The 41 Tricksters possess a low or relatively low status. As matriarchs of Israel, Rebekah, Leah, Rachel, and Tamar do possess some amount of status. As well, the text indicates that these families are not without resources. Furthermore, Rebekah has a nurse (24:59; 35:8) and both Leah and Rachel have maids, Zilpah (29:24) and Bilhah (29:29), respectively. Therefore, they are not on the absolute lowest rung of the social ladder, as Zilpah and Bilhah would surely attest, had they a voice with which to do so. However, the matriarchs are still denied the equality and self-determination that would afford them the power that the men possessed simply by the fortuitous accident of being born male. They are not the most marginalized members of society; however, they remain, as women, permanently disconnected from the centre of it.

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deception is revealed as Esau enters ‘when Jacob had scarcely gone out from the presence of his father Isaac’ (v. 30, NRSV). At this point, however, as previously mentioned, Rebekah’s and Jacob’s tale deviates somewhat from Niditch’s morphology. The blessing Isaac has given Jacob cannot be revoked (vv. 34–5). Esau too is given a blessing, but a lesser one, one that reduces him to being his younger brother’s servant (vv. 39–40). Jacob’s status is reduced in the sense that he is now a fugitive from his brother’s anger. However, Rebekah’s part in the deception is never uncovered and what was won for Jacob in the deception is never in jeopardy of being lost again. In this narrative, Rebekah is working on behalf of her favoured son; however, she is the one who hatches the plan and makes it work, ‘moving the men around her like chess pieces’.42 Rebekah is in control, ordering her son to obey (‫שמע‬, vv. 8, 43) her word, her plan. She ‘forms a stark contrast to her blind, uncomprehending and vulnerable husband . . . She is aware, scheming and in control.’43 E. A. Speiser is unkind to her for this deception, emphatically exonerating Jacob and holding Rebekah responsible: ‘Jacob himself did not think up the scheme; he acted, though not without remonstrance and uneasiness, under pressure from his strong-willed mother; and he had to pay for his misdeed with twenty years of exile!’44 Not unlike the Bathsheba of 1 Kings 1, Rebekah wields a ‘vicarious power that achieves success for oneself through the success of male children . . . Such is woman’s power in a man’s world.’ Opinions remain divided as to whether Rebekah’s taking control is vice or virtue, indefensible or commendable, but that she was in control is not debatable.

Leah In the book of Genesis, Leah’s role as a mother is significant. She is exceedingly fertile and bears numerous sons who will become fathers of tribes of Israel. As a character, however, she rarely has a 42 Susan Niditch, ‘Genesis’, in Carol A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe (eds), Women’s Bible Commentary, 2nd edn (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998), 13–29 (22). 43 Laurence A. Turner, Genesis, Readings (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 117. 44 E. A. Speiser, Genesis, AB 1 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 211.

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role on stage, unless it involves in some way, not surprisingly, her womb. However, in Genesis 29:21–30 she is, for a brief moment, in the forefront of the narrative—as a participant in her father’s trickery. Jacob has served Laban seven years so that he can marry Laban’s younger daughter, Rachel. On the wedding night, however, Laban secretly brings his older daughter, Leah, rather than Rachel, to Jacob (v. 23). Leah’s wedding attire must have provided the temporary cover required for this deception,45 but the deception was indeed brief, lasting only until morning, when, ‘Behold! It was Leah!’ (‫הנה־הוא לאה‬, v. 25). Ironically, the one who had previously gone to his own father in deceit (‫מרמה‬, Gen. 27:35) is now outraged that he has been deceived (‫ רמה‬piel, v. 25). The text offers no indication of either the extent of Leah’s (or indeed Rachel’s) part in devising this trick or the degree of her (or indeed Rachel’s) willingness to participate in it, so much more said with respect to this trickery is speculative gap-filling. However, Leah (and indeed Rachel) must have consented to this trickery in some part, because the plan’s ‘success’ depended upon her convincing participation. Laban initiated the trick, but Leah most certainly had the harder part, playing the role of another—her preferred sister, Rachel—on the night of what was, and yet was not, her wedding.

Rachel Rachel must have been at least a tertiary player in Laban’s and Leah’s deceit of Jacob on his first wedding night. Rachel’s starring role as trickster is to occur subsequently, recounted briefly in Genesis 31:19, 30–5, and enfolded in the larger narrative of Jacob and his trickery. This trickster tale of Rachel’s is one that yet again sees Jacob on the run, this time from his father-in-law, Laban (31:17–21). For reasons not revealed by the text, yet highly speculated upon by interpreters, Rachel steals her father’s teraphim (‫תרפים‬, v. 19), setting in motion the events that precipitate the trick. Laban catches up to the fleeing party and accuses Jacob of stealing the teraphim (v. 30). With Jacob’s permission, Laban conducts a search of the tents (vv. 33–4). Rachel hides the teraphim by sitting on them (v. 34), then explains that she 45

236.

Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50, WBC 2 (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1994),

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does not get up for Laban ‘for the way of women is upon me’ and Laban does not find the teraphim (v. 35, NRSV). Rachel is both a woman and a younger sibling, so she too is a lesser member of this family and this society. In order to achieve her trick, she certainly uses her sexuality to her advantage, as the phrase ‘the way of women’ is widely taken to mean that Rachel is menstruating.46 As Bal observes, it is precisely through being a woman in a man’s world that this ruse is a savvy one. Most other women surely would not have been put off by Rachel’s explanation of her physical state, yet Laban was, thereby showing himself to be the fool in his trickster daughter’s tent. ‘Thus, the very sign of female inferiority becomes a sign of male inferiority, of male fright, of fright that blinds.’47 Unlike other tricksters, Rachel does not hide or disguise herself, instead she uses her self as the means of disguise, the means by which to hide the teraphim. Her trickery is ‘skilful in its simplicity . . . Her mechanism is her own body.’48 In this Rachel exhibits the trickster’s resourcefulness and pragmatism. Rachel’s movement through Niditch’s trickster morphology is difficult to trace. She is a relatively marginal figure. The text offers no significant insight, however, into Rachel’s conceiving of a plan, except to state that she makes certain Laban is gone before she moves (v. 19). As well, while the trick is ‘successful’, no explicit textual evidence indicates how stealing the teraphim would improve her status or if, indeed, she experienced such an improved status. Furthermore, her deception is not uncovered, nor is she subsequently returned to marginal status (indeed, she never seems to have left it). While the text does not explain why Rachel stole the teraphim or what is significant about being in possession of them, scholars have put forth several ideas on the subject. An argument has been made by

46 James G. Williams (Women Recounted: Narrative Thinking and the God of Israel, Bible and Literature Series, 6 (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1982)) offers another interpretation in which ‘way of women’ has a double meaning: first, Laban thinks Rachel is referring to menstruation, but also the phrase is a pun shared between narrator and reader, in which Rachel’s ‘way’ is ‘one that fools Laban and of which Jacob is ignorant’, reminiscent of Jacob’s ignorance in the mandrake negotiation between Rachel and Leah in 30:14–16 (p. 57). While the idea of a double meaning for ‘way’ here has some value, that this ‘way’ of deception and trickery is a ‘way of women’ only is unconvincing considering Rachel is dealing here with Jacob and Laban, themselves experienced tricksters. 47 48 Bal, ‘Tricky Thematics’, 151. Jurich, Scheherazade’s Sisters, 211.

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Speiser, based on Nuzi documents, that teraphim are connected to property ownership, so that, if Jacob had possession of the teraphim, he would have a claim to Laban’s estate.49 Rachel could possibly be attempting to gain what she and Leah say that their father has taken from them (vv. 14–16). That Rachel steals the teraphim soon after her conversation with Jacob and Leah regarding their father’s treatment of them does indicate some connection between the two events. J. E. Lapsley is not entirely convinced by the Nuzi document evidence, but she is utterly convinced of a cause and effect between Rachel’s grievance and her theft. ‘By stealing the teraphim Rachel settles for herself the complaint against Laban,’ she states.50 Moshe Greenberg too explores the Nuzi document ‘evidence’ as explanation for Rachel’s theft. However, he prefers a conclusion based on a story told by Josephus about a woman who took along her household gods when she travelled into a foreign land. Greenberg finds persuasive the idea that, under normal circumstances, a replica set of the teraphim would have been made for Rachel to take with her upon leaving Laban’s household, but, because she fled—obviously leaving no time—she simply took the originals. This act would have enraged Laban because of the importance of these objects, as a ‘sacred heirloom’ that must not leave the family home.51 Ktziah Spanier disputes Speiser that Rachel’s actions were for Jacob’s sake, as Jacob did not know she had stolen the teraphim. Instead, she offers yet another perspective on Rachel’s motivation, arguing that ‘Rachel’s action was part of her continuing struggle for primacy within Jacob’s household’.52 In Spanier’s view, Rachel thought her possession of the teraphim would establish her son Joseph as the leader of the family and eventually of Israel. Spanier further traces this struggle for primacy between Rachel’s and Leah’s heirs through the following generations, even to David, descending

49

Speiser, Genesis, 250; cf. Jurich, Scheherazade’s Sisters, 210. J. E. Lapsley, ‘The Voice of Rachel: Resistance and Polyphony in Genesis 31.14– 35’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), Genesis: A Feminist Companion to the Bible, FCB, 2nd ser. 1 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 233–48 (238). 51 Moshe Greenberg, ‘Another Look at Rachel’s Theft of the Teraphim’, JBL 81 (1962), 239–48 (246–7). 52 Ktziah Spanier, ‘Rachel’s Theft of the Teraphim: Her Struggle for Family Primacy’, VT 42 (1992), 404–12 (405). 50

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55

from Judah, and Saul the Benjaminite.53 In her argument, Spanier then also would dispute the assertion made by Engar that Rachel’s trickery deviates from the usual because it is not concerned with the continuation of the family line.54 While none of these theories can offer definitive proof of Rachel’s motivations, as the text itself remains silent, these or similar proposals would explain how being in possession of the teraphim would raise Rachel’s status. Regardless which theory seems most compelling, Rachel’s trickery, like Rebekah’s, was ultimately for the benefit of a male member of her family. One consideration with regard to this narrative of Rachel’s trickery is that it functions as a counter-trick, the trickster in turn being tricked: this time father is one-upped by daughter. In marriage, Laban tricked Jacob, using Rachel and Leah to achieve it. In leaving her father’s home with his teraphim and successfully hiding this fact from him, Rachel tricks Laban. What has gone around is now coming around. As Esther Fuchs states: ‘It is therefore all the more fitting to represent Rachel, the object of Jacob’s desire, as the one who steals from her father his own objects of desire.’55 Comic characters are generally flat ones, identifiable based on a single trait or action and thus readily categorized; however, their residence in any particular category is not fixed, as the boundaries between categories are thin and easily crossed. The trickster-turned-fool (due to the counter-trick) is an excellent example of this boundary-crossing. Although successfully on the winning side of the trick at times, they also find themselves on the other side once, if not dozens of times. Both Leah and Rachel are agents of countertrickery, casting the previously successful tricksters, Jacob and Laban, in the role of counter-tricked fool.

Tamar The last of the Genesis trickster matriarchs, Tamar, is, according to J. William Whedbee, ‘one of the most brilliantly conceived female 53 Spanier, ‘Rachel’s Theft of the Teraphim’, 408–10; cf. J. Cheryl Exum, Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)Versions of Biblical Narratives, JSOT, suppl. ser. 163 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 128–30; and Nancy Jay, ‘Sacrifice, Descent and the Patriarchs’, VT 38 (1988), 52–70 (64–7). 54 Engar, ‘Old Testament Women as Tricksters’, 148. 55 Esther Fuchs, ‘ “For I Have the Way of Women”: Deception, Gender, and Ideology in Biblical Narrative’, Semeia, 42 (1988), 68–83 (74).

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characters in Genesis’ whose story, recounted in Genesis 38, is ‘a masterpiece of ironic comedy’.56 Tamar realizes that Judah will not fulfil his obligation that his remaining son Shelah will be her levir, the brother who marries the widow of his deceased sibling in order to continue the line of the decesased (v. 14). Therefore, she springs to action with a dangerous and elaborate trick. She goes to a location where she knows she will encounter Judah (v. 14). He takes her for a prostitute, propositions her, and leaves his signifying possessions as collateral for the payment of a goat (vv. 15–18), which is never collected, because, by the time Judah’s friend arrives with the goat, the woman is gone (vv. 19–23). In three months, when Tamar’s pregnancy becomes known, Judah intends to have her killed (v. 24), but, upon the return of his possessions, he realizes what has happened (v. 25) and pronounces Tamar ‘more righteous’ then he (v. 26). The story concludes with the birth of twins, Perez and Zerah (vv. 27–30). Tamar is a master trickster.57 She devises a plan, chooses the perfect time to execute it, and does so flawlessly. As a widow, Tamar is surely a marginal and vulnerable member of society, reliant on others to provide for her. Denied by the very one who ought to be concerned with her welfare, she marshals what she has—her cunning and her sexuality—to obtain that which will ensure her survival: a son (or two). Her disguise is so effective that Judah, throughout the whole ‘transaction’, never recognizes his daughter-in-law (vv. 14–15). Again progressing according to Niditch’s morphology, Tamar starts in a very weak position, but hatches a brilliant and successful 56

Whedbee, The Bible and the Comic Vision, 108. Mary E. Shields (‘ “More Righteous than I”: The Comeuppance of the Trickster in Genesis 38’, in Brenner (ed.), Are We Amused? Humour about Women in the Biblical Worlds, 31–51) argues that Judah, rather than Tamar, is the trickster in this narrative. Because tricksters are eventually themselves the victims of trickery, Shields sees Tamar’s role instead as the ‘instrument of [Judah’s] comeuppance’ (p. 33). Tricksters are characters defined primarily by their weakness and status at the margins of society. As a result, tricksters are also opportunistic and manipulative as they operate indirectly with cunning and wit to better their situations against those stronger members of society who have at their ready disposal the more direct means of attaining success afforded by the position of power. Yes, Judah is opportunistic and manipulative, but, unlike the trickster, he is also in a position of power and responsibility. A character like this does not belong among the tricksters, but instead stands in stark opposition to the trickster, as her oppressor. Far from being of the same ilk, a character behaving as Judah behaves is what necessitates a character behaving as Tamar behaves. 57

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plan. She conceives, thus improving her situation, but, following the unmasking of the deception, sees her situation momentarily destabilize. She then initiates the second part of her plan, thus securing her success through Judah’s pronouncement of her righteousness and through the birth of Perez and Zerah. Tamar’s ending, like others mentioned above, is also divergent from Niditch’s model at the fifth stage. This story is peppered with ironic reversals, reflected in mirroring word repetitions. As with Lot’s daughters, ‘knowledge’ feeds the irony of this story. Judah does not know (‫לא ידע‬, v. 16) Tamar on the side of the road. After all has been revealed, at the end of the story, we are told that again he does not know (‫ידע‬, v. 26) her. Tamar sets her plan in motion by sitting at the Enayim entrance, more literally translated as ‘opening of the eyes’ (‫פתח עינים‬, v. 14), alluding to the fact that Tamar sees (‫ראה‬, v. 14) that Judah will not fulfil his promise.58 At this ‘opening of the eyes’ entrance, Judah sees (‫ראה‬, v. 15) Tamar, but, as pointed out above, does not ‘know’ her. In discussing their transaction, Tamar asks Judah what he will give (‫נתן‬, v. 16) her as payment. In Judah’s final act, he acknowledges her relative rightness, in part because of what he would not give (‫לא נתן‬, v. 26) her. Judah sends (‫שלח‬, v. 20) Hirah with a goat to pay his debt and reclaim his pledge. He is unsuccessful. Tamar sends (‫שלח‬, v. 25) to Judah a word about this pledge, hoping for a result. She is successful in achieving one, a result surely more successful than she had dared to hope. If ever there was a fool, he was Judah in Genesis 38. Judah is his own worst enemy. Not one, but two, of his sons displease Yahweh and thus die by the hand of that God. Judah sends away a cunning and shrewd woman who will return to unravel him. He does not recognize his own daughter-in-law, even as he is engaged with her in very close quarters. While Judah refuses to fulfil his obligation to his daughter-in-law, he is intent to fulfil the one he has made to a prostitute (he needs something from the latter; the former only needs something from him). Judah is brazen enough to solicit a prostitute and foolhardy enough to leave his important identifying possessions with her. Then, however, he is too cowardly to return in person with payment to reclaim his possessions. Judah’s final 58 Shields (‘More Righteous than I’, 36, 39–41, 46–8) discusses the ongoing thread of seeing and not seeing in this narrative.

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foolishness is pronouncing judgement for a ‘crime’ in which he himself participated equally. One additional element of comedy from the story of Tamar involves the word ‘prostitute’. The word ‫זונה‬, appearing in verse 15 and twice in verse 24, is most commonly translated ‘prostitute’ or ‘harlot’, while the word ‫קדשה‬, used in verses 21 and 22, is commonly translated ‘temple prostitute’ or ‘hierodule’. In verse 15 Judah takes Tamar for a prostitute (the text does not say she was dressed as a prostitute, merely that Judah thought she was one), and in verse 24 the report comes to Judah saying that Tamar has ‘played the whore’ and ‘is pregnant as a result of whoredom’. Verses 21 and 22, however, are the conversation in which Hirah asks the townspeople about the ‘temple prostitute’ and in which Hirah reports back to Judah. While commentators have varying interpretations of the terms and their usage,59 Phyllis Bird’s interpretation has a comic glint: ‘Hirah knows how to handle the situation; he uses a euphemism . . . Here we have an example, I think, of a common contrast between private, or “plain”, speech . . . and public, or “polite”, speech’.60 Hirah possibly chose his words in an attempt to be discrete—while parading around town asking after a non-existent woman and trailing a goat, of course.

THE TRICKSTER INTERPRETED

Intertextuality Before turning to concluding observations, a useful preparatory exercise is to investigate both the links among these texts and the

59

See Bal, ‘Tricky Thematics’, 148–53; Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, Interpretation (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1982), 308; Morimura Nobuko, ‘The Story of Tamar: A Feminist Interpretation of Genesis 38’, Japan Christian Review, 59 (1993), 55–67 (59–60, 65–6); Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary, 3rd edn, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1972), 359–60; Gail Corrington Streete, The Strange Woman: Power and Sex in the Bible (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 48–51; Nahum M. Sarna, Genesis: The Traditional Hebrew Text with New JPS Translation, JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 268–9. 60 Bird, ‘The Harlot as Heroine’, 126.

Trickster Matriarchs

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links between them and other Genesis texts, the intertextual bonds that weave these stories and characters into a complex, connected tapestry. First and significantly, each of these trickster narratives involves a concern for the family line and how it will continue. Lot’s daughters are motivated to conceive as they fear no man exists who could father children with them. Rebekah’s trickery is to obtain a blessing for her favoured, younger son, over his older brother—the prevalent Genesis motif of the reversal of primogeniture. Leah’s participation with her father in trickery prevents a reversal of primogeniture, as she is the elder, unmarried sister. Rachel’s thieving of the teraphim, in the estimation of most scholars, has something to do with primacy in the family, the elevation of either Jacob or Joseph. Finally, Tamar’s trickery is also about the continuation of the line, her husband’s. Judah, on the other hand, is concerned about the extinction of his. Tamar’s story also holds a reversal as the twin seemingly to be born first is, at the last moment, pre-empted by his brother. The concern with the continuation of a line that could be in jeopardy recalls the ‘Endangered Ancestress’ accounts (12:10–30; 20:1–18; 26:1–11) in which a matriarch (Sarah in the first two, Rebekah in the third) is taken or in danger of being taken as a wife by another man, after being passed off by her husband as a sister. As with Perez and Zerah, reversal of primogeniture is a theme in the birth of Jacob and Esau as well (25:24–6). This reversal, plus a younger son’s being favoured over his older brother(s), also plays a significant role for Isaac and Ishmael and for Joseph and his brothers. The trickery of Jacob’s stealing the blessing and Rachel’s stealing the teraphim are the stories of two parents and two offspring: four tricksters. Both Isaac and Laban ‘feel’ (‫מוש‬, 27:21; ‫משש‬, 27:22; ‫משש‬ piel, 31:34) for something, a repetition that, according to Lawrence Turner, indicates Rachel’s replaying of the actions of Rebekah/Jacob. Rachel ‘has inherited from her father the same tendencies as Jacob had from his mother’.61 And, as Jacob perfected those tendencies at Rebekah’s side, so too Rachel surely honed her skills watching her father. Tamar’s payment from Judah is to be a kid. Goat stew and goat skins are the tools of trickery used by Rebekah in securing the blessing

61

Turner, Genesis, 137.

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for Jacob. Jacob tricks Laban into giving Jacob his speckled and spotted goats (30:25–43). Sheep-shearing provides the opportunity for both Rachel and Tamar to launch their tricks. Lastly, both Tamar and Leah are concealed during sexual relations with a man who does not see through the disguise. All these intertextual threads weave these stories together into the wider story of the beginnings of what will become the nation of Israel. They also bind together these matriarchs, as they play their vital part in this story.

The function of the trickster matriarchs Niditch asks the question of why an Israelite society would be drawn to the trickster figure. Her answer is that, ‘throughout its history, Israel has had a peculiar self-image as the underdog and the trickster’.62 Steinberg goes on to say about tricksters that ‘repeated occurrences of the same behaviour pattern suggest that a role significant for the perpetuation of Israelite social structure is being enacted’.63 For a society that saw itself as different and superior and chosen, yet marginalized and oppressed within its wider culture, the trickster offers what successful comedy offers: triumph, defence, escape, survival. While trickery occurs among the weak, necessitated by a deprival of control and self-determination, trickery can be itself a powerful weapon, with its ability to do the things listed above, such as offer survival. Cristiano Grottanelli maintains that therefore tricksters themselves wield a power that is real—one that exists ironically by virtue of tricksters’ being ‘other’. He describes this ‘other’ power as ‘power through impurity’, power through the breaking of rules: ‘the power of breaking boundaries, of getting away with it, and of achieving salvation through sin’.64 This power is unconventional and is exercised by those willing to ignore convention. Yet, the relationship of tricksters to the Hebrew Bible is not so simple. Original oral folktales of wily creatures who survived on wit and cunning when denied power and influence have been written 62

Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, p. xv. Steinberg, ‘Israelite Tricksters’, 6. 64 Cristiano Grottanelli, ‘Tricksters, Scape-Goats, Champions, Saviors’, History of Religions, 23 (1983), 117–39 (138–9). 63

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and rewritten by those who are the power structure of Israelite society. The stories have become codified and incorporated into a larger story with a culture and theological agenda of its own. Another layer has been added, one steeped in and governed by patriarchy. So, while the society might have seen itself as oppressed and marginalized in its wider context, people and structures of power existed within the confines of its own boundaries, people, and structures that themselves then created a marginalized class—the underdogs of the underdogs. As women, the trickster matriarchs are such people. Stories of trickster women in Genesis become brief stops along the road of God’s plan for the nation journeying its way from Abraham to Isaac to Jacob to Joseph. These trickster tales can then be read merely as episodes in a larger story making its way inevitably to a male-centred ending. One example of this complicated situation is a previous topic promised further discussion—that of the fifth and final stage of Niditch’s trickster morphology, the stage at which the trickster survives but experiences a reduction in status. As women, these tricksters do experience a reduced status as they recede once again into the background of the main narrative after their trick has been played. However, as characters in the hands of patriarchy, they achieve ‘eternal’ success as the mothers of nations. Brenner, in describing the usefulness of models, states that ‘deviations from a regular action sequence constitute the unique character of a given story and create the differences which account for its identity’.65 The sons these matriarchs conceive, bear, and advocate for are important little men—they are deviations from the norm; thus their mothers are no mere mothers either. As such, they maintain an elevated place in the story of Israel in perpetuity. No reduction of status shall be found here. The difficulty for feminist critique is obvious, as the stories that proclaim the tricksters’ cleverness, proactivity, and courage are the same ones that reduce them merely to wombs, objects acting in the interest of the male agenda. On the other hand, the inherent nature of a trickster is to question the power structures of its culture, sharing comedy’s subversive and revelatory qualities—undermining what is and offering a glimpse into what ought to be, the comic incongruity between the actual and 65 Athalya Brenner, The Israelite Woman: Social Role and Literary Type in Biblical Narrative (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985), 102.

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the ideal.66 The laughter invited by this incongruity is one ‘that evokes insight and enlightenment’.67 William Hynes and William Doty argue that tricksters do this in a way ‘no less than preacher-moralists inform members of a society about proper roles, but the modes of diction may be those of inversion rather than mimesis, of modeling by imaging the obverse rather than exemplification’.68 Nowhere in the trickster tales of the matriarchs is this seen more clearly than in the way these stories engage with the Torah. Deuteronomy 21:15–17 outlines the right of the firstborn: a father with two sons from two wives must treat his older as firstborn, even if the older son is the offspring of the not-favoured wife. Leviticus 18:18 states: ‘And you shall not take [‫לקח‬, also “marry”] a woman as a rival to her sister, uncovering her nakedness while her sister is still alive.’ Exodus 22:21 (v. 22, English) commands: ‘You shall not abuse any widow or orphan’, and among Deuteronomy’s curses is ‘cursed be anyone who deprives the alien, the orphan, and the widow of justice’ (27:19a).69 Leviticus 18:15 forbids a man from uncovering the nakedness of his daughter-in-law. Leviticus 20:12a goes even further to say that ‘if a man lies with his daughter-in-law, both of them shall be put to death’. Deuteronomy 25:5–10 outlines the practice of levirate marriage in which a brother of a widow’s dead husband is obligated to marry her and father a child who will bear the dead man’s name. And yet, among the stories of the trickster matriarchs, younger is preferred over elder; sisters are married to the same man; Tamar is violated on several fronts as she is abused, deprived of justice, deprived of a levir, and given a death sentence, while her partner is under no threat. These laws are not just broken; they are obliterated. While the women are active participants, the transgressors are obviously the men, as they are the ones to whom the laws are addressed.70 66

Bullard, ‘Biblical Humor’, 206. Hynes, ‘Inconclusive Conclusions’, 206. 68 Hynes and Doty, ‘Historical Overview of Theoretical Issues’, 25. 69 See also Deut. 14:28–9 (third-year tithe); Deut. 24:17 (a widow’s garment); and Deut. 24:19, 21 (gleanings). 70 However, with respect to Jacob and Esau, Yahweh confirmed to Rebekah the reversal of younger and older. Engar (‘Old Testament Women as Tricksters’) states that this is the author’s attempt ‘to confer respectability on [Rebekah’s] fraud’ (p. 145). It could equally (and probably more likely) be the author’s attempt to acquit Isaac of being such a dupe, if the blessing of Jacob was going to take place in any case. 67

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The women’s motivations for the trickery vary in ‘morality’, as Rebekah seems to be working selfishly to get the good stuff for her favourite, while Tamar is trying to obtain the justice she is being denied. A complicated relationship is unfolding here as characters’ actions subvert the guidelines of Torah, Torah that exists in order to guide their actions. From one perspective, the response is that the trickster narratives and the body of law governing the life of Israel are different genres of writing derived from different sources that came into existence at different times. Practices such as levirate marriage and the right of the firstborn speak backwards over time to these trickster narratives, righting the wrong in some sense. However, the trickster narratives also speak forward in time to the Torah texts, offering examples of what happens when those charged with upholding the Torah or when those with their own agenda counter to the Torah subvert its provisions, leaving victims in the wake. Tricksters also speak the practical voice of experience and reality into an ideally constructed (but unattainable) world governed absolutely by rules and regulations. The Torah is given to the Israelites as the standard for behaviour, while the trickster tales put that standard to the test. Or the tricksters represent the complicated nature of human existence, which the Torah tries to normalize through containment. In whichever direction one reads the texts, the tricksters scrutinize that which is deemed ‘acceptable behaviour’ in an approach that is more descriptive than prescriptive.71 Tricksters ‘cause laughter, to be sure, as they profane nearly every central belief, but at the same time they focus attention precisely on the nature of such beliefs’.72 Even the Torah is not safe from the trickster’s game. One continued abuse these trickster matriarchs have suffered in their lives outside the text is that of being condemned for their deception. Mary Shields describes Tamar’s character as being ‘typically besmirched’73 by both trained and untrained readers. Eryl Davies writes: ‘The ploy of depicting women as deceivers served well the interests of patriarchal ideology, for it perpetuated a general mistrust

71

Camp, ‘Wise and Strange’, 26. William J. Hynes and William G. Doty, ‘Introducing the Fascinating and Perplexing Trickster Figure’, in Hynes and Doty (eds), Mythical Trickster Figures, 1–12 (1–2). 73 Shields, ‘More Righteous than I’, 33. 72

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and suspicion of women and implied that they were predisposed to act dishonestly.’74 In response, however, this abuse, mistrust, and suspicion ignore the glaringly obvious fact that women are not alone in trickery. A number of biblical men are also successful tricksters: indeed the flag-bearer for Hebrew Bible trickery is a he, and he is none other than the patriarch Jacob. Furthermore, tricksters are not condemned or rejected by the biblical text. As a recurring character type, they have folk hero status—righting wrongs, refusing to submit, besting stronger characters, demanding justice for themselves. Surely in part, this withholding of judgement, even though in some cases the tricksters are law-breakers, is due to the fact that their trickery serves the ends of the society by preserving the continuation of the line. Even Lot’s daughters bear no censure, for, even though their children are sometime enemies of Israel, at times intensely so, Moab becomes father of the nation that produces Ruth, who in turn produces the grandfather of David. ‘Whatever is good for the survival of Israel is acceptable.’75 In the best comic style, these accounts of successful tricksters demonstrate comedy’s preference for a situational ethic over a fixed one. Rigid, universal rules are set aside to achieve that which the present circumstance dictates. However, among all this celebration of the trickster and the lack of biblical censure she experiences, some care needs to be taken in considering the wider ethics that appear operative in the Hebrew Bible versus those that are operative in contemporary society. Lot’s daughters serve as the example. Despite the text’s permissive attitude with respect to the actions of Lot’s daughters, incest is, for many, too grave to be a topic of trickery or comedy. Ilona Rashkow compares this text with stories of ‘modern clinical incest’. She cites lack of privacy in the cave as similar to primitive housing situations present in many incest cases. Furthermore, ‘although the daughters in this instance appear to be the active initiators of the incestuous behavior, more than one daughter’s being involved brings the story closer into line with clinical incest, where the incestuous father commonly moves from older to younger daughters’. Rashkow continues: ‘Like many incestuous fathers, Lot appears to have had a problem with alcohol.’ She characterizes Lot’s wife’s ‘looking back’ as her having, 74 Eryl W. Davies, The Dissenting Reader: Feminist Approaches to the Hebrew Bible (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003), p. 72. 75 Engar, ‘Old Testament Women as Tricksters’, 155.

Trickster Matriarchs

65

in effect, ‘ “looked away” from what was going on between father and daughters, a behavior common in clinical incest’.76 Rashkow’s final observation is that, ‘within the patriarchal world of the H[ebrew] B[ible], fathers commit incest with their children and remain unpunished while the children involved are damned forever’.77 This assessment brings us to a concluding point for discussion regarding the trickster matriarchs of Genesis and regarding reading biblical texts from a feminist-critical perspective, and that point is about choice. Within the context of her arguments regarding Proverbs, Claudia Camp outlines the issue: first, wisdom is presented as ‘strong, exalted, almost deified’, then the ‘Strange Woman’ enters, and one is forced to consider that again feminine imagery is being used by men to support their power and their view of reality. Then, she asserts: The trickster paradigm opens yet a third possibility: a positive valuation of women’s power as anti-structural, regenerative because of its liminality. But again we face paradox: what structures are being regenerated by this liminality? Is it all too convenient for the patriarchal power structure to give liminality its due in order to draw on its power for themselves?78

Using Tamar as her example, Jan William Tarlin similarly offers the choice: To the naked eye, then, Genesis 38 can appear as an elegantly ironic tale in which a canny and courageous woman risks dishonor and death to uphold the value system of Israelite patriarchy when the patriarchs most concerned have proved incapable of doing so . . . All’s well that ends well,

or Genesis 38 can easily appear to the naked eye as an elegantly ironic tale in which a canny and courageous woman risks death and dishonor to expose the foolishness and fragility of Israelite patriarchy even while appearing to perpetuate it. The knowing reader recognizes what neither Judah nor Yahweh seem able to: namely, that a system that can be so 76 Ilona N. Rashkow, ‘Daddy-Dearest and the “Invisible Spirit of Wine” ’, in Brenner (ed.), Genesis, 82–107 (105). 77 Rashkow, ‘Daddy-Dearest’, 107. 78 Camp, ‘Wise and Strange’, 33.

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effectively manipulated by those who it purports to subjugate is ultimately doomed. It isn’t over ‘til it’s over; change is gonna come.79

In summary, Ashley astutely observes that these trickster tales can function as societal critiques, but whether and how it happens ‘depends upon the interpretive community in which they are told’.80 Trickster tales could be stripped of their subversiveness and put to work for the patriarchal agenda. Or these trickster stories could be read as ‘speculation on power by the power brokers of the society’.81 Or trickster women can be championed as women taking control and finding a measure of power in a man’s world. Or, rather than opting for only one of these three suggestions, perhaps the biblical text offers the possibility of all these options—even when they seem to compete among themselves, even when one or more of them is disagreeable to the reader. Reading these matriarchal narratives as trickster tales provides a comic window into the texts. Within the parameters of comedy’s complexities, one can simultaneously laugh at those on the stage and at those in the audience, at the characters who portray self and society, at the self and society that is being portrayed, and at the self and society as they are portrayed. Comedy’s box of tricks includes ambiguity and open-endedness. While readers might sometimes wish differently, comedy opens up interpretative options, rather than closes them off.

79 Jan William Tarlin, ‘Tamar’s Veil: Ideology at the Entrance to Enaim’, in George Aichele (ed.), Culture, Entertainment and the Bible, JSOT, suppl. ser. 309 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 174–81 (176–7). 80 Ashley, ‘Interrogating Biblical Deception’, 113. 81 Steinberg, ‘Israelite Tricksters’, 9.

3 Five Women of Moses’ Infancy: Shiphrah and Puah, Moses’ Mother and Sister, Pharaoh’s Daughter Exodus 1:15–21 narrates the story of how two midwives thwart the plans of the Pharaoh and save all the male Israelite babies from being killed. Exodus 2:1–10 brings that story into specific focus, as three additional women thwart the plans of that same Pharaoh and save just one male Israelite baby from being killed. Several comic elements enhance a reading of these two episodes in the opening two chapters of Exodus. Included among these elements are comic characterization, a U-shaped plot, wordplay, hyperbole, irony, and hiddenness. These two narratives also function comically to draw boundaries, thus building a sense of identity, to subvert the established power, to be a weapon, and to enable survival. While the comic aspects of these stories contribute to a reading that places women heroically at the fore, the stories still prove more complicated to evaluate from a feminist-critical perspective.

LITERARY DEVICES

Comic characterization Comedy’s ‘not hero’ is never more starkly demonstrated in the Hebrew Bible than in the characters of the midwives of Exodus 1, Shiphrah and Puah. They are enslaved women, doing their work among other enslaved women and doing this work—in a quite literal way—out of sight. Neither society nor history has any reason to take

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note of them. Their existence is wholly unremarkable; wholly ordinary. Yet, as Conrad Hyers notes, the Bible’s particular type of hero is ‘often ordinary, if not insignificant and unlikely’,1 a description embodied in these two women. And, yet, one of comic incongruity’s manœuvres is to lift up the lowly and bring down the lofty. ‘Comedy’, as Hyers further observes, ‘is the great leveler’.2 This narrative offers two tip-offs then that, while these two women are nothing out of the ordinary, things are not as they seem, and that, as comedy’s ‘not heroes’, they will emerge and prevail. One signal is that the midwives, despite their marginal status, are identified by name—a status shared with only one other character in this narrative: Moses. The second indication is that these two slave women stand literally and figuratively toe to toe with one who is at the diametrically opposite end of the social spectrum, as they enter into direct dialogue with no one less than the king of Egypt. Furthermore, this astonishing interaction occurs not once, but twice. These partners in dialogue, then, are the two lowly midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, on the one side and the lofty—yet anonymous— king of Egypt on the other. This Pharaoh is known by title alone . . . never by name. While some commentators would attribute this lack of identifier to the author’s not knowing Pharaoh’s name,3 his anonymity is more likely a device,4 reducing his identity to (1) his job title and (2) his words/actions. And, consistent with comedy’s incongruous nature, the first can do nothing to redeem the second: this King, as it turns out, is a Fool. Pharaoh, fearful of a growing Israelite population, engages in an escalating series of plans to control and subdue the Israelites, first through oppressive labour (1:8–14), then through two attempts to cull the newborn sons (1:15–21 and 1:22). And, with each plan, he achieves the same result: an increase in the number of Israelites! Pharaoh gives orders that result in action —counter-action, that is. He commands that the Israelite sons be killed, and they increase in 1

Hyers, And God Created Laughter, 45. Hyers, And God Created Laughter, 45. 3 J. Philip Hyatt, Commentary on Exodus: Based on the Revised Standard Version, NCBC (London: Oliphants, 1971), 58; Martin Noth, Exodus: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1962), 26. 4 Jopie Siebert-Hommes, ‘But if She be a Daughter, She May Live! “Daughters” and “Sons” in Exodus 1–2’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Exodus to Deuteronomy, FCB 6 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 62–74 (66). 2

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number. Surely, only King Fool could set out to accomplish a task and find repeated success . . . in doing the total opposite of what he intended to do. A plan hatched to annihilate scores of infants would surely seem to be no laughing matter. However, in the comic-story world, violence has a constructive role, as it becomes another vehicle through which the comedy delivers its punch. As Pharaoh’s plans to perpetrate such violence against the Israelites go awry time and time again, his repeated failure reveals yet another humorous aspect of this Pharaoh Fool. Henri Bergson proposes the idea that comic incongruity is a discrepancy between the inner self and the body/matter, when humans behave with a ‘mechanical inelasticity’ that belies the flexibility required for the ever-changing nature of life. A human, behaving as an automaton, ‘gives the impression of being a thing’ rather than a person.5 In his obsession with eliminating the perceived threat to his power, Pharaoh is easily imagined as a robot, relentlessly chanting in a mechanized monotone, ‘Kill, kill, kill’, never realizing his total failure and considering that another response to the evergrowing Israelite population could be possible. Of course, the midwives are not the only women who make a fool of the Pharaoh. Even his own daughter contributes to his failure, as she lifts the infant from the river and immediately sets about to secure his survival. Gordon Davies points out that, with a single utterance to Moses’ sister, ‘Go!’ (‫הלך‬, 2:8), Pharaoh’s daughter ‘undoes her father’s authority and contributes indispensably to a movement of rebellion that will eventually bring the destruction of the whole Egyptian army’. The command of Pharaoh’s daughter to Moses’ sister echoes in the command of the later Pharaoh who follows her father when that Pharaoh Fool tells Moses and Aaron to ‘Go!’ (‫הלך‬, 12:31, 32).6 This Pharaoh’s foolishness is most evident in his focus on males as the threat to his power. His assumption that males are the bigger danger to him ‘is not only exposed but also ridiculed’.7 If Pharaoh

5

Bergson, ‘Laughter’, 66–103 (97). Gordon F. Davies, Israel in Egypt: Reading Exodus 1–2, JSOT, suppl. ser. 135 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 114. 7 Renita J. Weems, ‘The Hebrew Women Are Not Like the Egyptian Women: The Ideology of Race, Gender and Sexual Reproduction in Exodus 1’, Semeia, 59 (1992), 25–34 (30). 6

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would simply take a moment to look around and observe what is happening, surely even this fool could deduce the real source of the threat. He might even see through the excuses of the midwives, and he might even know what his own daughter is getting up to. Furthermore, in acting as if ‘women are beneath his bother’,8 Pharaoh’s foolishness has ever-rippling consequences as he sets in motion the disastrous events that will have to be faced by the next Pharaoh: the series of devastating plagues (chs 7–12) and the catastrophic encounter at the Sea of Reeds (ch. 14). As these narratives unfold, they ‘represent a gradual but systematic effort to demythologise the Pharaoh’s reputation as divinely embodied leader’.9 Pitted against four Hebrew women and his own daughter, the Pharaoh is exposed as an ineffectual, foolish leader. Citing the NRSV language to ‘deal shrewdly’ (Exod. 1:10), Joseph Nicholas writes: ‘While Pharaoh intended to deal shrewdly in eradicating the Israelite men, the only people who are dealing shrewdly about anything in this whole episode are the women in relation to Pharaoh himself.’10 This leader is being consistently undermined, yet has no clue—not about what is happening in his kingdom among his slaves, or indeed under his own roof by his own daughter. Demythologize indeed—this fool of a Pharaoh is master neither of his own slaves, nor of his own home. How could he possibly be master of a kingdom?

U-shaped plot While not adhering to the form strictly, each of these two narratives does generally follow a U-shaped plot movement, the pair together creating something of a double-U. While a story told from the perspective of an enslaved people will certainly never portray society as ‘harmonious’, this Egyptian society is at least stable. Pharaoh’s commandment of death issued to the midwives (1:16) initiates the descent, but, as the midwives defy it in the very next verse (1:17), the plot line swings upwards and the story ends with new life, as the Hebrew numbers increase (1:20), and the midwives themselves are given families (1:21).

8

‘Humor’, in Leland Ryken et al. (eds), Dictionary of Biblical Imagery (Downers Grove, IL, and Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1998), 407–11 (408). 9 Weems, ‘The Hebrew Women’, 31. 10 Joseph E. Nicholas, ‘Wealth, Women and Wit in Exodus 1 and 2’, Caribbean Journal of Religious Studies, 14 (1993), 27–40 (36).

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Restored to stability and experiencing an increase in numbers, the Israelites face another descending fate as Pharaoh reiterates his death sentence in the verse connecting these two narratives (1:22), and this time Moses’ life particularly is put in jeopardy (2:2–4). Then, Pharaoh’s daughter plucks Moses from the river and arranges for his care (2:5–9), and in so doing propels the plot upwards again. The end is further celebration: of life, as the survival of Moses, the future deliverer of the Israelite people, is ensured, and of reunion, as Moses’ mother is joined again with her son, even if the circumstances are surely bittersweet.

Linguistic devices Wordplay ‘Being/staying alive’ (‫חיה‬, 1:16, 17, 18, 19) is a significant motif in the midwives narrative. Thus, the wordplay—one that taps into comedy’s physical, bodily element—is evident when Pharaoh enquires of the midwives why his command to kill male babies had not been carried out and the midwives respond by characterizing the Hebrew mothers as ‘full of life’ (‫חיות‬, 1:19, ‘vigorous’, NRSV). These Hebrew mothers ‘embody abundant, indomitable life which renders death-dealing efforts powerless’.11 The midwives let the boys ‘live’ (‫ חיה‬piel, 1:17, 18), and use the explanation that the mothers are ‘lively’ (‫חיות‬, 1:19) to cover their actions. With this ‘witty excuse’12 for their failure to carry out Pharaoh’s plan, the midwives manage at once both to divert Pharaoh from their actions and to ridicule his own people. Trevor Dennis adds another layer to the midwives’ response. He calls their response a ‘joke’, which the Pharaoh believes, being male and thus having never himself witnessed a birth. Citing the closeness between the words ‘lively’ and ‘animals’, Dennis argues that the midwives are engaged in a wordplay that appeals to Pharaoh’s racial prejudice, saying how superior the Egyptian women are in comparison to the Hebrew women, ‘by coming so close’ to calling the Hebrew women ‘animals’.13 This closeness between words obviously opens 11 Rita J. Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers: With an Excursus on Feasts, Ritual and Typology, Old Testament Message, 3 (Wilmington, DE: M. Glazier, 1983), 31. 12 John I. Durham, Exodus, WBC 3 (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1986), 11. 13 Trevor Dennis, Sarah Laughed: Women’s Voice in the Old Testament (London: SPCK, 1994), 93–4.

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the door to double entendre. The option exists then for Pharaoh to hear what he was already inclined to believe, while the Israelites could preserve their own ‘lively’ refusal to be destroyed.14 A final wordplay to note is one pointed out by Davies. He suggests a wordplay between ‘see’ (‫וראיתן‬, 1:16) and ‘fear’ (‫ותיראן‬, 1:17). Instead of looking to ‘see’ the gender of the new borns, the midwives ‘fear’ God and disobey Pharaoh’s command.15 Wordplay with proper names occurs frequently in the Hebrew Bible, and this text demonstrates such wordplay. After the genealogy that introduces the book of Exodus (1:1–6), the next individuals named are the two midwives: Shiphrah and Puah. ‘Shiphrah’ is ‘Fair One’ or ‘Beauty’, from the root ‘to be beautiful, fair’ (‫)שפר‬. ‘Puah’, which does not have an obvious Hebrew origin, is usually taken to mean either ‘Splendid’, ‘Brightness’, or similar16 or ‘Girl’, from a related Ugaritic name.17 So ‘Beauty’ and ‘Brightness’ or possibly ‘Beauty’ and her assistant ‘Young Lass’ are aptly named as the ones responsible for ushering new and wonderful Hebrew life into the ancient world. Furthermore, in a world in which this beauty and splendour are female virtues, these two women are set as the perfect foils for Pharaoh Fool. After the introduction of Shiphrah and Puah, despite the entrance of other characters, specifically Moses’ parents and sister and Pharaoh’s daughter, the next individual announced by name is Moses (‫משה‬, 2:10). Moses’ naming in the text coincides with his being named by his adoptive mother, Pharaoh’s daughter. Scholarly consensus is that ‘Moses’ is an Egyptian name, meaning ‘son’ or ‘child’, derived from the Egyptian verb ms which means ‘to bear, give birth’, frequently placed alongside the name of a deity to mean ‘Son of Deity

14 Sandra L. Gravett et al., An Introduction to the Hebrew Bible: A Thematic Approach (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 215–16. 15 G. F. Davies, Israel in Egypt, 79. 16 Brevard S. Childs, Exodus: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1974), 20; G. F. Davies, Israel in Egypt, 61; Hyatt, Commentary on Exodus, 65; Noth, Exodus, 23. 17 Nahum M. Sarna, Exploring Exodus: The Heritage of Biblical Israel (New York: Schocken, 1986), 25; William Henry Propp, Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 2 (London: Doubleday, 1999), 139; Childs, Exodus, 20.

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X’, such as ‘Ra-mses’ (‘Son of Ra’, 1:11).18 A shortened form without the deity name attached is attested, as well.19 However, while surely of Egyptian origin, the name has been ‘artfully interpreted as a Hebrew word’20 by the biblical author. The child’s name is placed on the lips of an Egyptian princess who apparently knows Hebrew, as she dubs him ‘Moses’ from the root ‘to draw out’ (‫)משה‬.21 However, a slight discrepancy exists between the Hebrew of the princess and that of the biblical author. In the princess’s explanation, the name is chosen because ‘I drew him out of the water’ (2:10), creating an expectation that the word ‫( משה‬Moses) would be passive in form, for he is the one who was ‘drawn out’ of the water. Instead, however, his name by form is an active participle, ‘one who draws out’. The princess, in her ‘misnaming’ of Moses, foreshadows his future. Name and destiny are inextricably connected. ‘In a way, then,’ Cheryl Exum suggests, ‘the princess contributes to the exodus not only by saving Moses’ life, but also by designating him “the drawer out” ’.22 Pharaoh’s daughter gives Moses a name that means more than she knows: ‘what she has done for Moses, Moses will do for all the people of Egypt.’23

Hyperbole (or understatement?) That only two midwives are named, even as the Israelite population grows and grows, has created many attempts among scholars to resolve the disparity of only two midwives attending to a large and ever-increasing number of Hebrews. One suggestion is that the Hebrew numbers must be inaccurate.24 Another position cites this

18 Paul E. Hughes, ‘Moses’ Birth Story: A Biblical Matrix for Prophetic Messianism’, in Craig A. Evans and Peter W. Flint (eds), Eschatology, Messianism, and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), 10–22 (17); Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 35. 19 Hyatt, Commentary on Exodus, 65. 20 Sarna, Exploring Exodus, 32. 21 This unusual root is found elsewhere only in Ps. 18:17 and 2 Sam. 22:17, which are identical verses. 22 J. Cheryl Exum, ‘ “You Shall Let Every Daughter Live”: A Study of Exodus 1:8–2:10’, in Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Exodus to Deuteronomy, 37–61 (57), originally published in Semeia, 39 (1983), 63–82. 23 Terence E. Fretheim, Exodus, Interpretation (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1991), 37. 24 Hyatt, Commentary on Exodus, 60.

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discrepancy as source-critical evidence that the midwives episode came from a time before the Hebrew slave population had proliferated.25 Another explanation is that Shiphrah and Puah are actually the leaders of two groups of midwives. And yet another opinion is that this speculation is ‘beside the point’.26 While not agreeing that the conversation is beside the point, comedy would confidently state that it misses the point. Humour is comprised of all manner of exaggeration. For comedy, even better than two midwives attending hundreds of thousands of Hebrews would be one midwife attending millions of them, and even better if she was a junior trainee in her first months on the job!

Irony The irony in these two episodes is significant, an irony that is ‘several layers deep’.27 First the nation’s leader hatches a plan to maintain power, a master plan—which relies upon two lowly Israelite slaves in order to work.28 In Pharaoh’s plan, those whose vocation is to bring new life into the world are told to usher in death instead.29 However, in contrast to the previous episode (1:9–14) in which Pharaoh obtains the compliance of all Egypt, in this story he cannot get control over a mere two slave women.30 In choosing only male babies to die, Pharaoh appears to dismiss females as any kind of threat. However, ultimately, women are the ones who dismantle his plan by refusing to participate in it.31 The midwives are propelled in their action by ‘fear’ (‫ירא‬, 1:17), a motivation not unlike the Egyptians in their ‘dread’ (‫קוץ‬, 1:12). The twist, however, is in their respective objects. One would expect a slave to fear her master—the midwives fear God; one would expect a superpower to dread no one, except possibly another superpower—the Egyptians instead dread their very own captives. Furthermore, duly motivated by ‘fear’ on the one side and ‘dread’ on the other, the midwives are successful in their efforts, while the Egyptians fail at theirs. Both efforts, however, achieve the same result—that is, an increase in the Israelite population (1:12, 20).32 And so, in a final 25 27 29 31

26 Noth, Exodus, 23; Propp, Exodus 1–18, 138. Fretheim, Exodus, 31. 28 G. F. Davies, Israel in Egypt, 114. Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 31. 30 Fretheim, Exodus, 33. Fretheim, Exodus, 31. 32 Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 31. Fretheim, Exodus, 31–2.

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humiliating irony, two lowly women ‘outwit the king of all Egypt’33 and prove themselves superior to their superiors. Rita Burns calls the narrative of Moses’ birth an ‘ironic sequel’ to the previous narrative.34 The verb in Pharaoh’s order and translated ‘throw’ (‫ שלך‬hiphil, 1:22) can be used with the sense ‘abandon’,35 so, with what John Durham calls a ‘sparkle of shrewdness’, Moses’ mother does technically obey Pharaoh by abandoning her son to the river. However, she does so ‘with the all-important provision of a papyrus-reed container, carefully waterproofed with “hot tar and pitch” ’.36 It is through an act that technically complies with Pharaoh’s order that Moses’ mother manages to save him. Enter Pharaoh’s daughter, and, suddenly, the very water that is decreed to be the death of Moses is the means of his saving,37 as ‘the one through whom God will eventually rescue the Hebrews is himself rescued’.38 When the princess speaks with Moses’ sister and mother, the previous interchange between Pharaoh and the midwives is recalled as again an Egyptian royal engages with two lowly Hebrews to secure necessary assistance.39 Burns calls it a ‘double irony’ that Moses is nursed by his own mother, who, furthermore, is being paid for her service.40 The Egyptians who sentenced the woman’s child to death are now paying the bill for her to care for him.41 33

34 Fretheim, Exodus, 31. Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 33. Cf. Gen. 21:15; 37:22, 24; Ezek. 16:5. 36 Durham, Exodus, 16; cf. Exum, ‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, 51. 37 Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 33; Fretheim, Exodus, 37; Carol L. Meyers, Exodus, NCBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 42. 38 Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 33. 39 Meyers, Exodus, 42; Fretheim, Exodus, 37. 40 Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 34; cf. George W. Coats, Moses: Heroic Man, Man of God, JSOT, suppl ser. 57 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 43–6; Fretheim, Exodus, 37; Sarna, Exploring Exodus, 28. Brevard Childs has a changing opinion of the irony here; cf. ‘Birth of Moses’, JBL 84 (1965), 109–22 (115), and Exodus, 18–19. Propp (Exodus 1–18, 154) suggests the mother and sister trick the princess. Gale A. Yee (‘ “Take this Child and Suckle it for Me”: Wet Nurses and Resistance in Ancient Israel’, Biblical Theology Bulletin, 39 (2009), 180–9 (187–8)) makes a strong argument that Pharaoh’s daughter is an unknowing foil who ‘underscores Egyptian stupidity’, who is ‘bamboozled’, and, furthermore, who speaks poor Hebrew. Arguments for keeping the princess on the ‘stupid Egyptian’ side of the equation, rather than on the ‘savvy subverting women’ side, certainly have merit. Ultimately, however, the princess deserves to be in the latter, rather than the former, category. She knows the child is a Hebrew, and she does not react when a Hebrew offering to find a wet nurse suddenly and fortuitously appears. While Pharaoh’s daughter may have been obtuse, an arguably more plausible idea is that she suspected what was happening and was complicit in it. 41 G. F. Davies, Israel in Egypt, 114. 35

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In doing the opposite of what her father decreed, taking a Hebrew male infant out of the river when they were all meant to be thrown in it, and by providing for this infant’s survival, the princess ensures that the one who is victorious over Pharaoh in bringing about the exodus ‘comes from within the walls of the Pharaoh’s own court’.42 Daughters are the children whom Pharaoh permits to live; however, would he reconsider if he realized just how dangerous daughters could be, as his own daughter plays a starring role in the plot that undermines him? In a final punctuating irony, Exum points out that ‘without Moses there would be no story, but without the initiative of these women, there would be no Moses!’43

Hiddenness These two narratives rely heavily on hiddenness. The midwives deceive Pharaoh, hiding the truth of what they are doing (1:17–18). Moses is hidden44 by his mother in their home for three months until she can no longer hide him there (2:2–3). When that time comes, she prepares a basket and hides him in it and further obscures the basket by placing it among the reeds by the riverbank (2:4). The sister obscures herself at the riverbank, taking up an observation post far off to observe events (2:4). During the wet-nurse arrangement and as Moses was raised in Pharaoh’s house, continually hiding his true ethnicity would have been paramount to his survival. Hiddenness, in comedy, is frequently in the form of deliberate, calculated deception, such as the deceit of the midwives. While ‘do not lie’ is surely the more traditionally respectable credo, neither comedy, nor the Hebrew Bible, nor feminist interpretation holds such an overly simplistic, un-nuanced point of view. The midwives’ triumph does, indeed, involve ‘an element of the sneaky’, but ‘Israelite writers were not puritanical about prevarication in a good cause’.45 The midwives’ assertion regarding the ‘liveliness’ of the Hebrew women may or may not be true; however, it is certainly not the whole truth (1:17). Renita Weems identifies this partial truth-telling as ‘the

42

Coats, Moses, 44; cf. Durham, Exodus, 16; Fretheim, Exodus, 37. Exum, ‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, 52. 44 The verb ‘to hide’ (‫צפן‬, 2:2; hiphil, 2:3) is the same one used in Josh. 2:4 when Rahab hides the two spies. 45 Propp, Exodus 1–18, 142. 43

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conventional weapon of the powerless, especially women in the Old Testament, against those in power’. ‘Truth’ becomes the property of the oppressed ‘to interpret and shape according to their own reality’.46 The midwives dupe Pharaoh, manipulating the ‘truth’ and turning his foolishness to their advantage. With no pang of conscience, comedy says to them, ‘Well done!’ We as readers are welcome to exclaim likewise, respectability be darned!

FUNCTIONS

Drawing boundaries In these narratives, the empowered Egyptians stand on the one side and the enslaved Israelites on the other, creating a definite ‘us-versusthem’ dynamic between the two. As the ‘insiders’, the Israelites can cling to their identity as distinctive, and—recalling the Superiority Theory espoused by Aristotle, Plato, and Hobbes—as superior, particularly in the light of the stupidity and foolishness of the Egyptian ‘others’. In their superiority, the in-group Israelites can utilize their self-understanding to insulate and separate themselves, figuratively if not literally, from the surrounding, hostile culture. Furthermore, the narrative forms a pivot point, as it both reflects communal identity and also shapes it.47 The story originates with and in the people, revealing something about how they view themselves. Subsequently, as the story is told, the people as they are portrayed in the story have a hand in forming the identity of those who would tell this story of themselves. As identity shapes and is shaped by the story, the boundary constructed upon unique self-understanding towers higher and higher, and that sense of identity grows stronger and deeper. The powerful Egyptians against the enslaved Israelites is one of the biggest, most important showdowns in the Hebrew Bible. A clear boundary has been drawn. On the one side the champion, on the other the underdog. ‘Us’ versus ‘them’, and ‘we’ would seem to be in an impossible match-up. The savvy reader, though, knows that this is the stuff of which comedy is made. From the moment of the midwives’ 46 47

Weems, ‘The Hebrew Women’, 29. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, p. xvi.

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insistence that ‘Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women’ (1:19), the tide is turned, as the story insists ‘that the Hebrews are not the ones who are inferior, but are in fact superior to the Egyptians’.48 The comedy is heightened as one of ‘their’ own allies herself with ‘us’, heightened further as the collaborator is not just one of ‘them’, but a royal one of ‘them’, living under the roof of the very one oppressing ‘us’. Pharaoh and his nation Egypt go down as one of the greatest butts of a joke, as he is outsmarted and outmanœuvred first by his own slaves and second by his own relation. Comedy thrives on impossible odds. Win or lose, comedy always bets on the long shot, and comedy usually wins.

Subversion Frequently, comedy subverts from within. Members of a society use comedy to undermine the structures and institutions of the society to which they are contributing members. However, comedy can also be used subversively by those whose ‘membership’ in a society is marginal or brought about by subjugation. The latter is the case of the Israelites in Egyptian society at the time of these Exodus narratives. Israelite participation in Egyptian society is compelled from them and confined to the role of slavery; therefore, the comedy of these stories undermines not their own power structures, but those of the foreign power under whose oppressive jurisdiction they find themselves. In the stories of the women of Exod. 1 and 2, ‘defiance takes the form of non-compliance’.49 Between the midwives and Pharaoh, the subversiveness is readily evident as the midwives openly defy Pharaoh and undermine his plan of infanticide. In the story of the saving of Moses, the subversiveness occurs as one of Egypt’s own chooses to participate in the plan to undermine Pharaoh’s plan, then obtains assistance from the Israelites successfully to implement her subversive plan.

Weapon In this comedy of Israel taking on Egypt, with the enslaved working to undermine the power of the master, comedy’s function as a weapon

48 49

Weems, ‘The Hebrew Women’, 32. Exum, ‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, 50

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is clear. The Israelites take aim and fire, with the intention of bringing down their enemy. The fact that neither the wound nor the victory is physical or permanent does not render the effort a less sweet success.

Survival Comedy can enable the survival of those under threat in several ways, including (1) engaging a threat and weakening its control by ridiculing it, (2) providing catharsis and/or escape from the threat, even if only temporarily, and (3) modelling an ‘actual’ example of survival, thus offering hope that survival is an actual possibility. The stories of Exodus 1:15–2:10 do all three. First, the Egyptians are ridiculed through the foolishness of the Pharaoh, the failure of his plots, the taunt that seems to be part of the midwives’ assertion of the liveliness of the Hebrew women, and the role of the Pharaoh’s own daughter in saving Moses. Through these story components, the Egyptians emerge as less than the powerful overlords they presume to be. Making for themselves an opportunity to mock their captors offers the Israelites an escape, even if only for the duration of the telling of the story. As well, this story demonstrates for the Israelites their own determination and ability to survive, an inspiring model for times when their survival is in jeopardy.

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF WOMEN IN THESE NARRATIVES What is readily evident from discussion of the comic facets of the two Exodus narratives is that women are of primary importance to the events, their role ‘prominent, fateful, and generally noble’.50 Named and unnamed, they are the major actors of the drama. They defy and undermine the power structure, risking their own lives to secure the lives of others. Terence Fretheim agrees that ‘women are here given such a crucial role that Israel’s future is made dependent upon their wisdom, courage, and vision’.51 Without the two midwives, many

50

Sarna, Exploring Exodus, 31.

51

Fretheim, Exodus, 33.

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Israelite babies would never have survived beyond their first moments of life. Without the additional three women of the subsequent narrative, one particular baby, having survived his first moments of life, would never have made it to his first year. As well, these women do not simply secure a future for Moses; they also show him (and the audience) how that future will unfold. Nicholas observes that the ‘drama’ that develops around an adult Moses and another, future Pharaoh ‘was already performed on another stage by the several women who appeared in chapters 1 and 2: Pharaoh was defeated by a situation of his own making and yet, one that he consistently tried to avoid’.52 Through their subversive actions, the women of Exodus 1–2 do not just ensure that Moses will live to confront this future Pharaoh, but they also give Moses his first lesson on exploiting the weaknesses of the powerful in order to overcome them, helping to ensure his future success. The midwives’ story exemplifies the feminist-critical refusal to draw a distinction between the personal and the political. One man institutes a national policy based on his own fear. And two women, whose fear is of a very different sort, make their personal choice not to be party to this infanticide. Then enter the clever mother and sister and the ‘compassionate, decisive, and courageous’ daughter of Pharaoh.53 In Phyllis Trible’s reading, the lesson is that God acts for liberation through humans and, in these stories, through women. ‘As the first to defy the oppressor, women alone take the initiative which leads to deliverance.’ Furthermore, ‘a patriarchal religion which creates and preserves such feminist traditions contains resources for overcoming patriarchy’.54 However, for feminist-critical readings, this positive assessment is only one side of the story. William Propp’s comment helps illustrate the feminist-critical struggle with these texts: ‘Given the focus on procreation in 1:1–2:10, it is not surprising that females shine . . . two males, the fathers of the princess and of Moses, set events into motion by respectively making a decree and taking a wife. But they play no further part.’55 First, the expectation, offering ‘no surprise’, that

52

Nicholas, ‘Wealth, Women and Wit’, 39–40. Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 35. 54 Phyllis Trible, ‘Depatriarchalizing in Biblical Interpretation’, JAAR 41 (1973), 30–48 (34). 55 Propp, Exodus 1–18, 153. 53

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stories of child-bearing will feature women strengthens the idea that women in the Hebrew Bible have little value outside their role in child-bearing and child-rearing. Second and ironically, despite bringing the roles of the women to the fore (and minimizing the roles of the men), Propp’s statement simultaneously undermines the efforts of these women by predicating their actions upon male actions. Another difficulty for feminist readings of these stories is that, regardless of how positively and prominently women are portrayed, all their activity moves in one direction: towards the benefit of a single male. A brief consideration of source- and form-critical discussions that have explored the relationship of Exodus 1:15–21 to its surrounding texts is useful here. Scholarly consensus is that the first chapters of Exodus are drawn from different traditions, a position finding agreement even among those whose interest is in the final literary and theological form of the text.56 However, positions on precisely how and when these sources were brought together vary. Theories include ideas that 1:15–21 is E material that has been inserted into surrounding J (and P) material,57 that the text is E material that had been previously attached to J material,58 or that the opening chapter represents an ‘EJ amalgam’.59 Despite variation, the theories are in agreement that 1:15–21 was at some point brought into its existing context from another source. A form-critical argument, as particularly advocated by Brevard Childs, is that the birth narrative of Moses in 2:1–10 follows the ‘exposed-child’ motif. In this pattern an infant is abandoned, but 56

Fretheim, Exodus, 23. Hyatt, Commentary on Exodus, 56; Propp, Exodus 1–18, 138. Noth, Exodus, 23. 59 Durham, Exodus, 11. Rita Burns’s argument (Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 29) serves as an example for those advocating the existence of more than one source in the opening chapter of Exodus. Her primary evidence that the midwives’ story is an independent tradition is threefold. First is a change in the title used for the Egyptian leader. In the surrounding texts, he is ‘Pharaoh’ (1:11, 22; 2:5–10); in the midwives’ narrative, he is ‘king of Egypt’ (1:15, 17, 18). However, a note must be made of an exception in 1:19, where the midwives address the leader as ‘Pharaoh’. Second are the differing instructions from Pharaoh. The midwives are to ‘kill’ (‫ מות‬hiphil, 1:16) the infants, the Egyptians are ‘to throw, cast’ (‫ שלך‬hiphil, 1:22) them into the Nile. Third, the midwives’ story as being from another source addresses the tension Burns sees between the number of Hebrews being large enough to pose a threat to Pharaoh versus its being small enough to require only two midwives (although I have offered an interpretation that the numbers are hyperbolic, a component of comedy); cf. Propp, Exodus 1–18, 138. 57 58

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then is miraculously rescued and raised, achieving some form of success in maturity.60 In addition to Exodus 2:1–10, Childs also locates this motif in Genesis 21, in the Joseph saga, and in allegorical form in Ezekiel 16, where the exposed child is Jerusalem and Yahweh is the rescuer.61 One example of the ‘exposed-child’ motif outside the Hebrew Bible, very frequently used as a comparison with the story of Moses, is that of Sargon of Akkad. The comparison is based primarily upon an affinity between Moses’ and Sargon’s abandonment: Sargon is also placed in an ark and cast upon the river.62 Childs argues that, while the exposure, rescue, and success are constant elements of the motif, the motivation that brings about the exposure itself varies among examples.63 Donald Redford offers three broad categories of why an infant would be exposed in the ‘exposedchild’ narratives: (1) a sense of ‘shame at the circumstances of its birth’; (2) ‘the king (or whoever is in power) . . . seeks to kill the child who is fated to supplant him’; and (3) ‘a general massacre endangers the life of the child’.64 With the reason for Moses’ abandonment fitting into the third category, Childs concludes that the episodes prior to Moses’ birth, which establish a context of ‘general massacre’, are ‘created by the Hebrew author in order to make possible his use of the exposure saga in telling the story of the birth of Moses’.65 A shared conclusion that can be drawn from both of these interpretations is that the story of the midwives’ defiance, culminating in Pharaoh’s third decree of death to Israelite infant boys, was woven into the story of Moses’ birth in order to imbue that birth with heightened significance. From a source-critical perspective, the redactor stacks up the attempts to cull the Israelite infants, showing that this remarkable infant survives not one, but several attempts on his life (and will continue to survive them, cf. 2:15). From a form-critical perspective, the story of the midwives’ resistance (along with Pharaoh’s order of 1:22) serves to introduce the episode that follows it, accounting for the reason why Moses was abandoned in the first place. The episodes of the courageous midwives and the clever mother

60

61 Childs, ‘Birth of Moses’, 110. Childs, ‘Birth of Moses’, 117–18. Donald B. Redford, ‘The Literary Motif of the Exposed Child’, Numen: International Review for the History of Religions, 14 (1967), 209–28 (214). 63 Childs, ‘Birth of Moses’, 117. 64 Redford, ‘The Literary Motif of the Exposed Child’, 211. 65 Childs, ‘Birth of Moses’, 117–18. 62

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and sister no longer stand on their own, but have been themselves enslaved to the larger story of the life of Moses. As soon as he is born, Moses is the centre of all narrative attention. Although Moses’ mother and sister are subsequently named—Moses’ mother as Jochebed (Exod. 6:20; Num. 26:59) and Moses’ sister as Miriam (Num. 26:59; 1 Chron. 6:3; first introduced as Aaron’s sister in Exod. 15:20)—in this narrative they exist only in relation to the child. Even though ‘he’ himself has no name at this point in the story, ‘he’ remains the point of reference for ‘his’ mother and sister, just as Pharaoh remains the point of reference for ‘his’ daughter. In the biblical story, ‘remarkable people have remarkable beginnings’.66 The heroism of Shiphrah and Puah, Moses’ mother and sister, and Pharaoh’s daughter is because it collectively contributes to the ‘remarkable beginnings’ of one of the most important of all Hebrew Bible figures. The value of these five women lies in their being a means to a patriarchal ‘happy ending’. Their actions preserve Israel’s future, through their enabling of the survival of Moses. Nowhere is the ‘yes . . . but’ double-sided dilemma of feminist scholars better exemplified than in Exum’s pair of articles on the five women of Exodus 1–2.67 In her first article, she allows a positive interpretation of the portrayal of the women: ‘ancient Israelite storytellers gave women a crucial role in the initial stages of the major event in the nation’s history. .’68 Men are ‘strikingly absent . . . or passive’.69 Furthermore, ‘in the refusal of women to cooperate with oppression, the liberation of Israel from Egyptian bondage has its beginnings’. She concludes: From its highly positive portrayals of women to its testimony that the courage of women is the beginning of liberation, Exodus 1.8–2.10 presents the interpreter with powerful themes to draw on: women as defiers of oppression, women as givers of life, women as wise and resourceful in situations where a discerning mind and keen practical judgment are essential for a propitious outcome.70

66

Burns, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, 36. Exum, ‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, and J. Cheryl Exum, ‘Second Thoughts about Secondary Characters: Women in Exodus 1.8–2.10’, in Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Exodus to Deuteronomy, 75–87. 68 Exum, ‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, 43. 69 Exum, ‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, 52. 70 Exum, ‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, 60–1. 67

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However, in her self-response roughly a decade later, Exum severely restricts her previous interpretation. With regard to the ‘inferior, but clever, women’ who defy Pharaoh, she writes: ‘If there is a positive side to this characterization, there is also a negative one. This particular Pharaoh . . . is exceedingly foolish— so foolish that even women can outwit him!’71 Furthermore, ‘rewarding women for their complicity is one of patriarchy’s most useful strategies . . . The honor of playing a decisive role in the future deliverance of the Israelite people is the reward the women of Exodus 1–2 receive for acting in the service of male power.’72 Using a comic lens enriches the reading of Exodus 1:15–2:10. Multiple comic elements, especially the characterization of Pharaoh, build up the functions that comedy serves here—namely, to build identity, to subvert the powerful, to take aim at the strong, and to enable survival. For feminist critics these functions are not so clearcut. On the one side, feminist critique coincides with comedy and celebrates these women for their guts and their wiliness. On the other side, however, feminist critique struggles to combat the underlying message that, in this society, a true fool is a man who allows himself to be outsmarted by women. On the one side, these women risked their survival to enable the survival of others. On the other side, five females risked their survival for the survival of one male. On the one side, comedy is delighted at being launched as a weapon against foreign power. On the other side, feminist critique is dismayed to see women strapped to that weapon as it is being launched.

71 72

Exum, ‘Second Thoughts about Secondary Characters’, 79. Exum, ‘Second Thoughts about Secondary Characters’, 80.

4 Rahab Joshua 2 recounts the story of Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute, and two Israelite spies sent by Joshua to reconnoitre Jericho. The spies go to the house of Rahab, the prostitute, where almost immediately their presence is discovered by the king of Jericho, and Rahab intervenes to save them (vv. 1–7). She professes belief in the power of Yahweh and extracts from the spies an oath of protection for her and her family when the Israelites come to conquer the city (vv. 8–14). Rahab then lowers the men out of her window and gives them instructions for escape (vv. 15–16), which they follow successfully (vv. 22–3). This narrative of two completely inept spies and the courageous woman who saves them is a story that contains a number of comic literary devices, including comic characterization, a comic plot structure, humorous dialogue, irony, and hiddenness. Two particular social features of the text are its embracing of human physicality, in this story through sexuality, and its preference for a situational, over a fixed, ethic. The comedy of this narrative functions to draw boundaries, to subvert power structures, and to enable survival. A second interpretative look at the text, with a feminist perspective in mind, yields two further points of discussion: the ‘other’ and containment.

LITERARY DEVICES

Comic characterization They are, according to Yair Zakovitch, ‘comic book characters’, this ‘clever, calculating Canaanite harlot and two bungling

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spies’.1 Add to them the king’s messengers and the cast of Joshua 2 are comedy’s stock characters. First, Rahab is the classic protagonist of comedy—the antihero, the ‘not hero’. A ‘not hero’ is self-explanatory: not what you would expect in a hero. And Rahab definitely fits the profile. To begin, she is not the expected gender. Second, she is engaged in a profession that places her on society’s margins: she is ‘an outcast, though not an outlaw, a tolerated, but dishonoured member of society’.2 Comedy’s ‘not hero’ is characterized by human limitation, rather than human greatness, and, therefore, relies on wit, cunning, and whatever tool is at hand, as the more conventional weapons of power, strength, and status are unavailable to her. Again Rahab certainly fits the profile. Standing alongside this ‘not hero’, Rahab, are her two bumbling sidekicks, the spies. These spies are given a hero’s introduction: chosen and sent by Joshua, the leader of the Israelites, himself a successful spy, handpicked for his own successful mission by none other than Moses.3 The spies are dispatched on a special mission that should surely yield intelligence for the Israelites and fame for themselves. However, before two verses have passed, the spies are revealed as self-serving and inept: they make a direct beeline for a brothel and somehow are discovered in the process. David Howard observes the comically obvious: ‘As agents of stealth, they were singularly ineffectual!’4 One would have expected otherwise from the great leader Joshua, but it seems as if he ‘may simply have grabbed the first two lads who happened to be near his tent when he went out to dispatch spies’.5 These are not spies, but buffoons, unable to complete their mission without intervention and instruction from their erstwhile enemy, transforming this would-be ‘spy story’ into a parody of itself. Who knows how the whole thing would have gone down had providence or serendipity provided a less capable ‘ally’? Buffoons of another sort emerge in the king’s messengers, emissaries who fail in their mission as well, first because they cannot recognize lies and misinformation when they hear it, and second 1

Zakovitch, ‘Humor and Theology’, 96. Bird, ‘The Harlot as Heroine’, 120. 3 Num. 13:1–14:10. 4 David M. Howard, Jr, ‘Rahab’s Faith: An Exposition of Joshua 2:1–14’, Review and Expositor, 95 (1998), 271–7 (271); cf. Athalya Brenner, I Am . . . Biblical Women Tell their own Stories (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), 92–3. 5 Zakovitch, ‘Humor and Theology’, 81. 2

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because they pursue the spies outside the locked city gate. Zakovitch articulates the irony: ‘by closing the gates, they intend to protect the city from the danger without while, in fact, they secure the safety of the spies within.’6 Thankfully for the spies, the ineptitude of those in pursuit is revealed as fully equal to the ineptitude of the ones being pursued.

Comic plot structure Joshua 2 reflects the frequently utilized U-shaped trajectory of the comic plot line. All looks to be well for the Israelites as they are poised to enter the Promised Land, and Joshua sends his spies. Very, very quickly the story slides to the bottom point of the U as the spies are found out and come under threat from the king. Rahab’s intervention of hiding the spies and formulating a plan for their escape initiates the plot’s upturn. Action pauses as Rahab speaks with the spies, securing their promise of her salvation, but as soon as the spies find themselves back safely reporting to Joshua, the plot has returned to its original state of well-being. Comedy’s happy ending that (re)integrates the protagonist back into a newly harmonious society comes to pass in chapter 6, as Rahab and her family are saved, as promised, and the biblical author confirms, ‘She (“Her family”, NRSV) has lived in Israel ever since’ (6:25b).

Dialogue Rahab participates in three segments of dialogue: in verses 3–5 she engages with the king’s messengers; in verses 8–14 and again in verses 16–21 she engages with the spies. The comedy of these conversations hinges on the third exchange. In the first two, Rahab is firmly in control, getting rid of the king’s messengers in the first and procuring a promise for her life in the second. In the third exchange, the spies seem finally to take the initiative, for the first time since setting out for Rahab’s house. Yet, a closer look reveals that their sudden urge to take charge must stem from the fact that they are no longer in imminent danger and have exhausted their need for Rahab’s intervention. ‘Rahab is dominant while the men are in her house because, although

6

Zakovitch, ‘Humor and Theology’, 88.

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she has saved them from immediate danger, they still remain imperiled and trapped. It is only when they are safely outside the city wall that they can modify the demands Rahab has placed upon them.’7 Judith McKinlay makes a similar observation, but also paints the humorous picture of the men shouting their stipulations up the wall to Rahab, when more competent spies would be swiftly and surreptitiously making their way safely into hiding.8

Irony and reversal This narrative of unsuccessful spies and an unexpected ally is packed with irony and reversals. As discussed with respect to characterization, the characters themselves defy expectation. Rahab, unusually for biblical women, is not identified in relation to a husband and/or father or in relation to a place. Instead she is identified with the single word ‘prostitute’ (‫זונה‬, v. 1). Indeed, rather than remaining anonymous, Rahab is the named one through whom her unnamed relatives—female and male—are identified (Josh. 2:13, 18; 6:23, 25). In fact, with the exception of the mentions of Joshua at the opening and closing of the narrative (vv. 1, 23, 24), Rahab is the only cast member who is given a name: not the spies, not the king, not the king’s messengers. Rahab describes her fellow Canaanites as being in heart-stopping dread and fear of the Israelites (vv. 9–11). Yet she says this to two clowns who are anything but awe-inspiring. The thought that anyone could be afraid of these two is preposterous. Set them alongside Rahab, who has exhibited no fear of anyone in this story, and it is the spies, in fact, who should be in dread of her, standing as she does with their fate in her hands. The bumblers do eventually make their way back to Joshua with a report. However, when they do, their account is not of their own successful reconnaissance, but rather a reiteration of the words of a Canaanite. In verse 9, Rahab says to the spies: ‘I know that the Lord has given you the land, and that dread of you has fallen on us, and that all the inhabitants of the land melt in fear before you.’ In verse 7 Richard D. Nelson, Joshua: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 40. 8 Judith E. McKinlay, ‘Rahab: A Hero/Ine?’, Biblical Interpretation, 7 (1999), 44–57 (47–8); cf. Brenner, I Am, 94.

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24, the spies subsequently report their ‘findings’ to Joshua, saying: ‘Truly the Lord has given all the land into our hands; moreover, all the inhabitants of the land melt in fear before us.’ Their report ‘sounds like a prophetic oracle, but is a quotation from a speech by a Canaanite prostitute!’9 The spies’ parroted words are a comic repetition, yet another device used to highlight their complete ineptitude. With no content to contribute to their report, the only possible one they can offer is one repeated from the lips of the single Canaanite they did reconnoitre. The final irony set in motion by this narrative is in the interweaving of destruction and survival.10 Utilizing the terminology of David Gunn and Danna Nolan Fewell, this irony could be characterized as an ‘incongruity of value’, in which ‘characters may enact values different from those they propound’.11 Rahab and all who are with her are promised survival, despite the impending (and eventual) destruction of Jericho and all that is in it (6:17). While this promise is in flagrant violation of ‘the ban’ (Deut. 7: 1–6; 20:16–18), Rahab, the Canaanite, and all who belong to her are saved. However, when Achan, the Israelite, violates ‘the ban’, he and all who belong to him are destroyed (7:24–5).

Hiddenness In a spy tale, subterfuge is inherent. In this narrative, those who ought to be skilled at concealing themselves prove instead that they are incapable of staying hidden. Therefore, their champion provides them with the concealment they require for survival. Hiddenness is so much a part of this tale that three different words for ‘hide’ are utilized (vv. 4, 6, 16). Rahab ‘hides’ the spies in verses 4a (‫ )צפן‬and 6 (‫)טמן‬, while in the intervening verse and a half she ‘hides’ the truth of her deception from the king’s messengers. After the spies are no longer in immediate danger from the king’s messengers, Rahab helps them escape from the city with a set of instructions as to how and where they should ‘hide themselves’ (‫חבא‬, niphal, v. 16), instructions

9 Gordon Mitchell, Together in the Land: A Reading of the Book of Joshua, JSOT, suppl. ser. 134 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 165. 10 Mitchell, Together in the Land, 167. 11 David M. Gunn and Danna Nolan Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 74.

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that the spies follow to the letter (v. 22), so that their pursuers did not find them (‫לא מצא‬, v. 22).

PSYCHOLOGICAL AND SOCIAL FEATURES

Sexuality Several commentators agree that Rahab’s house might be a brothel, but also want to argue it might be an inn, pub, or tavern, and as such would have been a natural place for the spies to blend in with other travellers and acquire information undetected.12 Some commentators take this argument even further in seeming attempts to ‘clean up’ this story— to dilute or remove the sexual overtones. K. M. Campbell calls on a study by D. J. Wiseman, who translates ‫ זונה‬as ‘barmaid’ or ‘innkeeper’, a person who is not always immoral and who keeps an eye on comings and goings in the city in order to report to the king in a ‘semi-official’ capacity.13 Gordon Harris takes care to point out that any ‘immoral acts that the spies might have done in Rahab’s house’ are not directly recounted.14 However, one does not see in quick succession in verse 1 of this narrative, the words ‘men’ (‫)אנשים‬, ‘go in to’ (‫)בוא‬,15 ‘prostitute’ (‫)זונה‬ and ‘to lie down’ (‫ )שכב‬without envisioning some sort of hankypanky. Furthermore, Rahab’s name itself would refute a sanitized version of events. Athalya Brenner argues that Rahab’s ‘name’, ‫ךחב‬, is not even a true name, but a wordplay. Rahab’s proper name, as Rahab herself recounts events in Brenner’s collection of ‘first-hand’ essays, I Am . . . Biblical Women Tell their own Stories, has been forgotten or

12

Bird (‘The Harlot as Heroine’, 128) states that the association of prostitutes with taverns or pubs is attested in Mesopotamian texts. 13 K. M. Campbell, ‘Rahab’s Covenant: A Short Note on Joshua 2:9–21’, VT 22 (1972), 243–4. 14 J. Gordon Harris, Cheryl Anne Brown, and Michael S. Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, New International Biblical Commentary on the Old Testament, 5 (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 2000), 28. However, Harris acknowledges in the same paragraph that some of the Hebrew words used in the narrative can have double meanings; cf. Zakovitch, ‘Humor and Theology’, 81–2. 15 That the spies ‘went in to’ Rahab is reiterated by the king’s messengers (v. 3) and Rahab herself (v. 4).

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suppressed by biblical writers in favour of a nickname, a sexual pun: she is ‘wide’; she is ‘The Broad’.16 Comedy is not concerned with ‘elevated ideals’,17 but is ever pragmatic. The realities of meeting physical needs occupy comedy—food, shelter, sleep, and definitely sex. True, the text does not explicitly state that the characters in Joshua 2 had any sexual involvement. However, how much wink, wink, nudge, nudge does one need to get the message? It seems naive to ignore the sexual innuendo of verse 1. After all, short of some creative translating, one cannot get around the biblical text’s own assertion that Rahab is, indeed, a prostitute. Another sexual, and humorously insulting, component of this narrative lies in the individualization of Canaan in the person of a prostitute. This characterization ridicules the enemy by feminizing ‘her’, portraying ‘her’ as a woman,18 but going a step further to portray her even more derisively as a prostitute. As discussed above, the name of this ‘girly’ enemy further reveals her nature: she is ‘wide, broad’; she can be counted upon to ‘open herself’ and allow herself to be ‘taken’ without resistance. As Rahab is, so Jericho is—a city whose walls (the very same walls that house Rahab, 2:15) collapse after only a shout from the enemy, so that the city opens herself to the invading Israelites, and they easily ‘take’ (‫לכד‬, 6:20) her. For the men of Israel, their army’s military conquest of Jericho is no more difficult than would be the sexual ‘conquest’ of any common prostitute.

Situational ethic As has already been stated, comedy, in order to thrive, relies on flexibility. One particular way in which this flexibility is evident is in comedy’s preference for an ethic that is relevant to the situation at hand over an ethic that is fixed. In Joshua 2, the admittance into the story of a prostitute as protagonist is the first example of a situational ethic at work. The more significant instance, however, is the promise to save Rahab and her family—a promise that is in flagrant violation of ‘the ban’, a command given in unconditional, absolute terms. Nevertheless, in the comic case of Rahab, the terms of ‘the ban’ are 16

Brenner, I Am, 82–3. Cf. Isa. 57:8, in which ‘wide’ is used in sexual imagery. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 29. 18 See Lori Rowlett, ‘Disney’s Pocahontas and Joshua’s Rahab in Postcolonial Perspective’, in Aichele (ed.), Culture, Entertainment and the Bible, 66–75 (66–8). 17

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relaxed in circumstances when a Canaanite professes confidence in Yahweh, the God of her enemy. Rahab’s ethical commitment to her own people is flexible, which seems to create a mirroring flexibility in the attitude of her enemy towards her.

FUNCTIONS

Drawing boundaries The narrative of Rahab and the spies recounts one of the most fundamental ‘us and them’ face-offs in the Hebrew Bible story—the Israelites versus the Canaanites. At the beginning of Joshua, a literal boundary stands between the two people. Yet, Israel is destined also literally to cross that boundary. However, even as Israel marches to obliterate the territorial boundary between themselves and the Canaanites, the less tangible ethnic, cultural, and especially religious boundaries are to be maintained, as commanded by Yahweh. Yet, when Rahab enters the story, this seemingly fixed boundary shifts before our eyes, blurred by the willing collusion of the Canaanite woman with the Israelite spies. Rahab, who ought to be an outsider, assists the spies, professes faith in Yahweh, and becomes an insider. She, then, is sharply contrasted in the later narrative of Achan, an insider, who violates God’s command and thus is moved outside. Rahab’s treachery against her own people deepens the comedy of these boundaries and the sense of identity they create. The Canaanites are such undesirables that even one of their own is willing to betray them and transfer her loyalty to another people. One can easily imagine that ‘such a story would be told among the military campfires or at the city well accompanied by sniggers and sneers and laughter. Perhaps it was called “The Harlot Helped Us Do It”.’19

Subversion This story of a foreign woman who rescues Israelite spies from a botched mission exhibits strong subverting tendencies. First, Rahab’s

19

Trent C. Butler, Joshua, WBC 7 (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1983), 30.

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words and actions undermine the Canaanites and their authorities. She ‘switches sides’ in helping the Israelite spies escape and in declaring the supremacy of their god. Then she makes fools of the king’s messengers, thus vicariously making a fool of the king, as the messengers charge off on a chase that other characters and the audience know will come to naught. However, Rahab’s words and actions do not only undermine the Canaanites; they undermine the Israelites too. One could not slide much lower on the social order than a Canaanite female prostitute. Even Rahab’s home is situated at the margin of society, in the wall between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’.20 That one so marginalized could step in and exhibit such control of a situation, while the men involved exhibit no capabilities whatsoever, casts those Israelite men in the same foolish light as the men of Jericho. In comedy, when the audience encounter the fool, they may well see themselves and/or their society reflected there. This ‘community with the fool’21 is a vital aspect of comedy’s (self-)revelatory character, and it can have both a repulsing and a compelling effect on those who see themselves in humour’s mirror. Laughter at the expense of the other often involves ‘not only simple triumph or scorn, but also elements of sympathy and identification’,22 as one hears one’s own shortcomings echoing in the sentiment of the laugh. Rahab exposes the Israelite spies as fools, and, in doing so, Rahab vicariously ridicules the leaders and the people of Israel as well. Rahab’s fool-making of everyone involved, audience included, continues to subvert any Israelite self-depiction as a superior people invulnerable to foolishness. Yet another subversive move of the story lies in Rahab’s speech. Her ‘orthodox’ profession of Yahweh’s power subverts the text’s insistence that all those living in the land are evil, idol-worshipping foreigners who must be destroyed before they pervert God’s chosen people. Quite to the contrary, Rahab’s profession of Israel’s Yahweh is so outstanding that the spies plagiarize it for their own report to Joshua. Subversion is a significant component of satire, a form that aims to expose human and societal shortcomings.23 Within the presumed 20 Danna Nolan Fewell, ‘Joshua’, in Newsom and Ringe (eds), Women’s Bible Commentary, 69–72 (72). 21 Eckman, ‘The Humor of the Bible’, 526. 22 Lauter, ‘Introduction’, p. xviii. 23 C. Corydon Randall, ‘Satire in the Bible’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Hebrew Union College, 1966), 53.

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constructs of Joshua 2, the king’s hand-picked men are skilled soldiers, Joshua’s hand-picked men are qualified spies, and a Canaanite prostitute is frankly of no consequence. With eyes for the comic, however, a keen reader can see that constructs so firmly in place are primed to be toppled. Surely inspiring satire’s ‘laughter of attack’ in this keen reader,24 Joshua 2 sees these carefully preserved constructs all fall in turn, as ‘the very conventions of the social order are exposed as bootless’.25 Rahab bests every man in control of this text: the king, the king’s men, the spies (and through besting them, bests the inept one who chose them—Joshua), and even—despite their own efforts— the redactor(s).

Survival Joshua 2 is undoubtedly about survival, and the comic devices and features bring that struggle for survival to the fore. Two Israelites who, as spies, ought to be particularly adept at survival are in jeopardy, but then Rahab intervenes. She enables Israel’s survival in a concrete way, as she saves the lives of the two spies. Additionally in her speech, she affirms the destiny of Israelites to conquer the land, that they will survive by coming out of the wilderness to begin a new, settled life in the land. As a result of her intervention and her confidence in Yahweh, Rahab and all her family themselves survive not just the taking of Jericho, but for generations to come, as ‘her family has lived in Israel ever since’ (6:25b).

READING COMEDY IN JOSHUA 2 FROM A FEMINIST PERSPECTIVE

The ‘other’ Both comedy and feminist interpretation have a keen interest in the subject/object dichotomy. Comedy needs this polarity in drawing its boundaries. Feminist critique, however, is wary of these 24 Thomas Jemielity, Satire and the Hebrew Prophets (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992), 14. 25 Jemielity, Satire and the Hebrew Prophets, 108.

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boundaries—because frequently in the biblical text women are cast across the boundary as the ‘other’, objectified in and by the text, denied the power of self-determination. In Joshua 2, Rahab, in true comic style, is the unusual, unlikely subject. Her status as subject is, simultaneously, repudiated by and reliant upon her status as prostitute and Canaanite. She is the actor, the initiator; she is literally the subject of many of the verbs, men her object, mostly the spies. She speaks and they do. Rahab shows what she is made of: she is ‘the whore with a heart of gold’.26 And, as Rahab proves herself in the progression of the story’s events, her ‘otherness’ changes into ‘one of us’, the transition made possible by her shifting allegiance from ‘them’ to ‘us’, a transition completed by the spies’ acceptance of her request to be saved. She is extended membership into the community, according to Frank Moore Cross, not through direct kinship, but through ‘fictive kinship, or kinship-in-law, kinship extended by adoption, oath, and covenant’.27 Ultimately then this story, in combination with that of Achan, reveals that the key to belonging in Israelite society ‘is not ethnic identity, but voluntary submission to authority structures’.28 Thus, the reader is able to view Rahab as the golden-hearted, worthyof-inclusion Canaanite, because the tale is being told from ‘our’ standpoint, by the ones who have benefited from her actions and have subsequently extended to her ‘our’ acceptance. Lori Rowlett, writing from a postcolonial perspective about the use of female characters in conquest accounts, describes Rahab as the ‘good native’, one ‘who acquiesces almost immediately to the conquerors . . . She is far too eager to turn her back on her own people, her indigenous religion and even her identity.’29 Comedy permits us to laugh at this inverted situation, in which the vanquished Canaanites are duped by one of their own. Yet, feminist critique would remind us that the one who tells the joke always gets the joke. Rahab’s story, when viewed from the perspective of the ‘other’, is very different. For the Canaanites, her words and actions are not those of a hero, but those of a self-serving betrayer of her people.

26

Bird, ‘The Harlot as Heroine’, 131. Frank Moore Cross, ‘A Response to Zakovitch’s “Successful Failure of Israelite Intelligence” ’, in Niditch (ed.), Text and Tradition, 99–104 (103). 28 Lori Rowlett, ‘Inclusion, Exclusion and Marginality in the Book of Joshua’, JSOT 55 (1992), 15–23 (22). 29 Rowlett, ‘Disney’s Pocahontas and Joshua’s Rahab’, 66. 27

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Containment Containment is a second issue significant for both comedy and feminism. Feminism sees patriarchy as using the text to control women (particularly their sexuality), both in the text itself and in society. For comedy, the issue works in opposing directions. Comedy’s subversiveness is a threat to the establishment, so the establishment seeks to control it and thus limit its influence. Yet, unless completely censored, comedy that is intent on subversiveness is ultimately impossible to contain fully. A story that features as its hero a gutsy Canaanite prostitute who is more clever and shrewd than the men with whom she shares the stage is certainly anti-establishment at its core. Yet, even as she lies to and plots against the king’s messengers (vv. 3–7), Rahab also offers up a very conventional affirmation of Yahweh (vv. 8–14). This subversive woman is a truly ‘orthodox’ theologian! Furthermore, she stands in good company among fellow theologians of the DH. Her phrase ‘God in heaven above and on earth below’ (2:11b, NRSV) is heard verbatim twice elsewhere: on the lips of Moses in the wilderness (Deut. 4:39) and of Solomon at the dedication of the temple (1 Kgs 8:23). Rahab, in this way, succumbs to containment, as she is controlled in the text by the redactional agenda of the Deuteronomist(s). This redacted story exhibits its ‘high sense of humour’ as it privileges Rahab and ‘lets [her] be the one to recite the saving history’.30 In so doing, ‘the spy story becomes the story of a conversion’.31 Rahab’s speech of verses 9–11 stands at the heart of the narrative, and her ‘pagan’ confession32 is scripted for her with words that echo Moses in the wilderness (Deut. 4:39) and that foreshadow the time when other foreigners will be forced to decide how they will respond to the approaching Israelite army (Josh. 5:1; 9:1–2, 3–4a; 10:1–5; 11:1–5). The connection between subversion and containment can flow from one to the other in either direction—Rahab, a Yahweh-fearer and saviour of Israelites, is thus permitted her profession and her

30 Robert G. Boling, Joshua: A New Translation, AB 6 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1982), 147 (emphasis added). 31 Nelson, Joshua, 46. 32 Bird, ‘The Harlot as Heroine’, 131; Brenner (I Am, 93–4) imagines Rahab rejecting having ever spoken words of confidence in the Israelite god. Rahab instead offers many other reasons for why she aided the spies, most significantly to gain ‘extra insurance’ in case the Israelites did manage to conquer her city.

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ethnicity, or Rahab, the prostitute, unbound by society’s conventions, is thus in need of being filled with the words of Yahwistic theology. According to Campbell, Rahab receives approval from the biblical author(s), not because she is ‘tricky’ or quick on her feet. Instead her acceptance ‘is grounded on an appreciation of the fact that Rahab made a moral decision to leave the lo-ammi and join the ammi’. Therefore, ‘she and her family became members of the covenant community for ever’.33 From a theological and literary perspective this position is certainly tenable. What seems more plausible, however, from a redactional perspective, is that Rahab has been ‘co-opted’:34 in the lore of Israel, this woman was held up precisely for her cleverness and courage, so the Deuteronomist(s) added piety to her list of attributes, bringing her into compliance with the mores of Israelite society and the theology of the DH.35 In this way, comedy’s preference for the ‘happy ending’ involving social integration is used to contain Rahab permanently, as she ‘has lived in Israel ever since’ (6:25b). However, comedy’s seemingly straightforward ‘happy ending’ here is not so simple as it first could appear. As Walter Kerr insists, a comic ‘happy’ ending must contain some marring element in order for that ending to remain comic; ‘happiness’, in comedy, is never ‘an undefaced positive’. Among these defacing elements are compromise and resignation. Furthermore, the comic ending must ‘forcefully call into question the issues of “happiness” and “forever after” ’.36 Rahab’s siding with the Israelites against her own people, alongside her confession of faith in the Israelite god, read as events performed with conviction and sincerity in situ; however, under the redactional and the comic lens, these actions and statements certainly bear the marks of resignation and subsequent compromise. The attentive comic reader is then left with the complicated question of what being included in Israel’s ‘forever after’ means for Rahab. The ending is indeed ‘happy’, as Rahab’s survival is secured in perpetuity; however, that ‘happiness’ is wrought through abandonment of her own and collaboration with the enemy. This is ‘happiness’ with a cost—a cost that, according to Kerr, comedy requires to retain its status as such. 33 34 35 36

K. M. Campbell, ‘Rahab’s Covenant’, 244. McKinlay, ‘Rahab’, 54. McKinlay, ‘Rahab’, 50; cf. Brenner, I Am, 95–6. Kerr, Tragedy and Comedy, 78–9.

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For a post-exile people, the probable audience of the DH, surely the concept of ‘inside/outside’ was complex. The Israelites were insiders when they told their own stories, yet, alienated from their land and displaced to a foreign one, they were outsiders too. This complexity is reflected in a feminist, comical, redactional reading of Joshua 2. Ultimately, it was both Rahab’s subversiveness and her conformity that enabled her to negotiate successfully the inside/ outside divide and that led to her survival both in Israel and in the text.

5 Deborah and Jael Judges 4 introduces Deborah, a prophet and judge of Israel (vv. 4–5).1 She accompanies Barak and Israel into battle against Sisera, King Jabin’s general (vv. 6–10). The two armies battle (vv. 12–16), and in the midst of it Sisera flees from the battleground and encounters Jael (v. 17), Sisera enters Jael’s tent (vv. 18–20), where she kills him by driving a tent peg through his head while he is sleeping (v. 21). Thus is the scene when Barak arrives in pursuit of Sisera (v. 22). The chapter concludes with a report of the decisive Israelite victory over King Jabin (vv. 23–4). In this war story not one, but two, women emerge as heroes, or in comedy’s terms ‘not heroes’.2 One is there for the beginning of the battle; the other enters as it concludes. Together these two command the comic spotlight, with Barak and Sisera as their respective stage partners. Several of the narrative’s comedic elements are introduced to the plot through Deborah’s words, yet Jael’s actions are what bring them to fruition. Two women and two men interact. One pair shares a dialogue; one pair shares an encounter. The first foreshadows the second; the second fulfils the first. The comedy of Judges 4 is presented

1 The story of Deborah, Jael, Barak, and Sisera continues on in a poetic retelling in Judg. 5. A study of Judg. 4 and 5 in tandem would provide a more complete analysis of the comedy in this story. However, the scope of this work is limited to narrative, and an exploration of ch. 4 on its own does yield a fruitful discussion of the topic. 2 When one reads this story through the lens of comedy, Deborah and Jael certainly do emerge as the heroes. Yairah Amit (The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing, trans. Jonathan Chipman (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 199–214), however, offers another perspective with respect to the hero(es) of the tale. She argues that the identity of the hero(es) is a riddle, whose answer is eventually revealed in the text to be ‘God’. According to Amit, the humans have a role, but a limited one, and God alone—working both directly and behind the scenes—is the real saviour and hero.

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in comic characterization, linguistic devices (of wordplay and hyperbole), irony, repetition, hiddenness and surprise, significant gender-based humour, and a situational ethic. Considering the ways in which comedy may function in this narrative, several points of discussion from the previous chapter about the story of Rahab (Josh. 2) are relevant to this one as well. On the one hand, the comedy in Judges 4 is boundary-breaking and subversive, but, on the other hand, the comedy is also contained, preserving the established order, and its message of survival is ambiguous from a feminist-critical perspective.

LITERARY DEVICES

Comic characterization As women, Deborah and Jael inhabit a lower social stratum than their male counterparts, and thus fit into the comic ‘not-hero’ protagonist profile. However, for Deborah the affinity ends there. She, as a judge and prophet who leads her nation to battle, possesses significantly more power than most other Hebrew Bible women. Jael fits the antihero pattern more so, not just because of her status as a woman, but also because of her status as a foreign woman, only loosely connected to Israel, but connected also to Israel’s enemy, the Canaanites. In her confrontation with Sisera, Jael relies on her sexuality and her creative thinking to afford her the upper hand, so that she emerges triumphant over the military general. On the other side of the gender coin are Deborah’s and Jael’s male counterparts, Barak and Sisera respectively. While Barak is one of the story’s heroes, he also plays the fool. First, for reasons unexplained in the text, Barak makes his foray into battle conditional on Deborah’s presence with him. Deborah agrees, but with a condition of her own: the battle glory due to Barak would be given to a woman instead. Furthermore, the manner in which Barak discovers that this prediction has come true also leaves him looking the fool: Barak in pursuit of Sisera is rendered passive when all he can do is follow Jael into the tent when she tells him that she ‘will show’ (‫ ראה‬hiphil, v. 22) him that his prey has been dispatched. Barak had continued to pursue his battle glory, when, unbeknownst to him, it had already been taken

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from him and been delivered into the hands of a woman, just as Deborah prophesied. Sisera also plays the fool, with much graver consequences. Apparently believing he has nothing to fear (after all, did not Jael assure him of this fact? (v. 18)), he confidently places himself in the hands of one he assumes is an ally. ‘Safely’ inside her tent, he receives her aid, lets down his own guard, and posts her, as if she is one of his soldiers, at the door to be the look-out for him. All the while he is unaware that the one from whom he needs protecting will not enter the tent from the outside, but instead is already there on the inside with him. Sisera, the general of the king’s army, who cannot tell his enemy from his ally, is the dupe who never realizes that his ignorance makes him an accomplice to his own murder.

Linguistic devices Wordplay Deborah receives her introduction (v. 4) in the form of several descriptors: she is ‘a woman’ (‫)אשה‬, ‘a prophet’ (‫ )נביאה‬and ‘one who judges’ (‫)שפטה‬. She is also ‫אשת לפידות‬, a phrase that has generated much scholarly discussion and introduces wordplay into Deborah’s identity. Traditionally, this phrase is translated as ‘wife of Lappidoth’, following the frequent biblical pattern of a woman’s being identified in relationship to a husband or father. However, other translations have been suggested. A translation of ‫ אשת‬as ‘woman of ’, rather than, ‘wife of’ and ‫ לפידות‬as ‘torches’ yields possibilities such as ‘woman of torches’,3 ‘woman of flames/fire’,4 and ‘fiery/spirited woman’.5 3 Tikva Frymer-Kensky, ‘Deborah 2’, in Carol L. Meyers, Toni Craven, and Ross S. Kraemer (eds), Women in Scripture: A Dictionary of Named and Unnamed Women in the Hebrew Bible, the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books, and the New Testament (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2000), 66–7 (66); J. Clinton McCann, Judges, Interpretation (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 2002), 51. 4 Mieke Bal, Death & Dissymmetry: The Politics of Coherence in the Book of Judges, Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 209; Danna Nolan Fewell, ‘Judges’, in Newsom and Ringe (eds), Women’s Bible Commentary, 73–83 (75); Danna Nolan Fewell and David M. Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives: Women, Men, and the Authority of Violence in Judges 4 and 5’, JAAR 58 (1990), 389–411 (391); Deryn Guest, When Deborah Met Jael: Lesbian Biblical Hermeneutics (London: SCM Press, 2005), 152–3. 5 Bellis, Helpmates, Harlots, and Heroes, 102; Brenner, The Israelite Woman, 120; Fewell and Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives’, 391; Frymer-Kensky, ‘Deborah 2’, 66.

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Favouring ‘woman of flames’, Mieke Bal writes: ‘Deborah, enlightened judge, woman of action, inspired and inspiring poetess, well deserves such a denomination.’6 Tammi Schneider’s translation, ‘Deborah, a woman, a prophet, a fiery one’, is based on a pattern she identifies with Othniel and Ehud in which the third element of their introduction notes some quality about their character.7 Othniel is ‘the younger’ (‫הקטן‬, 3:9); Ehud is a left-handed man (‫איש אטר יד־ימינו‬, 3:15). While being a younger sibling or being left-handed is not a personal quality in the same way that being ‘fiery’ would be, the argument still holds that a precedent has been set in the book of Judges to introduce judges with a detail about the person outside of or in addition to the usual familial ones. As this ‘fiery’ judge, Deborah finds a fitting complement in her partner ‘lightning’ (‫)ברק‬.8 Indeed ‘torches’ and ‘lightning’ appear together two other times in the Hebrew Bible (Ezek. 1:13; Nahum 2:4).9 Deryn Guest, however, finds in this man’s name an irony. With Deborah, Barak stands alongside her not as a complement, but instead as her inferior contrast. He is weaker and more reluctant; he is ‘a comic slowcoach . . . a thoroughly wet fish’.10 Barak seems slow to engage in battle and even slower to arrive at Jael’s tent, exhibiting none of the decisive flash and quickness his name would indicate. Deborah’s own name also provides opportunity for wordplay. ‘Deborah’ (‫ )דבורה‬is particularly fitting for a prophet, a bringer of the ‘word’ (‫ )דבר‬of Yahweh.11 Combining this wordplay with the literal translation of ‘Deborah’ (‘bee’), J. C. McCann engages in his own wordplay, writing: ‘Deborah’s role in delivering Israel is played out

6 Mieke Bal, Murder and Difference: Gender, Genre, and Scholarship on Sisera’s Death, trans. Matthew Gumpert, Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1992), 57. 7 Tammi J. Schneider, Judges, Berit Olam (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), 66–7. 8 Klaas Spronk, ‘Deborah, a Prophetess: The Meaning and Background of Judges 4:4–5’, in Johannes Cornelis de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist, Oudtestamentische Studiën 45 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 232–42 (240). 9 Torches make additional appearances in Judges: in Gideon’s campaign (7:16, 20) and in Samson’s fox-burning escapade (15:4 (2x), 5). 10 Guest, When Deborah Met Jael, 153. 11 This wordplay is particularly evident in the subsequent poetic account of this story; see 5:12.

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primarily by her speaking to Barak; the actual “sting” is delivered not by Deborah but rather by Barak, and especially by Jael.’12 The introduction in verse 17 of Jael as ‫ אשת חבר הקיני‬has prompted discussion similar to that of Deborah’s introduction in verse 4. Verse 11 presented ‘Heber the Kenite’ (‫)חבר הקיני‬, so the expected translation of the phrase in verse 17 would be ‘wife of Heber the Kenite’. Interestingly, though, this ostensible husband, Heber, never makes a personal appearance in the narrative. ‘Jael functions independently . . . with little or no male supervision.’13 The absence of a person to correspond to the name, then, prompts musings on the word ‫חבר‬. It can mean ‘ally’,14 a translation that would create very satisfying wordplay. Verse 11 places ‫ חבר‬in proximity to Moses, making an Israelite connection between the two, while the context of verse 17 refers to the current peace between the Kenites and King Jabin, establishing a very different connection. Thus Jael can be understood as having an association to both sides of this conflict. If she does indeed prove to be an ‘ally’, with which side will she choose to collaborate? At the very least, this interpretative play exposes both women’s textually and functionally ambiguous relationship to being an ‫אשה‬.

Hyperbole Any war comedy summons hyperbole to its aid, and numbers are the usual places to encounter it. Both Leslie Hoppe and Barnabas Lindars envision Barak’s 10,000 troops as an exaggeration, ‘not to be taken seriously’.15 As well, positioned across the battlefield, Sisera’s 900 metal chariots are viewed similarly. The number is ‘legendary, not to say extravagant’.16 Hoppe describes it as ‘a Deuteronomistic flourish to emphasize the hopeless situation in which Israel found herself ’.17 Luckily, hopelessness is never a lasting barrier to comic victory. No

12

McCann, Judges, 51 (emphasis added); cf. Spronk, ‘Deborah’, 240. Schneider, Judges, 77. 14 McCann, Judges, 53. 15 Barnabas Lindars, Judges 1–5: A New Translation and Commentary (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), 187; cf. Leslie J. Hoppe, Joshua, Judges: With an Excursus on Charismatic Leadership in Israel, Old Testament Message, 5 (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1982), 129. 16 J. Alberto Soggin, Judges: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1981), 64. 17 Hoppe, Joshua, Judges, 127; cf. John Gray, Joshua, Judges and Ruth, NCBC (London: Thomas Nelson, 1967), 268. 13

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comic battle is a fair fight until the odds are stacked insurmountably in favour of the opposing side.

Irony As Barak and Sisera prepare for battle, both men ‘summon/call out’ (‫ זעק‬hiphil, vv. 10, 13) to gather their forces, but Barak has only foot (‫ )ברגליו‬soldiers to go up (‫ )עלה‬with him, while Sisera has his army, plus his 900 iron chariots. Thus a stark contrast develops ‘between Sisera’s invincible mobility and Barak’s pedestrian vulnerability’.18 However, the situation is nicely reversed and equalized after Sisera is forced to go down (‫ירד‬, v. 15) from his chariot to flee on foot (‫)ברגליו‬. In the scene between Jael and Sisera, Jael assures Sisera that he should ‘have no fear’ (‫אל־תירא‬, v. 18), words rich with irony as (1) this is a woman making assurances about having no fear to an army general,19 and (2), contrary to her assurances, he should, in fact, feel much fear— of her, the very one comforting him. Then, in instructing Jael to answer ‘No’, if anyone enquires ‘Is there a man here?’ (‫היש־פה איש‬, v. 20), Sisera intends that her answer be a lie; however, as the narrative unfolds, that would-be lie becomes the ironic truth. When Barak finally comes in search of Sisera, the tent indeed holds no man, only a corpse of one.20 The experienced warrior who is, for the moment, the lone survivor of battle does not succumb to a hand on a battle sword, but instead ‘succumbs to the hand of a woman’.21 Characters who assess a situation one way, when the situation is in fact very different from their assessment, can be said to be part of an irony that is ‘incongruity of point of view’.22 Sisera assumed the threat to him was from the Israelite soldiers; however, ironically the real threat was a woman, and furthermore one affiliated with a group at peace with his own.23 18 Donald F. Murray, ‘Narrative Structure and Technique in the Deborah–Barak Story, Judges 4:4–22’, in J. A. Emerton (ed.), Studies in the Historical Books of the Old Testament, Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 30 (Leiden: Brill, 1979), 155–89 (170). 19 Johanna W. H. Bos, ‘Out of the Shadows: Genesis 38; Judges 4:17–22; Ruth 3’, Semeia, 42 (1988), 37–67 (53). 20 Fewell and Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives’, 393; cf. Lindars, Judges 1–5, 196; McCann, Judges, 54. 21 Elie Assis, ‘ “The Hand of a Woman”: Deborah and Yael (Judges 4)’, Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, 5 (2004–5), 1–12 (7). [accessed 26 June 2007]. 22 Gunn and Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible, 74. 23 Harris, Brown, and Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 174.

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Repetition The numerous repetitions of ‘hand’ (‫ )יד‬develops into a comic device as Judges 4 unfolds. First, Yahweh has sold the Israelites into the hand of King Jabin (v. 2). Then, Yahweh promises to reverse the situation by delivering Sisera into Barak’s hand (v. 7). Following Barak’s request for Deborah’s company in battle, she then modifies the prophecy of Yahweh: Sisera will still be delivered—but now into the hand of a woman (v. 9). Deborah, however, again rallies Barak with the cry that Yahweh will deliver Sisera into his hand (v. 14). All of these iterations of the role of the ‘hand’ culminate, at the height of the story, when Jael, with Sisera asleep in her tent, takes the hammer in her hand (v. 21). In so doing, she is fulfilling Deborah’s prophecy, the amended second one. Finally, as the action draws to a close, the narrative concludes with the hand of the Israelites continuing to bear down on King Jabin until he is destroyed (v. 24).

Surprise and hiddenness When Deborah makes her prophecy regarding the deliverance of Sisera into a woman’s hand, readers encountering this story for the first time surely must assume that the woman will be Deborah.24 However, ‘the author is very skillfully setting the stage for a surprise ending’.25 When Jael makes her late appearance (v. 17), the possibility that Sisera’s vanquisher could be someone other than Deborah enters the narrative as well.26 The woman’s identity has been withheld ‘as long as possible so that the irony is nicely turned against the reader’.27 Surprise! Jael is revealed as the one who will best Sisera; revealed to the reader in the narrative and revealed to Barak later when she leads him into her tent. With the previously hidden identity of the victorious woman uncovered in a surprise revelation, hiddenness returns again to the

24 Lillian R. Klein, From Deborah to Esther: Sexual Politics in the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), 35; cf. Robert G. Boling, Judges, AB 6A (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), 96; Frymer-Kensky, ‘Deborah 2’, 66; Williams, Women Recounted, 72–3. 25 Harris, Brown and Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 173. 26 Murray, ‘Narrative Structure and Technique’, 191. 27 Barry G. Webb, The Book of the Judges: An Integrated Reading, JSOT, suppl. ser. 46 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 138.

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story. Twice in her encounter with Sisera Jael ‘covers’ it/him (‫ כסה‬piel, vv. 18, 19). The majority interpretation is that she covers Sisera, shielding him from view. Johanna Bos, on the other hand, takes a minority position in arguing that v. 18 refers to ‘recovering’ the tent opening after they enter and v. 19 refers to ‘recovering’ the open milk skin after she pours a drink for Sisera. While her interpretation is not widely supported, her assessment of the situation is insightful: ‘While Yael is busy opening and covering, she is in truth covering her intent towards Sisera’.28 Furthermore, while Sisera sees the tent as refuge, hiding him from discovery by the enemy, Jael instead uses it to obscure her acts from view.

Reversal: gender-bending The ambiguity of Deborah’s and Jael’s relationships to being an ‫אשה‬, explored above as part of the narrative’s wordplay, is an early signal of the gender role complications yet to come in the narrative. While sexual situations do not inherently imbue a narrative with humour, gender-based components, when paired with the incongruity that is inherent in comedy, do bring humour to the story. In the narrative of these two women and these two men, the incongruity takes the form of gender-bending, as the text is shaped from and around the reversal of expected gender roles, and humour is created when both men and women behave in ways unorthodox for their gender in their context. Deborah and Jael set in motion a ‘reversal of responsibility’.29 A woman is a political and military leader; a man hesitates to go to war until he is assured of a woman’s presence with him. Another woman ‘penetrates’ a man, a general—and, in this one act, she simultaneously shames two men. In Judges 4, the women do what is usually left for the men to do, and the men are their passive counterparts. Expectations of usual subject and object roles are inverted. The first incident in which a man and a woman behave outside the ‘norm’ is Barak’s statement that he will not go to battle unless Deborah

28

Bos, ‘Out of the Shadows’, 51. Michael J. Smith (‘The Failure of the Family in Judges, Part 2: Samson’, Bibliotheca Sacra, 162 (2005), 424–36 (435)) argues that this reversal continues throughout Judges and ‘reaches its peak’ in Samson, who ‘at his end is a pathetic ruin’; cf. Bal (Murder and Difference, 120–3) for discussion on the reversal of roles between Sisera and Jael. 29

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goes with him, and she agrees, prophesying that his battle glory will be a woman’s instead. Scholarly views on Barak’s request are numerous and varied, and their judgement of him ranges from mild to harsh. Those who give Barak the benefit of the doubt cite his role as Deborah’s underling, endowing her with the ultimate responsibility in military matters30 or point towards Deborah as an inspiring symbol of God’s power, who could inspire confidence in the troops and offer divine guidance.31 Others are more sceptical of Barak’s character and motivation. His words, ‘perhaps surly or whiny’,32 reveal a man who is testing Deborah to see if she is willing to stake her own life on Yahweh’s command33 or expose a man who wants guarantees, even at the cost of his glory34 or show a man who does not want to bear sole responsibility if the war effort fails.35 Some scholars conclude that Barak’s request must be inappropriate based on Deborah’s response: she is ‘clearly taken aback’36 and rebukes Barak.37 The source of surprise and censure at Barak’s conduct stems from the expectation that, from the text’s perspective, he seems to be asking a woman to take on a role not undertaken by women, while simultaneously abdicating his own role as a man and as a soldier. Calling Deborah’s prophecy a ‘punishment’ and a ‘reprimand’, Schneider observes that, from the biblical text’s perspective, ‘when women fight in battles men lose glory’.38 For Barak, this prediction of Deborah’s is ‘insulting’39 and shameful: ‘to not receive the honor for the victory would have been bad enough, but for a woman to receive it in his stead would have been a bitter pill, and a shameful bitter pill at that.’40 30

Brenner, The Israelite Woman, 62. McCann, Judges, 52; James D. Martin, The Book of Judges, Cambridge Bible Commentary, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 57; George Foot Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges, 2nd edn, International Critical Commentary (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1898), 116–17. 32 Adrien Janis Bledstein, ‘Is Judges a Woman’s Satire on Men Who Play God?’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Judges, FCB 4 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 34–54 (39). 33 Fewell and Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives’, 398. 34 Soggin, Judges, 73. 35 Hoppe, Joshua, Judges, 128. 36 Webb, The Book of the Judges, 135. 37 Martin, The Book of Judges, 57; Klein, From Deborah to Esther, 35. 38 Schneider, Judges, 70. 39 Klein, From Deborah to Esther, 35. 40 Harris, Brown, and Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 172. 31

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Thus, while not all commentators would condemn Barak, the fact that women did not go to battle in ancient Israel is established. So Barak’s stipulation of Deborah’s presence with him, for whatever good or bad reasons, is a deviation from normal gender roles. A woman at the battle line, much less at the front of it, is an anomaly. A woman’s place is back at home, waiting with open arms for her soldier’s return.41 And so, just as Deborah has prophesied, a woman enters the story to take the place and the prize that would/should have been a man’s. Initially, Jael ‘comes out’ (‫יצא‬, v. 18) to meet Sisera—she leaves the woman’s domain ‘inside’ the tent and enters man’s domain ‘outside’. Then, as Sisera sleeps, Jael ‘penetrates’ him, killing him by ‘thrusting a tent peg’ (‫ותתקע את־היתד‬, v. 21) through his head.42 Gale Yee puts forward the idea of Deborah and Jael as metaphors of the ‘warrior woman’, one who participates in tribal, ‘guerrilla warfare’, employing strategies of ‘cunning, surprise, deception, and diversion’.43 In her survey of feminist responses to the metaphor, she finds they vary from acceptance of the metaphor as empowering to rejection of it as adhering to male values.44 This ambivalence among scholars reflects the ambiguity of the characters—they are women, and yet not women, because they act like men, but are not men. In this way, Deborah and Jael are liminal creatures on the boundary between feminine and masculine. Deborah ‘judges the Israelites and calls males to her’.45 Jael both shows ‘female’ hospitality and does ‘male’ acts;46 she perpetrates ‘reversed rape’ in which ‘the warrior’s mouth is penetrated by an unmistakably phallic tent peg’.47 And, with this one peg, Jael conquers two men: ‘Sisera, by depriving him of his life, and Barak, by depriving him of the honour that should have been 41

Michal is one biblical woman who can confirm this fact of Israelite life. Delilah pins Samson to the wall in the same manner, by ‘thrusting a peg’ (‫ותתקע ביתד‬, 16:14). The same verb (‫ )תקע‬is used to describe how Ehud killed Eglon, as he ‘thrust’ his sword into Eglon’s belly (3:21). 43 Gale A. Yee, ‘By the Hand of a Woman: The Metaphor of the Woman-Warrior in Judges 4’, Semeia, 61 (1993), 99–132 (110–14). 44 Yee, ‘By the Hand of a Woman’, 100. 45 Lillian R. Klein, ‘A Spectrum of Female Characters’, in Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Judges, 24–33 (25). 46 Athalya Brenner, ‘A Triangle and a Rhombus in Narrative Structure: A Proposed Integrative Reading of Judges 4 and 5’, in Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Judges, 98–109 (101). 47 Fewell and Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives’, 394; cf. McCann, Judges, 54. 42

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his as the chosen deliverer.’48 Combine Deborah’s words with Jael’s actions and the end product is a gender-bending story in which the ‘powerful’ men show weakness and are brought low, while the ‘weak’ women use their strength to bring them to it. And comedy enables the reader to clap her hands in delight at these perverted, subverted gender norms.

PSYCHOLOGICAL AND SOCIAL FEATURES

Sexuality (of the more conventional kind) Tragic form eschews the finiteness of the human body. Comic form utilizes the physical side of human existence. The flesh, the body, its constraints, its appetites, its needs, its desires—all of these ‘low’ facets of humanity are part of comedy’s tools. The scene that unfolds between Jael and Sisera is sexually charged and contributes to the wider comedy of the story as, despite Sisera’s gender, he plays the second to Jael’s lead in the story that leads to his ignominious end. A man in a woman’s tent, even a man on the run in need of a place to lie low, arouses suspicions of a sexual nature. With regard to what might or might not have transpired between Jael and Sisera once inside the tent together (and before he met his end), Danna Nolan Fewell and David Gunn offer one possibility: ‘Having just lost a battle and having had to run for his life, Sisera might well be regarded as being neither physically nor emotionally capable of sexual intercourse.’49 Pamela

48 Webb, The Book of the Judges, 135. According to Harris, Brown, and Moore (Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 175), this double offence is expressed textually in the wordplay between ‫ ברק‬and ‫‘( רקה‬temple’, vv. 21, 22). This second word, rendered in the NRSV as ‘temple’, has generated discussion. Bos (‘Out of the Shadows’, 51), referring to the adjectival meaning, ‘thin’, says its literal meaning would be ‘the thin place’. Boling (Judges, 98) points to the word’s two appearances in the Song of Songs (4:3; 6:7), translated ‘cheeks’ in the NRSV, as referring to a ‘vulnerable spot such as the upper neck’ that would be located behind a veil. Referencing the same Song of Songs verses, Fewell and Gunn (‘Controlling Perspectives’, 393) prefer ‘mouth’, while Fewell in her ‘Judges’ article (p. 75) suggests ‘parted lips’. The upshot of these suggestions, while no less gruesome than a tent peg to the ‘temple’, would envision a more vulnerable entry (and exit) point than the skull. 49 Fewell and Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives’, 392–3 n. 10; cf. Victor H. Matthews, ‘Hospitality and Hostility in Judges 4’, Biblical Theology Bulletin, 21 (1991), 13–21 (21).

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Reis, on the opposite end of the spectrum, argues that ‘Jael’s assassination of Sisera . . . smolders with sex’.50 While the text is not overt or definitive, several facets of the narrative support Reis’s assessment over Fewell and Gunn’s. First, Jael twice directs Sisera to ‘turn aside’ (‫סור‬, v. 18), which he does. This verb is frequently used in reference to infidelity; most often unfaithfulness to Yahweh, a turning aside from Yahweh (and a turning to others). In Proverbs 9, both Wisdom personified (vv. 3–6) and the foolish woman (vv. 14–18) coax others to ‘turn in here!’ (‫הנה יסר‬, vv. 4, 16) in a moral, but also sexual sense. That Jael left her tent to ‘come out and meet’ Sisera (v. 18) and that she had to entice Sisera to ‘turn aside to her’ is, for Reis, evidence that Sisera was actually en route elsewhere—namely, Heber’s tent—to seek out an ally for refuge. Then he was intercepted on the way by Jael and her provocative invitation.51 In addition to urging Sisera to ‘turn aside to me’, Jael adds that he should ‘have no fear’ (‫אל־תירא‬, v. 18). The logical question is ‘what does a man have to fear from a woman in these circumstances?’52 One possible answer is that he could suspect she is enticing him sexually, a suspicion, therefore, Jael would want to allay. A slightly different answer offered by Reis is that Jael is assuring Sisera ‘that he need not fear the inopportune arrival of her husband, Heber’.53 Hiddenness is especially important to comedy when it facilitates other important components of comedy: surprise, inversions, irony, and so on. In this case, the tantalizing did they, did they not, sexuality of the text is enhanced with elements of hiddenness. The use of the word ‘cover’ (‫ כסה‬piel, vv. 18, 19) contributes to the sexual innuendo of the narrative. Lillian Klein argues that the repeated use of the word ‘cover’ ‘reinforces the likelihood of intervening sexual activity’ between the first time Jael ‘covered’ Sisera (v. 18) and the second (v. 19).54 Reis adds another very enticing dimension to this use of ‘cover’. Referencing the frequent Hebrew exchange of ‫ ש‬for ‫ס‬, she argues that the word usually translated as ‘rug’ or possibly ‘netting’

50 Pamela Tamarkin Reis, ‘Uncovering Jael and Sisera: A New Reading’, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament, 19 (2005), 24–47 (24). 51 Reis, ‘Uncovering Jael and Sisera’, 25. 52 Klein, From Deborah to Esther, 37. 53 Reis, ‘Uncovering Jael and Sisera’, 26. 54 Klein, From Deborah to Esther, 38.

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(‫שמיכה‬, v. 18) could derive its meaning from the root ‫‘( סמך‬to lean, lay, rest’). Thus she proposes that the ‘covering’ Jael laid over him was actually her own body: that is, ‘she has sex with him in the femalesuperior position’, an act repeated (after Sisera’s refreshment) in v. 19.55 A final ‘sexual’ observation is that Jael’s approach to the sleeping Sisera, weapons in hand, is done ‘softly’ (‫בלאט‬, v. 21). This is the same ‘soft, gentle’ (‫בלט‬, Ruth 3:7) manner in which Ruth approaches Boaz on the threshing floor, another scene rife with sexual innuendo. Generally scholars agree that the scene between Jael and Sisera as told in poetry in 5:24–7 is much more sexually charged than the telling of that same encounter in the prose of 4:17–22.56 Therefore, the sexual aspect of chapter 4 stands out more when read in the light of the repeated account in chapter 5. Again the text is not overt—it hardly ever is in these matters—so the interpretative door is left open for creative and provocative gap-filling, a door through which several scholars cited here have walked. However, in the Hebrew Bible, a woman who takes initiative and acts seemingly independently of male authority and supervision is normally ‘up to something’. Jael leaves the domain of her tent, goes out to meet a man, and invites him back in—could this woman have innocent motives? Reis answers that in the Hebrew Bible there are ‘no occasions of innocent rendezvous’: when a man and a woman are alone together, they have sex.57

Situational ethic Even though Yahweh’s prophet, Deborah, foretells that Sisera will be killed by a woman, and not Barak, Jael still endures frequent censure for her acts. ‘She duped him and doped him’, insists Robert Boling.58 Jael’s victory is one ‘achieved through a treacherous act of assassination’.59 Cheryl Brown lumps Jael’s actions in with a whole range of dizzying 55 Reis, ‘Uncovering Jael and Sisera’, 29–30. Reis (pp. 34–6) further proposes that the ‘promiscuous’ Jael also has sex with Barak, as Jael ‘comes out to meet’ a man for a second time and Barak’s response was to ‘go in to her’ (‫ויבא אליה‬, v. 22), a phrase ‘always’ used to indicate sexual intercourse. Jael’s ‘loose’ portrayal is due to the ‘xenophobic nature of the Bible; non-Israelite women are, ipso facto, immoral’. 56 See, e.g., Lindars, Judges 1–5, 275, 280, and Brenner, ‘A Triangle and a Rhombus’, 103. 57 Reis, ‘Uncovering Jael and Sisera’, 27. 58 Boling, Judges, 98. 59 Hoppe, Joshua, Judges, 131; cf. Lillian R. Klein, The Triumph of Irony in the Book of Judges, JSOT, suppl. ser. 68 (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1988), 43.

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offences as she writes: ‘the Old Testament, especially books such as Judges, contains material that flies in the face of everything we identify as biblical morality. We do not know what to do with the rape, murder, genocide, sexual immorality, child sacrifice, lying, idolatry, and stealing.’60 And yet, the question must be asked, if the text itself does not censure Jael, where does she fit into this sweeping ‘biblical morality’? Surely, on one level, Jael does ‘what she has to do’.61 Seemingly on her own and with ties to both sides of the conflict, ‘she can hardly risk turning away the defeated general and provoking his retaliation’. But if she does not, ‘how is she likely to be treated by the Israelite men when they arrive at her tent in hot pursuit of their enemy? And what if she were to be found hiding Sisera?’62 Jael is in ‘no-man’s [no-woman’s?] land between the two armies where loyalties have become unclear’.63 So, when Sisera arrives, Jael chooses—chooses to leave her tent and in so doing chooses a course of action. Then, in true pragmatic, flexible, situationally driven comic fashion, Jael makes the most practical choice—she chooses herself. Much like Rahab, Jael opts first for her own survival and sets about preserving it with a plan that utilizes the opportunity and the tools she has at hand—her sexuality, her hospitality, her tent, and her tent peg. And, as the story tells it, in choosing herself and her survival, Jael also chooses Israel and its survival. In what could have been a fatal disaster for her, instead Jael turned Sisera’s being in her tent into ‘proof of her own personal allegiance to the victors’,64 and ‘the story considers her action the will of God’.65 As with Rahab before her, Jael is placed into the hands of the DH, and her self-preserving conquest becomes a victory for Israel, and all her acts—morally suspect or not—are subsumed under this theological agenda. Jael breaks the rules; however, she breaks them for the good of Israel, and the text honours this daring woman by preserving her story in it.66

60

Harris, Brown, and Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 124. Fewell, ‘Judges’, 75. 62 Fewell and Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives’, 296. 63 Bal, ‘Tricky Thematics’, 145. 64 Fewell and Gunn, ‘Controlling Perspectives’, 396. 65 Tikva Frymer-Kensky, ‘Jael’, in Meyers, Craven and Kraemer (eds), Women in Scripture, 97–8 (98). 66 Klein, From Deborah to Esther, 39. 61

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FUNCTIONS

Drawing (and breaking) boundaries The gender-bending behaviour of both Deborah and Jael breaks the boundaries of what is ‘acceptable’ and ‘regular’. They are women who can take on the man’s role of leadership, of combat, and just generally—with a snigger from Reis—of being ‘on top’. Like the shapeshifting tricksters of so many cultures’ folklore, the gender-bending women of Judges 4 have a liminal existence in the hazy space between what is identifiably ‘normal’ and what is ‘other’. While social ‘normality’ is at a loss as to how to accommodate ones like these women, comedy features liminal creatures of any kind as they break ‘category’ boundaries and are free, because of their positions on the margins, to engage in unexpected and subversive behaviour.

Subversion And subvert they do. Deborah holds positions almost universally reserved for men. She is a prophet, and she is the only woman counted among the ‘judges’. Jael suggestively subverts the norms of society and assumes the role of ‘penetrator’. The world of Judges is a ‘topsyturvy’ one in which those chosen to lead are most unlikely: Ehud, of the wrong hand; Gideon, of the wrong clan and wrong position in birth order; Jephthah, of the wrong mother. Then there is Deborah, of the wrong gender, and, ‘instead of men as leaders in Judges 4 and 5, we see women ascendant and men fools of varying degree’.67

Containment While these boundary-breaking women embody comedy’s subversive force, they too, as Rahab in the previous chapter, have been placed in the hands of redactors, and the redactors have put them to work for ‘the cause’. From a feminist perspective, Deborah’s roles and Jael’s actions are denied their full subversive effect because they have been seconded to Yahweh and to Yahweh’s ends. The comedy of soldiers made buffoons and the subversive women who brought them to it remains comic; however, now that comedy is contained in a 67

Reis, ‘Uncovering Jael and Sisera’, 46.

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‘higher’ purpose. For Reis the seven occurrences of ‘hand’ (‫יד‬, 4:2, 7, 9, 14, 21, 24; 5:26) take Sisera’s death from Jael and show it to be God’s working in human affairs. Not Deborah’s hand nor Barak’s nor even Jael’s, but ‘God’s hand . . . defeats Sisera and his army’.68 Sufficiently contained, approved, and in Jael’s case redeemed, Deborah and Jael become not just comic heroes, but national ones as well. Thus is the go-ahead given for Israel to find itself mirrored in Deborah and Jael. ‘A fragile and vulnerable’ Israel prevails because they have the strongest and ever-loyal god on their side; like Deborah and Jael, Israel too is ‘strong when inspired and blessed by Yahweh’.69 The two women are an ‘apt paradigm for weak Israel’,70 who in the pattern of the book of Judges continually finds themselves staring into the face of a more powerful enemy.

Survival As noted regarding the incest of Genesis 19, the ethics of the Hebrew Bible and those of modern society are incompatible at points. Violence of all kinds proliferates the biblical text, and Jael’s cool and cruel murder of Sisera leaves many readers on edge. However, violence is also an effective tool of comedy, as is sex, and, in this case, as is the combination of violence and sex. Just like Sisera’s hyperbolic 900 metal chariots, the utter vanquishing of one’s enemy is also fanciful hyperbole. However, if Sisera’s entire army down to a man can be felled by the sword until no one is left (v. 16) in the story and if the oppressed can be transformed into the oppressor (vv. 3, 24) in the story, the hope remains alive that Israel, with the aid of Yahweh, can survive any threat they might encounter after the story ends. Brenner argues that ‘whenever two social principles come into conflict . . . the Bible teaches that survival comes first’.71 In this way, the Hebrew Bible and the comic are the same. Comedy, ultimately, is the refuge of survivors. Jael is a survivor. Society may disapprove of her means, but comedy embraces her instinct. All the characteristics of comedy that create a permeable, malleable, flexible world enable the survival of its protagonists—and its audience.

68 70

69 Reis, ‘Uncovering Jael and Sisera’, 45. Williams, Women Recounted, 75. 71 Bos, ‘Out of the Shadows’, 58. Brenner, The Israelite Woman, 120.

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Deborah and Jael are comic characters—subverters of patriarchal society’s norms regarding ‘right’ roles and actions for women. These characteristics are ones feminist critique affirms. However, feminist critique certainly has a ‘yes’ and ‘no’ response to the characterizations of Judges 4, remaining wary, alert to the fact that these same bold women are the tool with which redactors ridicule the men being undermined. A man who will not go to war without a woman is a man who deserves to be replaced in that war by a woman, and a man with 900 chariots who cannot survive one woman with a hammer is surely a man who is no man (v. 20) after all. Engaging in a comic reading of Judges 4 is enjoyable, but it cannot fully resolve the concerns with which a feminist reading engages the text.

6 Delilah The narratives of Judges 13–16 and the particular characters Delilah and Samson (16:4–22) can be summed up, quite simply, as being par excellence. Jacobus Marais finds the Samson story is ‘the representation of paradoxes par excellence’.1 Robert Polzin sees in Samson—a man apparently without concern for Israel and without knowledge of his destiny predicted from birth—‘par excellence the unknowing judge’.2 On the other hand, for Ulrich Simon, Samson is the hero, the ‘Gibbor par excellence’.3 As for Delilah, Claudia Camp describes her as ‘a mise en abyme par excellence’.4 Danna Nolan Fewell summarizes that commentators find Delilah to be ‘the femme fatale par excellence’.5 Susan Ackerman, however, labels Delilah a simple femme fatale, saving the superlative to label Delilah ‘as the temptress par excellence’.6 In addition to agreeing that this narrative and its characters are par excellence, commentators also converge on the notion that these chapters in Judges can be characterized according to a single, unifying thread or theme. Carol Smith discovers that the unifying theme is ‘the dynamics of power relationships’.7 For Susan Niditch, ‘the 1 Jacobus Marais, Representation in Old Testament Narrative Texts, Biblical Interpretation Series, 36 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 132. 2 Robert Polzin, Moses and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History (New York: Seabury Press, 1980), 181. 3 Ulrich Simon, ‘Samson and the Heroic’, in Michael Wadsworth (ed.), Ways of Reading the Bible (Brighton: Harvester, 1981), 154–67 (156). 4 Claudia V. Camp, Wise, Strange and Holy: The Strange Woman and the Making of the Bible, JSOT, suppl. ser. 320 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 122. 5 Fewell, ‘Judges’, 79. 6 Susan Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, Biblical Interpretation, 8 (2000), 33–41 (36). 7 Carol Smith, ‘Samson and Delilah: A Parable of Power?’, JSOT 76 (1997), 45–57 (50).

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Samson tale deals with the desire to obtain and hold autonomy, both personal and political’.8 Richard Bowman and Richard Swason find the narrative instead ‘is arguably a story about violence’ in which the ‘net result of Samson’s violence is a dead hero’.9 For James Crenshaw the unifying theme is competing loyalties, ‘the choice between filial devotion and erotic attachment’.10 In a vaguely similar vein, Michael Smith indicates his opinion of the theme of the Samson narrative in the title of his article ‘The Failure of the Family in Judges’.11 Both Mieke Bal and Camp see Samson’s riddle, the previously cited mise en abyme (par excellence), as the central interpretative tool.12 Edward Greenstein similarly finds a pervasive motif in the ‘riddle formula’.13 Arguing the theological perspective, Joseph Blenkinsopp sees the plot revolving ‘around an explicitly religious theme—that of the broken [Nazirite] vow’.14 However, Cheryl Exum encourages readers not to overvalue Samson’s status as a Nazirite. She argues instead that ‘the key to the theological dimension of the saga’ is human prayer and divine response.15 Victor Matthews does not even agree with himself. In a 1989 article, he argues for ‘the centrality of freedom’: Samson is a man both free and fettered.16 In his subsequent Judges commentary, however, he finds that the ‘literary glue’ holding together this story is a theme of knowledge where deception ‘marks the basic interaction of characters in these stories’.17 And so, inevitably, arrives the 8 Susan Niditch, ‘Samson as Culture Hero, Trickster, and Bandit: The Empowerment of the Weak’, CBQ 54 (1990), 608–24 (610). 9 Richard G. Bowman and Richard W. Swason, ‘Samson and the Son of God or Dead Heroes and Dead Goats: Ethical Readings of Narrative Violence in Judges and Matthew’, Semeia, 77 (1977), 59–74 (61, 69). 10 James L. Crenshaw, Samson: A Secret Betrayed, a Vow Ignored (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1978), 149. 11 M. J. Smith, ‘The Failure of the Family’, 424–36. 12 Mieke Bal, Lethal Love: Feminist Literary Readings of Biblical Love Stories, Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1987), 76; and Camp, Wise, Strange and Holy, 122. 13 Edward L. Greenstein, ‘The Riddle of Samson’, Prooftexts, 1 (1981), 237–60 (243). 14 Joseph Blenkinsopp, ‘Structure and Style in Judges 13–16’, JBL 82 (1963), 65–76 (65). 15 J. Cheryl Exum, ‘The Theological Dimension of the Samson Saga’, VT 33 (1983), 30–45 (45). 16 Victor H. Matthews, ‘Freedom and Entrapment in the Samson Narrative: A Literary Analysis’, Perspectives in Religious Studies, 16 (1989), 245–57 (245). 17 Victor H. Matthews, Judges and Ruth, NCBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 136–7.

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‘consensus’ position: ‘The large number of acceptable interpretations bears witness to the fact that we cannot read the story of Samson from one central thesis or in terms of one central theme.’18 Considering this array of multiple superlatives and numerous unifying interpretative threads, one might suspect nothing more could be added to the interpretative conversation. However, the use of the comic as a lens through which to read this story of Delilah and Samson is one that can and should be added, as it can offer its own unique insight. A few commentators do speak of the Samson narratives as comic, but, as one might expect, no consensus exists, and other scholars suggest the story is tragic or at least tragi-comic. Pnina Galpaz-Feller sees in Samson the classical tragic figure—he has a fatal flaw and experiences a reversal, catharsis, and suffering.19 Clinton McCann finds the story ‘at once tragic and humorous’.20 Crenshaw, similarly, sees tragedy and comedy alternating throughout the story and, while leaning towards a comic view, concludes that neither become ‘sufficiently pronounced to drown out faint echoes of its opposite’.21 While acknowledging that tragic ‘elements’ make an appearance in the Samson narratives, Exum and J. William Whedbee argue the story to be unmistakably comic.22 Adrien Bledstein finds that the book of Judges is an ironic ridiculing of Israelite men who fancied themselves divine and that it contains everything from light mockery to lethal irony, derision, burlesque, and parody. For her, the story of Samson within this range is ‘a lampoon of heroics’.23 The stories of Samson, while surely not devoid of tragic moments, certainly move more towards the comic. Comedy does feature, especially in the narrative upon which this chapter focuses, the story of Delilah and Samson (16:4–22). The narrative opens with Samson’s falling in love with Delilah (v. 4). The Philistines hire her to find out the source of Samson’s strength (v. 5), and after three failed attempts 18

Marais, Representation in Old Testament Narrative Texts, 132. Pnina Galpaz-Feller, Samson: The Hero and the Man: The Story of Samson (Judges 13–16) (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2006), 280–1. 20 21 McCann, Judges, 23. Crenshaw, Samson, 129. 22 J. Cheryl Exum and J. William Whedbee, ‘Isaac, Samson, and Saul: Reflections on the Comic and Tragic Visions’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible 117–59 (135). (Originally published under the title ‘Isaac, Samson, and Saul: Reflections on the Comic and Tragic Visions’, Semeia, 32 (1984), 4–40.) 23 Bledstein, ‘Is Judges a Woman’s Satire?’, 35, 50. 19

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she finally coaxes him into divulging the secret that, if his head were to be shaved, he would lose his strength (vv. 6–17). When he falls asleep, Delilah shaves his head, and Samson’s strength leaves him. At that moment the Philistines seize him, gouge out his eyes, and then carry him away to put him to work grinding in their mill (vv. 19–1). Literary devices of comic characterization, a U-shaped plot, the linguistic device of wordplay, irony and reversal, repetition, and hiddenness all contribute to the humour in the tale. Psychological/ social features include physicality, particularly as found in the sexual nature of the story, playfulness, and a tolerance for ambiguity. Finally, the comedy of this narrative functions to draw boundaries, to subvert, to correct, to contain and control, and to aid survival.

LITERARY DEVICES

Comic characterization The Delilah and Samson story has three major players, all of whom reflect the staple of comedy: stock character types. First and simply, the Philistines are, as one would expect, the prototypical villains. They continuously enter and exit the narrative (probably clad all in black, their evil laughs reverberating through the hills) in new and different groups with new and different plans to bring down the Israelite hero (surely wearing white—that is, when he is even wearing any clothes). Delilah is one of the most mysterious, incomplete, ambiguous, yet ‘infamously famous’24 characters resident among biblical women. Unusually for biblical women, she is identified neither in relationship to a father or a husband, nor as a resident from a specific place. She is only a woman from the Valley of Sorek, and her name is Delilah. And, while the Valley of Sorek is in the border regions and while ‘Delilah’ is a Hebrew name by form, the almost universal assumption among commentators is that Delilah is a Philistine, even though the

24 J. Cheryl Exum, Plotted, Shot, and Painted: Cultural Representations of Biblical Women, JSOT, suppl. ser. 215 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 180.

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text is silent about her nationality.25 Delilah is the irresistible, but dangerous (and foreign?) woman. With ‘gaps’ in her identity, many commentators, then, have attempted to fill them. Her name a synonym for ‘treachery and deceit’,26 and for ‘the mature seductive woman’,27 Delilah is ‘Samson’s flirtatious mistress’28 who is portrayed as ‘lacking ethics and morality’.29 She is ‘the seductive siren, the whore’,30 ‘a treacherous wanton who afterwards enjoyed her profits’.31 While Arthur Cundall states that ‘the hypocrisy of Delilah, pretending to love but all the time plotting the death of her lover, can be left without comment’,32 he nonetheless succumbs to pronouncing further censure: ‘The two sayings, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” and “A continual dripping wears away the stone”, may both be appropriate to this story’, and furthermore: ‘Words are inadequate to describe the utter heartlessness of the woman who lulled her lover to sleep with his head in her lap, conscious of the fate into which she was delivering him.’33

25 Taking a minority position, Yairah Amit (‘I, Delilah: A Victim of Interpretation’, in Philip R. Davies (ed.), First Person: Essays in Biblical Autobiography, Biblical Seminar, 81 (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 59–76 (74–6)), telling Delilah’s story from a ‘first-person’ perspective, envisages Delilah as being from the tribe of Judah, acting under pressure from her family and for the ‘greater good’ of her people, as the Judeans believed that, if they handed Samson over to the Philistines, the Philistines would leave them be. In this imagined version, Delilah’s origins were subsequently suppressed by editors so that the tribe would not be remembered as the one that brought about the fall of an Israelite judge. The scenario is certainly plausible. On the other side, Delilah’s being a Philistine is equally plausible considering her accessibility to the Philistines, but, even more significantly, in the light of Samson’s elsewhere demonstrated preference for ‘unacceptable’ women. 26 Exum, Plotted, Shot, and Painted, 176. 27 Helen Leneman, ‘Portrayals of Power in the Stories of Delilah and Bathsheba: Seduction in Song’, in Aichele (ed.), Culture, Entertainment and the Bible, 139–55 (141); cf. Arthur Ernest Cundall, Judges, Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries (London: Tyndale, 1968), 175. 28 Susan Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen: Women in Judges and Biblical Israel, 1st edn, Anchor Bible Reference Library (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 3. 29 Klein, ‘A Spectrum of Female Characters’, 29. 30 Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, 36; cf. Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen, 231; Lillian R. Klein, ‘The Book of Judges: Paradigm and Deviation in Images of Women’, in Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Judges, 55–71 (62); Othniel Margalith, ‘The Legends of Samson/ Heracles’, VT 37 (1987), 63–70 (64). 31 Margalith, ‘The Legends of Samson/Heracles’, 63. 32 33 Cundall, Judges, 177. Cundall, Judges, 178.

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Philistine, prostitute, foreigner, deceiver—Delilah frequently emerges looking very bad indeed. Others go somewhat gentler on this woman. Helen Leneman points out that readers cannot justifiably call her greedy or amoral because nowhere does the text say she loved Samson or needed the money.34 Ackerman finds Delilah to be the hero of this story as she ‘goes about her mission of discovery with determination and courage’.35 Exum dubs Delilah ‘clever’ in her exploitation of Samson’s affection.36 Robert Boling determines that the lack of her being identified with respect to a male and her status as a named character indicate ‘high social status’.37 Matthews finds in Delilah a ‘strong personality’ with ‘persistence, ingenuity, and determination’.38 However, he goes on to say less generously that the biblical author most likely was not intending to portray Delilah as a heroine, despite these good qualities, because she is after all ‘endangering the life of an Israelite hero, drawing him into a trap made of words and female guile’.39 These various descriptions testify to the mysterious Delilah’s being more complex than a ‘mere one-dimensional seductress’.40 Carol Smith sums up: ‘Delilah is a woman whose name has entered the communal consciousness. People who have not heard of Abishag or Michal or Tamar have heard of Delilah. Not only have they heard of her, they believe they know the type of woman she was.’41 Philistine, prostitute, foreigner, deceiver; heroic, resourceful, courageous, clever. Agreement as to exactly what of these things she was remains elusive. Was she ‘delicious, delightful and delectable or deceitful, despicable and debauched—or maybe all of these?’42 Undeniably, 34

Leneman, ‘Portrayals of Power’, 145. Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, 35. 36 Exum, Plotted, Shot, and Painted, 182. 37 38 Boling, Judges, 252. Matthews, Judges and Ruth, 159. 39 40 Matthews, Judges and Ruth, 159. Klein, ‘The Book of Judges’, 61. 41 Carol Smith, ‘Delilah: A Suitable Case Study for (Feminist) Treatment?’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), Judges: A Feminist Companion to the Bible, FCB, 2nd ser. 4 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 93–116 (93). 42 Carol Smith, ‘Delilah’, 115–16. Amit (‘I, Delilah’, 62–74) and David M. Gunn (Judges, Blackwell Bible Commentaries (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), 211–20) trace through history a number of portrayals of Delilah taken from scholarship, but also from other sources such as art, music, and poetry. These interpretations are, by a vast majority, negative. Gunn astutely summarizes: ‘Delilah is one of history’s “bad women”. She falls into, and helps constitute, the cultural stereotype of the femme fatale, dear to patriarchal societies’ (p. 211). 35

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though, Delilah is a strong character. Unusually for the Hebrew Bible, ‘The woman is the focus of the reader’s attention’.43 In this story of the hero Samson, Delilah is key. She is the initiator and Samson the responder.44 As for Samson, predictably again, different views exist as to what ‘type’ he is. Niditch identifies Samson as a hero, but more specifically as a trickster hero, and even more specifically as a social bandit trickster hero.45 The trickster, one who uses guile and cunning, rather than strength or position, has been explored previously in Chapter 2, ‘The Trickster Matriarchs’. The element of the trickster’s experience that is particularly relevant to the Delilah and Samson story is that of counter-trickery. Part of the instability of the trickster’s status is due to her/him being on the receiving, as well as the giving, end of trickery. She or he will both ‘deceive his [or her] enemies and fall victim to them’.46 Samson plays the trickster with the Timnites (14:12–14), but, in his interaction with Delilah, he is the trickster becoming the tricked. He is ‘hero, underdog . . . and dupe’.47 Samson’s defeat comes about when he abandons the tool of the trickster—deception—for the truth. For Samson, honesty actually was not the best policy. According to Niditch’s typing of Samson, he is a trickster, but more precisely he is a social bandit, a specific manifestation of the trickster. Drawing heavily on Eric Hobsbawm’s work, entitled Bandits,48 she writes: ‘The bandit is a variety of hero and trickster whose tale involves a challenge to the power of the establishment by weaker or oppressed elements in society. His adventures, like those of the trickster, involve deception and issues of status. His death is by betrayal and often features a trait of false invulnerability.’49 As well, the characteristics of the social bandit include: having marginal status in his own society, having his personal quarrels spill over into 43

Fewell, ‘Judges’, 79. For a discussion on Delilah as ‘subject’, see Bal, Lethal Love, 39–40; and Betsy Merideth, ‘Desire and Danger: The Drama of Betrayal in Judges and Judith’, in Mieke Bal (ed.), Anti-Covenant: Counter-Reading Women’s Lives in the Hebrew Bible, Bible and Literature Series, 22; JSOT, suppl. ser. 81 (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1989), 63–78 (71–2). 45 Niditch, ‘Samson as Culture Hero’, 609. 46 Matthews, ‘Freedom and Entrapment’, 246. 47 Matthews, Judges and Ruth, 137. 48 Eric Hobsbawm, Bandits (London: Abacus, 2000). 49 Niditch ‘Samson as Culture Hero’, 609. 44

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larger conflicts with powers that be, and having a rebel personality.50 While not all characteristics of the social bandit fit Samson (for example, he is not an avenger of the poor, and he does not kill only in self-defence or just vengeance), he certainly reflects many of them, particularly with respect to his perceived invulnerability, his marginal status, the nature of his conflicts and adventures, and his death by betrayal (although Samson’s death is delayed— it does not immediately follow the betrayal). Another ‘type’ that has been applied to the character of Samson is that of ‘wild man’. David Bynum compares Samson to the mythical Centaur; he is ϕὴρ ὀρεσκῳ ˆ οϚ, a wild one of the mountains.51 Samson is too much a creature of the fields and outdoors; he is feral, undomesticated. He is unable ‘to hew, cut, or sever, nor can he bear to be hewn, cut, or severed’—these are strictly human activities accomplished by means of human tools.52 Gregory Mobley also paints a picture of the ‘wild man’. The wild man’s most distinctive physical attribute is hairiness. Also, he ‘eschews tools, but may wield a crude weapon’; he is aggressive and has ‘uncontrollable lust’; he is victorious over rivals. A particularly interesting feature of this wild man is that society desires to know his secret and thus seeks to capture him and force the divulgence of these secrets.53 This wild man can be domesticated through gradual acculturation, most commonly achieved when a woman lures a wild man into human society.54 However, this wild man is a threat to civilized society; he is a ‘lapsed creature’. As with the social bandit construct, Samson does not meet all the expectations of the wild man (for example, he does not avoid human contact, he can talk, and he can and does have a relationship with the divine);55 however, his affinity with several others of these characteristics is evident. Ironically, though, rather than reject the marginal wild man, the Samson story takes on his perspective. ‘This subhuman Other is the hero’, and Israel’s adoption of him as such is an inversion of the

50

Niditch ‘Samson as Culture Hero’, 622–3. David E. Bynum, ‘Samson as a Biblical ϕὴρ ὀρεσκῳ ˆ οϚ’, in Niditch (ed.), Text and Tradition, 57–73 (66). 52 Bynum, ‘Samson as a Biblical ϕὴρ ὀρεσκῳ ˆ οϚ’, 62. 53 Gregory Mobley, ‘The Wild Man in the Bible and the Ancient Near East’, JBL 116 (1997), 217–33 (218). 54 55 Mobley, ‘The Wild Man’, 219. Mobley, ‘The Wild Man’, 229–30. 51

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expected viewpoint. And it is actually through his ‘humanization’ at the hand of a woman that Samson is separated from the Spirit of God and his fall comes about. Thankfully though for the Israelites, Samson’s domestication ‘does not take, and in the end he reverts to wildness’.56 Trickster stories create dupes—the trick must always be on someone. Even the trickster himself, in falling prey to countertrickery, is not immune to playing the fool. Samson’s behaviour with Delilah has won him this title in so many different ways that they read as a virtual thesaurus entry of the word ‘fool’. He is ‘the dodo’,57 ‘the rube, the hillbilly’, a ‘witless lout’,58 a ‘foolhardy rogue’.59 He is ‘rash’,60 ‘inept’,61 ‘ingenuous’,62 ‘selfish’, and ‘clueless’.63 His ‘stupidity’ is ‘absolutely incredible’,64 it is potentially evidence of ‘mental abnormality’.65 Then again, maybe another option exists: ‘Samson was either incredibly stupid . . . or he was too smart for his own good.’66 In addition to being very like characters he perhaps should not have been, Samson was also very unlike characters he was supposed to have been. He was the nazirite who was not nazir-like and the judge who was not judge-like. Designated from before his birth, Samson was ‘separated’, ‘devoted’, a nazirite. Discussion continues as to what is the actual significance of Samson being referred to as ‫—נזיר‬ is he a Nazirite and, if so, what does that actually mean within the context of what is known about Nazirites? The word ‫ נזיר‬appears three times in the Samson narrative: in 13:5, when the angel appears to and instructs Samson’s mother regarding Samson; in 13:7, when Samson’s mother relates the angel’s words to Samson’s father; and 56

Mobley, ‘The Wild Man’, 229, 32. Bledstein, ‘Is Judges a Woman’s Satire?’, 50. 58 Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’,35. 59 Camp, Wise, Strange and Holy, 98, n. 4. 60 Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, 34. 61 Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, 35. 62 63 Soggin, Judges, 257. McCann, Judges, 109. 64 65 McCann, Judges, 108. Soggin, Judges, 257. 66 Leneman, ‘Portrayals of Power’, 148; Bal (Lethal Love, 59) suggests alternatively that there is no indication that Samson is stupid; she determines he must be naive and innocent, feeling no guilt for having broken his Nazirite vows. ‘Picturing the character Samson at the moment of the haircutting, we notice that he displays a strange likeness to a baby: he is bald, weak, sleeping, speechless, and he is resting on/between the knees of the one woman in the story who is defined in relation to him, not to others. He wakes up after the haircutting.’ 57

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in 16:17, as Samson is describing to Delilah the significance of his uncut hair. Num. 6 outlines the Nazirite commitment with its three primary stipulations of (1) not drinking wine or strong drink, (2) not cutting the hair, and (3) not coming into contact with a dead body. However, the ‫ נזיר‬of Numbers is also given instruction as to what to do upon reaching the end of the time of ‘separation’, an indication that being a ‫ נזיר‬is temporary. Samson, however, like Samuel (1 Sam. 1:10–11), is set aside from birth until death (although Samuel is not called ‫ ;נזיר‬rather Hannah makes the promise that ‘no razor shall touch his head’, v. 11), which would indicate a permanent state of ‘separation’. Whatever Samson’s relationship may have been to the formalized ‫ נזיר‬-ship of Numbers 6, the connection is certainly made between the two,67 and the expectation is created that Samson will somehow be ‘different’, that his life is marked by a vow to God, a vow that is—like the nazir—inextricably linked to his hair. However, this expectation is thwarted as Samson’s life seems instead to be his own— his own urges and instincts guide him and, ultimately, he betrays his vow, giving up its outward sign, as inwardly he also loses Yahweh’s presence with him. As well as being a less-than-ideal ‘nazirite’, Samson was also an aberration in the line of judges. Samson fought alone in skirmishes— he did not lead an Israelite army in battle. Rather than being a deliverer of Israel, he was a ‘guerrilla who harassed the Philistines’.68 Even in his spectacular life-ending exhibition, he was not able to administer that final, crippling Philistine defeat. In fact, it would seem, as Barry Webb observes: ‘Samson does not want to fight the Philistines; he wants to intermarry with them.’69 While several options exist for the labelling of Samson, as indeed he exhibits the characteristics of all these types outlined above,

67 For discussion of the relationship between ‫ נזיר‬and Samson, see Amit, The Book of Judges, 276–8; Tony W. Cartledge, ‘Were Nazirite Vows Unconditional?’, CBQ 51 (1989), 409–22; Crenshaw, Samson, esp. 127–30; Eliezer Diamond, ‘An Israelite SelfOffering in the Priestly Code: A New Perspective on the Nazirite’, Jewish Quarterly Review, 88 (1997), 1–18; G. Buchanan Gray, ‘The Nazirite’, Journal of Theological Studies, 1 (1900), 201–1. 68 Hoppe, Joshua, Judges, 176. 69 Webb, The Book of the Judges, 163; cf. Amit, The Book of Judges, 296–7, 308.

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ultimately all these figures come under the heading of the primary protagonist of comedy: the antihero—an unexpected ‘not hero’, the champion of the comic. He is expectation inverted: ‘a nazirite who breaks the rules, an Israelite who loves the enemy, a mighty fighter who is no leader, a deliverer who, in fact, does not seem to know that he is meant to deliver.’70 He is imprisoned, defeated, without the girl; he does not end his days by ‘going legitimate’ as many of the previously discussed ‘wild men’ do.71 He has no heirs; he is a ‘dead end’.72 He is a man with ‘mundanely human foibles’,73 ‘hardly an exemplary model of biblical morality’.74 He remains subdued, but untamed; imprisoned, but unconfined.

Comic plot structure With regard to the plot structure of the entire Samson saga, Exum and Whedbee find that its plot is ‘composed of a series of little U’s’.75 With respect specifically to the Delilah and Samson story, it begins with promise—love is in the air. However, it begins to descend, falling further with each of Delilah’s questions until the plot disintegrates to the low point in which Samson reveals his secret and finds himself shorn, forsaken, and imprisoned. However, a glimmer of hope for better times is the information that Samson’s hair ‘began to grow again’ (v. 22). With Samson’s hair regrowing, the plot begins to move positively, but one must look beyond this episode to the following one for the completion of this particular U shape. Samson, brought out to entertain the Philistines, prays to Yahweh for strength (v. 28), and through this prayer Samson ‘reestablishes his relationship to

70

Fewell, ‘Judges’, 79. Gregory Mobley, The Empty Men: The Heroic Tradition of Ancient Israel, Anchor Bible Reference Library (New York: Doubleday, 2005), 206. 72 Klein, The Triumph of Irony, 132. 73 Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, 33. 74 Harris, Brown, and Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 238. 75 Exum and Whedbee, ‘Isaac, Samson, and Saul’, 152. 71

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Yhwh and thus gives the plot its upward surge’.76 That the Samson saga ends in death and rubble is not a festive happy ending. However, while it does not end well for Samson, the Israelites experience victory in the death of over 3,000 of the enemy. While the ending is not ‘happy’, it is ‘comic’, ‘a designation which does not necessarily mean that we like the way the story ends’.77

Wordplay In the story of Delilah and Samson, wordplay is evident primarily in the names. The name ‘Samson’ (‫ )שמשון‬seems to have a relationship to the word ‘sun’ (‫)שמש‬.78 While commentators have proposed several possibilities for the etymology of ‘Delilah’ (‫)דלילה‬,79 its close resemblance to ‘night’ (‫ )לילה‬surely cannot be unintentional. And so,

76

Exum and Whedbee, ‘Isaac, Samson, and Saul’, 138. Exum and Whedbee, ‘Isaac, Samson, and Saul’, 136. Gunn (‘The Anatomy of Divine Comedy’, 119–22) remains unconvinced regarding the usefulness of a ‘happy ending’ as a defining characteristic for comedy. While he allows that the idea is attractive in its simplicity, he contends that the idea encounters difficulties when applied to actual texts. He considers in particular the texts examined in the Semeia edition to which he contributes his article, one text being the Samson narrative. He asks the questions where and for whom is the happy ending. While Samson is reintegrated with Yahweh at his end, his end is not ‘happy’. Neither is the end happy for the Philistines. And, ultimately over the course of the remaining chapters of Judges, as Israelite society unravels and becomes disintegrated and disharmonious, the ‘end’ is certainly not happy for the Israelites. 78 Cf. Greenstein (‘The Riddle of Samson’, 241), who proposes another theory of the origin of Samson’s name, that ‘it may not be too farfetched’ that ‘Samson’ is derived from ‘name’ (‫)שם‬. As Samson is given no name at his annunciation, Samson is subsequently named by his own—unnamed—mother. Furthermore, ‘Samson is virtually cut loose from any specific lineage. He has no progeny to continue his line, and he is buried by unnamed kinsmen.’ 79 Suggestions of note include: from the Hebrew, it derives from the root ‫דלל‬, relating to ‘languish’ (J. Cheryl Exum, ‘Delilah’, in Meyers, Craven and Kraemer (eds), Women in Scripture, 68–9 (68)) or ‘be submissive, humble’ (Stanislav Segert, ‘Paronomasia in the Samson Narrative in Judges 13–16’, VT 34 (1984), 454–61 (460), and Soggin, Judges, 253) or ‘ lay low or impoverish’ (Harris, Brown, and Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 255; cf. Yehuda Radday, ‘Humour in Names’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 59–98 (63–4)). Also put forward is ‘falling curl’ (Soggin, Judges, 253) or ‘long-haired’ (Segert, ‘Paronomasia in the Samson Narrative’, 460). Yet another suggestion is that it derives from the root ‫ דלה‬as it is related to the loom (Harris, Brown, and Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 256). 77

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from the first mention of their names, in this wordplay, a showdown is set up between the light of the day and the darkness that arrives with the night. Another possible play on words, establishing an additional aspect to the impending face-off between these two, is the association of Delilah’s region, ‘Valley of Sorek’ (‫)נחל שרק‬, with grapes, obviously the key ingredient for wine, which echoes one condition of the nazirite vow—a vow that prohibits such grape drink.

Irony and reversal Samson, judged by his character and behaviour, may be many things—dupe, trickster, wild man, hero, antihero—but what he is for certain, as the text states, is a judge over Israel for twenty years (15:20). He is the culmination of a long line of judges. As such, he is the best—strongest, most thrilling, with the greatest adventures and most spectacular displays. And yet, ironically, he is simultaneously the worst—weakest, most defeated, lacking as a leader, imprisoned, and victorious only in death. His success is the best, but his failure is the worst. Reversals—inversions, subversions of expectation, incongruities— abound in the Samson story: a strong man is made weak; a man free to cross the boundaries between his culture and another finds himself imprisoned by that ‘other’ culture; a man is bested by a woman and, worse, that same man is transformed practically into a woman; a baby born with so much expectation dies in so much ignominy; the trickster is tricked; the nazirite is prematurely shorn; a whole army cannot bring down one man—but one woman can do it; sexuality overcomes strength, female overcomes male. Samson was a man dedicated a nazir in utero, but who exhibits no self-control and no inclination to curb his lusts, either for women or for blood. This lack of control precipitates his imprisonment. ‘The man who previously had been the master of all challenges is mastered by a woman, and the Philistines whom Samson theretofore had

Non-Hebrew-derived theories include ‘worshipper of . . .’ from examples in Akkadian usage (Charles Fox Burney, The Book of Judges, with Introduction and Notes, 2nd edn (London: Rivingtons, 1930), 407), which is rejected by Boling in favour of ‘flirtatious’ related to the Arabic dallatum (Boling, Judges, 248; cf. Exum, ‘Delilah’, 68, and Segert, ‘Paronomasia in the Samson Narrative’, 460).

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conquered become his conquerors.’80 However, this imprisonment subsequently becomes the means through which Samson (reinvigorated with the strength of Yahweh) prevails against 3,000 Philistines. And so, in this way, ‘Samson’s humiliation is reversed in death’.81 Delilah is the mysterious and ambiguously affiliated siren who wields power over the most powerful Israelite. Reversing the usual pattern of women requiring men to act on their behalf in important matters, here the lords of the Philistines turn to Delilah to accomplish that which they cannot. In Achsah, the first woman to appear in the book of Judges (1:12–15), Lillian Klein identifies what is, according to the book of Judges, the paradigmatic ‘model of womanhood’. In Delilah, Klein finds this model’s inversion.82

Repetition Recurrent numbers, specifically the folkloric number three and its multiples, are one repetitious element of the Samson saga. Samson has thirty companions at the feast at Timnah (14:11) where he asks his riddle and sets the prize for answering it at thirty linen and thirty festal garments (14:13). Their three days of fruitless pondering (14:14) leads to Samson’s wife coaxing the answer from him. To fulfil the riddle payment, he kills thirty men (14:19) for their garments. Then Samson uses 300 foxes (15:4) to destroy the Philistine fields. In 15:11, 3,000 men of Judah go to meet Samson. Samson’s sexual exploits include three women, the Timnite wife (14:1–2), the Gazan prostitute (16:1), and Delilah (16:4). In his time with Delilah, she fails three times in her questioning of him (16:15), before her successful fourth attempt. The number 3,000 recurs in 16:27—this time it is the number of Philistine women and men present when Samson brings the house down upon them all. As well as the thread of threes, the Samson narratives see a persistent movement of characters ‘coming down’ (‫ )ירד‬and ‘going up’ (‫ ;)עלה‬the verbs as used to indicate this movement appear a combined twentytwo times in chapters 14–16.83 ‘Up/down, up/down, up/down, the 80

Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen, 235. Othniel Margalith, ‘Samson’s Riddle and Samson’s Magic Locks’, VT 36 (1986), 225–34 (230). 82 Klein, ‘The Book of Judges’, 55. 83 ‫ ירד‬is used in 14:1, 5, 7, 9, 10, 19; 15:8, 11, 12; 16:21, 31, and ‫ עלה‬is used in 14:2, 19; 15:6, 9, 10, 13; 16:5, 8, 18 (2x), 31. 81

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story beats’, notes Mobley.84 Additionally the semantically close preposition, ‫על‬, recurs as four times Delilah announces to Samson that the Philistines are ‘upon’ him (16:9, 12, 14, 20). The interchange between Delilah and Samson is one built on repetition, an escalating dialogue that takes the pair closer and closer to the revelation of Samson’s secret. The three-times repeated pattern of question–answer–test–reproach inches closer to the truth —in the third exchange Samson even introduces the topic of the hair on his head as an ingredient in his strength (v. 13)—until the fourth and final exchange, in which there is only question–answer, as this time no test and reproach are necessary, because this time the answer is the truth. The three women with whom Samson becomes involved cover the range, according to Robert Alter, of potential female partners—‘wife, whore, and mistress’.85 As the narrative moves from Timnite wife to Gazan prostitute, both of whom are unnamed and merely ‘seen’ by Samson (14:1; 16:1), the scene is set to meet the third woman: Delilah, who is named and is one whom Samson not only sees, but ‘loves’ (16:4). In each of these three encounters a broad pattern emerges: the Philistines use the encounter to entrap Samson, yet he (ultimately) foils their plan and defeats them. Repetition, in itself, is not automatically comic. However, as cited already in the first chapter, Northrop Frye has observed: ‘Repetition overdone or not going anywhere belongs to comedy.’86 Samson continues to do the same things without ever seeming to learn from his experience. Bynum attributes this inability to learn to Samson’s nature as a feral, outdoors man, unused to containment and thus unable ‘to change [his] ways when there is need’.87 Regardless of the precise reason why Samson does not or cannot change his behaviour, ‘in this he is quite laughable’.88

84 Mobley, The Empty Men, 185; however, Mobley enumerates only sixteen of the twenty-two occurrences I found, as listed in the previous note. 85 Robert Alter, ‘Samson without Folklore’, in Niditch (ed.), Text and Tradition, 47–56 (48). 86 Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, 168. 87 Bynum, ‘Samson as a Biblical ϕὴρ ὀρεσκῳ ˆ οϚ’, 63. 88 Exum and Whedbee, ‘Isaac, Samson, and Saul’, 144.

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Hiddenness Part of the comedy of hiddenness regards knowledge: who holds the knowledge, who withholds the knowledge, who deceives to hold onto or gain access to the knowledge. In the Samson narrative the motifs of ‘knowing versus not knowing’ and ‘telling versus not telling’ are central. Forms of ‫‘( ידע‬to know’) occur two times in the Delilah story (16:9, 20). Forms of ‫‘( נגד‬to tell’) occur seven times (16:6, 10, 13, 15, 17, 18 (2x)). Knowledge, in the Samson saga, is elusive, due in large part to deception on the part of one character or another. In the Samson narratives, if characters are interacting, someone is in the know and someone is in the dark; someone is being deceptive and someone is being deceived. Furthermore, because knowledge is elusive, knowledge is also power. Samson’s power was not only in his strength; it was also bound up with his closely held knowledge of the source of that strength. When Delilah wrests from Samson his hidden knowledge, she also wrests from him his power. She recognizes, without even needing to test him, that Samson has divulged his hidden knowledge. The secret is no longer so, and now Delilah has the knowledge. She (along with the audience) knows that Samson’s strength has left him, even before he himself realizes it. Unravelling who is fooling whom in the story of Delilah and Samson is indeed a tricky business. The Philistine tricksters become the tricked as Samson three times foils Delilah in her mission. Samson the trickster becomes the tricked as his love is used against him to gain his knowledge and subdue him with it. The one whom interpretative history has deemed the treacherous deceiver is only deceptive in not revealing why she desires the knowledge—that she desires it is made plain from her first words to him. ‘Delilah does not betray Samson so much as he betrays himself, by telling her “all his heart”.’89 Especially after Delilah’s first announcement that the Philistines are upon him, Samson can hardly be pitied as an unknowing victim of deceit.

89

Exum, Fragmented Women, 83.

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Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible PSYCHOLOGICAL AND SOCIAL FEATURES

Playfulness The interaction between Delilah and Samson feels like a game, albeit a dangerous and tense one. This sense of play is facilitated particularly by two other comic components: dialogue and sexuality. After Samson’s quickly recounted escapade in Gaza (16:1–3), the pace of the narrative slows dramatically as the story of Delilah and Samson begins, and dialogue moves to dominate the narrative in this game, this competition, this contest between two strong characters. After instructions from the lords of the Philistines (16:5), the speaking parts are for Delilah and Samson alone—back and forth, teasing, provoking, deceiving, and ultimately submitting. Why Samson would participate in this game for two is strange considering that he can be under no illusion as to what Delilah hopes to win from him—she clearly states and reiterates that she is after the secret of his strength. He does not question why she wants to know; he does not appear ever to become angry when she uses his responses against him. He merely continues to play along. Suggestions as to why he does this are numerous. He is naive, or he is arrogant and confident—characteristics which ‘insulated him from fear’.90 He falls victim to his ‘pride and impetuousness’,91 or he is ‘blinded by his passion’.92 Maybe playing this game appeals to his vanity.93 Webb proposes that Samson participates with full knowledge of what is happening: he ‘wants to be done with fighting the Philistines and settle down with the woman he loves . . . He wants to be “like any other man”.’94 Based on the phrase, ‫‘( תקצר נפשו למות‬he was tired to death’, :, NRSV), Yairah Amit argues that Samson knew the risk he was taking, but revealed his secret because he was ‘suicidal’: he wanted to die.95 The reasons why Samson plays the game remain indecipherable, but the outcome is determined from the first card laid on the table. Samson’s sexual desires control him, not the other way around. Delilah will succeed in ‘coaxing’ from Samson the secret of his strength.

90 92 94 95

91 Schneider, Judges, 222. Merideth, ‘Desire and Danger’, 73. 93 Cundall, Judges, 176. Bledstein, ‘Is Judges a Woman’s Satire?’, 49. Webb, The Book of Judges, 169. Amit, The Book of Judges, 287; cf. Amit, ‘I, Delilah’, 75.

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Sexuality In a series of stories about a man who appears to be a slave to his libido, one might expect sexuality to factor strongly into its comedy— and in this case, one would indeed not be disappointed. The sexually based comedy of the Delilah and Samson story is pervasive and multifaceted. The comedy is about sex—rude and ribald. The comedy is about gender—bending and besting. Samson’s scrapes consistently begin with a woman. With Samson ‘conflict does not arise from theological conviction or regard for his people. Rather, it is jealousy and vengeance ensuing from his infatuation with Philistine women that induce most of his violence.’96 He is ‘a superman who can . . . burst unbreakable bonds four times, but who cannot break the bonds of a scheming lover’.97 Yet again the Tarzan, chest-thumping, man: strong, woman: weak, view of the sexes is humorously exposed as the fallacy that it is. Delilah is instructed to ‘coax’ (‫ פתה‬piel, 16:5) from Samson his secret, the same instruction given to the Timnite wife in 14:15. Elsewhere this root has connotations of enticement and deception (1 Kgs 22:20–3; cf. 2 Chron. 18:18–21; Jer. 20:7, 10), being lured away from or disobeying God (Exod. 22:16; Deut. 11:16; Ps. 78:36), and seduction (Exod. 22:16). None of these uses are positive, and each has a sense of treachery, manipulation, and infidelity about it— appropriate for these dangerously entangled lovers of Judges 16. As mentioned previously, Samson only ‘sees’ the woman from Timnah and the prostitute in Gaza, but he ‘loves’ Delilah (‫אהב‬, 16:4). Isaac loved Esau, but Rebekah loved Jacob (Gen. 25:28). Michal loved David (1 Sam. 18:20, 28), as did Saul (1 Sam. 16:21) and Jonathan (1 Sam. 18:1, 3; 20:17). Shechem loved Dinah (Gen. 34:3), and Amnon loved Tamar (2 Sam. 13:1, 4). Ahasuerus loved Esther (Esth. 2:17). ‘Love’ of one person for another is not something often written of in the Hebrew Bible, and, considering the examples just listed, loving or being loved might not be such a warm and wonderful blessing after all. If the stories listed here portend things to come in this narrative of Delilah and Samson, rather than wedding bells, one can probably hear the ever-louder peals of doom and disaster. 96

Fewell, ‘Judges’, 74. E. John Hamlin, At Risk in the Promised Land: A Commentary on the Book of Judges, International Theological Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990), 126. 97

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As it happens, the next time ‘love’ (‫אהב‬, 16:15) appears, Delilah is wielding it against Samson, reproaching him for failing yet again to reveal his secret to her. In a move that gets the desired results, ‘Delilah capitalizes on Samson’s confession of love and penetrates his innermost secret’.98 Neither the text nor Delilah herself says she loves Samson. Klein, very charitably, brings this point to Delilah’s defence—that Delilah does not compromise her own emotions, that she merely uses Samson’s for her own gain, ‘discloses an integrity of a sort’.99 Delilah’s triumph over Samson is not merely in the obtaining of his secret knowledge. Delilah does not, nor do the Philistines after her, rob Samson merely of his power of knowledge. They also rob him of his power as a man. First, Samson is stripped of his manhood by being returned to childhood. As Samson reveals his secret, he quotes back to Delilah (16:17) the instruction of the angel to Samson’s mother (13:5), including the word ‘womb’ (‫)בטן‬. Then Delilah lulls Samson to sleep on her ‘knees’ (‫)ברך‬, a word used elsewhere in reference to the female sexual organs in childbirth.100 The use of these two words brings together Samson’s mother, who first held Samson ‘bald, between her legs’, and Samson’s lover who betrays him ‘as he lies, balded, between hers’.101 Just as Samson is born bald and unknowing, so he emerges from his time with Delilah exactly the same. In extracting his secret and lulling him to sleep, Delilah transforms the man into a child. Then, Samson is stripped of his manhood by being dominated by a woman. Samson’s haircut ‘can hardly be denied some affinity with castration’.102 To add insult to injury, after Delilah shears him,103 she assumes a dominant role as she torments, humiliates, bullies him (‫ ענה‬piel, 16:19).104 Delilah subjugates and effectively emasculates 98

99 Crenshaw, Samson, 71. Klein, ‘The Book of Judges’, 63. Cf. Gen. 30:3, 50:23; and Job 3:12. 101 Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen, 234. 102 Bal, Death & Dissymmetry, 226; cf. Exum, Fragmented Women, 77. 103 The Masoretic Text reads ‫( ותגלח‬v. 19), but the NRSV takes this direct action away from Delilah, translating this word as ‘had him shave’, ‘him’ being in reference to ‫ותקרא לאיש‬, the man to whom she had just called out. 104 The meaning of ‫ ענה‬in the piel includes ‘forcible intercourse, rape’, as in the narratives of Dinah (Gen. 34:2), Tamar (2 Sam. 13:12, 14, 22, 32), and the Bethlehemite’s concubine (Judg. 19:24; 20:5); cf. Deut. 21:14; 22:24, 29; Ezek. 22:10, 11; Lam. 5:11. This idea of Delilah’s overpowering of Samson is missed out in the NRSV, as it favours the Septuagint: ‘He began to weaken’. 100

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Samson—she transforms the man into one like her—a woman. The Philistines complete the transformation of Samson from strong man to subjugated woman by putting him to work grinding in the mill. Roger Ryan puts bitter words in the mouth of Samson, who writes an imagined letter to Delilah saying: ‘I spend all day on my knees. I kneel at this hand-mill like a woman. The boy throws grain on the lower stone. And I scrape the upper-stone on the grain. Backwards and forwards. I do the domestic work of a woman.’105 This punishment is thought to have been a common one at the time for slaves, criminals, and prisoners of war,106 and to be given a task ‘usually performed by women, oxen, or asses’107 was surely a humiliation for this great man. Comedy’s brand of sexuality added to comedy in subversive mode often equals comic gender-bending. In the story of Delilah and Samson, this gender-bending is definitely in season. ‘Samson in love acts like a foolish woman while the woman does a man’s job both in opening the Other and in seeking and finding wisdom.’108 Delilah stands in a line of wily women who use a ruse to overpower stronger men. Samson’s power is in his strength. Delilah’s power is in Samson’s love for her and in the ‘derivative power’ she gleans from being in the employ of the Philistine lords. Her power, though limited, remains considerable; ‘it achieves the subduing of Samson’.109 Thus in this sexual showdown weak overcomes strong, night overcomes day, woman—even if temporarily—overcomes man. That is certainly comedy.

Tolerance of ambiguity While the history of interpretation may have bequeathed a heroic Samson and a villainous Delilah, the Hebrew Bible offers no such 105 Roger Ryan, ‘Letter 7: Samson to Delilah (Judges 13–16)’, in Philip R. Davies (ed.), Yours Faithfully: Virtual Letters From the Bible (London: Equinox, 2004), 45–9 (45). 106 G. F. Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges, 357; Karel Van der Toorn, ‘Judges 16:21 in the Light of the Akkadian Sources’, VT 36 (1986), 248–53 (248–9). Van der Toorn (p. 248) writes: ‘By Mesopotamian standards the fate of Samson was by no means exceptional; large numbers of defeated enemies were constrained to do the menial work of grinding, often after having first been blinded.’ 107 Crenshaw, Samson, 128. Job 31:10 and Isa. 47:2 seem to suggest that the image of grinding is also a euphemism for intercourse; cf. Niditch, ‘Samson as Culture Hero’, 617. 108 Camp, Wise, Strange and Holy, 133. 109 Carol Smith, ‘Samson and Delilah’, 53.

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fixed assessment.110 It gives us instead a Samson who is ‘neither saint nor sinner’.111 Of all his dodgy actions, only once does Samson lose the spirit of Yahweh, and yet he is still able to regain it upon request at an extremely opportune time. As for Delilah, she remains mysterious and is never censured. For both characters, the text’s withheld judgement permits a satisfying complexity in this tale that is reflective of life itself. The characters use what weapons and tools they have on hand to accomplish the tasks before them. Judgement of the rightness or wrongness of this approach is a concept foreign to comedy and indeed factors very little in this story as well.

FUNCTIONS

Drawing boundaries A clear boundary exists between the Israelites and the Philistines, or rather a clear boundary is meant to exist between the Israelites and the Philistines. However, Samson apparently did not get the message. Criss-crossing this boundary as if it does not exist, Samson is comedy’s boundary-breaking, liminal creature, moving between Israelite and Philistine worlds, but without fully belonging to either. He is not a Philistine, but is drawn to Philistine women or those affiliated with them. He is an Israelite, but one ‘separated’ (13:5, 7; 16:17) and ‘not like anyone else’ (16:7, 11, 17).112 As discussed above in the ‘Sexuality’ section, another boundary Samson is made to cross is the dividing line between being a man and being less than a man, as Delilah and the Philistines transform him first into an infant and then into a woman. Not only does Samson himself cross boundaries, the laughter induced by his story crosses them as well. Both Israelites and Philistines must surely laugh upon hearing this story, even if they

110

In addition to Crenshaw (Samson, 150), both Exum (Plotted, Shot, and Painted, 184) and Carol Smith (‘Delilah’, 94, and ‘Samson and Delilah’, 54–6) note the ambiguity of the Samson saga, that it raises more questions than it answers and does not censure the characters. 111 112 Crenshaw, Samson, 150. Exum, Fragmented Women, 77.

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laugh in different places.113 Israelites participate in that integrative laughter, laughing with Samson each time he triumphs over their enemy. Yet, later, their laughter may well be reversed in segregative laughter at Samson as he is bested by Delilah. The last laugh, in a return to the former type of integrative laughter, belongs to the Israelites as the Philistine building comes crashing down. These mirroring types of laughter can certainly exist together within a single piece of comedy—even when they are both directed towards the same object, even when that object resides within one’s own group.114 As for the Philistines, their laughter rings out with each snip of Delilah’s scissors. Ackerman poses the question in her article’s title, ‘What if Judges had been written by a Philistine?’ One clear answer is that the story would have ended at 16:21 in great comic triumph, with Samson bald, subdued, and being dragged off to grind in the mill.

Subversion Samson subverts boundaries by engaging in sexual liaisons with Philistine and quasi-Philistine women. Delilah subverts gender roles by working to gain physical control and power over Samson. In telling the story of Delilah and Samson, the text subverts Samson’s image as the heroic and strong leader of Israel.

Corrective This subverting of Samson as the great and mighty leader is the way through which the comedy of the story becomes a social corrective. Israel is the butt of its own joke. A man who flaunts the boundaries between Israel and other nations is destined to be undone by that infidelity. As the story told in the book of Judges moves from conquest

113 James A. Wharton, ‘The Secret of Yahweh: Story and Affirmation in Judges 13–16’, Interpretation, 27 (1973), 48–66 (53); cf. Ryan (‘Letter 7’, 46), who presents two sides of humour, describing Samson’s laughter at Delilah’s annoyance over her failed attempts to rob him of his strength and the Philistines’ laughter at Samson’s stumbling blindly from temple pillar to temple pillar. 114 Martin J. Buss, ‘Tragedy and Comedy in Hosea’, Semeia, 32 (1984), 71–82 (73–4).

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to chaos and as society unravels to the point of inner–national conflict, the story of Delilah and Samson reads as the great man’s, and the great nation’s, comeuppance. Israel is like Samson, nazir, meant to be separate. Samson did not achieve this, and Judges 16:4–22 is the cautionary tale of what happens when Israel mixes with foreigners. Echoing through this self-mocking tale are words for the nation: ‘stop your whoring after other nations.’ When put within the wider context of the book of Judges, the instructive power of Samson’s being simultaneously the best and the worst of the judges is even more striking. The judges, by and large, are a flawed group; surely, they cannot be top choice for the weighty job of ruling the people. Deborah is a woman. Ehud is left-handed. Gideon is weakest among the weakest. Jephthah is a shunned son-ofa-prostitute. Finally, finally, in Samson is a worthy specimen. And, yet, the incongruity that defines comedy will have its ‘teachable moment’. While these other inferior, substandard choices are able to overcome their respective flaws (or, in Ehud’s case, to exploit it to an advantage) on the way to military success, Samson’s great strength, the very antithesis of ‘flaw’, is the very trait that enables his ineffectualness and ultimately his demise. The irony drips from this comic lesson, a lesson that might be captured in a ‘riddle’, à la Samson, something along the lines of ‘Whose strength is weakness and weakness strength?’

Containment and control An instructor must have control over the tools of instruction. The biblical editor requires control of the characters in order to conform them to the lesson being taught. Samson is clearly under Yahweh’s control. Samson has already been used as Yahweh’s ‘pretext’ to engage the Philistines (14:4). In the encounter with Delilah, Yahweh’s spirit emerges as the continued tool of Yahweh’s control over Samson. With respect to Delilah, a double attempt is made, in this story, to control her, especially her sexuality. First she is ‘purchased’ by the Philistines to gain control over Samson. Then she is further employed by the biblical text to gain control over Samson, to make him the fool and to establish him as exhibit ‘A’ in the lesson of why not to mingle with foreigners. In their story both Samson and Delilah wield power, yet both are also in the power of one more powerful than each of them: Samson at the whim of Yahweh, and Delilah under the thumb

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of the Philistines.115 And, ultimately, they are both subject to the power of the one who controls the formation of the text.

Survival Death is in the domain of tragedy, not comedy. However, in dying Samson attains his crowning achievement, and it is comedy’s trajectory that carries him there. He is a great leader, but a great fool who is brought down by a woman, a great humiliation. Yet, because comedy works towards a harmonious resolution, Samson is redeemed. Ironically, though, it requires his death. Comedy facilitates survival—but it does not save Samson.

DELILAH AND SAMSON IN THE HANDS OF THE DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY The Samson saga is widely argued to be Israelite folklore, handed down orally and certainly pre-existing its inclusion in the book of Judges. Alter dubs it ‘one of the most conspicuously folkloric narratives in the Hebrew Bible’.116 Samson, by this estimation, is shoehorned into the larger Judges narrative, his story book-ended with the formulas proper to Judges (13:1; 16:31), and into the wider arc of the DH. This proposition is compelling because, quite simply, Samson just does not fit. He never fully conforms to the text or his context. He is not a skilled, motivated military leader; he is an untameable strong man. He is not the stuff of which judges ought to be made; he is, instead, the stuff of which a legend is made. In this redaction, two forces seem to be at work. The first is Yahweh. An argument can be made from the text that all this misbehaving on Samson’s part is a component of Yahweh’s plan. In Samson’s first escapade with a woman, Yahweh is at work using him to provoke the Philistines (14:4), and later it is only through the return of Yahweh’s spirit that Samson achieves his greatest triumph as a warrior against the Philistines (16:30). The second force at work is the hand of the 115 116

Carol Smith, ‘Delilah’, 114. Alter, ‘Samson without Folklore’, 47.

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redactor overwriting this story of the great man with a more sweeping story of a great nation with a great god. On both these levels, then, Delilah is reduced to being merely an instrument through which these two forces work. Samson is the great man who rises, but then falls, but rises again—all dependent upon Yahweh’s presence with him. Delilah, on the other hand, rises only in a limited sense, only for a limited duration, and only as a tool of the text. She then falls for ever from the text, never to rise again.

COMEDY, FEMINIST CRITIQUE, AND DELILAH A comparison of Delilah and Jael (4:17–22, in prose) is revealing. Both women are affiliated, through an alliance, with one of Israel’s enemies. Each triumphs independently, against a man, but not a man with whom either is identified. Their triumphs come with sexual, and also maternal, imagery, what Ackerman dubs ‘maternally-linked eroticism’.117 A direct textual link exists between the two texts, as identical words are used to describe each woman’s action as she ‘drives’ (‫ )תקע‬the ‘peg/pin’ (‫)יתד‬: Jael’s murdering Sisera in 4:21 and Delilah’s testing Samson in 16:14. The divergence comes, however, in their choosing of sides. Jael chooses well; Delilah does not. Delilah is ‘an ironic twist on the Jael story, leading this time not to Israel’s victory but Samson’s destruction’.118 While their stories echo one another and their actions are very similar, as the text presents them, one woman is a heroine and the other one a hussy. In this ‘hussy’ guise, Delilah is uncomfortable for feminist critique. She can be seen as utilizing those ‘feminine weapons’ of ‘tears, nagging, sexual attraction’119 and ‘using a man’s love to bring him down’.120 Yet, Samson is not an innocent. He is a strong man, a leader—a man responsible for his own actions. Delilah may wield power ‘tainted’121 by the patriarchal society in which she existed, but her power was actual power. And she wields it well. Delilah is effective; quite simply, what she does works. She is able to exploit 117 118 120 121

Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, 40. 119 Schneider, Judges, 227. Carol Smith, ‘Delilah’, 108. Klein, ‘The Book of Judges’, 66. Carol Smith, ‘Samson and Delilah’, 46.

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Samson’s lack of self-control, using it against him to her benefit. Under the heading of ‘the bigger they are . . .’, Delilah really has excelled. It is too simplistic and a misrepresentation of the text to dismiss Delilah as a treacherous self-serving whore. She is a more complex character—resourceful, bold, self-reliant. Amit empowers Delilah with a voice of her own and with which Delilah describes herself in these same terms, as she expresses her longing to be included in ‘the company of strong, independent non-Israelite women who took control of their destiny’, such as Tamar, Rahab, and Ruth.122 Delilah is a woman men approach—the Philistine lords and Samson. She initiates speech and action. The story offers the encounter more often from her vantage point, as Samson appears to be sleeping through a significant portion of it. Delilah has a particular kind of power at her disposal. Her society can be faulted for limiting her to only this type of power, but faulting Delilah for using it is unjustified. The story of Samson’s escapade with Delilah in Judges 16:4–22 is a comical story in which Israel is the victim of its own punchline. Yes, Delilah is used as a means to arrive at this punchline; yet, by the same token, the joke could not be told without her participation.

122

Amit, ‘I, Delilah’, 76.

7 David’s Wives: Michal, Abigail, Bathsheba David is a man with many wives. Of his wives, three feature more prominently in the biblical text than just a passing mention. Those three women are Michal, Abigail, and Bathsheba. Each of their stories, to greater and lesser degrees, exhibits elements of comedy. Abigail’s story is most comic, including elements of comedy such as characterization, wordplay, plot movement, dialogue, and irony. The comedy in the episodes with Michal and Bathsheba is defined primarily by trickery and irony, with Bathsheba’s story including also reversal and surprise. The presence of Abishag, a would-be wife of David, as a completely passive character heightens the comic quality of Bathsheba’s interaction with David and with Solomon. The comedy in this group of narratives subverts the idealized picture of David that most often emerges from the biblical text and in the history of interpretation. However, while undermining this ‘ideal’ David, the actions, the words, and the presence of these women, and the comedy of their stories, also serve ironically to preserve the ‘man’ David.

MICHAL Michal is forever a daughter of a king and a wife of a king—a woman of two houses and two roles, whose story is told piecemeal within those of Saul and David. Largely because of the piecemeal nature of Michal’s story, gaps exist both in her story and in her character. Furthermore, much as with Delilah, these gaps inspire significant ‘gap-filling’ among readers and writers. Unfortunately

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for Michal, this gap-filling has often vilified and victimized her:1 At the despicable sight [of David dancing] she spat at him, and sank back in her seat with all hell in her heart.2 There are women who have a marvelous gift for the wounding word, the word that penetrates to the core of a man’s honor and kills his love on the spot; or, when love has faded, all prospect of friendship, and even of mutual tolerance.3

Despite these examples, other interpreters are keenly aware of Michal’s treatment both on the pages of the Hebrew Bible and on the pages of commentaries. David Clines writes: ‘Michal has already been used, and abused, enough.’4 If indeed enough is enough, how else might Michal be viewed? The lack of a cohesive, independent ‘Michal narrative’ should not be a deterrent from examining both the character and the ‘story’. Cheryl Exum encourages stepping outside the text’s boundaries, listening for ‘the submerged strains of Michal’s voice’ and constructing a version of her story from that voice.5 Comedy can aid in this effort. When it comes to marriage, Michal is silent—whether it be when entering into marriage or leaving it behind. That she loves David (1 Sam. 18.20, 28)6 would support a conclusion that her marriage to David is not unwelcome at the time, but, because of her silence, 1 See Edith Deen, ‘King Saul’s Daughter—David’s First Wife’, in David J. A. Clines and Tamara C. Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story: An Experiment in Comparative Interpretation, JSOT, suppl. ser. 119 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 141–4 (144); Hebert H. Lockyer, ‘Michal’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 227–8 (228), and ‘Michal: The Woman who Tricked her Father’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 229–33; cf. P. Kyle McCarter, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes, and Commentary, AB 9 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 187–8, and Alexander Whyte, ‘Michal, Saul’s Daughter’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 287–93. 2 Whyte, ‘Michal, Saul’s Daughter’, 289. 3 Maurice Samuel, ‘Three Wives’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 270–9 (278). 4 David J. A. Clines, ‘Preface’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 7–11 (7). 5 Exum, Fragmented Women, 17. 6 The Hebrew Bible records only three women who are said to ‘love’ (‫ )אהב‬a male; only two of these pairs are ‘lovers’, so to speak. The third woman is Rebekah, who loves her son Jacob (Gen. 25:28). The only two women who ‘love’ a mate are Michal, who loves David, and the woman in Song of Songs who five times refers to her partner as the one ‘whom my soul loves’ (‫שאהבה נפשי‬, Song 1:7; 3:1, 2, 3, 4).

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the reader cannot know for certain what her will is with respect to all her matrimonial matters. Michal, however, does speak in two scenes: when she saves David from her father’s murder plot (1 Sam. 19:11–17) and when she challenges him after he has danced while the ark is being brought into Jerusalem (2 Sam. 6:16–23). In these two scenes, Michal’s will is clearly known, and she asserts it. Esther Fuchs states that Michal, ‘more than any other wife-figure in the biblical narrative, seems to defy the stereotype of the submissive wife and even of the typical woman’.7 Yes, Michal is a victim of the political machinations of her father and her husband, but the biblical account allows the reader also to glimpse a woman unafraid to speak and act, even when the consequences of speaking and acting are serious, a possibility of which she must surely be aware. First, in thwarting her father and later in confronting David, Michal takes initiative. The unfortunate footnote is that Michal’s asserting herself does not end well for her. Yet, ‘she goes to her literary death screaming, as it were’.8 As Michal’s trail winds its way through the books of Samuel,9 before she is excised from the text, these two major episodes in which she is a proactive player and in which she asserts her own will are the ones through which the audience are able to see Michal’s character and through which the comedy of her story is revealed.

The trickster The groundwork for the first major episode involving Michal (1 Sam. 19:11–17) is laid in 1 Samuel 18. When Saul learns of his daughter’s love for David (18:20, 28), he is pleased and makes plans to use Michal as a ‘snare’ for David (18:21). Saul offers her to David as a wife for a bride-price (‫ )מהר‬of 100 Philistine foreskins, Saul’s hope being that David will be killed in the quest to obtain the required ‘payment’ (18:25). David, however, is not killed. Turning the tables on Saul, David, in a comic ‘overkill’ moment, instead succeeds in fulfilling the

7 Esther Fuchs, Sexual Politics in the Biblical Narrative: Reading the Hebrew Bible as a Woman, JSOT, suppl. ser. 310 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 139. 8 Exum, Fragmented Women, 37–8. 9 Michal’s presence in Chron. consists of one verse: 1 Chron. 15:29. It is identical to 2 Sam. 6:16, minus the phrase ‘before the Lord’.

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requirement—doubly so—bringing, not 100, but 200 foreskins.10 With Saul’s trick a failure, he fulfils his end of the agreement and allows Michal and David to marry (18:27). Saul’s murderous desires towards David are not satisfied, however, and he hatches yet another plot to eliminate David. Unfortunately for Saul, Michal discovers this newest plot and engineers David’s escape from Saul (19:11). First, she lowers David through a window and out of harm’s way (19:12). Then, she attempts to deceive her father by placing teraphim in the bed to resemble David (19:13). Finally, when discovered and challenged, she tells her father that David threatened her into helping him escape (19:14–17). Ironically, for her trouble in saving David’s life, Michal endures much suffering. In the hands of numerous interpreters, she is criticized (a) for being deceptive and (b) for using teraphim (‫תרפים‬, ‘idols’, v. 13) to aid her deception. With respect to her deceptions, even though Michal delivers David from a threat at least equal to the ones from which Jonathan saves him (1 Sam. 19:1–7; 20:30–34), she is not extolled for saving David from yet another of Saul’s threats, but she is instead criticized for lying in order to accomplish it. One interpreter writes: ‘When Saul confronted her she lied, saying that David had threatened her. This lie sharply contrasts Michal with her brother Jonathan, who defended David against Saul even at the risk of his own life.’11 Jonathan surely did not sit still and must have dodged his father’s literal spear. Is Michal not permitted to dodge her father’s verbal ones? Second, Michal’s use of the teraphim results in her being labelled an idolater and a non-Yahwist.12 However, verse 11 plainly states that this incident occurs in David’s house. ‘If [the teraphim’s] presence in the bedroom casts any aspersions on Michal and her character, it must cast exactly the same aspersions on David.’13 While interpreters may condemn her for her deceit and the means she uses to aid in it, the text, yet again, does not. Instead, she stands

10 The Septuagint reads ‘100’, which the NRSV prefers, but which paints a much less humorous picture! Cf. 2 Sam. 3:14. 11 G. P. Hugenberger, ‘Michal’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 205–6 (205). 12 Cf. Deen, ‘King Saul’s Daughter’, 142; Abraham Kuyper, ‘Michal’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 224–6 (225); and Samuel, ‘Three Wives’, 275. 13 David J. A. Clines, ‘Michal Observed: An Introduction to Reading her Story’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 24–63 (44).

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in a long line of trickster characters of Hebrew Bible narrative, a number of whom are studied in this work. Robert Lawton14 and Robert Alter15 enumerate aspects of the Michal narrative that parallel the stories of Rachel, Leah, and Jacob in Genesis 29–31. Jacob is a candidate to marry two sisters, but does not marry the one first intended. He pays (lit. in Hebrew ‘fills’, ‫מלא‬, Gen. 29:21; cf. piel, Gen. 29:27–8; 1 Sam 18:27) his bride-price by deed, rather than by material means, for a father-in-law with hidden motivation. Jacob is subsequently forced to flee his father-in-law. As part of the flight, his wife engages in trickery involving teraphim. In her trickery, she diverts suspicion by calling attention to a bodily condition (Gen. 31:34–5). Lawton argues that these parallels, as they hearken back to the relationships between Jacob and the sisters Rachel and Leah, illuminate the matter of the ‘love’ between Michal and David. However, while the parallels certainly exist, they direct attention, not to the relationship between Michal and David, but instead to the relationship between Michal and Rachel and Leah: three sisters-in-trickery. Genesis recounts the stories of a number of tricksters—marginalized underdogs who use cunning, guile, and wit to prevail in situations where power, status, and possessions are not at their disposal. Rachel’s trickster behaviour in stealing and hiding the teraphim closely parallels Michal’s own efforts in the rescue of David from her father. This episode follows Susan Niditch’s five-step trickster morphology: (1) the hero has low status, so (2) enacts a deception to improve her/ his status; (3) the successful trick leads to improved status for the hero. (4) However, eventually the deception is revealed, and (5) while surviving, the hero is returned to marginal/outsider/reduced status. Although Michal is daughter of the king, (1) her status is low relative to that of other characters in the story—namely her father and her husband. (2) She devises a trick and carries it out. (3) The trick is successful in achieving what she had intended. (4) Eventually, her deception is uncovered, but (5) she survives. What is deviant with regard to the way Michal’s trickery conforms to this pattern is a point shared with the trickster matriarchs: Michal’s trickery is designed 14 Robert B. Lawton, SJ, ‘1 Samuel 18: David, Merob, and Michal’, CBQ 51 (1989), 423–5 (425). 15 Robert Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel (London: W. W. Norton, 1999), 117, 120.

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and executed to benefit a man. Any benefit for herself, any improvement in her own status, is secondary, at best. Michal, at the fifth ‘survival’ stage, does live on; however, as she is not the one initially in danger, she is not the one ultimately saved by her trickery. With Michal left to face down her outraged father, David is the one racing to freedom. David too, like other tricksters after their trick has been uncovered, suffers a reduction in status—he is now a fugitive—but he does survive, healthy in body and able himself to trick another day. Thank you, Michal. Saul was unsuccessful in his trickery of demanding Michal’s bride-price of foreskins. He attempted trickery again, allowing David and Michal’s marriage, but plotting all the while to kill David. In this further attempt on David’s life, the contest is ‘between the king and his arrest squads on the one hand, and Michal, on the other hand, who is too clever for all these people’.16 Saul overestimates his daughter’s blood loyalty, or maybe he underestimates her inherited and/or learned skills at trickery. In either case, this time a trickster superior to Saul has joined the cast of players, and Saul finds himself bested in this second attempted act of trickery by his own trickster daughter.

Sarcastic irony During David’s absence after escaping from Saul, Saul gives Michal in marriage to another man, named Palti(el) (1 Sam. 25:44). David, however, subsequently requires that Ish-bosheth return Michal to him with Abner as her escort. In this brief scene (2 Sam. 3:12–16), Michal will not be saved by her current spouse Palti(el), as David was once saved by his. Instead, Palti(el), a pathetically comic figure, only follows along behind, like an abandoned puppy, whimpering, until he is told by Abner to ‘Scram! Get lost!’ (‫לך שוב‬, v. 16), which Palti(el) does without a word spoken. While Palti(el)’s portrayal is humorous, this episode is significant as the intervening event between Michal’s loving David previously and her hating him when he comes dancing into the city with the ark (2 Sam. 6:16–23). Again at a window, Michal this time watches David 16 Jan P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses, 4 vols (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1981), ii. 258.

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through it, and this time, rather than feel love for him, ‘she despised him in her heart’ (2 Sam. 6:16, NRSV). When David returns home after this dancing processional, Michal comes out to meet him, boldly leaving the inside domain of women to enter the outside domain of men, and she confronts him (2 Sam. 6:20–2). The exchange between them is ruthless and concludes chillingly: ‘Michal the daughter of Saul had no child to the day of her death’ (2 Sam. 6:23, NRSV). This passage is the most compelling and complex of the scenes of Michal’s life to which the biblical text gives the audience a view. Interestingly, in their last recorded meeting, the pair has their first verbal exchange.17 And, ‘when that exchange finally comes, it is an explosion’, an ‘exchange of whipsaw sarcasms’.18 Michal refers to David in the third person, as ‘the king of Israel’ (2 Sam. 6:20), ‘not deferentially but angrily’.19 With her opening words, Michal sarcastically congratulates David on ‘honouring himself’ (‫ ברד‬niphal, 2 Sam. 6:20). In his final word he retorts that he ‘will be honoured’ (‫ ברד‬niphal, 2 Sam. 6:22). The word ‘honour’ denotes heaviness, weightiness. Its opposite, ‫קלל‬/‫קלה‬, denotes ‘lightness’ or ‘trifling’, and David invokes the second word as a further taunt to Michal, saying: ‘I will dishonour myself still more than this’ (‫ ונקלתי עוד מזאת‬niphal, 2 Sam. 6:22). David uses ‫קלל‬/‫ קלה‬twice previously in 1 Samuel 18:23—once in a rhetorical question to the servants regarding the weighty matter of being the husband of the king’s daughter and once to describe himself as a prospect for that position. None of the former ‘humility’ David exhibited at the prospect of marrying Saul’s daughter is evident in this later passage, though.20 For Michal, David’s dishonour is connected to his ‘uncovering himself’ (‫ גלה‬niphal), which appears three times in her accusation of 6:20. Opinions vary as to how exactly the dishonour and the uncovering relate. Gerald Hammond proposes strong sexual 17 Michal spoke directly to David in 1 Sam. 19:11; however, David makes no verbal response. 18 Robert Alter, ‘Characterization and the Art of Reticence’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 64–73 (71, 72); cf. Walter Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, Interpretation (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1990), 251. 19 Alter, The David Story, 229. 20 Cf. 1 Sam. 18:18, 23. David’s ‘humility’ reads more like ingratiation. David Jobling (1 Samuel, Berit Olam (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1998), 152) observes: ‘What for the woman is an affair of the heart is for the man a means of upward mobility.’

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implications, that the uncovering should be translated as ‘exposing himself’.21 Tony Cartledge suggests ‘the issue was not moral scruples but royal pride’.22 Clines argues that, while both Michal and David agree that he has exposed himself, ‘they disagree over whether that is disgraceful or not, or rather, whether being disgraceful matters’.23 Bruce Rosenstock carries this argument even further, fleshing out his idea that this exchange between Michal and David is based on their ‘contrasting views of the nature of divine and royal glory and how they are respectively celebrated and achieved’.24 In Rosenstock’s opinion, Michal is ‘orthodox’ in her view that ‘the king’s glory is Yhwh’s glory and the reverence due to the latter is due also to the former. David’s nakedness is no less tabooed than is Yhwh’s.’ David, on the other hand, understands glory as being Yahweh’s alone and he himself is certainly not in contention for any divine glory; furthermore, David’s nakedness is not an affront to Yahweh, but instead declares his intimacy with Yahweh.25 Michal is judged in scholarship as a non-Yahwist for this attack on David (as well as for her use of teraphim in aiding his escape). As an example, H. H. Lockyer writes: ‘For her there were no pious and affectionate feelings at the return of the Ark to Zion . . . She had no regard for the Ark of God.’26 Donald Murray argues, furthermore, that this is the text’s position as well. Murray, arguing that he does not express his own view but voices the characterization of the ‘text’s Michal’,27 writes that David’s words, ‘to appoint me as prince over 21 Gerald Hammond, ‘Michal, Tamar, Abigail and what Bathsheba Said: Notes towards a Really Inclusive Translation of the Bible’, in George J. Brooke (ed.), Women in the Biblical Tradition, Studies in Women and Religion, 31 (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 1992), 53–70 (59). 22 Tony W. Cartledge, 1 & 2 Samuel, Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2001), 441. 23 Clines, ‘Michal Observed’, 54. 24 Bruce Rosenstock, ‘David’s Play: Fertility Rituals and the Glory of God in 2 Samuel 6’, JSOT 31 (2006), 63–80 (65). 25 Rosenstock, ‘David’s Play’, 74; David M. Gunn (The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation, JSOT, suppl ser. 6 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1978), 74) offers, in contrast to these translations and interpretations, that David may not necessarily have been literally ‘uncovering himself’, but rather could have been only ‘showing off’. 26 Lockyer, ‘Michal: The Woman who Tricked her Father’, 232; cf. W. G. Blaikie, ‘Michal in the Books of Samuel’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 94–6 (94–5). 27 Donald F. Murray, Divine Prerogative and Royal Pretension: Pragmatics, Poetics and Polemics in a Narrative Sequence about David (2 Samuel 5.17–7.29), JSOT, suppl. ser. 264 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 145 n. 98.

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Israel, the people of the Lord’ (2 Sam. 6:21, NRSV), echo Abigail’s prophetic words to David that Yahweh ‘has appointed you prince over Israel’ (1 Sam. 25:30, NRSV) and are ‘an ominous presence to haunt the haughty Michal’.28 Furthermore, ‘her regal disdain of his actions amounts to disdain of Yahweh to whom alone, he proclaims, they are directed. Hence her scorn for David as king is in fact a defiant scorn for Yahweh who gave him his position.’29 However, in the text, Michal does not direct her ire towards Yahweh or towards the ceremony surrounding the bringing of the ark. Her criticism is specific—and Davidic. ‘Michal looks through the window, sees David leaping and whirling before Yahweh, and she despises him in her heart.’30 This text does not indicate that Michal was directing any of her despising towards Yahweh. David is the one who makes the correlation between his behaviour and the Lord. What particularly characterizes the darkly hued comedy in this episode between wife and husband is irony—namely, the sarcastic irony saturating the exchange between Michal and David as she comes out to challenge him. Michal may address David as the ‘king of Israel’ and say that he had ‘honoured himself’, but the accusation that follows belies any claim for the sincerity of those words and instead makes clear that she intends a sentiment opposite to the meaning of her words. Her use of David’s kingly title ‘simply points up the irony that a king can be so common’.31 In addressing David as ‘king’ and in naming his fault, she criticizes him, not as Husband David, but as King David. His confidence that he dances before Yahweh and that even further debasement would never lose him favour with his subjects is ironically foreboding. David’s adultery with one of his subjects and subsequent murder of a loyal soldier (2 Sam. 11–12) brings judgement upon him through the voice of another who is critical of the king, specifically the prophet Nathan.

28

Murray, Divine Prerogative and Royal Pretension, 142. Murray, Divine Prerogative and Royal Pretension, 142, 144. 30 Elna Solvang, A Woman’s Place Is in the House: Royal Women of Judah and their Involvement in the House of David, JSOT, suppl. ser. 349 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 109. Grammatically, the antecedent of ‫ לו‬could be ‫;יהוה‬ however, the context seems clear that the object of her ‘despising’ (‫בזה‬, 2 Sam. 6:16) is the same person who formerly was the object of her ‘love’ (‫)אהב‬, 1 Sam. 18:20, 28). 31 David J. A. Clines, ‘The Story of Michal, Wife of David, in its Sequential Unfolding’, in Clines and Eskenazi (eds), Telling Queen Michal’s Story, 129–40 (137). 29

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Thus, Michal expresses a view that is not anti-Yahweh, but is instead anti-David. She stands alongside Nathan as one who fearlessly and critically speaks out regarding the reign of David. The collected narratives of the books of Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles contain a complicated enmeshment of pro- and anti-monarchical voices. In its canonized form, the Hebrew Bible is clearly of two minds on the topic of human kingship for the nation of Israel. In her ironical criticism of ‘the king of Israel’, Michal arguably stands as one of the voices sceptical about or even against the monarchy, or at the very least against this particular monarch. In her choosing of David over Saul, assisting the former in his escape from the latter, Michal makes known her allegiance. However, in her confrontation with David, Michal is reintroduced as ‘daughter of Saul’ (2 Sam. 6:16, 20, 23), the text realigning her with her father. David further cements this association with his own words of reminder to Michal that Yahweh ‘chose me in place of your father and all his household’ (2 Sam. 6:21, NRSV). C. L. Seow argues that this episode between the two is ‘propagandistic’, its purpose ‘to signal the end of Saulide aspirations to the throne. The pro-Davidic narrator could not resist an anti-Saulide polemic in reporting the events.’32 Robert Polzin makes a further connection between Michal and her father, comparing Michal’s scorn in this incident—meeting David as he is returning from a mission during which he ‘smote’ the Philistines (‫ ויך את־פלשתים‬hiphil, 2 Sam. 5:25)—with Saul’s previous anger at the women’s adulation of David after he had returned from ‘smiting’ the Philistines (‫הכות את־הפלשתי‬, 1 Sam. 18:6).33 These renewed connections made between Michal and Saul as she is having a nasty confrontation with David remind the audience that Michal is a woman caught between two royal houses, a member of both and an outsider in both. While the men use her in their ongoing power struggle (a struggle David seems to be continuing even after Saul’s death, as he reminds Michal of Yahweh’s choosing him over her father), Michal attempts in the two episodes explored here, to the extent that she is able, to take initiative and define some of the terms of her relationships with her father and husband. 32 C. L. Seow, Myth, Drama, and the Politics of David’s Dance, Harvard Semitic Monographs, 44 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 130. 33 Robert Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist: 2 Samuel, Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature, pt 3 (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1993), 69.

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According to Nehama Aschkenasy, in ‘two window scenes that mark her transformation from power to powerlessness . . . The dispersed episodes about Michal, strung together and read in unity, are a paradigm of the deterioration of a charismatic, independentminded woman in an environment hostile to female autonomy.’34 While she may indeed be suppressed in the ‘hostile’ narrative environment and often maligned in interpretation, Michal continues to speak out anyway. Her story, in piecemeal fashion, emerges—in subversive style—from the biblical text. A comic reading of Michal reveals another side to this woman. Through her brave acts of trickery and her bold words of sarcastic irony, in defiance of consequences, she stands up to not one but two kings, and in so doing defies both the patriarchal and the monarchical establishment.

ABIGAIL Unlike Michal, whose story is told in bits and pieces woven into those of Saul and David, Abigail’s story is told in one episode: 1 Samuel 25.35 The narrative begins with the introduction of a couple, Nabal and Abigail (vv. 2–3). David sends messengers to Nabal requesting provisions (v. 8), but Nabal refuses (vv. 10–11), and David prepares to respond with his sword (v. 13). Abigail, however, comes to David with an offering and persuades him not to attack Nabal (vv. 18–35). Abigail shares the news of the encounter with Nabal, and ten days later he dies (vv. 37–8). When David hears of this, he sends for Abigail, and she becomes his wife (vv. 39–42). In an excerpt from the story of David’s rise to power, a narrative sandwiched between two stories of the confrontations between Saul and David, David would be the expected star of this intervening story as well. However, in 1 Samuel 25, David recedes, and a woman moves to the fore, driving this tale of Beauty and the Fools.

34 Nehama Aschkenasy, Woman at the Window: Biblical Tales of Oppression and Escape (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1998), 35. 35 Other references to Abigail mention only her name in her role as wife or mother: 1 Sam. 27:3, 30:5; 2 Sam. 2:2, 3:3; and 1 Chron. 3:1. References to an Abigail, halfsister to David, occur in 1 Chron. 2:16–17. Commentators disagree on whether this woman is or is not the same Abigail, a discussion outside the scope of this study.

David’s Wives

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Comic characterization and wordplay How can one deny the comedy of a story in which the first character introduced is named Fool—and who is, furthermore, a wealthy Fool? Thus is the way in which the man from Carmel is introduced in 1 Samuel 25:2–3. And, as every Fool must have his foil, meet his wife, the clever and beautiful Woman (v. 3). So from the outset of this narrative, the reader encounters stock characters: Nabal, the foolish one, and Abigail, the smart one.36 As Nabal’s pun of a name is synonymous with his character, the wordplay with his name does not end at ‘fool’; there is more ‘sarcastically humorous word play on names’ to be had here.37 The root ‫נבל‬ can also mean a ‘skin’ or ‘jar’ typically used to hold wine, while ‫ נבלה‬is ‘corpse’. The ‫‘( נבל‬fool’), full of drink, becomes a ‫( נבל‬wine ‘skin’). When the wine leaves him, he ceases to be a ‫ נבל‬and eventually becomes a ‫‘( נבלה‬corpse’) instead. While these puns are derived from meanings of ‫ נבל‬not explicitly used in the text, a more direct pun occurs in the inclusion of two jars of wine (‫ושנים נבלי־יין‬, v. 18) among the gifts brought by Abigail to David. Moshe Garsiel suggests these two jars serve as Abigail’s subconscious offering to David of her husband and as a foreshadowing of Nabal’s approaching fate.38 As well as being a fool, Nabal is also a Calebite (‫כלבי‬, v. 3, following the qere), a word that shares its root with ‘dog’ (‫)כלב‬, thus providing more opportunity for wordplay in this narrative. Garsiel notes that surely David’s reference to those ‘pissing against a wall’ (vv. 22, 34), reflecting the manner in which male dogs urinate, is his equating Calebites directly with dogs.39 Persuaded by other references to Abigail as being a Carmelite and by the grammatical expectation that tribal names are preceded by the definite article, Ellen Van Wolde argues that the narrator intends, not the tribal association, but the dog connotation as primary: Nabal is not a ‘Calebite’, but belongs to ‘the tribe of dogs’.40 36 Adele Berlin, ‘Characterization in Biblical Narrative: David’s Wives’, JSOT 23 (1982), 69–85 (75–6). 37 Moshe Garsiel, ‘Wit, Words, and a Woman: 1 Samuel 25’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 161–8 (164); cf. Radday, ‘Humour in Names’, 62–3. 38 Garsiel, ‘Wit, Words, and a Woman’, 165. 39 Garsiel, ‘Wit, Words, and a Woman’, 164; cf. Ze’ev Weisman, Political Satire in the Bible (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1998), 15. 40 Ellen J. Van Wolde, ‘A Leader Led by a Lady: David and Abigail in 1 Samuel 25’, Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 114 (2002), 355–75 (356–7).

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Jon Levenson notes the two shared consonants between ‘Calebite’ and ‘heart’ (‫ )לב‬and translates the phrase ‫( והוא כלבו‬following the ketiv) as ‘he was like his heart’; thus Nabal’s ‘heart and his miserly nature’ appear in the text together. Levenson argues that this word (‫ )כלבו‬is ‘probably an example of scribal sarcasm’ that alludes to Ps. 14:1 (= 53:1):41 Fools [‫ ]נבל‬say in their hearts [‫]בלבו‬, ‘There is no God.’ They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds; there is no one who does good. (NRSV)

Nabal is a fool, inside and out. As if wordplay on his name and his clan does not offer enough evidence of this man’s ‘type’, the name-calling continues, amounting to ‘descriptive overkill’.42 An accusation of ‘worthlessness’ is levelled at Nabal from close quarters: both his own wife (v. 25) and one of his young male servants (v. 17) label him as such. Garsiel particularly hears the pun as the young man reports his master’s behaviour to Abigail, calling Nabal a ‘son of worthlessness’ (‫)בן־בליעל‬, as the consonants of Nabal’s name line up to form yet another epithet.43 While Walter Brueggemann argues that Nabal ‘is not bad but stupid’,44 Levenson disagrees, arguing that Nabal’s name is not just a name—it is ‘character assassination’, designating ‘not a harmless simpleton, but rather a vicious, materialistic, egocentric misfit’.45 Everyone,

41 Jon D. Levenson, ‘1 Samuel 25 as Literature and as History’, CBQ 40 (1978), 11–28 (14–15); cf. Garsiel, ‘Wit, Words, and a Woman’, 165. 42 Levenson, ‘1 Samuel 25’, 15. 43 Garsiel, ‘Wit, Words, and a Woman’, 164. 44 Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 175. 45 Levenson (‘1 Samuel 25’, 13) cites Isa. 32:6 as being particularly illuminating on this point, because, in addition to referencing ‘fools’ and ‘folly’, it describes them as refusing to provide food and drink. This parallel is a bit problematic, as it seems to assume that David was lacking provisions and was in some way owed this food and drink, a state of play not explicitly supported by the text. However, Levenson does make an interesting observation: only in Isa. 32:6 and 1 Sam. 25:25 are ‫ נבל‬and ‫נבלה‬ paired together to form an alliterative wordplay describing a man and his nature; cf. Weisman, Political Satire in the Bible, 15.

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it would seem, gets a shot at Nabal: Abigail, David, Nabal’s young man, the narrator, even interpreters. Even before he speaks or acts, the audience already have a good idea what type of man Nabal is. The same may also be said of Fool’s wife. While her name is not so telling, her introduction is. In a revelatory chiasm we meet Nabal, then Abigail, but in description her traits are offered before his (v. 3): A

the man was Nabal B 1

B

the name of his wife Abigail the woman was clever and beautiful

A1 the man was surly and mean.

Abigail is—first—smart, shrewd, decisive, not simply by description but, as the text will reveal, by action as well. She stands literally opposed to her husband. In yet another wordplay, this time in the form of a homonym, Nabal is the fool whose wife may ‘sound’ like she is being described as a ‘fool’ (‫)סכל‬, but is instead the fool’s ‘wise’ opposite (‫שכל‬, v. 3, cf. Eccl. 1:17). ‘As Abigail’s wisdom unfolds in the narrative, so does Nabal’s lack thereof.’46 While in the opposite corner from her husband, Abigail seems, in description, to be matched instead with David. The description of Abigail echoes that of David upon his introduction (‫ טוב‬and ‫ יפה‬Sam. 16:12) and that of David in his military pursuits (‫שכל‬, 1 Sam. 18:14, 15, 30). These two are Intelligent, Successful, Beautiful People. Abigail is smart and beautiful; Nabal is hard and wicked. This is no marriage of equals, and in two short verses the stage is set. Surely Brainy Beauty will win out over Foolish Dog.

46 John Kessler, ‘Sexuality and Politics: The Motif of the Displaced Husband in the Books of Samuel’, CBQ 62 (2000), 411.

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Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible

Comic plot structure This narrative begins with sheep-shearing, a celebratory occasion. However, as Fool’s nature reveals itself and as David begins making threats, the plot hurtles downwards, and the tone becomes ominous. Then, one of Nabal’s savvy young men gets Abigail involved, and the plot turns to begin its upwards movement. David is placated, Nabal dies, and the story ends happily with another celebration, this time a (re)marriage. Abigail begins the chapter as Nabal’s wife, and she ends it as David’s wife.47

Dialogue Nabal and David never engage one another face to face. Their interaction is mediated first by David’s men, then by Abigail. Yet, the two men’s dealings still escalate in an amazingly speedy and aggressive way, and their ‘interaction’ must be taken with the deadly seriousness that only volatile men with egos, attitudes, and weapons can inspire. Or it must be taken with the extreme hilarity that only volatile men with egos, attitudes, and weapons can inspire. David and Nabal do seem to be taking this yelling-across-the-hedge battle seriously, yet, for the audience, the humorousness of their ‘exchange’ is more evident. David begins with what is to be revealed as a false sentiment of ‘peace’, offered in the oft-seen repetition of three (v. 6), followed by a threat veiled thinly under the ‘reminder’ of David’s previous ‘good’ deeds (v. 7), culminating in a ‘humble’ request for a payout (v. 8).48

47

Aschkenasy, Woman at the Window, 92. David’s call for ‘whatever you have at hand’ (v. 8) is widely described by interpreters as ‘protection money’ and/or ‘extortion’. Those who describe David’s statement in v. 8 as ‘extortion’ and a demand for ‘protection money’ include Mark E. Biddle, ‘Ancestral Motifs in 1 Samuel 25: Intertextuality and Characterization’, JBL 121 (2002), 617–38 (637); Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 176–7, 179; David M. Gunn, The Fate of King Saul: An Interpretation of a Biblical Story, JSOT, suppl. ser. 14 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984), 96; Niels Peter Lemche, ‘David’s Rise’, JSOT 10 (1978), 2–25 (12); Steven L. McKenzie, King David: A Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 97; George R. H. Wright, ‘Dumuzi at the Court of David’, Numen: International Review for the History of Religions, 28 (1981), 54–63 (55). Cf. Kessler (‘Sexuality and Politics’, 409–23 (413)), who finds David’s request ‘reasonable’; T. R. Hobbs (‘Hospitality in the First Testament and the “Teleological Fallacy” ’, JSOT 95 (2001), 3–30 (26)), who argues that cultural norms and expectations of reciprocating hospitality do validate David’s request; thus in a sense David is indeed ‘owed’ provision; and Weisman (Political Satire in the Bible, 15), who refers to the would-be payment as ‘wages’. 48

David’s Wives

157

Not unexpectedly, Fool either misses or ignores the subtext, bellowing that this man is Nobody being followed by a band of men from Nowhere (vv. 10–11). David, having had enough of this subtlety and ‘conversation’, straps on his weapon (v. 13), plotting the most extreme revenge of total annihilation (v. 22). ‘He is about to do to Nabal what he wisely resisted doing to Saul.’49 This ‘dialogue’ is not what one might expect from men who have means and experience. Rather it is the childish schoolyard shouting match between a fool with more money than sense and a brigand exhibiting more bravado than brains. That this whole story did not move from the comedy of juvenile banter to the tragedy of carnage can be credited to Abigail, this story’s real hero, one who makes no threats and brandishes no swords. Instead, Abigail, in true comic style, employs her way with words. Like Rahab, Abigail is a woman who knows what to say. Her speech to David (vv. 24–31) has been described in several ways. She is praised for her ‘extraordinary boldness, common sense, and capacity for effective language’ in a speech that ‘reverses the flow of the narrative’.50 She is a ‘master of rhetoric’.51 As ‘an instrument of the Lord’,52 she takes David from being ‘the leader of a band of guerrillas’ (v. 25) to being Yahweh’s ‘anointed king’ (v. 31).53 Even through all this praise and admiration, one must wonder, however, if Abigail is rolling her eyes (along with the reader) as she bows and scrapes before David, over the course of eight verses

Van Wolde (‘A Leader Led by a Lady’, 358) reads this passage very differently, finding that David begins respectfully in v. 6 and ends humbly in v. 8, and thus she concludes that v. 7 ‘could not possibly contain a threat’; it is instead merely ‘a plea for favour’. 49 McKenzie, King David, 97–8. 50 Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 178. 51 Garsiel, ‘Wit, Words, and a Woman’, 167. 52 Hans Wilhelm Hertzberg, I & II Samuel: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1964), 203. 53 Levenson, ‘1 Samuel 25’, 20. Although this is certainly a nice observation, I would disagree with Levenson’s assessment of other aspects of Abigail’s speech— namely, that it has a ‘romantic quality’ (p. 18) and that Abigail intercedes on behalf of Nabal (p. 19); Berlin (‘Characterization in Biblical Narrative’, 76) reflects this same idea, calling Abigail ‘a model wife and modest woman’ who is ‘ready to protect her husband though he does not deserve it’; cf. Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 177–8. More likely, Abigail is motivated primarily by self-preservation, rather than by a desire for David or a desire to save her husband; indeed, Abigail appears to be working directly against the latter.

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(vv. 24–31) calling herself ‘your servant’ six times (‫אמתך‬, vv. 24 (2x), 25, 28, 31; ‫שפחתך‬, v. 27) and addressing David as ‘my lord’ an amazing thirteen times (‫אדני‬, vv. 24, 25 (2x), 26 (2x), 27 (2x), 28 (2x), 29, 30, 31 (2x)). This repetition is hyperbole—repetition stretched well beyond the bounds of the necessary and well into the realm of the comic. Abigail launches an over-the-top campaign of humility and flattery that, each in turn, has its desired effect on the susceptible David.

Irony Subtle but interesting ironies exist in this narrative. David’s greeting may be ‘Peace . . . peace . . . peace’ (v. 6), but echoing faintly beneath can be heard ‘Danger . . . danger . . . danger’. If he listened intently, Nabal would surely hear that ‘the greeting is in fact a warning’.54 But this irony is of the type that ‘often bypasses the characters en route from narrator to reader’.55 The underlying threat of David’s words, as narrated, go unheard by Nabal; he does not understand that his peace is, in fact, in jeopardy. David’s utterance that Nabal has returned David evil for good (v. 21) is immediately followed by David’s declaration that he will respond by annihilating every male associated with Nabal (v. 22). David appears to see no irony in his philosophy of ‘two evils make a good’. Nabal claims that he has refused David in part out of concern for his own people (v. 11), yet (a) at least one of his own people does not reciprocate this concern, as he betrays Nabal to Abigail and (b) refusing David puts the lives of these very people in serious jeopardy. Before being introduced by name, Nabal is introduced by the property he holds. In a final irony, this same property precipitates his downfall: Nabal’s refusal to part with his ‘stuff’ eventuates in him parting with his own life. Furthermore, all this property will eventually come to belong to David anyway, through David’s marriage to Abigail.

54 55

Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 176. Gunn and Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible, 74.

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The comedy of this happy ending Amid these other comic features of the narrative, the most significant one is that of paradox, a paradox that brings a wry smile. David, once again, is saved—this time from himself—by a woman. Previously, the saviour was Michal, as she engineered his escape from Saul. However, while chapters 24 and 26 tell of David’s restraint in exacting revenge against Saul, in chapter 25 Nabal’s refusal to pay extortion money sends David into such a rage that he must be restrained from going on a murderous rampage or for ever be tainted with blood guilt (‫דמים‬, vv. 26, 33). The means by which he is delivered from this fate is again a shrewd and quick-acting woman. This time a rope from a window and a ruse with teraphim is not the means of salvation; instead, ‘only the rhetorical genius of Abigail saves [David] from bloodying his hands’.56 Steven McKenzie suggests that only because she is a woman can Abigail save the day, as a man would have been killed by David or his men upon sight.57 However, it was not simply in appearing before David that Abigail is able to diffuse the situation. Surely, yes, her beauty is persuasive to a man like David; however, she also appeases him with the gifts he is seeking, and she disarms him with flattery and grand prophecies of his future. Her plan is not so simple as to flutter her eyelashes and hope for the best; she is, after all, clever before she is beautiful (v. 3). Furthermore, showing up as she does is no small risk to her own life. As Michal also does in confronting David, Abigail ventures ‘outside’, moving beyond the inside domain of women ‘into the male domain of power, a domain temporarily vacated by her narrowminded husband’.58 This foray into the uncharted could explain why Abigail seems to prefer sneaking up to David and his men, coming ‘down under cover of the mountain’ (v. 20). As well, this band of David’s is no group of scouts playing at camping: ‘Everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was discontented gathered to [David]; and he became captain over them. 56 Levenson, ‘1 Samuel 25’, 23—although I do not see how the text supports Levenson’s accompanying statement that, in contrast to 1 Sam. 25, the chapters before and after it show a David who ‘seeks out Saul solely in order to demonstrate his good will’. 57 McKenzie, King David, 98. 58 Hobbs, ‘Hospitality in the First Testament’, 27.

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Those who were with him numbered about four hundred’ (1 Sam 22:2, NRSV). For Abigail, how terrifying must the thought and then the actuality of facing ‘David and his unsettled, greedy malcontents’ be?59 Surely this meeting is not as safe for Abigail as McKenzie suggests. Abigail thus encounters and bests the second fool in this story. Nabal may be wrong in labelling David a runaway slave (v. 10); however, in this narrative David does seem to be a slave to his own temper and rage. David is himself on the brink of becoming ‫נבל‬. ‘Though it is Nabal who is repeatedly held up in this passage as the model of foolishness, it is David who is restrained from acting foolishly by taking vengeance into his own hands.’60 David straps on a sword in his foolishness; Abigail, in her wisdom, persuades him to take it off again. And so Abigail brings this narrative to its ‘happy ending’ (unless, of course, you happen to be named ‘Nabal’). Through a comic inversion of the usual way things happen, she is the protagonist, the hero. For Garsiel, Abigail is revealed as a master of men, of timing, and of rhetoric. ‘Abigail, endowed with cleverness and beauty, knows how to manipulate both her rich and miserly husband and the dashing but outlawed David, the young national hero.’61 Abigail, the clever and beautiful one, successfully navigates a treacherous course between two fools. She secures her own future, while saving the future king, the future kingdom, and all its future kings. Were it not for Abigail (and Michal before her), who can imagine how the years to come might have unfolded for Israel?

BATHSHEBA The story of Bathsheba is told primarily in three episodes. In the first (2 Sam. 11:1–12:25) David sees Bathsheba bathing and has her brought to him, after which she becomes pregnant (11:1–5). David enacts a series of plans designed to cover his actions, which eventuate in the death of Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, after which 59 60 61

Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 176. Solvang, A Woman’s Place Is in the House, 95. Garsiel, ‘Wit, Words, and a Woman’, 163.

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David and Bathsheba marry (11:22–7). The son is born, then dies, after which another son is born: Solomon (12:24–5). In the second episode featuring Bathsheba (1 Kgs 1–2, she and Nathan conspire together to have Solomon named by David as his successor (1 Kgs 1:11–31); in the third she plays a role in the death of Adonijah (1 Kgs 2:13–25). These stories do have features in common with other comic Hebrew Bible narratives, elements such as irony and trickery. Yet, for a character whose story contains so much disgrace and death, the case for comedy may appear difficult to make. However, the reversal that takes place in Bathsheba’s final acts signals a transformation in her and reflects the comic spirit’s ability to bring a ‘happy ending’ out of calamitous circumstances.

Irony Several ironies pepper the stories of Bathsheba. David is at the height of his power in the events leading up to 2 Sam. 11, so one would expect this narrative to be one ‘telling of success, peace, justice, security, etc.’;62 it is instead one of adultery, deceit, and murder. Another irony occurs in the mirroring actions of Uriah and David. Bathsheba’s husband will not have sex with her while he is meant to be fighting a war for David, a war in which David himself is not fighting. Not fighting this war provides David with the opportunity to sleep with the wife of this man who is away fighting for David— namely, Uriah.63 David invites Uriah home so that Uriah may ‘lie’ (‫ )שכב‬with his wife, something David has already done (v. 4). Uriah does twice lie down, but at David’s house with David’s servants (vv. 9, 13), refusing to do so at his own house with his own wife (v. 11). In an irony created consequently to all that has transpired beforehand, ‘Uriah must carry the letter that is his own death warrant’,64 an irony that is ‘an incongruity of knowledge’65 between Uriah’s limited understanding of what he is doing and the fuller understanding of his actions held by David, Joab, and the audience. A final irony is that, from this incredibly inauspicious beginning, the relationship 62 63 64 65

Solvang, A Woman’s Place Is in the House, 125. Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 275. Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 276. Gunn and Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible, 74.

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established between Bathsheba and David after Uriah’s death is the one that eventually produces the next king over Israel.

Trickery The narrative of 1 Kings 1:11–31 relates how Nathan and Bathsheba persuade David to name Solomon as his successor over Adonijah. They make their petition based upon an ‘oath’ to name Solomon king that David previously made (v. 13). However, the text makes no prior mention of this vow. This omission may simply be nothing more than a simple omission. However, a very real possibility also exists that the vow was never made and that Bathsheba and Nathan takes advantage of an ageing David’s infirmity to exert their will to have Solomon named heir to the kingship. To Lillian Klein’s ears, Bathsheba’s and Nathan’s cooperation ‘sounds like a conspiracy’ of two people working together to convince David of a vow that never existed.66 Has Bathsheba, ‘daughter of an oath’ (‫ )בת־שבע‬herself, colluded with Nathan to realize for her offspring the benefits of an oath (‫שבעה‬, vv. 13, 17, 29, 30) that did not exist? David Marcus argues that Adonijah’s feast was a feast and not a coronation and that, as legitimate heir, he had no need to revolt with David so frail and close to death. Therefore, as Marcus argues it, the revolutionaries are Nathan and Bathsheba, not Adonijah, as they ‘achieve by intrigue what they could not otherwise have expected to get in the normal course of events’.67 If this indeed is the case, Nathan and Bathsheba together have carried off one of the more astounding tricks known to the Hebrew Bible. David believes that he is bestowing his kingdom, based on his own promise made previously, when instead it is being taken from him, based upon a promised conjured by others. Thus ironically Bathsheba brings to full circle a theme of ‘seizure’, as her story began by being ‘taken’ by David.68 Echoing Rebekah’s trickery of her infirmed husband, a trick that saw her favoured, but younger, son usurp his elder brother,

66 Lillian R. Klein, ‘Bathsheba Revealed’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), Samuel and Kings: A Feminist Companion to the Bible, FCB 2nd ser. 7 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 47–64 (59); cf. Gunn, The Story of King David, 105–6. 67 David Marcus, ‘David the Deceiver and David the Dupe’, Prooftexts, 6 (1986), 163–71 (166). 68 Gunn, The Story of King David, 106.

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Bathsheba too, with the assistance of Nathan, attains the status of trickster extraordinaire.

Reversal The Bathsheba of 2 Samuel 11–12, as portrayed directly in the events of her liaison with David and indirectly in Nathan’s parable as told to David (2 Sam. 12:1–6), is hardly recognizable in the Bathsheba of 1 Kings 1–2. The Bathsheba of 1 Kings works covertly with the same Nathan to secure, from an aged and impotent David, the promise of the throne for her son Solomon and, furthermore, is the instrument through which Adonijah meets his end. Commentators struggle to unite these two personae in one character and frequently decide the question of who Bathsheba really is based on choosing one ‘personality’ as the key through which to interpret the other ‘personality’. That the ‘union’ between Bathsheba and David was no love match is not in doubt. Brueggemann describes the first episode between David and Bathsheba thusly: ‘There is nothing but action. There is no conversation. There is no hint of caring, of affection, of love—only lust.’69 David Gunn describes the encounter as having ‘all the appearance of a casual affair, a king’s whim’.70 Exum notes that ‘the text makes clear that [David] would prefer to have Uriah assume paternity of the child’.71 However, knowing what this meeting was not does not seem to settle the question of what it was. The answer to this question is a contentious one, primarily because of this two-part Bathsheba. Was she acted upon (had she no role except that of pure victim) or did she herself act as well (had she a role in seducing David)? Favouring the latter, McKenzie likens Bathsheba to Abigail, saying: ‘More than victims, perhaps not victims at all, they were both intelligent women who used the resources at their disposal to advance themselves.’72 For McKenzie, reading the story of David’s and Bathsheba’s adultery with the events of 1 Kings 1–2 in mind reveals a different woman: ‘It 69 Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, 273; cf. J. Cheryl Exum, Tragedy and Biblical Narrative: Arrows of the Almighty (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 128, and Solvang, A Woman’s Place Is in the House, 133. 70 Gunn, The Story of King David, 99. 71 Exum, Fragmented Women, 175. 72 McKenzie, King David, 183.

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is not difficult to see in the supposed victim a woman who is just as shrewd and just as much an advocate of her son as in the later episodes.’73 Klein points to a qal, rather than hiphil, verb form of ‘to come’ (‫בוא‬, 11:4) as evidence that Bathsheba is not completely passive: ‘the use of “come”, with its connotations of sexuality, insinuates Bathsheba’s complicity in the sexual adventure.’74 Klein goes on to offer her hypothesis of potential mitigation for Bathsheba’s ‘complicity with the king’s wishes’: Uriah’s possible infertility and Bathsheba’s need to bear sons.75 Ultimately, Klein favours reading the ‘submissive, docile’ Bathsheba of 2 Samuel through the ‘in-control’ Bathsheba of 1 Kings, and her assessment echoes McKenzie’s above. She writes: ‘[Bathsheba’s] setting David up for seduction . . . is no more shocking than her using Yahweh’s name to “reinforce” a vow that most likely had not taken place . . . Bathsheba is revealed as a resourceful, determined woman who struggles within the system—with any means at hand—to achieve her goals.’76 On the other side of the argument, Exum finds no fault with Bathsheba. Instead she holds the narrator primarily responsible for interpretations of Bathsheba as seducer, because the narrator withholds Bathsheba’s ‘point of view’, thus presenting ‘an ambiguous portrayal that leaves her vulnerable to the charge of seduction’. Exum continues: ‘Should we blame Bathsheba for appearing on the scene naked, when it is the narrator who has chosen to portray her this way? The narrator who disrobes Bathsheba and depicts her as the object of David’s lust is the real perpetrator of the crime against Bathsheba.’77 Elna Solvang finds in Uriah’s behaviour a reason to doubt an image of Bathsheba as a ‘seductress’, contrasting David’s and Uriah’s 73

McKenzie, King David, 182; cf. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel, 309. Klein, ‘Bathsheba Revealed’, 49. 75 Klein, ‘Bathsheba Revealed’, 49, 52–3. 76 Klein, ‘Bathsheba Revealed’, 60–1; cf. Aschkenasy, Woman at the Window, 115. 77 Exum, Fragmented Women, 174. This quotation continues on to say that, in addition to the narrator who perpetrates the crime, ‘commentators . . . who imply Bathsheba may have desired the king’s attentions, perpetuate the crime’. One such commentator whom Exum specifically cites is George Nicol (‘Bathsheba, a Clever Woman?’, Expository Times, 99 (1988), 360–3). Nicol responds strongly to Exum with his article ‘The Alleged Rape of Bathsheba: Some Observations on Ambiguity in Biblical Narrative’, JSOT 73 (1997), 43–54. This scholarly ‘back and forth’ illustrates the issues under debate, as well as the irresolvable nature of the debate itself. 74

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responses to Bathsheba. ‘How is it that her beauty leads David to commit adultery but does not draw her own husband home?’78 In Garsiel’s assessment, Bathsheba is innocent, ‘a tragic figure involuntarily caught up in events’, an assessment justified by the fact that neither Nathan nor the narrator condemns her.79 For Adele Berlin, the lack of depth and development for Bathsheba’s ‘character’ robs her of any complexity in this narrative. Bathsheba is merely an ‘agent’ filling a specific, limited function: ‘The plot in 2 Sam 11 calls for adultery, and adultery requires a married woman.’80 As well, the narrative plainly recounts Bathsheba’s mourning her dead husband, making her the subject of verse 26 as she lamented her husband upon learning of his death. Within the narrative itself, the evidence of Bathsheba’s playing an active role in her encounter with David is thin, at best. It does become somewhat more believable when Bathsheba’s whole story is considered. However, another possible interpretation seems most compelling—that Bathsheba is passive and innocent before her first experience with David but is subsequently changed significantly by her experience. In being drawn into David’s household, she learns her lessons of manipulation and deceit from the man who made those things a part of her own life. In the beginning Bathsheba is a victim contrasted against the powerful and virile David. ‘Yet it is Bathsheba who emerges through this narrative to shape the future of the royal house, as caretaker, counselor and king-maker for the next generation of leadership.’81 In 1 Kings 1, Bathsheba is ‘characterized as the opposite of a victim . . . She shows herself to be very shrewd and capable at getting David to do what she wants.’82 At the end of his life David is the vulnerable and impotent one, and Bathsheba is now the one with power and influence. Michal and Abigail intervened with and for David; Bathsheba intervened against him. Tricksters like Jacob and Rachel would have learned much of their trickery at the knee of masters—namely Rebekah and Laban. Bathsheba too learns from a master how to go about getting what she wants. She learns this lesson early and 78

Solvang, A Woman’s Place Is in the House, 133. Moshe Garsiel, ‘The Story of David and Bathsheba: A Different Approach’, CBQ 55 (1993), 244–62 (255–6). 80 Berlin, ‘Characterization in Biblical Narrative’, 73. 81 Solvang, A Woman’s Place Is in the House, 124. 82 McKenzie, King David, 180–1. 79

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apparently she learns it well, even as far as creating the ‘possibility that David’s supposed victim used him and his reign more than he used her’.83 From Bathsheba’s side of events (and Nathan’s and Solomon’s), this reversal of Bathsheba’s character from victim to victor wrenches her story from the grasp of tragedy and delivers it finally into comedy’s realm.

Surprise The comic reversal of Bathsheba’s story contributes to another of comedy’s elements—surprise. The story of Bathsheba began in ignominy: adultery, followed by murder and the death of an infant. Full of tragic elements, this story would seem to be on a sure course to tragedy. However, the tragic and the comic have much in common, and Bathsheba is able to overcome a collision course with tragedy to prevail in bringing the story to a comic end. From where Bathsheba’s story begins, that she, along with the assistance of Nathan, is able to engineer this reversal is a smile-inducing surprise. Her story’s ‘happy ending’ leaves Bathsheba having that last laugh.

ABISHAG Abishag has non-speaking roles in two narratives, one near the end of David’s life (1 Kgs 1:1–4, 15) and one after he has died (1 Kgs 2:13–25). In her first ‘role’, she contributes a memorable comic image to the saga of David’s kingship. She is the beautiful, young virgin searched for and discovered by David’s servants and tasked with being his human hot water bottle (1 Kgs 1:2–3). Yet, not only is David unable to find warmth in the bosom of Abishag: he ‘does not know her’ (‫לא ידעה‬, 1 Kgs 1:4) either. This picture is a 180-degree inversion of the David of old. David’s decline had already begun, as he has already retired from going to battle after nearly being killed by a Philistine (2 Sam. 21:15–17). The decline has advanced significantly by the time of the David pictured in this episode. Abishag’s beauty and youth provide the darkly humorous contrast—in comparison, David’s feebleness and powerlessness are stark. In an ironic twist, ‘the 83

McKenzie, King David, 183.

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king who had fathered so many children and once allowed his lust to control him now found himself impotent’.84 Abishag—sought for the purpose of providing sexual relief—provides, without a single word, only comic relief instead. Behind this comic picture of an impotent David does lurk a more serious situation, however. As Trevor Dennis points out, the bringing of Abishag to David is not just an attempt by the servants ‘to cheer him up’. They are testing him. An impotent man is an impotent king. That David does not respond sexually to Abishag ‘means there is a crisis in the palace’.85 Into this bedchamber of impotence and fragility, Bathsheba arrives to fulfil the plan she and Nathan have devised to assure Solomon’s ascendance to the throne. Bathsheba, the one passively ‘seen’, ‘sent for’, and ‘taken’ by the king, now shows the strength and will to prevail, as the mere presence of the attendant Abishag is the witness to how far the mighty David has fallen. David’s decline is ironically punctuated in Bathsheba’s incongruous final proclamation: ‘May my lord King David live forever!’ (1 Kgs 1:31, NRSV). Berlin characterizes Abishag, like Bathsheba in her initial encounter with David, as an ‘agent’, a character whose role is ‘to contrast with or provoke responses from the characters’.86 As such, Abishag is the comic relief who provides a contrast to both David and Bathsheba. Her youth, beauty, and sexual potential contrast a king who formerly possessed them, but has now lost all three. Her passivity echoes the early Bathsheba, but it also contrasts with this current Bathsheba, who takes initiative and acts decisively. Bathsheba’s initiative carries beyond David’s death, as Bathsheba continues her advocacy of her son Solomon. And again the passivity of Abishag provides the contrast. Adonijah asks Bathsheba to intervene with Solomon in Adonijah’s bid to marry Abishag, a request to which Bathsheba agrees (1 Kgs 2:13–18). The text is not explicit, but Bathsheba must have known that Solomon would receive the request as an attempt by Adonijah to undermine his authority and kingship. Bathsheba, having been a part of the move that successfully unseated Adonijah as future king, she subsequently takes advantage of ‘an opportunity to get rid of an always potentially dangerous rival to 84 85 86

McKenzie, King David, 177. Dennis, Sarah Laughed, 161; cf. Gunn, The Story of King David, 91. Berlin, ‘Characterization in Biblical Narrative’, 78.

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Solomon’,87 as Solomon’s response to the request is a resounding ‘no’ in the form of having Adonijah killed (1 Kgs 2:25).

SUBVERTING ‘KING DAVID’, THE IMAGE These four women—Michal, Abigail, Bathsheba, and Abishag—are a disparate group, and they enter the story at varying points in David’s career. Two, Michal and Abigail, appear early, before David becomes king. Michal appears again as David is solidifying his power. Bathsheba and Abishag are characters later in David’s kingship, and both survive him to factor in the life of his son Solomon. Two, Abigail and Bathsheba, are the wives of another man when David first encounters them. He marries them both after the premature deaths of their husbands, as he is indirectly responsible for Nabal’s death and directly responsible for Uriah’s. A third wife, Michal, is David’s wife, then his wife ‘again’, after she is forced to return to him from being the wife of another man. All three of these women are subjected to David’s pattern of ‘sending for’ (‫ )שלח‬and ‘taking’ (‫)לקח‬.88 Abishag is the would-be wife to an aged David, who did not send for her and ‘did not know her’. What these four disparate women have in common is David. David is celebrated in the Hebrew Bible as the great king, the pinnacle of all the kings. Yet the events of his life examined here portray him as existing somewhere below that much-elevated peak. In Arthur Schopenhauer’s understanding of the cause of laughter, a person laughs upon experiencing the onset of a ‘sudden perception’ of incongruity between an object and the ‘concept’ one has of the object.89 Granted the episodes investigated here are but a sampling of the biblical evidence of David’s life; however, viewing David through his dealings with these women and through the lens of comedy reveals another side to the man. He emerges as a man who cannot save 87

Marcus, ‘David the Deceiver’, 167; cf. Klein, ‘Bathsheba Revealed’, 63. David ‘sends’ servants to ‘take’ Abigail to David to be his wife after Nabal dies (1 Sam. 25:40); upon David’s orders Ish-bosheth ‘sends’ and ‘takes’ Michal from Palti(el) to return to David (2 Sam. 3:15); David ‘sends’ messengers to ‘take’ Bathsheba to David after he has seen her bathing (2 Sam. 11:4). 89 Arthur Schopenhauer, ‘Excerpt from The World as Will and Idea’, in Lauter (ed.), Theories of Comedy, 355–71 (355–6). 88

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himself and requires the assistance of a woman to do so. He is revealed to be a man with power and prowess who does not have the will or the ability to channel it for his good. He is less than his oft-celebrated self, that famous king of power and prowess. The comedy in the narratives of these women exposes an incongruity between the ‘concept’ of David and David, subverting the ideal of this great man, this mighty ‘King David’, and sniggering ensues as ‘suddenly’ a lessthan-ideal future and present king is exposed. Twice David is saved by a woman: Michal saves him from Saul’s violent intentions, and Abigail saves him from his own violent intentions. Even as Abigail proclaims David’s glorious future, she is using her complimentary speech to talk him down from a violent confrontation that could derail this promised glorious future. Michal initiates confrontation with the king, seemingly unintimidated by a David at the height of his power. Bathsheba is able to manipulate David as he reigns in his impotent old age, a picture further imprinted upon the audience by the presence of the young and beautiful, but untouched, Abishag at his side. These images of David are at odds with his reputation in the Bible and in much of interpretative history.

PRESERVING KING DAVID, THE MAN Ironically, however, even as these four women subvert the image of ‘King David’, they actually help preserve the man himself, aiding him on the road to kingship and in his acquisition of power and status. Even as they undermine him, they build him up. As the text portrays these characters and their actions, David could not have achieved what he does without the assistance and intervention of Michal, Abigail, and Bathsheba. Michal and Abigail save him literally. Bathsheba saves him figuratively through his (and her) son’s ascendance to the kingship, the son who was ‘beloved of Yahweh’ (2 Sam. 13:25). David certainly has a weakness for women, but (fortunately for him) he does not choose women who are weak. With the exception of Abishag (whom David did not choose, but who was chosen by others for him), these are strong women. Yet they are also confined in the hands of even stronger storytellers and text-redactors, who have put the strength and initiative of the women in the service of David’s

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cause. Once woven into the ‘bigger picture’, the women develop a more singular focus, and the furthering of their own interests takes a secondary (if that) position to that of furthering the interests of the great David.90 As with other women of the DH whose deeds are pressed into the service of the patriarchal agenda, usually in a wider story in which a male holds the starring role, Michal, Abigail, Bathsheba, and Abishag are characters only in so far as they factor into this larger story. However, as with other women of the DH whose deeds are pressed into the service of the patriarchal agenda, reading their stories through the lens of comedy gives them renewed roles as unflinching and subversive characters, even in their parts as supporting actors.

90

Jobling, 1 Samuel, 150–1.

8 Jezebel Even women who are hazy on who she was or unable to recount what she did are still aware that they would not like to be one of her: a Jezebel. ‘No woman (or man) in the Hebrew Scriptures endures a more hostile press than Jezebel.’1 However, she was someone scores of people have dreamed of becoming: royalty. Jezebel was a Phoenician princess and was married to the king of Israel, Ahab. After her brief introduction (1 Kgs 16:31) and references to her in Elijah’s contest with the prophets of Baal (1 Kgs 18), Jezebel, wife of Ahab, appears as a primary actor in two narratives in the book of Kings: the successful plot to seize Naboth’s vineyard (1 Kgs 21:1–16), and Jezebel’s confrontation with Jehu precipitating her death (2 Kgs 9:30–7). The comic does break through these two narratives in moments; however, as always, detecting it depends primarily upon one’s relative relationship to both the subject and the object of that comedy.

COMEDY AND JEZEBEL Evidence of comedy is scant in the narratives of Jezebel; however, some comic elements do exist. In the narrative of Naboth’s vineyard, the queen and king are both presented as stock characters: Jezebel is 1 Phyllis Trible, ‘Exegesis for Storytellers and Other Strangers’, JBL 114 (1995), 3–19 (4). Sections of this article are adapted from her essay ‘The Odd Couple: Elijah and Jezebel’, in Christina Büchmann and Celina Spiegel (eds), Out of the Garden: Women Writers on the Bible (New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1994), 166–79; see ‘Exegesis for Storytellers’, 19 n. 45.

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the strong, dominant, take-charge woman (complete with lackeys), leading Ahab, who is portrayed as a weak, sulking, compliant man. Jezebel finds in him a fool: a king who, despite being in possession of the title, does not realize he is king (1 Kgs 21:7). Through wordplay, one of comedy’s linguistic devices, Jezebel’s very name is used against her. Gale Yee offers possible meanings for ‘Jezebel’ and suggests a path its evolution might have taken. The name as vocalized in the Masoretic Text is ‘probably a two-layered parody’ with Jezebel’s original name being ‘îzĕbūl (‘Where is the Prince?’), eventually becoming ‘î-zĕbūl (‘No Nobility’). Then zĕbūl, a title for Baal, was distorted into zebel (‘dung’), an Arabic cognate. The Hebrew word ‘dung’ (‫ )דמן‬is subsequently used to describe Jezebel’s corpse in 2 Kgs 9:37.2 BDB suggests ‫‘( איזבל‬Jezebel’) is an alteration from ‫בעלאזבל‬, which means either ‘Baal exalts X’ or ‘Baal is husband to X’. Here the suggestion is that the alteration would have been done to avoid a direct reference to Baal. Another possibility offered in the BDB is that ‫ אי‬could produce a negating effect on ‫זבל‬: un-exalted or un-husbanded.3 Jacob Katzenstein proposes a different possibility regarding ‫אי‬, that it could be an abbreviation for ‫אבי‬, thus rendering a full spelling of Jezebel’s name as ‫‘ אביזבל‬my father is zebel’. None of these explanations can be looked to as definitive. As Katzenstein describes (but yet with some hope in the matter), this name ‘has not yet been fully explained’.4 However, what these varying analyses have in common is a lack of anything very positive to put forward regarding ‘Jezebel’.5 Ironic hyperbole makes an appearance in the story of Jezebel. Presented in the NRSV as a parenthetical aside—narrator direct to reader—1 Kgs 21:25–6 describes Ahab, the insertion beginning: ‘Indeed, there was no one like Ahab . . .’. While it is a historic, as well

2 Gale A. Yee, ‘Jezebel’, in ABD iii. 848–9 (848); John Gray, I & II Kings: A Commentary, 2nd edn, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1970), 551; cf. Trible, ‘Exegesis for Storytellers’, 4. 3 BDB 33; cf. p. 259. 4 H. Jacob Katzenstein, The History of Tyre, from the Beginning of the Second Millenium B.C.E. until the Fall of the Neo-Babylonian Empire in 538 B.C.E, (Jerusalem: Schocken Institute, 1973), 146–7 n. 85. 5 Most of the scholars cited here argue for some reference to Baal in the name ‘Jezebel’. Ironically, however, Jezebel’s sons both have names properly containing a Yahwist element: Ahaziah (‫ אחזיהו‬or ‫)אחזיה‬, ‘Yahweh has taken hold’, cf. 1 Kgs 22:40; 2 Kgs 1:2) and Jehoram/Joram (‫יהירם‬/‫ירם‬, ‘Yahweh is exalted’, cf. 2 Kgs 1:17; 9:15).

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as a linguistic, impossibility that a handful of different kings could incomparably be the ‘one’ who was like no other, the Hebrew Bible nonetheless utilizes the above phrase or a similar one in description of David (1 Sam. 10:24; 1 Kgs 14:8) and Solomon (1 Kgs 3:12, 13) before Ahab and of Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18:5) and Josiah (2 Kgs 23:25) after him. Without any other context, the reader then could anticipate this assessment of Ahab to be a most favourable superlative. However, this hyperbolic description is an ironic one of which the author wants the audience to be aware. Ahab is singular, not in good, but in evil,6 evil that was, of course, encouraged by his wife. In the ‘Naboth’s vineyard’ episode (1 Kgs 21:1–16), a trick is definitely afoot. It involves both deception, as Jezebel facilitates the lie that will condemn Naboth, and hiddenness, as Jezebel takes an indirect and unseen role in the fast and subsequent stoning. This trick of Jezebel’s is successful, and Ahab takes possession of the vineyard (v. 16). This trickery differs from other trickery discussed so far, however, in that Jezebel, far from being the powerless figure, possesses her own power as queen combined with the authority and resources of her husband’s kingship backing her, not the least of which is the use of his seal on the letters she writes using his name (1 Kgs 21:8). With this power and the obedience of those she commands, Jezebel’s trickery is achieved without complication and without any danger to herself. Helena Zlotnik spots an irony in this same narrative, relating to ‘twin themes of fasting and feasting’. Ahab fasts (but Jezebel encourages him to eat; 1 Kgs 21:4–7); a fast is the setting for the framing of Naboth (1 Kgs 21:9); after being condemned by Elijah, Ahab again fasts, in repentance for taking Naboth’s vineyard (1 Kgs 21:27). Yet, ultimately, the queen’s and king’s fates are determined not by this fasting, but by feasting, more precisely by being feasted upon: his blood (1 Kgs 22:38) and her body (2 Kgs 9:35–6) become, at their deaths, food for animals.7 With respect to Jezebel, Tina Pippin observes grimly but humorously: ‘Jezebel the Queen is now Jezebel the dog food.’8

6

Cf. Simon John DeVries, 1 Kings, WBC 12 (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), 257–8. 7 Helena Zlotnik, ‘From Jezebel to Esther: Fashioning Images of Queenship in the Hebrew Bible’, Biblica, 82 (2001), 477–95 (490). 8 Tina Pippin, ‘Jezebel Re-Vamped’, Semeia, 69–70 (1995), 221–33 (226).

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A more caustic aspect of comedy is sarcasm, frequently expressed in ridicule and taunt. Jezebel’s voice certainly drips with sarcasm as she questions her husband regarding whether he does indeed govern Israel (1 Kgs 21:7). Later on in her story, Jezebel’s sharpness and cleverness with the jibe are displayed in an even more darkly humorous way as she calls out to ‘Zimri, murderer of your master’, as he (that is Jehu) approaches her window.9 These cutting words are ‘battle taunts’10 between posturing adversaries. What happens next will not favour Jezebel, as surely she must suspect; yet in those few gutsy words she displays her own continued ‘self-assurance and courage’11 and dismisses Jehu as an incompetent usurper, letting him (and the audience) know exactly the disdain with which she views him. A sprinkling, rather than a full helping, of comedy highlights the narratives of Jezebel. However, in that small portion, the reader can glimpse a different Jezebel from the one tradition has passed down. Jezebel, no longer the whoring temptress, can be seen as a king’s wife, née princess, who sees in her role the need to be a strong, ‘take-noprisoners’ royal, committed and loyal to her husband’s reign, if not to her husband’s people or her husband’s God. This last deficiency, however, is for all time her fatal flaw.

THE ‘OTHER’ Jezebel, to say the least, is a much-vilified character. However, in reading ‘her story’ in the biblical text, one seems to encounter Jezebel, the character, and Jezebel, the caricature. Jezebel, as a character, is independent, determined, savvy, loyal. She comes from royalty, and she marries royalty. She is in charge, and she is a force with which to be reckoned. After Ahab has reported to Jezebel the slaughter of Baal’s priests, Yahweh’s own prophet Elijah flees from her in fear that she will carry through on her threat to kill him (1 Kgs 19:1–3). Jezebel takes command of the situation when Ahab reveals to her the reason 9

2 Kgs 9:31; cf. 1 Kgs 16:8–20. Judith E. McKinlay, ‘Negotiating the Frame for Viewing the Death of Jezebel’, Biblical Interpretation, 10 (2002), 305–23 (306). 11 Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation, AB 11 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1988), 112; cf. Yee, ‘Jezebel’, 848. 10

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for his sulking and not eating (1 Kgs 21:7), a fact underscored by her emphatic use of the first-person pronoun: ‘I (‫ )אני‬will give you the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite’ (1 Kgs 21:7). The report of Naboth’s death comes directly to Jezebel, after which she instructs her husband, in the imperative: ‘Arise, take possession . . .’ (‫קום רש‬, 1 Kgs 21:15). Of the royal pair, Carol Smith argues that Jezebel was both ‘more powerful’ and ‘more politically aware’ than her husband, creating in him a dependence on her.12 Beyond her husband’s reign, Jezebel apparently continues to have a measure of power and influence so that Jehu finds it necessary ‘to murder her before his rule can be established . . . even though her royal husband and sons are by now dead’.13 Jezebel’s actions depict her as a strong-willed woman, courageous and defiant until her end. In this way, she is not so unlike Rahab or the Bathsheba of 1 Kgs 1–2 or Esther. Jezebel’s actions also depict her as domineering, treacherous, conniving. In this way, she is not so unlike the Sarah who ousts Hagar or the Tamar who tricks Judah or the Jael who murders Sisera. Why, therefore, does Jezebel emerge from the story maligned, condemned, and abhorred when these other women are celebrated? In short, Jezebel is a foreigner. More specifically, however, she remains determinedly, unapologetically ‘foreign’. The difference between the foreigners Rahab, Jael, and Ruth versus Jezebel: in Phyllis Trible’s succinct summary, ‘They support Yahwism; she does not.’14 Stanley Frost elaborates: It appears that seduction, treason, and murder are virtuous and praiseworthy when done to Israel’s advantage, but are deserving of the utmost censure when used by Israel’s enemies. There is in the Bible, it would seem, a double standard of judgment, and the view is tacitly inculcated that when actions benefit Israel they are right, but when they militate against her they are wrong.15

12 Carol Smith, ‘ “Queenship” in Israel: The Cases of Bathsheba, Jezebel and Athaliah’, in John Day (ed.), King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar, JSOT, suppl. ser. 270 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 142–62 (154). 13 Athalya Brenner, ‘Jezebel 1’, in Meyers, Craven and Kraemer (ed.), Women in Scripture, 100–2 (100). 14 Trible, ‘The Odd Couple’, 169. 15 Stanley Brice Frost, ‘Judgment on Jezebel, or a Woman Wronged’, Theology Today, 20 (1964), 503–17 (505).

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Thus, Jezebel, the caricature begins to emerge, and in this caricatured persona she is the quintessential ‘other’. Despite her commanding behaviour, fitting for a queen, ‘the Bible itself refuses her the title and its attendant respect, not to mention approval’.16 Instead she is ‘the archetypal bitch–witch–queen’, the ‘contradictory, controlling, carnal foreign woman’.17 Jezebel, without doubt, is a dedicated Baal worshipper. Of course she is. She is not an Israelite—she is a Phoenician. However, this characteristic is the one for which the text cannot forgive her. It does not matter that she was quite possibly a ‘result’ rather than a ‘cause’ in a deliberate policy of Ahab’s to accomplish ‘the Canaanitization of Israel’.18 Following the usual biblical pattern, Jezebel is passive in the act of their marriage—Ahab ‘took’ Jezebel as his wife (1 Kgs 16:31). Furthermore, Ahab served and worshipped her god (1 Kgs 16:31–3). Yet, Jezebel is portrayed as the ‘foreign woman’ who has enticed her husband to Baal worship. Jezebel becomes a woman through whom ‘foreign women in general are stigmatized’.19 From this caricature, she evolves into the iconic figure of all non-Yahweh-worshipping foreigners who will do their best to pollute the Israelites with their wandering ways.20 Furthermore, as sexual promiscuity becomes the preferred metaphor for this ‘pollution’, for this following of other gods, Jezebel’s caricature becomes even more convoluted, and she emerges as a sexual temptress, as well. She becomes, like Delilah, ‘a foreign woman who seduces and manipulates an Israelite leader’.21 Jezebel, on this point, is the victim of A=B; B=C; so A=C. A: Jezebel is strange, foreign. B: ‘Whoring and fornication is associated with strange religion and strange culture.’22 Thus, C: Jezebel can be expected to engage in ‘whoring and fornication’. A factor compounding the severity of this interpretation of Jezebel as femme fatale is that, according to Claudia Camp, the metaphor of worshipping other gods as being

16

17 Brenner, ‘Jezebel 1’, 101. Pippin, ‘Jezebel Re-Vamped’, 222. Frost, ‘Judgment on Jezebel’, 506. 19 Alexander Rofé, ‘The Vineyard of Naboth: The Origin and Message of the Story’, VT 38 (1988), 89–104 (102). 20 Cf. 1 Kgs 11, in which Yahweh passes judgment on Solomon, who has continued to embrace foreign wives and their religion, including worship of ‘Astarte the goddess of the Sidonians’ (vv. 5, 33); Jezebel is from Sidon. 21 Matthews, Judges and Ruth, 159–60. 22 Pippin, ‘Jezebel Re-Vamped’, 225. 18

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177

sexually promiscuous ‘came to be understood with increasing literalness. Thus Jezebel is often interpreted today not as the woman of political power that she was, but as a seductress.’23 Her ‘many whoredoms and sorceries’ (2 Kgs 9:22) become not a metaphorical reference to her devotion to Baal worship, but rather a literal description of her actions and her character. Even Jezebel’s ‘primping’ before meeting Jehu (2 Kgs 9:30) has contributed to her image as being sexually provocative. However, attempting to utilize the scant evidence to hold to an idea of Jezebel’s ‘character’ rather than falling back on any caricature of her offers the possibility of other interpretations of her actions. With respect to her cosmetic preparations in 2 Kgs 9:30, she probably acts not to dangle temptation, but rather out of the defiance that accompanies royal pride and a sense of entitlement. She would not meet her enemy (or her end) unprepared in appearance or in speech. Her actions of preparation and her words of taunt belie a temptress intent on seduction; rather, they indicate a queen intending ‘to make her exit in style’,24 facing her enemy and the prospect of her death with the same assertiveness and pride as she had previously exhibited. Another vision of the woman Jezebel is possible, again in line more with her character than with her caricature. That she does indeed come from outside Israel surely means the ways of Israel are as foreign to her as she is to Israel. Commentators suggest that, as a Phoenician princess, she may well have been operating under a back-home notion of royalty rather than that of an Israelite monarchy. Possibly from Jezebel’s Phoenician experience, ‘kingship implied absolute power’,25 so that a king may well be entitled to what he wants regardless of a subject’s wishes. Jezebel’s ruthless response to Naboth’s refusal of Ahab could be seen by her then as ‘an appropriate royal response to insubordination, in contrast to Ahab’s unconscionable 23 Claudia V. Camp, ‘1 and 2 Kings’, in Newsom and Ringe (eds), Women’s Bible Commentary, 102–16 (110). 24 Duane L. Christensen, ‘Huldah and the Men of Anathoth: Women in Leadership in the Deuteronomic History’, Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers, 23 (1984), 399–404 (402); cf. Aschkenasy, Woman at the Window, 15; Camp, ‘1 and 2 Kings’, 110; T. R. Hobbs, 2 Kings, WBC 13 (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), 118. 25 Gwilym H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, ii, NCBC (London: Marshall Morgan & Scott, 1984), 354; cf. DeVries, 1 Kings, 257; Richard D. Nelson, First and Second Kings, Interpretation (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1987), 141–2.

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weakness as a leader’.26 If accustomed to royal prerogative in all things, rather than regarding land as a gift from Yahweh and kingship as something modelled after Yahweh’s position in the covenantal relationship with the people, she quite possibly acted in an acceptable manner based on her context. This theory does not excuse tyranny; however, it can serve as encouragement to view Jezebel as a character with her own foreign background, rather than as a caricature for ever foregrounded as foreigner.

DRAWING BOUNDARIES Portrayed as a flat caricature, saddled with a name that (m)aligns her, assigned a primary role in Ahab’s hyperbolic achievement as ‘the one like no one’, implicated in trickery against an innocent Israelite, Jezebel exists outside the boundaries of Israel, and the comic elements in texts where she is an actor work to place her there. Once again, comedy draws the lines, and makes a joke of the one who is on the ‘other’ side of it. The scant comedy in the stories featuring Jezebel serves the revelatory function of the comic in that it lays bare the political/religious agenda of the authors/redactors of the Hebrew Bible. Comic revelation, however, is a two-sided event. It reveals what is and thus reveals something that could be, under different circumstances. In this case, comedy’s revelation is of another perspective and another context if one imagines the stories of Jezebel being told by those on the other side of the boundary, those on Jezebel’s ‘side’. For example, an explanation consistently put forward for Jezebel’s behaviour with regard to Naboth’s vineyard is that she comes from a society in which the king has absolute authority over the people. If this is an accurate reflection of Jezebel’s background and her expectations of royalty, one can well imagine that the story of a royal putting an upstart subject in his place would elicit a hearty chuckle back home. Another example is in the mirroring actions of Elijah and Jezebel, both killing the prophets of the other’s god (1 Kgs 18:4, 13, 40). From a non-Israelite perspective, Elijah would be the one condemned, while Jezebel would be the one celebrated. Trible writes: 26

Camp, ‘1 and 2 Kings’, 110.

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179

In a pro-Jezebel setting Elijah would be censured for murdering prophets, for imposing his theology on the kingdom, for inciting kings to do his bidding, and for stirring up trouble in the land . . . By contrast, Jezebel would be held in high esteem for remaining faithful to her religious convictions, for upholding the prerogatives of royalty, for supporting her husband and children, and for opposing her enemies unto death.27

What is comic in Israel may well be tragic for the Phoenicians, but what makes for stony-faced Israelites may have them rolling on the floor back in Phoenicia.

SUBVERSION In its context, outside of a few wry smiles most likely at Ahab’s expense, feminist critique would certainly have difficulty enjoying the humour in the Hebrew Bible’s depiction of Jezebel. However, imagining Jezebel outside the constraints of the ethnic and theological concerns of the Hebrew Bible offers an alternative view of this queen. ‘Jezebel stands out both because of the strength of her personality and her unwillingness to subordinate her religious traditions to those of her husband.’28 This reading against the grain is boosted by comedy’s subversive force. With the perspective shifted, the caricature of Jezebel as a Yahweh-disdaining and man-seducing polluter of Israel gives way to a picture of a woman with the strength to withstand the barbs hurled at her from every direction.

27 28

Trible, ‘Exegesis for Storytellers’, 17–18. Bellis, Helpmates, Harlots, and Heroes, 143.

9 Ruth In the final chapter of the book of Ruth, the people bless Boaz and Ruth in their marriage, referencing three matriarchs: Rachel, Leah, and Tamar (4:11–12). Through their blessing, they bring Ruth into the line of women who are the mothers of Israel’s line of leaders. The blessing comes to fruition as Ruth, mother of Obed, becomes the great-grandmother of David (4:17–22). The precipitating event, the one that secures this future for Ruth, occurs in Ruth 3, where Naomi instructs Ruth (vv. 1–5), and Ruth, the trickster, carries out the plan to approach Boaz on the threshing-floor in the night, securing his commitment to Ruth (vv. 6–13). The story concludes with Ruth’s reporting back to Naomi, and the two women in wait for Boaz to resolve the matter (vv. 16–18). The direct reference to Rachel, Leah, and Tamar in chapter 4, plus significant similarities between all the stories of these Genesis women, brings Ruth into the company of the esteemed matriarchs and into their community of comic tricksters too. In addition to trickery, Ruth’s story bears other features of comedy as well, including comic plot structure, dialogue, reversal, hiddenness/surprise, and sexuality. The functions of comedy in this story further reflect those Genesis trickster narratives as the comedy draws boundaries, both subverts and preserves the status quo, and aids survival. With respect to feminist critique, while the comedy cannot fully erase the mark upon Ruth and Naomi of the patriarchal context in which they live and move, it does emphasize and celebrate the attributes of Ruth and Naomi as it also undercuts this very same patriarchal context.

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MATRIARCH, REDUX In the blessing of Boaz and Ruth, the text mentions Rachel, Leah, and Tamar—a wish that Ruth would be ‘like’ these women (4:11, 12). However, links between the stories of these three women and Ruth indicate she is already ‘like’ them.1 The strongest link to the story of Ruth is that of Tamar. To summarize the similarities in the overall pattern of their stories: an Israelite man leaves his birthplace and his son(s) marry non-Israelites. The son(s) die childless, and the widow finds herself in a difficult situation. She attempts to better her situation through an older family member. The man and woman have sex and a son is born, a son in the line of David. ‘Without Tamar the people of Judah would not have existed, and without Ruth they would never have got a King David.’2 Differences in the general pattern do exist as well. For Tamar, producing an heir is portrayed as central to her survival and thus central to the story. For Ruth, the idea is secondary to that of simply surviving; her trickery is not immediately about conception. The pivotal meeting is overtly sexual with Tamar and Judah and only ambiguously so for Ruth and Boaz. Finally, Tamar and Judah have sex only once and never again, while Ruth and Boaz marry. More specific similarities also exist between the narratives. Both stories occur in the context of a festival occasion, sheep-shearing in Genesis (38:12) and barley harvest in Ruth (3:2). The word ‫נכר‬, which can mean ‘to recognize’ and ‘foreign’, appears in both narratives. In Genesis 38:25–6, Tamar asks Judah to ‘recognize’ his belongings and Judah does ‘recognize’ them. In Ruth 2:10, Ruth asks Boaz why he would ‘take notice’ of her, a ‘foreigner’, and in Ruth 2:19, Naomi blesses the man who has ‘taken notice’ of Ruth. However, the next morning, Boaz hustles Ruth out of the threshing-room ‘before a person could recognize his companion’ (3:14). In another textual link, both women are judged favourably by their male counterparts. 1

Robert L. Hubbard, The Book of Ruth, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1988), 39-40, offers a list of ‘motifs’ found in the book of Ruth, ‘which recall episodes in the patriarchal stories’. 2 Ellen J. Van Wolde, Ruth and Naomi (London: SCM Press, 1997), 129; as cited previously in Ch. 3, Exum (‘You Shall Let Every Daughter Live’, 52) has made a strikingly similar observation regarding the women at Moses’ birth: ‘Without Moses there would be no story, but without the initiative of these women, there would be no Moses!’

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Judah said of Tamar that she is ‘more righteous than I am’ (‫צדקה ממני‬, Gen. 38:26), and Ruth is a ‘woman of worth’ (‫אשת חיל‬, 3:11).3 In addition to these links with Tamar, Ruth has something else in common with Tamar and also with Leah/Rachel and Lot’s daughters. Their stories bear the folkloric motif of the ‘bride-in-the-dark’, a motif also called a ‘bed trick’, in which a man is surprised in bed with an unexpected partner, and all these women participate in this type of ruse, sexually manipulating men to benefit themselves.4 Furthermore, these ‘bed tricks’ were executed under cover: of night (Leah/Rachel, Lot’s daughters, Ruth) or of a veil (Tamar).5 A further link between Ruth and Lot’s daughters is genealogical. Lot’s eldest daughter bears a son named Moab (Gen. 19:37), and thus Ruth, the Moabite, is her descendant.

TRICKSTER MATRIARCH, REDUX The myriad connections outlined above bring Ruth into the company of the matriarchs. What links the women together as sisters in comedy is trickster-ness. Jack Sasson writes that ‘the future line of David was established by a trick played upon Judah . . . So too, in the book of Ruth, the line of David was founded, that night on the threshingfloor, when Ruth gambled daringly, and won.’6 Through her actions,

3 Edward Fay Campbell, Ruth: A New Translation, AB 7 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), 125; John Gray, Joshua, Judges and Ruth, 418. For an extensive discussion of the links between these two women and their stories, see Ellen J. Van Wolde, ‘Texts in Dialogue with Texts: Intertextuality in the Ruth and Tamar Narratives’, Biblical Interpretation, 5 (1997), 1–28 (esp. pp. 8–24); repr. as Ellen J. Van Wolde, ‘Intertextuality: Ruth in Dialogue with Tamar’, in Athalya Brenner and Carole R. Fontaine (eds), A Feminist Companion to Reading the Bible: Approaches, Methods and Strategies, FCB (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 426–51; cf. Katharine Doob Sakenfeld, Ruth, Interpretation (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1999), 78–9. 4 James Black, ‘Ruth in the Dark: Folktale, Law and Creative Ambiguity in the Old Testament’, Literature and Theology, 5 (1991), 20–36 (20); Harold Fisch, ‘Ruth and the Structure of Covenant History’, VT 32 (1982), 425–37 (430–1); Kirsten Nielsen, Ruth: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1997), 92; Van Wolde, Ruth and Naomi, 130. 5 Tod Linafelt, Ruth, Berit Olam (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), 76. 6 Jack M. Sasson, Ruth: A New Translation with a Philological Commentary and a Formalist–Folklorist Interpretation, 2nd edn (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 232.

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Ruth emerges as a trickster. Through the success of and subsequent results of her actions, Ruth emerges as a matriarch. On that important night on the threshing-floor, Ruth cements in perpetuity her place among Israel’s trickster matriarchs. Susan Niditch’s five-step trickster morphology has previously been outlined with regard to the trickster matriarchs in Chapter 2. It is here recapitulated: (1) the hero has low status, so (2) enacts a deception to improve her/his status; (3) the successful trick leads to improved status for the hero. (4) However, eventually the deception is revealed, and (5) while surviving, the hero is returned to marginal/ outsider/reduced status. Ruth progresses partway through this pattern. She certainly has low status: she is a childless widow and a recently transplanted foreigner. Naomi conspires with Ruth, as the mother-in-law ‘introduces an outrageous scheme, dangerous and delicate’,7 and Ruth’s job is to see this scheme to fruition. This risky plot creates suspense as the two women and the audience wait to find out how Boaz responds. If he is upset and exposes Ruth, Nehama Aschkenasy writes, ‘these women are doomed’; if he is not upset but still does not consent to ‘the plan’, the women are back where they started, ‘hopeless and destitute’. Aschkenasy concludes that things could go either way, but, fortunately for Ruth and Naomi, they go the way of comedy.8 Ruth’s encounter with Boaz on the threshing-floor sees her role successfully executed, as Boaz makes a commitment to do what Ruth has said. However, achieving complete success is delayed until Boaz’s negotiation scene at the gate with the ‘closer’ redeemer (4:1–10). Interestingly, with respect to the fourth stage of ‘deception revealed’, the threshing-floor rendezvous is never discovered. Consistent with the experience of the other matriarch tricksters, a further deviation occurs at stage five, as, from the narrative’s perspective, Ruth is never returned to her formerly low status: she marries and bears a child, a child from whom King David will descend.

7

Phyllis Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality (London: SCM Press, 1992), 182. Nehama Aschkenasy, ‘The Book of Ruth as Comedy: Classical and Modern Perspectives’, in Peter S. Hawkins and Lesleigh Cushing Stahlberg (eds), Scrolls of Love: Ruth and the Song of Songs (New York: Fordham University Press, 2006), 31–44 (35). 8

184

Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible BOAZ AS TRICKSTER?

Trickery, in the Hebrew Bible, is a skill that seems often to pass from one person to another person who has probably learned from observation—Rebekah to Jacob, Laban to his daughters, David to Bathsheba. In his dealings with the closer redeemer in chapter 4, Boaz displays trickster tendencies, skills he may well have acquired from Ruth the previous night. For Kirsten Nielsen, Boaz uses ‘a certain cunning’ in not at first mentioning Ruth to the closer redeemer, but waiting until the ‘second round’ to do so. In chapter 3, Boaz was subject to Ruth’s shrewdness; now he emerges as ‘the shrewd one’ himself.9 A particularly interesting point of translation serves further to highlight Boaz as a canny trickster. In 4:5, following the qere ‫קניתה‬, the majority of commentators translate the word as ‘you acquire’. Derek Beattie10 and Jack Sasson11 take a minority position. They argue for the ketiv ‫ קניתי‬and translate the word ‘I acquire’. An extensive discussion of the textual arguments is beyond the scope of this work; however, what is persuasive in the translation ‘I acquire’ is that it alleviates the seeming inclusion of an obligation of marriage in the duty of the redeemer. This connection between marriage and redemption is not indicated in the Levitical instructions for the redeemer (Lev. 25:25; 27:9–33). A translation that reads ‘The day you acquire the field . . . I acquire Ruth’ disconnects the two acts of redeeming and marriage and paints Boaz as a tricky negotiator. In declaring his intention to marry Ruth, he has set his ‘trap’ for the redeemer.12 The man, now seeing in Boaz’s proposition a threat to his own inheritance, changes his mind and relinquishes his role, and Boaz emerges, not just with Ruth as his wife, but with clear title to Naomi’s land as well. Boaz appears to have learned both very quickly and very well the ways of the trickster.

9 10 11 12

Nielsen, Ruth, 88. Derek R. G. Beattie, ‘Ruth III’, JSOT 5 (1978), 39–51. Sasson, Ruth, 103, 119–36. Sasson, Ruth, 230.

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LITERARY DEVICES

Comic plot movement Mentioned in short order in Ruth 1:1 are judges ruling the land, famine, and a Judahite moving his family to Moab. A story could hardly have a less promising beginning. Therefore, with respect to the comic U-shaped plot, the book of Ruth begins already in descent. It slides significantly further with the death of Naomi’s husband and sons. While adherence to a U shape is a predominant characteristic of the comic plot line, the initial events in the lives of Naomi and Ruth highlight the insufficiency of a model in which a plot is too quickly and inevitably propelled to its ‘happy ending’. To appreciate the eventual upturn in this plot, the initial downward move required by this ‘U’ must first be endured by both the audience and the characters. The book of Ruth demonstrates that, while comedies may end ‘happily’, the getting there can be everything but happy. Along the way towards a reunited, harmonious situation, comedy frequently involves threat, hardship, and misfortune. Comic plots allowed to take their natural course ‘can end in catastrophe’.13 At more than one juncture, a catastrophic destination for the book of Ruth threatens. First comes famine, which is followed by multiple deaths, leaving no caretaking husbands, after which Naomi and Ruth concoct and execute a risky threshing-floor manœuvre, the outcome of which is further jeopardized by the appearance of a closer-than-Boaz kinsman redeemer. However, a glimpse of that anticipated ‘happy’ ending can be seen as Ruth elicits from Boaz a promise of his care, a promise he is able to keep, and the plot surges upwards and ends favourably for Ruth and Naomi as they cradle Obed.14 This ‘happy’ ending also coincides with comedy’s preference to end with social reintegration, and in this instance the reintegration is a two-in-one. First, the celebratory events of Ruth’s being married to Boaz and bearing a son allow Elimelech’s family, ‘estranged from its people and seemingly severed from them forever (since all its males 13 Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 18–19; cf. Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 8. 14 Reg Grant (‘Literary Structure in the Book of Ruth’, Bibliotheca Sacra, 148 (1991), 424–41 (426–7)) seems to place the upturn sooner, arguing the ‘return motif’ of 1:6 and Ruth’s ‘faithfulness’ in 1:16–17 together ‘suggest at least the remote possibility of comic resolution’.

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have died)’, an opportunity to be ‘miraculously reintegrated into Israelite history and society’.15 Second, in what Edward Campbell dubs a ‘trick ending’, the author(s) surprise the audience with the addition of the detail that a Moabite (!) woman will be the greatgrandmother of King David.16 The verb ‫( שוב‬to turn, return) occurs twelve times in the first chapter of Ruth (1:6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 15 (2x), 16, 21, 22 (2x)), as Naomi and her daughters-in-law discuss their future and who will turn/return to where. In returning to Bethlehem with her daughter-in-law, Naomi also symbolically enables a return of Moab to her familial origins. Forgiveness and second chances are significant features of comedy. Despite the ongoing enmity between the people of Moab and Israel, comedy allows that enemies may become friends after all.17 From a comic perspective, that Naomi is reunited with and woven back into the continuing life of her people is a happy occasion. That she brings back from Moab a woman who will come to weave her own wayward people back into the life of Israel is occasion for downright wild revelry. From the comic perspective a reintegrating, celebratory ending is a ‘happy’ one, but one that surprises, scandalizes, and subverts, even as it reintegrates, is a truly exhilarating one.

Dialogue In chapter 3, not just Ruth’s actions, but also her engagement in conversation, lend this story a humorous spirit. Naomi instructs Ruth, and Ruth is compliant, agreeing to do everything Naomi has said (v. 5). And Ruth does do as Naomi instructs—mostly. When Boaz discovers Ruth, he speaks only briefly: ‘Who are you?’ (‫מי־את‬, v. 9). Ruth answers and from there takes charge with her direct speech, responding succinctly but with clear instruction (v. 9). Ruth deviates from Naomi’s instructions, not waiting to be told what to do by Boaz. Instead, in an assertive move Ruth tells Boaz what to do.18 She addresses him in such a way that he must respond—hopefully positively. Johanna Bos suggests that through this initiative of speech, while Ruth ‘does not deceive Boaz in any way, she outwits him 15 16 17 18

Aschkenasy, ‘The Book of Ruth as Comedy’, 32. E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 169. Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 35. Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, 184; E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 121.

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certainly’.19 After complying with Boaz’s instructions, Ruth returns to Naomi six measures of barley heavier. She fulfils Naomi’s request for information—again, mostly. Ruth slightly embellishes her report, adding the detail that Boaz meant the grain for Naomi, a detail that would surely please Naomi.

Reversal Small reversals heighten the comic atmosphere of chapter 3. According to Aschkenasy, who interprets Ruth’s words to Boaz as a marriage proposal, Ruth reverses patriarchal norms by initiating the proposal and by referencing Boaz’s ‘cloak’ (3:9), a ‘mischievous’ recalling of Boaz’s previous reference to ‘wings’ (2:12), ‫ כנף‬being the word used in both instances.20 Boaz’s instruction to Ruth, ‘Do not be afraid’ (v. 11), is humorous, ‘considering that he is the one who moments before was quaking in his sandals’.21 Ruth’s status in the chapter changes from her self-description as ‘your servant’ (‫אמתך‬, v. 9) to Boaz’s description of her as ‘a woman of worth’ (‫אשת חיל‬, v. 11), a description that elevates her to his textual equal, matching his introduction as ‘a strong, worthy man’ (‫איש גבור חיל‬, 2:1). While the chapter contains minor reversals, it also contains the action that becomes the turning point for the most significant reversal in the book of Ruth. This reversal occurs with respect to the book’s plot movement. ‘A story beginning in deepest despair has worked its way to wholeness and well-being.’22 Being transformed from two widows in dire straits to a mother and ‘grandmother’ in the line of David is certainly a perfect 180-degree turnaround from how and where the tale begins to how and where it concludes.

Hiddenness/surprise The threshing-floor scene is full of hiddenness, primarily on the part of Ruth, and surprise, primarily as experienced by Boaz. First, Naomi 19

Bos, ‘Out of the Shadows’, 62. Aschkenasy, ‘The Book of Ruth as Comedy’, 42. 21 Linafelt, Ruth, 58. 22 Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, 195. Trible entitles her chapter on the book of Ruth ‘A Human Comedy’; however, her title seems to be almost wholly dependent upon the idea briefly stated that the book ultimately achieves a happy ending from a bleak beginning. 20

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instructs Ruth not to make herself known to Boaz until he has finished eating and drinking (3:3). Then, using the night as cover, Ruth approaches Boaz when he is sleeping, coming to him ‘quietly’ (‫בלט‬, 3:7).23 Boaz is somehow ‘startled’ (‫חרד‬, 3:8) awake and then experiences quite a surprise as he turns to find ‫הנה אשה‬, a woman is lying with him! The night is dark enough to hide Ruth, or Boaz is so surprised that he is completely disoriented—something causes him to have to ask ‘the woman’, ‘Who are you?’ (3:9). Boaz is, by the design of Naomi’s and Ruth’s plan, meant to be ‘literally and figuratively in the dark’.24 After the conversation between Boaz and Ruth, she stays until the morning, but then, at Boaz’s insistence, she must leave in hiddenness ‘before one person could recognize another’, because her having been there must not be known (3:14). ‘The darkness of midnight and the dimness of the pre-dawn hid both persons and events. No one seems able to recognize anyone else.’25 As mentioned above with respect to Ruth’s trickery, her activity on the threshing-floor remains hidden from all but Boaz. Naomi has some knowledge, but hers is incomplete in two ways. First, she does not know the extent of Ruth’s initiative beyond her initial instructions to Ruth and, second, Ruth does not fill her in on the detail upon her return to Naomi. This hiddenness becomes an inside joke in the blessing of the elders, who wish that Ruth would be like Leah and Tamar. They do not know that Ruth has already emulated Leah’s and Tamar’s action in her ‘bed trick’. Thus, ‘the recognition and the justification of Ruth’s practice are done in one economical stroke’. In comically ironic fashion, then, the elders ‘unwittingly voice a secret between Ruth and Boaz and between narrator and audience’.26 Ultimately, however, as will be discussed at length below, even the audience are excluded from complete knowledge of what happens on that threshing-floor. The answer to the question of ‘did they or did they not’ remains hidden from all but the parties most intimately involved. 23 Jael approaches Sisera in this same way (Judg. 4:21). Also, David approaches Saul, who is in the cave ‘to cover his feet’ (‫ סכך ;להסך את־רגליו‬hiphil), in this same way, as David cuts a ‘corner’ (‫ )כנף‬of Saul’s coat (1 Sam. 24:4–5 (3–4, English)). Linafelt (Ruth, 51) identifies two connotations with this word: (1) ‘something done in secret or without someone else’s knowledge’ and (2) ‘something not quite above board, of trickery’. Both are certainly evoked in Ruth 3. 24 Linafelt, Ruth, 48. 25 E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 130. 26 Black, ‘Ruth in the Dark’, 21.

Ruth

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God’s ‘hiddenness’ Another aspect of hiddenness and a frequent topic among commentators is God’s activity or lack thereof in the events of the book of Ruth. Some scholars argue that God is a hidden force, acting behind the scenes to bring events to their pleasing outcome. For Nielsen, ‘God guides and controls events, but from beneath the surface. For on the surface itself the main characters live and move and try to form their existence as best they can.’ She finds the ‘most refined example of this hidden interplay’ in chapters 2–3, in which Boaz prays that Ruth will be provided for, then himself becomes the answer to that prayer.27 Bos places the moment specifically at 3:9, when Ruth asks Boaz to spread ‘your cloak’ (‫ )כנפך‬over her, thus recalling Boaz’s wish that Yahweh would reward Ruth as she has sought refuge under ‘his wings’ (‫כנפיו‬, 2:12). ‘Divine recompense must be brought into active operation by Boaz.’28 Robert Hubbard and Edward Campbell offer the possibility that the narrative gives the audience the feeling that God has left the characters on their own and ‘is looking the other way’29 or that God ‘is not in control of what is going on’.30 However, both ultimately argue against these ideas. Hubbard writes that, instead, Ruth ‘is a story about the firm, guiding “hands” of divine providence at work in the world’.31 And Campbell sees Yahweh as the primary actor who is working things out. ‘God’s activity’ is not an intervention, but ‘a lightly exercised providential control’.32 Linafelt, on the other hand, argues that ‘one reader’s sense of hidden providential workings is another reader’s sense of God’s absence’. He goes on to say that God’s presence is ‘neither veiled nor hidden but, up until 4:13, simply missing’.33 Linafelt argues that God is actually dependent upon the humans, primarily Ruth, for ‘this opportunity to act’ in making Ruth conceive, because ‘Ruth convinced Boaz to take a more active role in the welfare of herself and Naomi. If there is someone acting throughout the story from behind the scenes or in the shadows, we must conclude that it is Ruth.’34

27 28 29 31 33

Nielsen, Ruth, 31. Bos, ‘Out of the Shadows’, 62; cf. Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, 166. 30 Hubbard, The Book of Ruth, 195. E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 130. 32 Hubbard, The Book of Ruth, 63. E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 29. 34 Linafelt, Ruth, pp. xvi–xvii. Linafelt, Ruth, 78.

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Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible

Comedy thrives on hiddenness in any form: a god working behind the scenes or a god who makes rare forays into the action; humans behind the scenes or humans emerging briefly from the shadows. The interplay of concealment and revelation play into comedy’s preference for complexity and ambiguity. Ruth and Naomi, then Boaz, are indeed left almost entirely on their own to make their way. No argument for Yahweh’s direct activity, outside of explicit textual references to it, can ever be conclusive. This interpretative reality may create uneasy reading from certain theological perspectives, but, quite simply, comedy is not bothered. It is not bothered by an inattentive god, and it is not bothered by any unease this situation might create for characters or for audience. A god who intervenes directly to shape the fates of humanity belongs in tragedy’s world. In Ruth, a god who remains largely hidden is in no way problematic. This is comedy’s world.

SEXUALITY AND AMBIGUITY Did they or did they not? The question of Ruth and Boaz and their activity on the threshing-floor has attracted the attention of every commentator. Much of the attention is focused on (1) two key words —‘at the feet’ (‫מרגלות‬, 3:4, 7, 8, 14) and ‘cloak’ (‫כנף‬, 3:9)—and (2) two key points of Israelite law—the practice of levirate marriage (Deut. 25:5–10) and the role of the redeemer (‫גאל‬, Lev. 25:25; 27:9–33). With respect to the use of ‫מרגלות‬, the word is derived from ‘foot’ (‫)רגל‬, and ‘feet’ can be used as a euphemism for male genitalia. John Gray straightforwardly calls ‫‘ מרגלות‬a euphemism for sexual parts’.35 Nielsen and Van Wolde concur with a translation of ‘at/by his feet’; however, they both offer another perspective on the subject of what is being uncovered in verses 4 and 7: not Boaz’s body, but Ruth’s. In Naomi’s instructions of 3, Nielsen’s translation reads: ‘Go over and uncover yourself at his feet.’36 Van Wolde’s translation is similar: ‘Take your clothes off at the place by his feet.’37 In the translations of 35 John Gray, Joshua, Judges and Ruth, 417; he cites usage of ‫ רגל‬in Exod. 4:25 and Isa. 6:2. 36 Nielsen, Ruth, 66, 71. 37 Van Wolde, Ruth and Naomi, 64, 70–1.

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both scholars, the phrases are reiterated at verse 7 as Ruth executes Naomi’s instructions. In contrast to these translations, several other commentators opt for the translation ‘legs’ over ‘feet’ or ‘at the feet’. Campbell cites the only other appearance of ‫רגלות‬, a verse in which it is paired with ‫‘( זרעת‬arms’, Dan. 10:6), as evidence that in Ruth the word must mean ‘legs’.38 Finally, Linafelt acknowledges the impossibility of settling definitely on a translation of ‫מרגלות‬, but concludes that, regardless of translation, any of the meanings ‘is equally scandalous (for Boaz) and dangerous (for Ruth)’.39 The word translated in the NRSV as ‘cloak’ (‫כנף‬, 3:9) is the same word used in 2:12 in reference to Yahweh’s ‘wings’. In 2:12, Boaz blesses Ruth with the hope that she will be rewarded by Yahweh, ‘under whose wings you have come for refuge’. In 3:9, Ruth requests that Boaz spread his ‘cloak’ over her. Carrying through the idea of Yahweh’s protection introduced in 2:12, some interpreters understand Ruth’s request of Boaz as a request for Boaz’s protection, more specifically as a request for protection in the form of marriage. Ezekiel 16:8 is offered as a parallel, giving ‘strong evidence that Ruth’s request of Boaz is marriage’,40 in which Yahweh, speaking symbolically of Jerusalem, says: ‘I passed by you again and looked on you; you were at the age for love. I spread the edge of my cloak over you, and covered your nakedness: I pledged myself to you and entered into a covenant with you, says the Lord GOD, and you became mine’ (NRSV). Others, however, are less convinced of a connection between the cloak-spreading and a proposal of marriage and see it as more likely to be a proposal to engage in sexual relations.41 Linafelt suggests that ‫ כנף‬may also, like ‘feet’, be euphemistic for male genitalia.42 Deuteronomy 23:1 (22:30, English) and 27:20 appear especially relevant to this point. Both verses are prohibitions regarding sexual relations between a man and his father’s wife, and in both instances

38 E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 121; cf. Frederic William Bush, Ruth/Esther, WBC 9 (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1996), 152; Sakenfeld, Ruth, 54. 39 Linafelt, Ruth, 49. 40 E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 123; cf. Black, ‘Ruth in the Dark’, 26; Bush, Ruth/Esther, 164–5; John Gray, Joshua, Judges and Ruth, 417. 41 Beattie, ‘Ruth III’, 42–3; cf. Danna Nolan Fewell and David M. Gunn, Compromising Redemption: Relating Characters in the Book of Ruth, Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1990), 128–9. 42 Linafelt, Ruth, 55.

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the violation is referenced metaphorically as uncovering ‘his father’s cloak’ (‫)כנף אביו‬, a phrase readily understood in this context as a genital euphemism. However, while these two verses from Deuteronomy support the usage of ‫ כנף‬in Ruth 3:9 as euphemistic, they do not resolve the question of whether Ruth had a marriage proposal in mind. The immediate ‘marital’ context of Deuteronomy 23:1 and 27:20 and the illicit nature of the ‘uncovering’ allow together a reading in which the converse of ‘uncovering’ (that is, ‘covering’) would be a desirable, acceptable act in marriage. Yet, while the immediate context of the Deuteronomy verses is ‘marital’, the biblical Hebrew-to-English translation practice of using the word ‘marriage’ to describe a relationship between a man and a woman is itself a euphemism of sorts, as a woman’s and man’s ‘being married’ is usually defined by having had sexual relations, often indicated by use of the verbs ‫‘( לקח‬to take’) and ‫‘( שכב‬to lie down’), the verbs used respectively in the two instances from Deuteronomy cited here. Ruth may well have marriage in mind when she approaches Boaz on the threshing-floor. This possibility, however, does not preclude others: either that she also has in mind to begin ‘being married’ on the threshing-floor that night or that they did in fact begin ‘being married’ there and then. In addition to the ambiguity involved in these two terms just discussed, the two Israelite practices of the ‘next-of-kin’ redeemer and levirate marriage also complicate the scenario. In 3:9 Ruth asks Boaz to spread his cloak over her, for, as she says to him, ‘you are redeemer’ (‫)גאל‬. With the use of the connector ‘for’ (‫)כי‬, Ruth makes a textual link between the spreading of the cloak and Boaz’s duty as redeemer. If the cloak-spreading is a symbol of betrothal, then the ‫כי‬ appears to link marriage and the ‫גאל‬. However, as outlined in Leviticus 25, the redeemer’s duties relate to land only; no marriage commitment is stipulated. Boaz complicates matters in a fashion similar to Ruth in his conversation with the ‘closer’ redeemer. In that conversation, Boaz makes a direct connection between the redemption of the land and Ruth (and Naomi). ‘To maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance’ (4:5) is phrasing that echoes the levirate marriage practice as outlined in Deuteronomy 25. Among these unresolved elements, the answer to ‘did they or did they not?’ is equally unsettled. Assertion of and protection of the characters’ uprightness is the primary driving force behind interpretative conclusions that Ruth and Boaz were not engaged in sexual

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relations on the threshing-floor. Campbell contends that ‘it is not prudery [whose?] which compels the conclusion that there was no sexual intercourse at the threshing floor’. Instead, it is compelled by ‘the clear evidence of Boaz’s determination to care for these two widows as custom and generosity dictate’.43 Or, as Frederic Bush argues: ‘Such an action is so inconsistent with the character of Ruth as portrayed in this story as to be utterly implausible.’44 However, dogged determination to preserve reputation aside, the sexually charged nature of the scene cannot be denied. A collection of verbs contributes to the atmosphere: ‘to go/come’ (‫בוא‬, 3:4, 7 (2x), 14) and ‘to lie down’ (‫שכב‬, 3:4 (3x), 7 (2x), 8, 13, 14) pepper the chapter. This pair twice appears alongside ‘to uncover’ (‫ גלה‬piel, 3:4, 7), producing a rapid sequence of ‘go’ . . . ‘uncover’ . . . ‘lie down’.45 Ruth approaches Boaz secretly (‫)בלט‬, under cover of darkness at midnight, a time in the Hebrew Bible, argues Linafelt, ‘of ambivalent destiny— the moment of both terror and exhilaration, of promise and threat’.46 Aschkenasy creates a suggestive, but also humorous, image of Ruth leaving with her six measures of barley: ‘one can only imagine the farcical, even bawdy visual possibilities of Ruth returning home, her apron bulging provocatively.’47 These factors belie a scene of light innocence and upright intention; the scene instead is sexually tense and suggestive. Ultimately, the question of whether Ruth and Boaz had sexual intercourse on the threshing-floor remains unanswerable. The narrator creates an impression that they might have engaged in sexual relations, but leaves open the possibility that they did nothing more than sleep. The ambiguity remains. Among comedy’s defining characteristics are both sexuality and ambiguity. Comedy emphasizes the physical, sensory, finite side of existence, especially the sensual, sexual nature of it. As well, comedy utilizes ambiguity and lack of closure to positive effect. Ruth 3 conforms to the comic concepts of ambiguity and openness. Linafelt 43

E. F. Campbell, Ruth, 138; cf. p. 30. Bush, Ruth/Esther, 153. 45 Note ought to be made with reference to ‫ בוא‬and ‫ שכב‬that, in contexts of an overtly sexual nature, they are usually followed respectively by the prepositions ‫אל‬ and either ‫ עם‬or ‫את‬, and none of these three follows the verbs as they occur in Ruth 3. However, this grammatical detail does not seem sufficient to stand as the determining factor regarding the planned activity on the threshing-floor. 46 47 Linafelt, Ruth, 52. Aschkenasy, ‘The Book of Ruth as Comedy’, 42. 44

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maintains that the ambiguities should remain, rather than being ‘reduced to one meaning above all others’. These ambiguities lend the story its complexity and make it ‘more than a simple morality tale’.48 A comic reading of Ruth 3, then, does not require an ‘answer’ to what happened between Ruth and Boaz on the threshing-floor. Instead, this reading revels in all the tantalizing possibilities.

FUNCTIONS

Drawing boundaries The book of Ruth never allows the audience to forget its namesake is not an Israelite. She is identified as ‘Ruth, the (female) Moabite’ five times (‫רות המואביה‬, 1:22; 2:2, 21; 4:5, 10). As well, ‘Moab’ is mentioned seven times (‫מואב‬, 1:1, 2, 6 (2x), 22; 2:6; 4:3) and ‘Moabite’ in feminine plural and singular forms a further seven times (‫ מאביות‬or ‫מואביה‬, 1:4, 22; 2:2, 6, 21; 4:5, 10). In an accumulation that reads as comic hyperbolic repetition, the text says to readers: ‘That Ruth, she is a Moabite, you know, one who comes from Moab, which is incidentally where all those Moabites originate.’ And Moab is not just any foreign nation, but one born of an incestuous relationship (Gen. 19:37) and one who has opposed Israel and led the people away from Yahweh (Num. 22:1–25:5), and they are meant to be for ever excluded from the assembly of Yahweh (Deut. 23:4–7 (3–6, English)).49 Ruth’s ethnicity is her scarlet letter. A boundary has been clearly drawn, and Ruth resides on the ‘other’ side.

Subversion Moab’s beginning was as a laughing stock, the offspring of an incestuous union, a people who, while only a half-step removed from the direct line of Abraham, yet continued to be an Israelite adversary. The subverting force of comedy in this story, then, reaches its height

48

Linafelt, Ruth, 55. André LaCocque, The Feminine Unconventional: Four Subversive Figures in Israel’s Tradition, Overtures to Biblical Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 85. 49

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at the story’s conclusion when this Moabite woman bears a child and becomes the great-grandmother of David. Ruth begins as widowed foreigner and ends as married matriarch of Israel. Her story is the story of two women, Naomi and Ruth. With the exception of 4:1–12, this story is told from the women’s perspective: their decisions, their struggles, their plan-making, their plan-executing. Boaz is most often their passive object. Again, until chapter 4, he takes little initiative. Even his ‘allowing’ Ruth to glean happens only after she had taken action to be in the field in the first instance. Ruth and Naomi are centre stage, exerting their subversive power, in a story that ‘belongs’ to them. Boaz ‘has patriarchal power, but he does not have narrative power. He has authority within the story but not control over it.’50 As Ruth and Naomi manipulate Boaz into the position they want him, and he dutifully takes up the cause and continues on with it, he emerges as something of a sap against their ingenuity and courage. One has the impression that, had this plan not worked, Ruth and Naomi would have continued on bravely with yet another plan and another until they did prevail. True, the women were ultimately dependent upon Boaz to bring all the pieces together. However, even then Boaz succeeded by employing some of the same wily tactics, the effects of which he felt as the object of Ruth’s trickery. Therefore, even in Boaz’s action, Ruth was the impetus behind it.

Preservation Yet, even as Boaz, in his suggestible state, seems less than the powerful man of his introduction in the text, he remains the one upon whom the plan rests. Only he can bring about the hoped-for ‘happy ending’. Thus, chapter 3 concludes as it began, with Naomi’s instruction to Ruth. However, while Naomi directs Ruth to act at the beginning, at the end she is seen instructing Ruth to ‘sit’ (=‘wait’; ‫שבי‬, 3:18) for Boaz to act. Therefore, as the comedy in the narrative subverts the established order, it also preserves it. Ruth and Naomi act, and their actions carry them far, but only so far, after which Boaz must carry them farther. Trible observes that chapters 1–3 are about the women, but chapter 4 ‘commences with the shock of reminder. After all, it is a man’s world,

50

Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, 178.

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Comedy and Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible

and concerns of women may well be subsumed, perhaps even subverted, by this patriarchal climate.’ However, she positively sees the two themes coming together in the male and female voices at the end; thus the conclusion is ‘a story of women making a new beginning with men’.51 James Black also views this situation positively, presenting ‘intricate relationships and creative tensions between patriarchal law and feminine resourcefulness . . . The brilliant corporate celebration in male and female voices at the tale’s conclusion is an Old Testament reconciliation of men’s and women’s roles.’52 Linafelt, then, places the burden on the reader as to whether this story of Ruth and Naomi is ultimately subverting or preserving: To be sure, the interests of the women dovetail all too easily with the interests of patriarchy in all these stories, yet all remain compelling characters with an independent agency that is not so easily absorbed. Subversion never happens totally and without remainder, but often by incremental dislocations and usually by partly compromised actions and pacts. It is up to the reader to decide how much has been compromised in our story.53

The book of Ruth presents yet another unresolved question, as it contains within it elements of both a subverting and preserving attitude towards the patriarchal establishment.

Survival Ruth’s and Naomi’s subversive plans and actions lead to their own survival and enable the birth of the next generation. As with the Genesis tricksters, here again a trickster defies Niditch’s fifth-stage reduction in status. For feminists, Ruth’s move from free agent to wife is a reduction in status as she becomes enveloped by patriarchy, losing her self-determination or even her need for self-determination. However, from the story’s perspective, her move is from destitute foreigner to foremother of David, the stark opposite of a reduction in status.

51 52 53

Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, 196. Black, ‘Ruth in the Dark’, 35. Linafelt, Ruth, 76.

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THE BOOK OF RUTH AND FEMINIST CRITIQUE The story of Ruth and Naomi is for three chapters their story. However, with the admonition of Naomi for Ruth to ‘wait’ on Boaz, the story shifts to the familiar patriarchal territory of men defining the destinies of women. For feminist critique, this shift is problematic in two primary ways. First, in a move that is all too familiar, the story yet again subsumes independent, assertive women into the interests of patriarchy. For Linafelt, David’s descending from a Moabite is subversively satisfying; however, he finds ‘something equally dissatisfying about the fact that the story of Ruth and Naomi seems to be usurped by the same old story of royal (male) succession’.54 Second, it undermines the story’s strong female-to-female relationship by marrying off Ruth and exalting her as wife and mother. Parroting this agenda, Hubbard labels as Ruth’s ‘reward’ for her hesed ‘her marriage, motherhood, and membership in Israel’ and ‘Israel’s later admiration of [her] as David’s ancestor’.55 Using language familiar to comedy’s aim of a concluding social harmony, Katharine Sakenfeld offers a fitting conclusion: ‘A story with promising beginnings, as women seek to make their own way, ends very conventionally . . . with the women’s security achieved by reintegrating themselves completely into the existing traditional economic and family structures. And it is the men who arrange the details of that reintegration.’56 The relationship that has defined and sustained these two women and their story fades into oblivion with the birth of a son. The text determines that their new roles as mother and grandmother are the relationships that will now define and sustain them. While Ruth’s movement from woman to matriarch remains problematic for feminist critique, Ruth’s entry into patriarchal society remains a comic triumph. Her daring trickery, along with Naomi’s inventive cunning, cannot be denied. Furthermore, her position as Moabite foremother of David is preserved in all its comic, irreverent subversiveness. And comedy ‘allows for an irreverent perspective on the elderly patriarch and thus on patriarchy’.57 Even though the book of Ruth clearly bears the mark of the establishment, ‘its comic mode and voice have not been entirely suppressed’.58 With women as resilient and determined as Naomi and Ruth, how could it be? 54 56 58

55 Linafelt, Ruth, 79. Hubbard, The Book of Ruth, 66. 57 Sakenfeld, Ruth, 86. Aschkenasy, ‘The Book of Ruth as Comedy’, 33. Aschkenasy, ‘The Book of Ruth as Comedy’, 44.

10 Esther ‘The Esther Scroll is frightening and funny at the same time.’1 However, too many readers and interpreters of the book would affirm differently that the book is divided into separate and mutually exclusive chapters of ‘frightening’ and ‘funny’. The foolishness of the king is funny; the slaughtering of thousands is frightening. That Haman meets his end on the very gallows he constructed is comic; that Haman’s ten sons are killed is murderous. The truth of the above opening statement, though, is that Esther is both frightening and funny from the first verse to the last, the fright and the fun occurring together hand in hand, not separated by an artificially constructed partition. One reading of the book of Esther that holds together the two potentially divergent natures of this book is to read it as the form of comedy known as farce. Sharing a number of features in common with farce, carnivalesque is another form of comedy through which Esther may fruitfully be examined, as it too accommodates the violence of the story and is also able to hold together the frightening and the funny. Both farce and carnivalesque prove helpful lenses through which to view the meeting of the frightening and the funny in one of the most obviously comic stories in the Hebrew Bible.

DEFINING FARCE Farce, ‘stuffing’, was first used in fifteenth-century France to describe pieces of ‘impromptu buffoonery’ inserted into religious plays. 1 Yehuda T. Radday, ‘Esther with Humour’, in Brenner and Radday (eds), On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible, 295–313 (295).

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Antecedents of farce are found in ancient Greek and Roman theatre, as well as in the native Italian form fabula Atellana.2 The fabula Atellana, or Atellan Farce, became noted for brevity and topicality. The cast ‘was a group of stock characters whose masks, costumes and names were standardized and . . . whose clowning was loosely linked to some intrigue or other’.3 These plays were staged at the conclusions of performances of tragedy and seem frequently to have been parodies of tragedy.4 Robert Stephenson argues that defining farce as a genre is not appropriate because, consistent with its earliest forms, it rarely stands alone, but rather ‘the protean farce’ is generally a segment within a larger work, borrowing its shape from that work. Thus ‘farce is less genre than tone or method’.5 While free-standing farces certainly exist, Stephenson insists that the success of the form still relies on brevity.6 This brevity is achieved through farce’s simplicity—‘it goes right “at” things. You knock your mother-in-law down, and no beating about the bush.’7 While farce may be challenging to define as a separate genre, it does have consistent characteristics, patterns, and devices. Playing on the meaning of farce, Timothy Beal writes that ‘farce is “stuffed” with improbabilities, accidents, and exaggerations’.8 Farce relies on a fastpaced, intricate plot, in which the ‘long arm of coincidence’ stretches far and in which characters are caricatures, so that ‘human life . . . is horribly attenuated’.9 Reversals are prevalent, and surprise elements often serve to heighten their impact. Verbal humour—hyperbole, repetition, wordplay—is employed. Bawdiness and sexuality win out

2 ‘Farce’, Encyclopædia Britannica (2008), [accessed 21 Sept. 2008]. 3 Glynne Wickham, A History of the Theatre (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 44. 4 ‘Atellan farces’, in M. C. Howatson and Ian Chilvers (eds), The Concise Oxford Companion to Classical Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), [accessed 2 June 2008]. 5 Robert C. Stephenson, ‘Farce as Method’, in Corrigan (ed.), Comedy (1965), 317–26 (321, 324). 6 Stephenson, ‘Farce as Method’, 322. 7 Eric Bentley, ‘Farce’, in Corrigan (ed.), Comedy (1981), 193–216 (203). 8 Timothy K. Beal, The Book of Hiding: Gender, Ethnicity, Annihilation, and Esther (London: Routledge, 1997), p. ix. 9 Bentley, ‘Farce’, 205, 206.

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over prudence and propriety. Lastly, and importantly, all farce depends on physical conflict, violence—ranging anywhere from mere horseplay to bloody genocide.

Plot John Hurrell describes the plot movement of farce: ‘A relationship gets out of hand and somehow, inefficiently perhaps but eventually successfully, it is put right.’10 In this description, farce does seem to follow the U-shaped plot line associated with comedy. The fast-moving plot of farce rejects rationality, turning ‘on a succession of unlikely events’.11 Thus, ‘improbable’, yet not wholly ‘impossible’, situations abound.12 This fast tempo highlights the difference between real-life actions, which ‘would be concrete and subject to free will’,13 and the abstractness and automation of farcical actions. Coincidence, an ‘incongruity in things’,14 is a major force in driving the automatic character of farcical plot. Chance is no longer chance, as ‘crazy coincidences’ heap up to create ‘a world in which the happily fortuitous is inevitable’.15

Characterization From in the earliest of known farces, the characters were flat, stock types. These characters were exposed, even before any action had begun, by their names, their costumes, and their masks. The four typical characters were the moron Blockhead; the self-defeating Braggart; the senile, formerly knavish, Silly Old Man; and the Trickster—thus the character count stood at three fools to one knave. Many of the exaggerated characters of farce are ‘deliberate monuments to stupidity’. The knave, farce’s equivalent to melodrama’s villain, is paramount in driving the action. Both the antithesis of and the interaction between fool and knave are important, but in the end 10 John Dennis Hurrell, ‘A Note on Farce’, in Corrigan (ed.), Comedy (1981), 212–16 (214). 11 Adele Berlin, Esther: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation, JPS Bible Commentary (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2001), p. xxi. 12 Hurrell, ‘A Note on Farce’, 215. 13 Bentley, ‘Farce’, 206. 14 Morreall, Taking Laughter Seriously, 64, 68–9; Morreall’s two categories are ‘incongruity in things’ and ‘incongruity in presentation’, the latter’s members including examples such as linguistic play, paradox, and dialogue. 15 Bentley, ‘Farce’, 205.

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these two caricatures may actually become indistinguishable. ‘In the last analysis the knave, too, is a fool . . . the knave’s ingenuities get him nowhere.’16

Reversals Reversals, aided by surprise elements, pepper the action of farce. Expectation is up-ended. However, in the implausible, yet not impossible, construct of farce, ‘on the surface of our minds we are surprised; but somewhere deeper down we knew all along’.17

Rhetorical devices Farce has an inherent physicality; however, it depends upon rhetorical devices as well. Repetition and hyperbole are everywhere. Stephenson points out the prevalence of ‘staccato successions’—short, consecutive phrases—and ‘arithmetical crescendos’—iterations and the piling-up of images.18 Wordplay is another verbal ploy of farce.

Theatre Ultimately, farce is meant for the stage, intended to be acted out. Brief and topical, farce—the action, the absurdities, the stock characters, the banter, the violence—needs an audience for whom to perform to achieve its full comic potential.

Escapism The purpose of all comedy is to elicit a response that recognizes in some way the humour of a situation. While an author of satire may desire to see someone’s wry grin, or the teller of a knock-knock joke may desire to hear a chuckle, the writer of farce desires nothing less than ‘belly laughs’—spontaneous, honest, cathartic, out-loud guffaws. Farce beckons readers to escape to an absurd place where they can act out fantasies. Farce offers a total, if temporary, escape through which ‘one is permitted the outrage but spared the consequence’.19 By 16 18 19

17 Bentley, ‘Farce’, 207–8. Bentley, ‘Farce’, 205. Stephenson, ‘Farce as Method’, 323. Bentley, ‘Farce’, 194; cf. Hurrell, ‘A Note on Farce’, 213.

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participating in farce as its audience, people are running away from ‘not only social problems but all other forms of moral responsibility. They are running away from the conscience and all its creations.’20 However, the end of the farce is the end of fantasy and signals a return to the ‘sane’ world of restraint, responsibility, and consequences. Farce does not intend for the audience to go out into the world and enact what has been acted. Farce is escapist, not interpretative. One theory of the purpose of laughter is the previously discussed Relief Theory (Ch. 1, p. 8), in which one laughs to relieve nervous energy, tension, pent-up emotion, aggression. This type of laughter can purge hostility and aggression. John Morreall adds: ‘To laugh in breaking free of constraint can also be to laugh in scorn at those who have been constraining one.’21 This is the cathartic, escapist element of laughter and, therefore, humour. Comedy intends to offer through laughter the opportunity to escape, relieving that which is pent-up and repressed. The more outlandish the humour, the more grave must be the issues bubbling beneath the surface. Farce is outlandish among the outlandish.

Violence While farce is escapist and abstract, it simultaneously requires aggression to function, and it also frankly enjoys the hostility. Violence is everywhere in farce. The hostility in the story and shown by and in the characters is based around some feeling in those characters of innocence or misuse. With regard to the function of farce, this feeling of hostility is consequently raised in the audience as they too feel malice emerging from a sense of innocence, resulting in a desire that mirrors the characters in front of them, a desire to strike back. In this sense, farce’s power depends upon the degree of aggressive feeling it can arouse in the audience.22

ESTHER AS FARCE All these farcical elements are evident in the book of Esther, a story in which a Jewish woman wins the title of queen (ch. 2) and thwarts a 20 22

21 Bentley, ‘Farce’, 210. Morreall, Taking Laughter Seriously, 20. Bentley, ‘Farce’, 203, 206, 210.

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plan to destroy her people by having the edict allowing their destruction reversed with another edict allowing the Jews to kill instead of being killed (chs 7–8). The Jews then have their days of killing, and the festival of Purim is instituted, ensuring that this victorious occasion will be remembered and celebrated regularly (ch. 9).

Plot The plot of Esther is definitely fast-paced and elaborate. Many years and much action occur in ten chapters. The story contains narrative gaps in which years are left unaddressed. The story begins in the third year of the reign of Ahasuerus (1:3), then quickly moves to the seventh year, during which Esther arrives on the scene (2:16). The narrative then takes yet another leap to the twelfth year, around the time Haman is introduced (3:7). Between these gaps, time slows, but the action speeds up: parties are thrown, edicts are decreed, queens go and come, people are promoted, mass murders are plotted. During this action, characters are entering and exiting, story elements are being introduced to reappear later, and plot lines are being woven together. The pace of Esther is breath-taking and the storylines intricate, characteristics important in the comic plot, as complication serves to heighten absurdity,23 something the book of Esther is never lacking. In the book of Esther, improbable situations abound. A king depletes his kingdom of its young women. He waits years to crown a new queen. A Jewish woman pursues the queenship of a Persian kingdom, urged on by a seemingly devout Jewish guardian. A kingdom of 127 provinces is reigned over by an impulsive fool. Coincidences also abound in Esther. Mordecai just happens to be standing in the right place at the right time to overhear a plot to kill the king (2:21). Haman just happens to be in court when the king is stricken with insomnia (6:4). The king just happens to re-enter the room at the exact moment Haman has flung himself onto Esther’s bed to beg for mercy (7:8). Harbona, the eunuch, just happens to pop into court to remind the king of the gallows Haman has built (7:9). In a book in which God is never mentioned, some find God’s presence in these remarkable coincidences. Jon Levenson sees ‘a

23

Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, 170.

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providential plan for Jewish succor’ in Esther’s rise to the queenship.24 Carol Bechtel writes: ‘God is very much a character in this book, though one who evidently prefers to remain anonymous.’25 However, farce draws heavily and happily upon coincidence, never requiring any explanation for the convergence of events. Reading Esther as farce removes the need for preoccupation with when and how God could possibly be working in this biblical book.

Characterization Characters in Esther are the stock types of farce. Ze’ev Weisman states, in looking at these characters, that ‘their individual make-up is schematic and simplistic . . . It mainly highlights one particular trait that signifies one character over against another.’26 This statement is consistent with the conventions of farce, especially in ancient farcical forms in which names, masks, and costumes all reflected the singular trait or role of the character. In a provocative article, Henry Gehman has traced the etymologies of Persian words in Esther, many of which are character names. A number of these names, as he has translated and interpreted them, have meanings that call to mind a singular trait or type of person, one easily imagined as a hilarious farcical mask or costume.27 King Ahasuerus, then, is King ‘Chief of Rulers’ or loosely King King. Vashti is, ironically, ‘the desired one, the beloved’. Mehuman, one of the

24

Levenson, Esther, 81. Carol M. Bechtel, Esther, Interpretation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), 14; cf. Sandra Beth Berg, The Book of Esther: Motifs, Themes, and Structure (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979), 178, 184, and Bush, Ruth/Esther, 323. For other perspectives on God’s presence or lack thereof, see Timothy K. Beal, Esther, Berit Olam (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), pp. xix–xxii; David J. A. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther: Based on the Revised Standard Version, NCBC (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1984), 269–70; Linda Day, Esther (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2005), 17–18. 26 Weisman, Political Satire in the Bible, 148; Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 127. 27 Henry S. Gehman, ‘Notes on the Persian Words in the Book of Esther’, JBL 43 (1924), 321-28; Gehman notes that etymological work is interpretive, not scientific, and that translation of these words involves textual scholarship and his interpretative work. For other discussion on the etymology of names in Esther, see Lewis Bayles Paton, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Esther (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1908), 66–71, and A. R. Millard, ‘The Persian Names in Esther and the Reliability of the Hebrew Text’, JBL 96 (1977), 481–8. 25

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king’s eunuchs, is ‘Eunuch’ or Eunuch (1:10), the Eunuch. Harbona, the eunuch who reminds the king of the gallows, is ‘The Bald Man’ (1:10). Meres and Marsena, two of the king’s advisors (1:14), are ‘The Forgetful One’ and ‘The Forgetful Man’, not the best resume for the job of adviser. Hathach, the eunuch assigned to serve Esther, is ‘Good’ (4:5). Haman’s wife, Zeresh, is named ‘To Bristle, to Stand up Straight (of Hair)’ (5:10). Then, among Haman’s sons is Vaizatha, ‘The Son of the Atmosphere’ (9:9),28 possibly the first recorded airhead? As discussed above, the two primary types of stock character in farce are the fool and the knave. In Esther, ‘the combination of a foolish king and a villainous adviser makes for special mischief ’.29 Those characters are definitely Ahasuerus and Haman. Haman is inconsistent with Eric Bentley’s characterization that a knave is a ‘prankster’ and a ‘trouble-maker by accident’;30 Haman’s knavery is infinitely more than pranks and it does not happen ‘by accident’. However, he fits the profile very well otherwise. As Adele Berlin describes, the reader does not feel threatened by Haman, nor is the reader meant to feel sympathy for him as he meets his end. ‘He is doomed from the start and we enjoy watching his downfall.’31 Haman drives much of the action, even to his eventual downfall and death. He asks himself, ‘Whom would the king wish to honour more than me?’ (6:6), thus taking the first fatal step in his transformation from knave to fool. This knave Haman finds his fool of a counterpart in the king—a jester in his own court. Ahasuerus is impulsive, frivolous, indulgent, pompous, weak-minded, and easily influenced and manipulated. ‘He eats, and drinks, and follows willy-nilly the advice of others.’32 He remains a ‘pampered and bumbling monarch’,33 more concerned with parties and beautiful women than affairs of state. His incompetence to rule knows no bounds: even as he offers his new queen as much as half his kingdom merely upon the sight of her (5:3, 6; 7:2), he has no knowledge that he is instead the benefactor of her impending demise, having already signed her death warrant (3:12–13).

28 29 30 31 32 33

Gehman, ‘Notes on the Persian Words’, 322–4, 27–8. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 138. Bentley, ‘Farce’, 207. Berlin, Esther, p. xx. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 133. Berlin, Esther, p. xx.

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While the knave and the fool are complementary characters, farce also makes use of antithetical stock characters. Therefore, in the book of Esther one finds the hero, Mordecai, versus the villain, Haman; the trickster, Esther, and her fool, Ahasuerus. The eunuchs—constantly in motion, popping up in every scene to give that little bit of information, to ferry a message, to escort someone—stand in contrast to the king’s sages—incompetent ‘yes’ men whose wisdom is limited to advising the king in pronouncing idiotic decrees. Vashti is Esther’s antithesis—the one who does not come when summoned and is rejected versus the one who does come without being summoned and is accepted. Jack Sasson summarizes the comic characterizations writing: ‘In Esther, unsubtle villains meet with brutal fates; proud partisans are fully vindicated; lovely heroines retain the affection of all; and stolid, dim-witted monarchs are there to be used by all.’34

Reversals Another feature that propels Esther’s plot is the surprising, yet maybe not so surprising, reversal—the ‘turning of the tables’. The book of Esther is filled with reversals. Characters’ positions and fates, irreversible edicts, aggressors versus victims—all are reversed. Vashti’s ‘demotion’ eventually results in Esther’s ‘promotion’.35 Esther obeys Mordecai (2:20), but then Mordecai is the one who obeys Esther (4:17). According to Bruce Jones, ‘from this point in the book onward, Esther is clearly the initiator, not Mordecai’.36 Haman is forced to escort Mordecai as Mordecai is honoured by the king (6:11), a reversal in two ways: Mordecai, now himself honoured, has refused to honour Haman (3:2; 5:9) and Haman assumed he, never Mordecai, was the man whom the king wished to honour (6:6). Haman’s wife and friends advise Haman to build gallows and to tell the king to hang Mordecai there, advice that pleases Haman (5:14). However, both the confidence of the former group and the mood of the latter is reversed (6:12–13) after Mordecai’s honour parade. Their collectively dire

34 Jack M. Sasson, ‘Esther’, in Robert Alter and Frank Kermode (eds), The Literary Guide to the Bible (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1987), 335–42 (341). 35 LaCocque, The Feminine Unconventional, 55. 36 Bruce W. Jones, ‘Two Misconceptions about the Book of Esther’, CBQ 39 (1977), 171–81 (176).

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outlook is realized later as those very gallows intended for Mordecai are used in the execution of Haman instead (7:10). Subsequently, the reversal of their respective situations is complete as Mordecai is promoted into Haman’s position at court (8:2). Drawing on the work of Michael Fox and Levenson, Bechtel discusses how various banquets, working in pairs, highlight reversals. The Persian feasts of chapters 1 and 2 are contrasted in the Purim feasts of chapters 9 and 10. The banquets of Ahasuerus and Vashti, which become the impetus for Vashti’s banishment (ch. 1), are reversed in Esther’s coronation (ch. 2). Ahasuerus and Haman celebrate the initial annihilation decree (3:15), while Jews celebrate the second reverse annihilation decree (8:17).37 The ultimate reversal of the story—the movement of the Jews from those who would be destroyed, killed, and annihilated (7:4) to those who destroy, kill, and annihilate (8:11)—rests hilariously upon the reversal of the irreversible edict (8:8).38 The newly reversed irreversible edict then allows the Jews to kill those who, under the original irreversible edict, would have killed them (9:1). As David Clines notes: ‘The whole of the book of Esther can readily be seen as one grand reversal.’39 The text itself twice states that, instead of what was meant to happen, the opposite happened, as the situation ‘was turned’ (‫ הפך‬niphal, 9:1, 22).

Rhetorical devices Farce’s ‘verbal’ humour is readily detectable even in Esther’s written form. Three prevalent devices of this type occurring in Esther are repetition, hyperbole, and wordplay.

37 Bechtel, Esther, 5–6; cf. Michael V. Fox, Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther, Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1991), 157, and Jon D. Levenson, Esther: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM Press, 1997), 5–7. 38 Similarly, Dan. 6 recounts the conundrum created with an irreversible edict, an irreversible edict that, like here, is subsequently reversed with a (presumably also irreversible) edict. 39 Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 269; see pp. 268–9 for his discussion of reversals in Esther.

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Repetition Repetition or ‘arithmetical crescendos’40 occur throughout Esther. The repetition of forms of ‫‘( טוב‬good, pleasant’) highlights the paramount importance of the king’s being pleased (1:10, 19, 21; 2:4; cf. 2:9). Adding to the king’s pleasure is the ‘pleasing appearance’ (‫ )טובת מראה‬of the women around him (1.11 (Vashti); 2:2, 3 (beautiful young virgins); 2:7 (Esther)).41 Furthermore, a subject’s own concern with the king’s gratification must be reflected when speaking to the king, as utterances of advice and petition consistently begin with ‘if it pleases the king . . .’ (‫אם־על־המלך טוב‬, 1:19; 3:9; 5:4, 8; 7:3; 8:5; 9:13). Certainly this language could be categorized as that of expected deference between monarch and subject; however, the accumulated repetitions quickly begin to sound less and less like deference to a respected king and more and more like capitulation to a superficial one. Echoes of ‘your servant’ Abigail bowing before ‘my lord’ David (1 Sam. 25) can be heard here. A final kingly repetition to observe is his continuing offer to Esther to fulfil any request of hers (5:3, 6; 7:2; 9:12), a repetition that further accentuates his foolhardiness, as his offer tumbles out without hesitation or a clue of what she might ask. Haman’s repetitiousness, one that propels the story’s plot towards violent events and propels Haman towards his own undoing, is in his infuriation as twice Mordecai refuses to bow down (3:5; 5:9); it even ruins his day simply to recall it (5:13). Edicts are repeatedly being written and sent—three different ones at three different times (1:21–2; 3:12–15; 8:9–14). While the first account is briefest, all three accounts are similar, especially in their repetitious use of phrases that make certain the all-encompassing nature of the process, exposing this officious and bureaucratic monarchy. ‘All’ (‫ )כל‬appears one time in the first instance, five in the second, and six in the third; ‘province and province’ (‫)מרינה ומרינה‬ once in the first, three in the second, twice in the third; ‘people and people’ (‫ )עם ועם‬once in the first and third, twice in the second; and ‘city and city’ (‫ )עיר ועיר‬once in the second. Each time the destinations are given in short phrases beginning with ‘to’ (‫—)אל‬to the provinces, to the satraps, and so on. As well, each succeeding time the phrase is

40 Stephenson, ‘Farce as Method’, 323; cf. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 129–31. 41 B. W. Jones, ‘Two Misconceptions’, 173.

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used, more extensive destinations are included until the final edict is to be issued ‘also to the Jews in their script their and language’ (8:9), a helpful detail to include, as it would be unfortunate for the conclusion of the story if the Jews were absent at the fight because of a bureaucratic error in the Edict Department. As if any one of the three acts of slaughter would be insufficient to complete the job of wiping out the enemy, literal overkill allows for the aggressors to ‘destroy’ (‫ שמד‬hiphil), to ‘kill’ (‫)הרג‬, and to ‘annihilate’ (‫ אבד‬piel) (3:13; 7:4; 8:11). The three verbs are used together three times, culminating in the reversal of aggressor and victim. Interestingly, the text relates that the Jews actually employed only two methods of slaughter (‫ הרג‬and ‫ ;אבד‬9:5). As well, the subsequent joy of the Jews is made abundantly clear in their ‘feasting and gladness’ (‫משתה ושמחה‬, 9:17, 18, 19 with the two words reversed, 22). Adele Berlin’s ‘literal’ translation of 8:17 points out both the level of red tape and the level of celebration: ‘In every province and province and in every city and city wherever the king’s command and decree arrived, there was gladness and joy among the Jews, a feast and a holiday.’42

Hyperbole The book of Esther is drenched in hyperbole, verse upon verse dripping with exaggeration, inflation, and overreaction. A woman says ‘No’ to her husband and suddenly an entire kingdom is under threat. Renita Weems captures it humorously: ‘Indeed, [Vashti’s] behavior posed a threat to the created order, not to mention national security.’43 The reader is consistently reminded of a kingdom spanning 127 provinces (1:1; 5:3; 8:9). The opulence of the court and the extravagance of the 187-day drinking party are nauseatingly described (1:6–8). An indulgent king must have his pick from among every beautiful young virgin in the kingdom (2:3). These potential queens require preparation before presentation—one whole year of scrubbing and soaking (2:12–14) for just one night (unless she really took the king’s fancy). A staggering 10,000 talents of silver is deemed by

42

Berlin, Esther, p. xxvii. Renita J. Weems, Just a Sister Away: A Womanist Vision of Women’s Relationships in the Bible (San Diego, CA: LuraMedia, 1988), 103. 43

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Haman to be the acceptable ‘payment’ for a single edict (3:9). Gallows built to the heady height of fifty cubits are erected (5:14)! While the Jews in Susa were less successful, killing a mere 810 over the course of two days (500 plus Haman’s 10 sons the first day (9:11) and 300 the second (9:15)), those in the provinces were fantastic killing, destroying, annihilating machines with a tally of 75,000 corpses (9:16).

Wordplay Two wordplays in the book of Esther merit particular mention. First is the near homophones used with ‫‘( משתה‬banquet, feast’). Both queens’ names, ‫( ושתי‬Vashti) and ‫( אסתר‬Esther), are paired with ‫משתה‬ (1:9 (Vashti); 2:18; 5:5, 6:14 (Esther)). The wordplay is heightened further when the verb ‫‘( עשה‬to do, make’; ‘to prepare’ a banquet in this context) in the form ‫ עשתה‬is added (1:9; 5:5; 6:14; 5:12, without a queen’s name). The height of this melodic assonance is achieved twice with ‫( המשתה אשר־עשתה אסתר‬5:5; 6:14). The second play on words involves the mysterious word ‫מתיהרים‬ (8:17), translated in the NRSV as ‘professed to be Jews’. One rendering, a somewhat more literal one, could be ‘Jewed themselves’. The precise meaning of this word, and how one would go about making it happen, remains unclear; however, it seems that, in the light of the new edict, many formerly non-Jews thought the prudent move in the circumstances would be to switch sides and align themselves with the newly favoured faction.

Theatre While Esther is not written in script form, it has all the features that are necessary for performance. Josiah Derby agrees that Esther ‘could be produced on a stage with hardly a change in the text’, its ‘script’ suitable to mount ‘a hilarious movie extravaganza’.44 While the story spans several years, the length of the events as recorded is brief. Esther has distinct acts that tell the story in short episodes. The story is topical, but also enduring. Israel Knox writes: ‘Jewish humor is not merely a reaction or response to circumstances and environment but

44 Josiah Derby, ‘The Funniest Word in the Bible’, Jewish Bible Quarterly, 22 (1994), 115–19 (116).

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a product of Jewish experience, and is almost as old as the Jewish people itself.’45 Esther’s subject matter of Jews living in the diaspora has produced comedy that is born of experience, compelling in Esther’s own time and context, but equally pertinent to those times and contexts that have followed.

Escapism In attempting to interpret Esther, scholars have written much on the first eight chapters of the book. Yet, commentators tend to be hesitant over the final chapters, which celebrate the killing of the enemies of the Jews. In Yehuda Radday’s essay, he rewrites Esther with the purpose of guiding the reader to the humour of the story. However, when he reaches chapter 9, he briefly mentions the Jews’ not touching the plunder, but he does not even hint at the huge number of people killed. In concluding comments, he writes: ‘But how could the author of this story find it humorous? He was undoubtedly a Jew and may have lived in Susa. But then, he knew of the happy ending right from the start’.46 Radday comfortably describes the conclusion of the book as a ‘happy ending’, yet any references to the actual events at the end of the narrative are glaringly absent. Diane Wolkstein has written an article that imagines Esther as a diarist. One ‘entry’ reads: Two days ago, although all the governors and many of the people knew that it was not the king’s wish, in many lands the Jews were attacked. Outside the capital, on the thirteenth day of Adar, our people defended themselves against their attackers. On the fourteenth day, they rejoiced and held banquets to celebrate their victory and their survival . . . Here in Susa, because of the strength of Haman’s sons, the fighting went on for one more day. Today, we too celebrated, eating and drinking and dancing with great joy and relief.47

In this account of the story, the spotlight is shown on the attackers. The Jews were not destroying, killing, annihilating; instead they were 45 Israel Knox, ‘The Traditional Roots of Jewish Humor’, in Hyers (ed.), Holy Laughter, 150–65 (151). 46 Radday, ‘Esther with Humour’, 313. 47 Diane Wolkstein, ‘Esther’s Story’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Esther, Judith and Susanna, FCB 7 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 198–206 (205–6).

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merely ‘defending themselves’ as per the legitimate allowance of the edict. Plus, it was not for blood lust that fighting continued a second day in Susa. Instead, the reason again focuses on the aggressors: Haman’s sons were too strong. The interpretations cited here may point to humorous aspects of Esther; however, they do not tackle the complete book. Esther is a unit. It cannot be comedy for eight chapters, then something else for the final two. An interpretation that addresses this issue is to read Esther as farce, an approach that holds the entire book together as a continuous story. And, in this unified story, the audience can break free of present circumstances to imagine that they hold the power, the power over the life and death of their enemies, having wrested it slyly from the dupes who govern them. ‘For a brief moment, the Jews . . . can play at wielding the highest power in the great empire to which they were in reality subservient and in which they were an insignificant minority.’48 Farcical tales provide the audience a means through which they can escape that which presses down upon them. Parodying the pompous Persians at court helps to reduce their threat. ‘When the persecuted can laugh and see the foolishness of claimants to “greatness” and “royalty”, fearsome executioners lose their fearsomeness, even if only for a moment.’49 The socio-religio-political reality under which the early audience of this book lived would surely have been one from which they needed escape. The author(s) of Esther take advantage of the type of freedom that farce offers, a freedom available to that early audience, but one available to scores of audiences who have followed, as well.

Violence The conflict in Esther is taken to the extreme limit only farce can allow—genocide. This extreme violence creates difficulty for a number of commentators. In addition to the discussion in the previous section of the writings of Radday and Wolkstein, Bechtel is

48

Berlin, Esther, p. xxii. Kathleen M. O’Connor, ‘Humor, Turnabouts and Survival in the Book of Esther’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), Are We Amused? Humour about Women in the Biblical Worlds, JSOT, suppl ser. 383 (London: T&T Clark International, 2003), 52–64 (63). 49

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another scholar who goes to great lengths to explain and explain away the violence. First, she states that Esther and Mordecai would prefer to revoke Haman’s edict, ‘thus obviating any need for violence’. Because this could not be done, ‘the counteredict at least tries to ensure that it is a fair fight’. Furthermore, in Bechtel’s view, after the first day of violence, there were obviously still those out there waiting to attack in the city, so Esther’s request for a second day of killing was due to a safety concern for her people. Furthermore, ‘under the circumstances, the fact that she does not ask for a second day in the provinces as well shows remarkable restraint’. And finally for Bechtel, the 75,000 people dead is less about the degree of killing conducted by the Jews and more about what it reveals regarding the number of people who hated the Jews, ‘and hence, the vast extent of the threat’ that they faced.50 This brutal fighting in Esther is not a Three Stooges chain reaction of bonk, smack, pow or Wile E. Coyote’s being accordion-ed by a falling anvil that he himself placed on the cliff above. Esther’s story of pogrom is full-force, large-scale mass murder. However, like Larry, Moe, Curly, and the Coyote, this violence is not actual violence—it is story violence. As Berlin frames it, ‘the killing is no more real than anything else in the plot’.51 Esther’s violence offers escape, not a model for enactment. Therefore, rather than avoid the violence, interpretation has to embrace it. Avoiding or exegetically dancing around the killing spree in Esther implicitly says the depiction of this type of violence should be avoided. However, the depiction can be a healthy expression, an indulgence of feelings and desires that would not be permissible in ‘real life’. Farce allows a momentary exposure of humanity’s darkest corners. ‘We enjoy the privilege of being totally passive while on stage our most treasured unmentionable wishes are fulfilled before our eyes by the most violently active human beings that ever sprang from the human imagination.’52 The Jews must have, in some part, wanted to kill, destroy, and annihilate their rivals. The power of farce resides in this desire: In farce, we say: ‘I’ll murder you with my bare hands,’ playfully or with that mixture of the grave and gay which defines the tone as farcical, but in a degree we also have to mean it: by some flicker, at least, in word or act, it must become evident that murderous wishes exist in this world— and at this moment.53 50 52

Bechtel, Esther, 74, 80. Bentley, ‘Farce’, 198.

51 53

Berlin, Esther, p. xxii. Bentley, ‘Farce’, 204.

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Then, however, the story ends, the lights come up, and the audience return to the everyday world, hopefully more relaxed and with the murderous desires that rumble within them firmly under control.

CARNIVAL AND CARNIVALESQUE Like farce, carnival is rooted in ancient societies. Now, as then, at regular times during the year, often preceding solemn religious festivals, the usual bounds and conventions of social categories are flouted and inverted for a time of celebration marked by ‘a spirit of revelry, mockery, and defiance’.54 The celebration of Mardi Gras prior to the beginning of the Christian season of Lent is one such carnival. The study of ‘carnival’ was brought into prominence on the literary front by the Russian scholar Mikhail Bakhtin. Over time carnival’s ideas and influence moved into the literary realm, and Bakhtin called this process the ‘carnivalization of literature’. In his work, Bakhtin examines carnival in this literary form, which he dubs ‘carnivalesque’, along with its significant component ‘the grotesque’.55 Carnival is ‘a second world and a second life’ that exists outside officialdom. This second world is a world inside out, upside down, back to front, marked by ‘the suspension of all hierarchical rank, privileges, norms and prohibitions’. Reversals abound, rank is broken, all are equal, and—for the duration of carnival—this second life is both ideal and real.56 The world of carnival is built on laughter. It is an integrative, universal laughter: the person who laughs in carnival belongs to carnival.57 This laughter is just one part of carnival’s grotesque realism, to use Bakhtin’s phrase. Grotesque realism celebrates the body and its

54 Nehama Aschkenasy, ‘Reading Ruth through a Bakhtinian Lens: The Carnivalesque in a Biblical Tale’, JBL 126 (2007), 437–53 (437), Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 63. 55 Pam Morris (ed.), The Bakhtin Reader: Selected Writings of Bakhtin, Medvedev and Voloshinov (London: E. Arnold, 1994), 250; Kenneth M. Craig, Reading Esther: A Case for the Literary Carnivalesque, Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995), 30–2. 56 Mikhail M. Bakhtin, Rabelais and his World, trans. H. Iswolsky (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1968), 6–11. 57 Bakhtin, Rabelais and his World, 12.

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most basic functions: eating, drinking, excreting; having sex, giving birth, dying. Again carnival, through its grotesque realism, is the lowering of what is high—a sort of positive degradation. Following Francis Hutcheson’s formulation of what constitutes comic incongruity, that which is normally grand and dignified suddenly encounters (and becomes) what is normally looked upon as base and profane.58 In carnival, things (and people) are brought ‘downwards’ to earth, rather than being elevated ‘upwards’ to heaven. The grotesque mirrors this movement, as bodily concerns are also brought physiologically downwards to the gut, the bottom, the genitalia, rather than moving upwards to the head.59 To summarize carnival then: ‘the town fool is crowned, the higher classes are mocked, and the differences between people are flattened as their shared humanity, the body, becomes the subject of crude humor.’60

ESTHER AND CARNIVALESQUE These elements of carnivalesque and the grotesque are readily found in the book of Esther. As detailed earlier in this chapter, Esther is laden with reversals, an element characteristic of carnivalesque. Craig even suggests: ‘Instead of a linear sequence of events, the Esther plot unfolds by reversals—not changes or breakdowns, but specific 180 degree turns.’61 The crowning/uncrowning motif of carnival is evident in Esther as well. A ‘crown’ appears four times in the book (‫כתר‬, 1:11; 2:17; 6:8; ‫עטרה‬, 8:15), the most laughter-inducing carnivalesque-like instance being in chapter 6, when Haman remains crown-less as he is required to crown instead his rival Mordecai (or was it to crown the horse?, 6:8). The grotesque, the carnal, the visceral are certainly celebrated in Esther. The physicality of carnivalesque is embodied to perfection in the king. Heads of state are generally assumed to be (at least partly) concerned with the lofty, noble affairs of governing. Yet this king of 58

‘Francis Hutcheson’, in Morreall (ed.), The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor, 26–40 (32). 59 Bakhtin, Rabelais and his World, 18–21. 60 Aschkenasy, ‘Reading Ruth through a Bakhtinian Lens’, 440. 61 Craig, Reading Esther, 81.

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the carnivalesque has a sexual drive that seems to have driven all else from his thinking. Sexual impulse inspires him to require his first queen’s presence as a show pony in his court, a disaster that subsequently necessitates a kingdom-wide commitment to the task of assembling an ongoing supply of sexual partners for the king. Once a single partner is secured from the pool, the king’s interaction with her is punctuated with his promises to give up his very kingdom to her. Maintaining half for himself, of course; yet, dividing one’s kingdom for the purpose of gifting it (for sex?) hardly seems a sustainable long-term government policy. Ahasuerus’ own sexual obsession is so preoccupying that he projects it onto those around him. Upon discovering Haman with Esther, he asks none of the more logical questions, ones that might include enquiring of Haman regarding the scheduled pogrom threatening to destroy the very object of his sexual desire. Instead he obtusely assumes Haman’s desires mirror his own.62 Recalling Henri Bergson’s theory that comic incongruity occurs when humans behave as things, with ‘mechanical inelasticity’,63 exhibited in Pharaoh’s repeated ‘kill, kill, kill’ response, the actions of this king also present him as a pre-programmed automaton, moving lasciviously through the book of Esther, his chorus of choice being ‘sex, sex, sex’ (accompanied, of course, by the occasional ‘drink, drink, drink’). The entire narrative arc of the book of Esther turns on the grotesque. The months of feasting and drinking parties are rivalled in their duration only by the year-long programme of beauty treatments for the virgins of the realm. Base rage drives a man to plot genocide. Then comes the mass killing and the mass dying, ‘a carnivalesque war!’64 Carnage is followed by carnage duplicated: a day of killing and then another, the execution of Haman’s sons and then again. And so the book’s final act brings about the only fitting response to the preceding parade of carnivalesque events: a carnival, namely Purim (9:20–32). As all carnival is meant to be, this is a celebration for ‘every generation, in every family, province, and city’ (9:28, NRSV).

62 63 64

Derby, ‘The Funniest Word in the Bible’, 118. Bergson, ‘Laughter’, 66–103 (97). Craig, Reading Esther, 136.

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COMIC FUNCTIONS The comedy in Esther exploits and utilizes boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them’. It also exhibits an interwoven relationship between comedy’s survival instinct and its connection to the status quo, a relationship that reflects the diaspora context from which it is born and to which it speaks.

Drawing (and erasing) boundaries The book of Esther distinguishes clearly between the pompous, officious, foolish Persians and the savvy, courageous, intelligent Jews. In Esther, ‘the clearest marker of us versus them is whether one is a Jew or not’.65 Yet again in Hebrew Bible comedy, the boundary between ‘self’ and ‘other’ is drawn along ethnic lines. Interestingly, while both farce and carnivalesque exploit for their use the existence of boundaries, they use them somewhat differently. Farce exposes the lines and ridicules those across the boundary’s divide. Carnivalesque exposes them and then erases them, albeit temporarily, through the creation of this ‘second world’ in which rank and ethnicity are suspended, as the ‘high’ are lowered and the ‘low’ are raised. Esther as farce mocks the Persians—their king, their leaders, their way of government, their form of leisure. Esther as carnivalesque mocks them, but joins them and even rules over them, if only for the time they have been given.

Survival and the status quo Esther is a story about survival, and it has a distinct message regarding how to guarantee this survival: work from within the system and maintain it, while finding a proper place within it, because ‘direct resistance fails’.66 One can even become ‘a full part of the system, all the while acknowledging the stupidity of those who run the system’.67 In this strategy, Esther is the direct contrast of Vashti, who is eliminated when she threatens the status quo, refusing to conform to its demands.68 Esther herself, in approaching the king uninvited and in 65 66 67 68

Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 136. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 140. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 144. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 132.

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devising a scheme to expose Haman, does exhibit a spirit of boldness and subversiveness. However, the book of Esther sends a more cautious and conservative overall message discouraging open rebellion and encouraging a more institutionalized method of power acquisition. Jessica Davis writes about ‘reversal-farce’, a kind of farce that is primarily about revenge following a humiliation.69 For the Jews, exile was a shocking humiliation, so for a people in diaspora fantasizing about payback for the powers-that-be, whoever they may be, was a predictable course their thoughts would take. Yet the Jews are existing as a minority ejected from their homeland and living under the thumb of a foreign government, and making a reality of their thoughts is not a viable option, as they attempt to deal with life in exile ‘by steering a course of survival somewhere between co-option and selfrespect’.70 And so the door opens for comedy to enter. For Jews in diaspora the humour of Esther offers an outlet for dreams and fantasies, for aggression and hostility. Unable actually to overthrow the powers established over them, they can utilize comedy to overthrow them another way. Through Esther, the Jews can maintain their own sense of identity by making the Persians a ridiculed ‘other’. They can subvert the establishment and prevail over it. The humour in Esther ‘reveals that the oppression and exclusion practiced by this government is absurd, preposterous, out of all proportion’.71 The added bonus is that using this form of attack poses no danger to the survival of the people, because their assault is indirect and their subversion is contained. The temporariness of carnival’s boundary-erasing capacity fits well with a story where the power structure is not permanently overthrown, but rather is joined into and utilized to the advantage of heroes who work within ‘the system’. Thus, when the farce is played out to its conclusion or when the time of the carnival celebrations draws to a close, society reverts to its preferred status quo. And yet, in the carnival of Purim, year after year, the Jews can once again experience their glorious victory over their oppressors and can once again turn the tables on those who would seek to kill, destroy, and annihilate them. 69 70 71

Jessica Milner Davis, Farce, Critical Idiom, 39 (London: Methuen, 1978), 43–4. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 145. O’Connor, ‘Humor, Turnabouts and Survival’, 63.

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ESTHER AND FEMINIST CRITIQUE In comparing the Masoretic Text to the Septuagint, Carey Moore writes: ‘Between Mordecai and Esther the greater hero in the Hebrew is Mordecai, who supplied the brains while Esther simply followed his directions.’72 In an incredulous response, which I like to imagine being spat out in one breath, with hands on hips, Craig says: What?! It is Esther who becomes queen in this Persian court, who outmaneuvers Haman, the king’s vizier who had endangered her life. It is Esther who not only saves her life by bringing Haman to the gallows, but also the lives of her own people. Esther gains power despite the fact that she, a woman, would have found herself virtually powerless in patriarchal Persia. It is Esther who succeeds by dealing with and overcoming those who hold power in this story. She combines courage and ingenuity and wins her way back by her own initiatives. Like so many women who appear in the stories of the Bible, she works around and through the powers that be in order to save herself, and in this case her people also. If Mordecai is the major character, why did someone name the story for Esther?73

All the praise that Craig heaps upon Esther accurately reflects her portrayal in the book that bears her name. Without doubt, Esther is a great hero for the Jews. She is the one who formulates and executes the plan that saves her people. Yet, the follow-on question feministcritical scholars ask is whether she is also a great hero for women. And the answer to that question is less satisfying and, as it has been for most of the narratives explored in this work, more ambiguous. Vashti, even in her minor role, emerges for a number of feminist critics as the more attractive figure over against Esther, thus creating in some interpretative circles a seeming need to align with one woman or the other. Vashti’s resolute defiance of patriarchal expectation has influenced scholars who ‘have found it easier to admire Vashti . . . than to muster sympathy for the woman who takes up Vashti’s position and does for the king what Vashti refused to do’.74 Nicole Duran

72

Carey A. Moore, Esther, AB 7B (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1971), p. lxx. Craig, Reading Esther, 26; cf. Berlin, Esther, p. xxiii. Nicole Wilkinson Duran, ‘Who Wants to Marry a Persian King? Gender Games & Wars and the Book of Esther’, in Cheryl A. Kirk-Duggan (ed.), Pregnant Passion: Gender, Sex, and Violence in the Bible (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), 71–84 (75). 73 74

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describes Esther as ‘the scab’ who undermines the impact of Vashti’s sacrifice. For Duran, Esther’s identity is rooted in being a Jew first and a woman after, and she subverts one part of who she is in favour of another part: she ultimately ‘sells’ her womanhood in order to obtain what she needs as a Jew.75 In a more positive assessment of this pair, however, Kathleen O’Connor finds an interpretative route that does not require preference for the approach of either Vashti or Esther, but puts them working in tandem. She suggests a both/and approach, urging those who read and interpret the story to engage in ‘Vashti-like refusals and Esther-like underminings’.76 Finally, in the end, Queen Vashti and Queen Esther share the same fate, as both simply disappear from the story before its conclusion. Esther, for her trouble, is blue-pencilled out of the narrative’s epilogue in which there is space only for the erstwhile idiot king, Ahasuerus, and his next-in-command, Mordecai (ch. 10). At the end of the book, Mordecai, quite literally, displaces Esther. He, and he alone, is credited with performing acts of ‘power and might’ (10:2) and with having interceded ‘for the welfare of all his descendants (10:3, NRSV). As happens too frequently in the Hebrew Bible, a woman having fulfilled her task is no longer necessary to the plot, so as a cast member exits abruptly and quietly, without further mention. This too is Esther’s fate, a highly unsatisfactory ending for both the woman and the book that is her namesake. The book of Esther is ‘hilariously funny’.77 At the centre of that humour is a woman. Without her, the story would find itself without a name and without a hero. Esther demonstrates cunning and bravery, exposing the ‘other’ as stupid and inept. Yet, she does all this without directly defying the established order of a foreign government or of its patriarchy. Esther is a woman who does so very much for those of her own ethnicity; feminist critique wishes she could have done more for those of her own gender as well. 75 76 77

Duran, ‘Who Wants to Marry a Persian King?’, 78. O’Connor, ‘Humor, Turnabouts and Survival’, 64. Berlin, Esther, p. xvi.

11 Conclusions: Comedy and the Hebrew Bible This monograph has examined narratives criss-crossing the canon of the Hebrew Bible, from the matriarchal narratives to episodes foundational for the future exodus to stories spanning the historical books. The working hypothesis underpinning the investigation has been that comedy exists in the Hebrew Bible, and not simply in scattered episodes, but as a pervasively detectable element—a comic phenomenon, using Peter Berger’s phrase—running through the stories of the nation and the people of Israel.

INTERTEXTUALITY One of the ways to begin to see this phenomenon of the comic unfolding throughout the Hebrew Bible narrative is to examine the myriad links between the texts that have been studied here. This intertextuality knits these individual pieces into a larger work, and comedy is one of the threads woven throughout that work. Adding to previous discussion (Chs 2 and 9), links among the matriarchs and between the matriarchs and Ruth are numerous. Ruth, who herself can be considered a matriarch as the greatgrandmother of David, shares with the Genesis matriarchs their trickster quality. Ellen Van Wolde writes extensively of further connections between Ruth and the matriarch Tamar, beginning with the direct textual link in Ruth 4:12, a verse of blessing that, through Ruth, Boaz’s house would be ‘like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah’. Van Wolde sees this as a ‘triple intertextual linking’ of Ruth’s son to Perez, Ruth to Tamar, and Boaz to Judah. The provision for a sonless widow through the practice of levirate marriage

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underlies both stories, directly for Tamar, but an echo of the practice reverberates behind the Ruth story as well.1 Danna Nolan Fewell and David Gunn find these two narratives so connected that, in retelling the story of Ruth in one of their articles, at relevant points, they interweave the story of Tamar into it.2 The theme of the ‘reversal of primogeniture’ marks several of these narratives. Rebekah lobbies for her younger son over her older. The ‘bed trick’ played on Jacob is, in Laban’s explanation, to right the wrong of Rachel’s being married before her older sister. However, despite Leah’s remaining ‘first’ wife chronologically, Rachel remains the first in Jacob’s preference. One argument for Rachel’s theft of the teraphim is to advance her or her son’s primacy, that son being the youngest. In echoes of the birth of Jacob and Esau, Tamar’s would-be younger twin ‘supplants’ his brother and emerges first. Saul offers his older daughter, Merab, in marriage to David ahead of his younger daughter, Michal, which would be expected; however, Saul’s younger daughter becomes David’s wife instead, so that, in a sense, the younger again usurps the older. Another link, the implications of which are explored more extensively below, is the recurrence of the ‘foreigner’ in these narratives. The female ‘foreigner’ is either outrightly a member of another culture/nation or is a quasi-foreigner through being aligned with a foreigner or a foreign nation. Pharaoh’s daughter, Rahab, Jezebel, and Ruth fit the former category; Tamar, Delilah, and Bathsheba fit the latter. Jael exists in a fuzzy area between the two with allegiance that cannot be nailed down, although ultimately she chooses Israel. Esther is an Israelite who bests foreigners. Moses’ sister and mother are Israelites who best one foreigner through another foreigner. Furthermore, intermarriage of Israelite and foreigner colours the stories of Tamar, Jezebel, Ruth, and Esther. As main characters, the ‘good’ foreigners are Pharaoh’s daughter, Tamar, Ruth, Rahab, and Jael. The ‘bad, bad, bad’ foreigners are Delilah and Jezebel. Delilah and Jael are an interesting contrast, as both ‘can be envisioned as outsiders within their stories, playing a role within an ethnic conflict that is not necessarily their own’.3 However, in picking sides in the conflict, Delilah chooses badly, while 1 2 3

Van Wolde, ‘Texts in Dialogue with Texts’, 8, 10. Fewell and Gunn, Compromising Redemption. Ackerman, ‘What if Judges had been Written by a Philistine?’, 37.

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Jael chooses well. The good foreigners risk themselves for Israel and face the risks with courage. In success, they become better than good as ‘their foreignness enhances the impact of their deeds’.4 The bad foreigners, however, steadfast in their ‘foreignness’, emerge as worse than bad. Helena Zlotnik explores a connection between the stories of Jezebel and Esther: ‘the story of Esther and Ahasuerus must be read as a rehabilitative narrative of the tale of Jezebel and Ahab’ as they share ‘an ideological kinship that aspires to define the desired characteristics and behavior of Israelite/Jewish queens’.5 Both queens work within the confines of their palaces, using messengers and agents to gather information and disseminate their plans and commands. The story of each involves a private feud (Ahab and Naboth; Mordecai and Haman) being transformed into a public matter and both include a feasting/fasting motif.6 The characters diverge, however, in their ‘vastly disparate’ afterlives. ‘In collective memory Jezebel became a stereotype of shrewish and detestable queens. Esther’s adventures are still celebrated.’7 In Zlotnick’s final analysis, however, the queens converge again as she finds that both their stories contain ‘a condemnation of monarchy in general’.8 An important difference between them does, however, remain. One is a foreign queen ruling in Israel, while the other is an ‘Israelite’ queen ruling as a foreigner. Brevard Childs finds a connection for the Esther story in another text. He sees a link between Pharaoh in Exodus 1–2 and Haman, as both attempt clever action but are duped by the midwives and Esther respectively. Their clever plots are thus foiled and they are revealed as stupid.9 Judah, though an Israelite, shares this ‘stupidity of action’ as his plan to have Tamar killed unravels before him, and she bests him. Rahab figures in a number of intertextual comparisons. She bears similarity to Delilah in that both are identified by their own name, with little other identifying information and excluding mention of men (husband and/or father).10 In both stories, the women strike a bargain, thus indicating for Susan Ackerman that ‘Rahab, like Delilah, 4

Brenner, The Israelite Woman, 119. Zlotnik, ‘From Jezebel to Esther’, 477. 6 Zlotnik, ‘From Jezebel to Esther’, 489–90; this feasting/fasting theme in the story of Jezebel is discussed in Ch. 8. 7 Zlotnik, ‘From Jezebel to Esther’, 486. 8 Zlotnik, ‘From Jezebel to Esther’, 495. 9 Childs, ‘Birth of Moses’, 120. 10 Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen, 232. 5

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barters sexual pleasures for her own well-being and security’.11 Daniel Hawk makes a further connection between Rahab and Delilah, adding Tamar to their company, as folkloric characters in the mould of ‘the prostitute who gets what she wants through trickery’.12 Again, however, nuance must be maintained as to similarity and difference: while all three engage in a ‘transaction’ involving sex, only one of the three is identified in the text as a prostitute by profession. Rahab and Jael are connected as non-Israelites who, through their trickery, offer unexpected help to Israel in the form of shelter to hide men under pursuit. The difference is that Rahab’s help is in direct form—the Israelites are the ones sheltered and saved. Jael’s help is indirect, as she kills the non-Israelite man whom she ‘shelters’, and in so doing gives roundabout aid to the Israelites. Ultimately, Jael and Rahab are in control of the men, holding the power ‘to decide who will triumph and who will fail’,13 more literally in Rahab’s case, as she holds the rope from which the spies are dangling. Furthermore, both episodes involve sexually charged language, but remain ambiguous as to whether any sexual activity actually occurred between the women and the men. Sexual language as ambiguous evidence of sexual activity is shared with the stories of Delilah and Ruth, as well. Richard Nelson observes that both Rahab and Abigail perceive ‘emerging contours of power’ and ally themselves with the more powerful side.14 Jael may well fit this description as well. Michal may too, choosing initially to place her loyalty with the future king (her husband) over the present king (her father). On the other side of this observation sits Delilah, who sold her allegiance, possibly based also on her sense of who was the stronger side, just not deemed to be Israel in this instance. Phyllis Bird likens Rahab to the Hebrew midwives, all of whom outwit the king—proving themselves ‘wiser’ and ‘more clever’ than their kings. All three reject the commands of their respective kings, commands Bird labels ‘unrighteous’. As their reward, each receives ‘a 11

Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen, 231. L. Daniel Hawk, ‘Strange Houseguests: Rahab, Lot and the Dynamics of Deliverance’, in Danna Nolan Fewell (ed.), Reading between Texts: Intertextuality and the Hebrew Bible, Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992), 89–97 (35–6). 13 Elie Assis, ‘The Choice to Serve God and Assist His People: Rahab and Yael’, Biblica, 85 (2004), 82–90 (83–4). 14 Nelson, Joshua, 46. 12

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house and a name in Israel and a story to perpetuate her memory, while the king she opposed remains nameless and forgotten’.15 The ‘woman-at-the-window’ motif links Michal to both Rahab and Jezebel. In her first ‘window’ scene, Michal is lowering David to safety, as Rahab did with the Israelite spies. In her final, dismal scene, Michal looks out from her window, sees David in procession, and despises him. This episode precipitates her exit from the narrative. Jezebel in similar fashion sees someone she despises outside her window and taunts him and, in her final scene, exits the narrative through a window.

COMIC COMPONENTS AND THE TEXTS Comedy, as defined in this monograph, is based primarily on literary devices, but also on psychological/social features and functions. Comedy in the Hebrew Bible exhibits a wide range of these devices, features, and functions, with some more prominently occurring than others. While the comedy across texts cannot be described as identical, the texts do share much of the comic in common. All the stories make use of stock characters (frequently in men as ‘fools’) and/or wordplay based upon character names (even as far as having a character named ‘Fool’). The U-shaped plot movement factors into all the stories, with most narratives concluding a form of ‘happy’ ending (for example, the stories of Tamar and Ruth), although the happy ending is never straightforward and uncomplicated and, in the immediate sense, is not always ‘happy’ for the Israelites (for example, the stories of Samson and the Israelite spies). Trickery flavours all these stories, from the pivotal trickery of the matriarchs and Bathsheba to the momentary trickery of Esther’s allowing Ahasuerus to think what he will about Haman on her couch. Hiddenness and surprise are all part of trickery and so factor in these tales as well. Each story utilizes irony or reversal, not the least of which are the continued ironic reversals of women besting men. An intentional choice to study female characters almost necessarily yields stories in which sexuality is a component, and, when sexuality meets incongruity, comic situations ensue. Those situations 15

Bird, ‘The Harlot as Heroine’, 131.

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include sexual ambiguity (for example, gender-bending: Jael, Delilah) or sexual inversion/reversal (for example, women initiating sexual activity: Tamar, Ruth). These stories feature outright sex (Lot’s daughters, Tamar, Leah, Bathsheba) or the strong suggestion of it (Rahab, Jael, Delilah, Ruth) or making the most of one’s sexual attractiveness (Abigail, Esther). Other stories feature issues surrounding sexuality (Rachel: menstruation; Exod. 1–2: childbirth). Finally, one episode is distinguished humorously by its distinct lack of sexual activity (Abishag with David). The functions of boundary-drawing, survival, subversion, and containment are the most frequently occurring comic functions in these narratives. The other functions identified are also found, but not as frequently and strongly as these four. The boundary-drawing function serves to distinguish Israelites from foreign others, often Canaanites, but also notably Egyptians, Moabites, and Persians. Survival in a literal sense is a part of these stories, so it naturally becomes part of the story’s humour as well. Shiphrah and Puah facilitate the survival of an untold number of Israelite infant boys, and Esther does the same for an untold number of Jewish people. ‘Survival’ of the line is a concern in the stories of the matriarchs and Bathsheba and Ruth. As comic functions, subversion and containment exist primarily as two sides of the status quo coin. These featured women, in their initiative-taking and fool-making, exhibit subversive behaviour that undermines the patriarchal order of society. The patriarchal order, then, works against this unfettered subversion to contain it through manipulation that serves the agenda of the establishment. On the one hand, Ahab does not wander away from Yahweh on his own—Jezebel leads him. On the other hand, baby boys, such as Perez and Obed, born to less-than-ideal mothers in less-than-ideal circumstances, are legitimized by being brought into the line of Israel’s great ones.

FOREIGNNESS Reflected in the frequent utilization of humour’s boundary-drawing function, the comedy of these narratives is highly concerned with demarcating the line between Israelites and non-Israelites. ‘Foreigners’ feature in some way, usually a significant one, in each of

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these stories. Foreigners look the fool as the Israelites prevail. Foreigners make Israel look the fool as they themselves prevail. Foreigners collude with Israel, sometimes to make foreigners look the fool. Foreigners plot against Israel and make Israel look the fool. Comedy has a fundamentally divisive quality. It requires an object, an ‘other’. The Israelites were engaged in an ongoing quest, often a struggle, to remain distinctive as Yahweh’s chosen people. This distinctiveness was measured against ‘other’ nations, foreigners. Combine Israel’s striving to maintain this identity with humour’s boundary-drawing power, and the natural result is a comic arsenal filled with weapons aimed at anyone deemed non-Israelite. Comedy of this type would clearly fit into what is today known as ‘ethnic humour’, humour designed simultaneously to insult the other and to praise oneself, or in a more general sense to insult the other’s group while praising one’s own.16 The former is ‘stupid’; the latter is ‘canny’. ‘The “canny” individual who is clever, crafty, calculating, shrewd [is] able to manipulate the “stupid” person into demonstrating the characters’ respective ethnic characteristics.’17 The starkness and strictness of this ethnic humour are embodied in the character Jezebel, who is unforgivably ‘foreign’ in the biblical text and in subsequent interpretation. Leaning for metaphor on an examination motif, Rahab, Jael and Ruth are said to ‘fail in goodness, hospitality, morality’, yet they pass the overall exam because they choose Israel. Jezebel, on the other hand, ‘passes all the tests of history save one— she failed the question on the doctrine of Israel’s election’.18 The target is clear when the identity of the ‘other’ is clear. However, in these Hebrew Bible narratives the line can be blurred. Thus, a group of foreign friendlies emerges. This group includes women just mentioned, women who have ‘passed’, like Rahab, Jael, and Ruth (and Tamar), women who choose Israel—its society, its religion, its men. When one of these women indicates through her behaviour ‘that she is seriously committed to her new community, then her acceptance is guaranteed’.19 In these cases, the weapon is holstered, and the outsider is brought safely inside. 16 Lowell K. Handy, ‘Uneasy Laughter: Ehud and Eglon as Ethnic Humor’, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament, 6 (1992), 233–46 (233). 17 Handy, ‘Uneasy Laughter’, 236. 18 Frost, ‘Judgment on Jezebel’, 516. 19 Brenner, The Israelite Woman, 119.

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Yet, the issue is not uncomplicated. The Israelites, while making fun of those branded as outsiders, would at the same time identify with them, knowing themselves what it means to be the foreigners in another land. ‘In humor, then, as in social life, the conditions that foment cruelty are uneasily bound up with those that foster compassion.’20 Ironically, the Israelites may well have identified with these foreigners, even as they ridiculed them. This opens the door, then, to self-mockery. And Israel is indeed, on occasion, the butt of its own ethnic joke. Judah is the honoured patriarch who is revealed as a fool, deficient in righteousness. Samson is the great and powerful judge, but also a great and powerful parody of a judge. David, the great warrior and king, is twice in need of rescue, once from Saul and once from his own vengefulness. This inside/outside dichotomy would have been particularly relevant to an Israel in exile or Israelites in diaspora. Telling stories, from outside the land, of times when they were living in the land would have bolstered their sense of identity. Lampooning the foreigner in those same stories served further to solidify their distinctiveness as they were able to laugh at what was ‘foreign’, even as the Israelites were themselves the foreigners, the ‘Others’. Simon Critchley describes this humour as ‘a form of cultural insider-knowledge’. Through expression of a common sense of humour, a group can wear their ‘cultural distinctiveness like an insulation layer against the surrounding alien environment’ offering warmth ‘when all else is cold and unfamiliar’.21 Wylie Sypher states it even more forcefully: One of the strongest impulses comedy can discharge from the depths of the social self is our hatred of the ‘alien” ’, especially when the stranger who is ‘different’ stirs any unconscious doubt about our own beliefs . . . [The comedian] can point out our victim, isolate him from sympathy, and cruelly expose him to the penalty of our ridicule.22

The result of an entrenched ‘us versus them’ quality in comedy is, to use Sigmund Freud’s descriptor, ‘tendentious’ humour.23 This humour is evidenced in an aggressive laughing at, rather than the benign laughing with. This laughing at can be seen in two ways. On 20 Kathleen M. Sands, ‘Ifs, Ands, and Butts: Theological Reflections on Humor’, JAAR 64 (1996), 499–523 (519); cf. Lauter, ‘Introduction’, p. xviii. 21 Critchley, On Humour, 67–8; cf. Berger, Redeeming Laughter, 68. 22 Sypher, ‘The Meanings of Comedy’, 242. 23 Brenner, ‘Who’s Afraid of Feminist Criticism?’, 41.

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the one hand, this humour can be subversive, as those laughing at are doing so from ‘below’, ridiculing those to whom they find themselves subjugated. On the other hand, this humour can also be oppressive, when a less powerful group within a society is denigrated or excluded maliciously by those in power who are doing the laughing at. Both of these types of laughing at occur in Hebrew Bible narrative. The Israelites take frequent shots at the foreign outsider, one who is an external threat or an oppressor. However, the Israelites also use women in their humour as tools to ridicule men and in so doing caricature and belittle the women despite there being those whose ethnic status is ‘insider’.

VIOLENCE IN COMEDY A final point to examine following on from this discussion of intentionally directed, attacking comedy is the place of violence in the comic. Comedy itself can be used as a weapon, on the attack. Unsurprisingly, then, the vehicle through which comedy is communicated can be violence. Some components of comedy do indicate a preference for non-violence. Comedy’s ‘not heroes’ are at a disadvantage in a battle, so they prefer indirect confrontation. As demonstrated by comedy’s affinity for dialogue, wars with words are more comically rewarding than wars with swords. The forgiving, secondchance, egalitarian, playful nature of comedy works to diffuse conflict, rather than to feed it. Yet, this aggressive, hostile side of comedy remains. Returning to Eivind Berggrav’s image of hostile comedy as a ‘sugar-coating for poison’,24 appreciating this hostile expression as a type of comedy remains a matter of perspective. For those who count the victim of comic violence as their enemy, the comedy is pleasurable, not poisonous. Furthermore, as violence depicted, rather than violence enacted, this ‘poison’ has no actual ill effect. This is consequence with ‘all the elements of pain and permanent defeat removed’.25 However, being on the receiving end of poison—sugar-coated, impermanent, 24

Berggrav, ‘Humor and Seriousness’, 208. Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 10; cf. Greenstein, ‘Humor and Wit: Old Testament’, 331. 25

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or not—is unpleasant. Again, perspective is key: the recognition of comedy depends on who mixed the toxic cocktail and who is about to drink it. Comedy’s form often takes a pacifist stance. However, comedy is also flexible, pragmatic, and physical. When violence serves its purposes, comedy employs it. And, with contest as an endlessly occurring component of comic literature, several possible forms of comic violence recommend themselves. Drawing on popular vehicles as examples, Edwin Good lists several possible ones, including ineffectual violence (for example, the cartoon Roadrunner), threatened violence (for example, Shylock’s ‘pound of flesh’), and combative violence (for example, Popeye).26 Violence permeates the Hebrew Bible, and it permeates the comedy of the Hebrew Bible. Pharaoh and Haman attempt violence, but, conforming to one of Good’s forms of comic violence listed above, they are ineffectual in achieving the goal of that violence. Violence threatened—that is, violence barely averted—rumbles through the stories of Rachel (and the teraphim), Tamar, Exodus 1:15–21, Abigail, and Michal, while Rahab is faced with the certainty of pending violence. Combative violence is the most regularly occurring form of Hebrew Bible violence. Group-to-group violence drives the stories of Deborah and Jael, Rahab, and Esther. Large-scale warring raging on the larger stage plays out between individuals in a microcosm of the battlefield as well, such as the altercations between Jael and Sisera, between Delilah and Samson, and in a less hand-tohand manner between Uriah and David. Mass killings are core components of the plots of Exodus 2:1–10 and Esther. Causing death—by hands direct and indirect and by means immediate and delayed—is perpetrated in the stories of Jael, Delilah, Abigail, Bathsheba, and Jezebel. Skirmish, battle, warfare. Infanticide, homicide, genocide. With few exceptions, violence plays a significant role in the story and in the comedy of the narratives explored in this work. Nowhere is the violence of comedy better mounted than in the pogrom reversed and celebrated in the book of Esther. In the magnification of Esther’s violence, Esther’s comedy is magnified along with it, as the hyperbole of farce does its work. However, ironically, comedy can

26

Good, ‘Apocalyptic as Comedy’, 45–6.

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simultaneously condone and condemn violence, enacting it on paper and on stage to demonstrate its futility in the ‘real’ world. Thus, through its wonderful ways of incongruity, comedy may use warfare and bloodshed for the purpose of ridiculing that very same warfare and bloodshed.

INCONGRUITY AND SALVATION Of the three theories of laughter outlined briefly in Chapter 1— Superiority, Relief, Incongruity—the predominant one currently is the theory of Incongruity, applied not just to laughter, but more broadly to comedy in general. Peter Berger summarizes: ‘From its simplest to its most sophisticated expressions, the comic is experienced as incongruence.’27 Various thinkers have contributed to the particulars of this theory, but its foundational premiss is simply that comedy is about perception of the unexpected. One’s expectations for how something should be or how someone or something should behave are upended, and, in perceiving this incongruity, one experiences comedy. From a literary perspective, this incongruity can be created through devices such as use of a ‘not hero’ or irony, which produce a sense that things are not as they seem. From a social perspective, this incongruity can be experienced through comedy’s revelatory and subversive functions, thus producing a sense that things are not as they ought to be or could potentially be. This ‘reveal and subvert’ twosome works in simultaneous fashion: revealing what is that could be different, better, and subverting what is that ought not to be. What happens then when this comic incongruity is brought into the realm of religious conviction? Reinhold Niebuhr explains it thus: ‘humour is concerned with the immediate incongruities of life and faith with the ultimate ones.’28 Writing not from a religious perspective, but using language familiar to religion, Critchley writes: ‘Humour both reveals the situation and indicates how that situation

27

Berger, Redeeming Laughter, p. x (emphasis added). Reinhold Niebuhr, ‘Humour and Faith’, in Hyers (ed.), Holy Laughter, 134–49 (135). 28

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might be changed. That is to say, laughter has a certain redemptive or messianic power.’29 Berger, like Critchley, finds ‘redeeming’ qualities in comedy. For Berger, when a perspective of faith is added to the normally transient experience of the comic, that perspective points one to another reality that ‘has redeeming qualities that are not temporary at all, but rather that point to that other world that has always been the object of the religious attitude’. This is transcendence—transcendence which produces ‘redeeming laughter’.30 However, in contrast, for Critchley, as he takes issue with Berger, this comic redemption is not other-worldly, but is located firmly in this plane of existence: Humour does not redeem us from this world, but returns us to it ineluctably by showing that there is no alternative. The consolations of humour come from acknowledging that this is the only world and, imperfect as it is and we are, it is only here that we can make a difference . . . By showing us the folly of the world humour does not save us from that folly by turning our attention elsewhere . . . but calls on us to face the folly of the world and change the situation in which we find ourselves.31

Berger’s perspective, as does Niebuhr’s, emerges from a distinctly Christian perspective, which holds a sense of other-worldly redemption, thus Niebuhr’s use of the word ‘ultimate’. For the Israelites, humour points beyond their immediate situation to a better one in which they are not oppressed or exiled, but instead in which the line of the foremothers and fathers continues on robustly, as they live a prosperous life in the land that was promised to them from the time of those first mothers and fathers. This vision would seem to correspond more to Critchley’s view than Berger’s. As the Israelites evaluated the situations in which they found themselves, situations less than what they imagined could be, comedy enabled them to believe that ‘the reversal will come, however delayed and unlikely it may seem, and the new society will be constituted on the rubble of the absurd one’.32 Mark Biddle further explains: ‘Indeed, salvation history, itself, can be regarded as a grand comic plot of reversed fortune.’33 In this view of ‘history’, Israelite expectation is salvation in 29 30 31 32 33

Critchley, On Humour, 16. Berger, Redeeming Laughter, 205; cf. pp. 205–15. Critchley, On Humour, 17–18. Good, ‘Apocalyptic as Comedy’, 56. Biddle, ‘Humor’, 917.

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this world—deliverance from enemies, deliverance into and in the land, deliverance back to the land. As the biblical text has been interpreted and reinterpreted over time, especially once Christian thinkers began to interpret the Hebrew Bible with the New Testament in view, a more other-worldly sense of God’s redemptive action evolved. Yet, for the early Israelites reading these stories, surely the redeemed world that comedy revealed to them had a more concrete embodiment. Speaking specifically of the oppressiveness of the foreign rule in the book of Esther, but with a perspective operative in the widest realm where comedy is at work, Kathleen O’Connor asserts: ‘It will not last, but it can be survived because a new reality is just over the horizon and already present in their shared laughter.’34 In a belief system that has salvation and justice as core tenets, holding the divine responsible for meting them out, comedy’s promise of an up-turn is part of the very foundation of its story. Through this comedy, the hope for Israel’s promised deliverance by the hand of Yahweh is never permanently extinguished. Deliverance is drawing ever nearer, surely just over that next hill, and indeed already among them as they partake together of the comic experience.

34

O’Connor, ‘Humor, Turnabouts and Survival’, 63.

12 Conclusions: Comedy, the Hebrew Bible, and Feminist Interpretation Employing comedy as a lens through which to read the Hebrew Bible can contribute much to feminist interpretation of the same. In defiance of any persisting stereotypes, comedy and feminist-critical interpretation of the Hebrew Bible have a strong affinity at several points. What follows is a discussion of nine particular points of contact between comedy and feminist critique. They are just that: points of contact, places where their shared interests meet. They are not, in each case, areas where the two coincide completely. However, each point offers a way in which comedy as a reading strategy can constructively inform the exercise of feminist-critical interpretation of the biblical text.

NINE POINTS OF CONTACT

Definition First, both comedy and feminist critique strongly resist definition. Each incorporates a multiplicity of approaches, manifestations, applications, and structures that render them too complex to be untangled by any simple category or designation. Comedy is multifaceted and, despite rigorous examination, continues to elude precise or succinct defining. The comedy of the narratives studied in this work has taken shape through exemplification, through demonstration of where the texts bear numerous identifiable devices, features, and functions of comedy.

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Comedy is definition-resistant, largely owing to its being simultaneously subjective and objective, particular and universal. Feministcritical interpretation also has both a particular and a universal dimension. The discipline’s particularity is overtly reflected in its label ‘feminist’. In all its forms, feminist critique is unified in that it ‘remains most profoundly concerned with the full humanity of women’. However, while particular in its aims at one level, feminist critique also functions on a universal level. Feminist interpretation assumes that ‘all stand to gain by it, not just women’.1 Critics analysing texts through the lens of feminism give extensive consideration to far-reaching issues of prejudice and oppression, of inclusivity and justice. These issues are relevant to that group with which feminist critique is particularly concerned, but they are equally relevant to all of humanity as well. Feminist critics are not a monolithic group; neither are their approaches to biblical interpretation. After decades of struggling for acceptance, feminist biblical criticism has seen a proliferation of scholars and their works since the 1990s, a proliferation that requires a continuing need to challenge the boundaries of feminist biblical criticism, to correct any notion of the field of feminist critique as a narrowly focused, ideologically fixed undertaking. ‘Though “feminist biblical criticism” may suggest something homogeneous, monolithic, even a kind of bland sisterhood, the voices it encompasses are extremely diverse, as are the feminisms.’2 Among others, African Americans, Hispanics, and East Asian scholars have developed interpretative strategies emerging from their specific social locations. Adele Reinhartz offers a list of the ‘diverse activities’ with which feminist critics engage themselves, a list that, while not exhaustive, is certainly at least exhausting. That list includes: writing women into biblical history, society and cult; examining the representation of women in canonical and non-canonical texts; searching for evidence of women’s hands in material artifacts; addressing androcentrism and patriarchy in texts as well as in scholarship, and

1 Ann Loades, ‘Feminist Interpretation’, in John Barton (ed.), Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation, Cambridge Companions to Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 81–94 (81, 82). 2 Yvonne Sherwood, ‘Feminist Scholarship’, in J. W. Rogerson (ed.), The Oxford Illustrated History of the Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 296–315 (299).

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exploring the relationship between biblical texts and women’s lives in all their complexity.3

Generically defining feminist critique is not possible, nor is it desirable, as its multiplicity of approach is a strengthening, not a weakening, trait of the discipline. Similarly offering a simple definition of the comic is neither possible nor desirable. This monograph is obviously predicated upon an idea that interpretation of the Hebrew Bible through comedy can inform feminist critique. Therefore, contra some feminist-critical perspectives, this monograph does not take a rejectionist stance regarding the biblical text.4 However, determining all the precise ways in which a comic reading of the Hebrew Bible informs feminist critique remains a partially completed task. More of this challenging and compelling work remains to be done.

Subject/Object Dichotomy Second, both comedy and feminist critique exist in an arena where a self/other, subject/object dichotomy is operative. In general terms, feminist criticism is suspicious of and hostile towards this duality, because women are more often object than subject and because self/ other frequently transitions into right/wrong, with women emerging, in this construct, on the ‘wrong’ side.5 Comedy, conversely, requires the subject/object duality to operate at its fullest power, as is most clearly seen in comedy’s ‘us versus them’ mentality that draws boundary lines between the two. Comedy utilizes this subject/object duality to maximize its impact, as seen in its boundary-drawing function. As well, comedy is not 3 Adele Reinhartz, ‘Feminist Criticism and Biblical Studies on the Verge of the Twenty-First Century’, in Brenner and Fontaine (eds), A Feminist Companion to Reading the Bible, 31. 4 A number of sources discuss various stances feminist scholars take with respect to the biblical text; examples to consult include Carolyn Osiek, ‘The Feminist and the Bible: Hermeneutical Alternatives’, in Adela Yarbro Collins (ed.), Feminist Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship, Biblical Scholarship in North America, 10 (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1984), 93–106; Luise Schottroff, Silvia Schroer, and Marie-Theres Wacker, Feminist Interpretation: The Bible in Women’s Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 37–48; Heather A. McKay, ‘On the Future of Feminist Biblical Criticism’, in Brenner and Fontaine (eds), A Feminist Companion to Reading the Bible, 61–83 (71–7). 5 Reinhartz, ‘Feminist Criticism and Biblical Studies’, 35.

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choosy about what groups it forms in ‘us’ and ‘them’ so long as the division creates a punchline. Any component of ‘us’ can be used as a means to define ‘them’. The distinction may be cultural, sexual, political, social, financial, racial, religious . . . and the list continues. While comedy contentedly utilizes the idea of ‘us and them’, feminist critique is critical of it and rejects it in favour of the goal of ‘every woman becoming a subject’.6 For feminists, the concern is focused, in the first instance, on the boundary between male and female and specifically on revealing the exploitation inherent in marking out women as ‘Other’. And in the Hebrew Bible the males are the ones drawing the line and determining who is ‘us’ and who is ‘them’— males in the stories, males writing and shaping the stories, males reading and interpreting the stories. To use another metaphor, ‘he who points the camera, controls the viewer’s gaze’.7 Another dichotomy with which the Hebrew Bible is deeply concerned is that of who is an Israelite and who is a foreigner. The comedy of the Hebrew Bible, not surprisingly, mirrors this concern. A line is drawn, and ‘the outcasts define Israel’s borders’.8 Furthermore, when ‘foreign’ is brought together with ‘female’, the result is a ‘double other’.9 In these situations and in these characters, the opportunity for objectification and subjugation is increased by a factor of two. The choice made by women, such as Rahab and Ruth, to align themselves with Israel mitigates their ‘foreign-other’ status; however, those women who choose to align themselves otherwise, such as Delilah and Jezebel, receive their condemnation in at least double proportion.

Context Third, both comedy and feminist critique emphasize and utilize context, recognizing its significant influence upon both author and audience. Feminists have struggled against the idea that any reading of the Bible is objective, opting instead to harness social location 6

Schottroff, Schroer, and Wacker, Feminist Interpretation, 36. Joanna E. Rapf, ‘Comic Theory from a Feminist Perspective: A Look at Jerry Lewis’, Journal for Popular Culture, 27 (1993), 191–203 (195). 8 Regina M. Schwartz, ‘Adultery in the House of David: The Metanarrative of Biblical Scholarship and the Narratives of the Bible’, in Alice Bach (ed.), Women in the Hebrew Bible: A Reader (New York and London: Routledge, 1999), 335–50 (345). 9 Exum, Fragmented Women, 76. 7

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and experience as overt aids to interpretation. Comedy draws strength from being identified with a particular context of culture and time; however, comedy may also struggle to overcome this context-boundedness when it tries to move into another context. The issue of context, ultimately, cuts both ways, as it can be both a strengthening and a limiting factor for comedy and feminist-critical work. The limitations of context manifest themselves in attempts to import something from one context to another. In comedy, for example, a joke about the queen can extend only so far into cultures with no established royals. As well, once this queen is supplanted by the next, an entire national repertoire of comedy is retired, as the time to develop a new one is coronated. Comedy in the Hebrew Bible, as it is read in societies of today, faces the formidable challenge of traversing the boundaries of both culture and time. Feminist critique takes a positive position on the subjectivity of context and encourages scholars to utilize it, rather than to repress or deny it. ‘Mainstream’ biblical methodology has historically been considered neutral, objective, value-free—a position feminism unequivocally challenges, a position Carolyn Osiek describes as ‘simply false’.10 One of the first tasks that practitioners of feminist critique undertake is to establish openly their ‘non-neutrality’, their ‘bias’, and to work from that point forward into the task of biblical interpretation. This encouraging approach has facilitated a recent growth of interpretative methods that take up concerns of women who are not white and/or Western. Mujerista and womanist interpretation are two examples. While context is a complicating factor in the appreciation of comedy, exposure to and experience with the originating context can assist the transposing of comedy from its indigenous setting into a new one. Time spent living in England opens up to the foreigner the unique character of English comedy. Time spent studying Hebrew and the world of the ancient Israelites assists in crossing boundaries of context that otherwise loom formidably. Feminist critique offers a further positive perspective on this point, embracing social location and experience as realities that enrich, not inhibit, textual interpretation. Carol Newsom and Sharon Ringe state succinctly that ‘knowledge is perspectival’ and count the recognition of this principle as 10

Osiek, ‘The Feminist and the Bible’, 96.

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‘one of the insights of feminism’.11 Feminism’s particular perspective from and experience of being marginalized can contribute a vital ingredient to comedy. ‘Setback, disappointment, and disillusion’ can be harnessed to positive effect, because without ‘experience . . . there is no humor, no wit, no farce, and no comedy’.12 Feminist scholars and the shapers of comedy share in common the desire to learn from their context and intentionally bring that hard-won knowledge to bear on their work.

Creativity A fourth point of contact is the promotion of creativity. Both comedy and feminist critique incorporate creativity of approach, of method, of form. Thinking ‘outside the box’ to introduce unconventional ways to tackle a problem, expose a deficiency, or merely make a point is a continuing hallmark of the unlikely pair. Feminist biblical scholars have proved their unbounded, free, creative spirit in embracing a number of critical tools. Yvonne Sherwood maintains that ‘feminism is not a method but an ideology’ and that it is difficult to categorize because ‘feminists often weave different approaches together’ and ‘feminism often transforms the methodologies that it uses’.13 Intertextuality, story reconstruction and retelling, cross-disciplinarity, deconstructionism, and investigating textual afterlives are all methods feminist scholars have utilized to enrich and enliven their work and the field in general. Comedy’s topicality requires creativity. Comic forms must be adaptive in order to exploit to best effect the current situation. Satire and parody are examples of comic forms that rely on their inherent malleability to be able to mould themselves into the style of any recognized form or expression in order to expose that established convention comically. Even the now-closed Hebrew Bible canon demonstrates this creativity through the various forms of comedy commentating on various contexts as exhibited within its canonized bounds.

11 Carol Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe, ‘Introduction to the First Edition’, in Newsom and Ringe (eds), Women’s Bible Commentary, 2nd edn, pp. xix–xxv (p. xxii). 12 Bentley, ‘Farce’, 199. 13 Sherwood, ‘Feminist Scholarship’, 301.

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Regarding comedy, Doris Donnelly writes: ‘In upsetting the conventional ways of doing things, humor frees us from ossified forms of behavior, giving us opportunities for creativity . . . We reach for new approaches, and they come. Quite simply, in humor, freedom and spontaneity of the person are exalted.’14 Sherwood observes that many feminist critics use mainstream methodologies lest they be banished ‘to a zone of “creativity” and “subjectivity” ’. However, she argues that this creative and subjective work can be ‘rebellious and enthralling’.15 It is through feminism’s previously discussed ‘subjectivity’ that feminist critics can, in Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza’s words, enter ‘the space of imagination’, an area characterized by freedom in which ‘boundaries are crossed, possibilities are explored, and time becomes relativized’.16 Feminist critique and comedy have shown themselves to be innovative, searching for new approaches, methods, forms. They have not limited themselves to convention or tradition. In fact, they work with gleeful intentionality to upend them.

Distancing A fifth point of contact between comedy and feminist critique is distancing. While distancing is a point of contact, the two do not see eye-to-eye on it. Instead, distancing is a seeming place of divergence between comedy and feminist critique. Comedy affirms distance. Willie Van Heerden writes: ‘Having a sense of humour about a situation or a belief gives a person distance from it and leads to a degree of detachment from it.’17 John Morreall also commends comedy’s power to distance: ‘The central lesson of comedy is that hardships are much easier to take if we reduce our practical concern and adopt a less emotional stance toward them.’18 Van Heerden advocates that a balance between close and more distant engagement is required for a healthy outlook and that humorous reflection is one way to achieve this healthy, balanced perspective.19 14

Donnelly, ‘Divine Folly’, 396 (emphasis added). Sherwood, ‘Feminist Scholarship’, 314. 16 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Wisdom Ways: Introducing Feminist Biblical Interpretation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2001), 179. 17 Van Heerden, ‘Why the Humour in the Bible Plays Hide and Seek with us’, 82. 18 Morreall, Comedy, Tragedy, and Religion, 148. 19 Van Heerden, ‘Why the Humour in the Bible Plays Hide and Seek with us’, 83. 15

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One’s ability to laugh at something relies in varying degrees on distancing from, rather than identifying with, the object of the joke (especially if oneself is implicated as the butt). If one identifies too closely with the comedy, it ceases to be humorous. Comedy’s ability to create a healthy level of distance between text and reader enables a decreased emotional response and an increased opportunity for ‘growth and new insights’,20 for engaging in innovative readings of the biblical text. At first glance, the idea that less connection, less identification, and greater dispassion, greater impartiality, could yield positive results is counter-intuitive. Yet, adopting this stance of ‘distance’ allows the comic reader to be even more ‘serious’ about a text. Furthermore, and crucially as an instructive point for feministcritical work, as comedy relies on distancing, this distance enhances, rather than compromises, its critical nature. Feminist critique, on the other hand, affirms identification. For feminist thought, a key phrase is ‘the political is personal’, drawing one inwards, discouraging distance from the matter at hand. If one distances oneself too far in a feminist-critical investigation, the enterprise loses the very contextual and experiential component that feminism upholds. Comedy does not budge on its stance. Distancing is indispensable to the appreciation of comedy. The lesson for feminist critique, then, may be to adapt some of comedy’s distance. A way to achieve this distance while maintaining a critical stance, using comedy as the model, is surely possible for feminist critique, even if the way is not easy or comfortable. One benefit of distancing oneself from the text, one that feministcritical work could certainly harness with positive result, is a heightened ability to free oneself from close identification with portrayals of women in the text. These images are often oppressed, oppressive, and demeaning portraits of women and their roles, from which feminists are eager to liberate women. A distancing from women as portrayed then is a step towards the liberation of women now. Another desirable product of the act of distancing is enhanced perspective. If one stands a little farther back, the larger imperfections begin to show—even in the Hebrew Bible, where power structures, upon first reading, appear so institutionalized as to be 20

Van Heerden, ‘Why the Humour in the Bible Plays Hide and Seek with us’, 82.

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unassailable. Supposedly in control atop the social order, the men of the Hebrew Bible manage to prove themselves fools over and over again. They are unworthy heirs to the power they hold. Indeed, they need the patriarchal agenda of the text to shore up their claim to this power; otherwise, it would surely slip through their perpetually fumbling fingers. For feminists, the idea that men, simply by being male, are inherently superior or better suited for positions of power is indeed laughable. To laugh at the men in the Hebrew Bible who believed that then is to laugh at those who continue to believe this now.

Revelation In a sixth contact point, comedy and feminist critique both have an interest in revelation, revelation of self and of society. In giving voice to women in the Bible whose stories are submerged within those of men, feminist critique gives some measure of reality to these women’s ‘experiences’—experiences that when viewed from their side may be discomfiting at best and terrifyingly horrific at worst. Comedy adds to this exposing of defects an envisioning of a rehabilitated, transformed world, a concept that echoes particularly with feminists who hold a liberationist standpoint towards the biblical text. With respect to self, humour can reveal audience members to be people they dislike. An individual may all too easily see oneself reflected in comedy’s fool—a revelation that could be comforting in the realization that one is not alone in playing the fool, but could also leave one feeling embarrassingly exposed, hoping others have not noticed how well and quickly she or he identifies with that fool.21 With respect to society, humour can work similarly to expose, uncovering on this level not the personal, but the corporate. This exposing of the ‘real’ world highlights injustices, shortcomings, deficiencies. Comedy pushes this revelatory aspect even further to imagine that revealed self and society transformed into something better than it currently is, an embodiment of society towards which the audience might strive. Genesis 38 offers one example. In seeing Judah deny Tamar her legal right, then hearing that same man later proclaim 21 Eckman, ‘The Humor of the Bible’, 526–7; Corrigan, ‘Comedy and the Comic Spirit’ (1981), 9.

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Tamar’s ‘rightness’, the audience witness a world in which an oppressed woman without options resorts to trickery, but can envision a world in which there is no need for trickery because there is no oppression. In what Mark Biddle dubs ‘a truth-telling function’,22 comedy undermines the current reality by pointing subversively to an alternative reality that rights the wrongs and fills the deficiencies of this world. Feminist critique also works to reveal these wrongs and deficiencies: imbalanced power structures, patriarchal control, oppression, suppression, domination. Certainly, then, it can seize this opportunity comedy offers to aid its own task of revelation, not only in exposing the ‘bleak reality’ seen in ‘the dark sides of the story’,23 but in pushing past this negative aspect of self and society to envision this reality transformed. Thus, comedy and feminist critique together can begin to reconstruct this reality based on that glimpse into the transformed one.

Subversion Seventh, both comedy and feminist critique engage in subverting the establishment. In feminist critique this subversive nature is seen in practices such as ‘reading against the grain’. While not all comedy is subversive, nonetheless it is at its socially constructive best when it is functioning in its destructive subverting form. The subversiveness of both comedy and feminist critique challenges social, political, and religious institutions. Feminist critique, in almost all its forms, is aggressively subversive, seeking to undermine the patriarchal agenda of the biblical text through ‘resistant reading’. Schüssler Fiorenza advocates what has come to be standard procedure for many feminists. ‘Rather than approaching the bible with “a hermeneutics of respect, acceptance, consent, and obedience” ’, she writes, ‘feminist critics should adopt “a hermeneutics of suspicion” that warns of all texts, “Caution— could be dangerous to your health and survival” ’.24 Feminist-critical

22

Biddle, ‘Humor’, 916. Sarah Nicholson, ‘Playing the Whore: Gender Performance and Basic Instinct in Genesis 38’, in Yvonne Sherwood and Darlene Bird (eds), Bodies in Question: Gender, Religion, Text (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 57–68 (63–4). 24 Schüssler Fiorenza, Wisdom Ways, 175. 23

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methods are a challenge to traditional methods and advocate a ‘radical rethinking and re-evaluation of the norms and canons of biblical criticism’.25 The goal is not to replace one set of hierarchies with another, but ‘to transform the system as a whole’.26 This subverting intent is tightly linked to the experiential emphasis of feminist critique. Dvorah Setel writes: ‘Personal, individual experience is inextricably linked to the larger institutional and historical structures in which we live’;27 the personal is political. While feminist critique is firmly subversive, comedy has a more complex and double-sided relationship to the establishment. Amy-Jill Levine acknowledges that, yes, humour can be ‘a central weapon in the arsenal of patriarchal culture’; she further declares, however: ‘It is also a central weapon in the arsenal of the subaltern. The joke can always be turned in the other direction and aimed, like bared teeth . . . at the perpetrator.’28 Comedy can and does function in a preserving mode, but, at its most powerful, innovative, revelatory, didactic, survivalist best, it can only be subversive. Feminist critique’s strongly anti-establishment stance can and should expose those places in the text where comedy appears in its conservative guise. Rahab is one such text in which a humorous story is made to conform to DH theology through Rahab’s profession, a move that heightens the boundary-drawing nature of the comedy and undermines its subversive character in which a Canaanite prostitute acts as saviour to the idiot Israelite spies. As well as exposing conservative humour in the biblical text, feminist critique can and should also strengthen the subversive side of comedy in the Hebrew Bible. One woman binds herself to another, and together they work to forge their own future. A group of women from disparate backgrounds band together to subvert the ludicrous order of a Pharaoh. Functioning in their subversive modes, feminist critique and comedy again working together can expose and subvert the status quo of the patriarchal Hebrew Bible text. In so doing, they can

25

Reinhartz, ‘Feminist Criticism and Biblical Studies’, 32. Reinhartz, ‘Feminist Criticism and Biblical Studies’, 35. 27 T. Drorah Setel, ‘Feminist Insights and the Question of Method’, in Collins (ed.), Feminist Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship, 35–42 (38). 28 Amy-Jill Levine, ‘Women’s Humor and Other Creative Juices’, in Brenner (ed.), Are We Amused? Humour about Women in the Biblical Worlds, 120–6 (126). 26

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sabotage the anti-female bias in the biblical text and the history of its interpretation, while also aiding in the liberation of the reader from the oppressive and repressive system of patriarchy.

Containment and control Eighth, containment and control from outside is another issue for both comedy and feminist critique. Feminism sees patriarchy as using the text to control women (particularly through control of their sexuality), both in the text and in society. For comedy, the issue operates in opposing spheres. Comedy’s subversiveness is a threat to order and the status quo, so some elements of society are interested in containing comedy to limit its influence. The flip side is that comedy’s subversiveness is ultimately impossible to contain, unless of course it is censored completely. With this pair of comedy and feminist critique operating in their subversive roles, the establishment has a vested interest in limiting their power and influence. In the Hebrew Bible this containment comes most consistently through the process of redaction, as editors over time have continuing opportunities to remove the socially subverting threat of stories that contain comedy and/or nonconforming female characters. The most prominent redaction is that of the DH. As the DH works to conform the text to its theology, it also works to contain the comedy by forcing it to submit to that theology. This redactional work does not obliterate the comedy; it instead shifts the comedy’s function from one of subversion to one of preservation, effectively turning the comedy from grass-roots resistance to state-sponsored propaganda. Again, Rahab’s profession of faith serves as one such example. A Canaanite prostitute who saves Israelites is unacceptable, so Rahab is reconstructed as a Canaanite prostitute who saves Israelites—while declaring the power and dominion of Yahweh. Containment happens in other ways, as well. Through the inclusion of their sons in genealogies—lines of descent that lead to no less than King David—Tamar’s and Ruth’s questionable sexual behaviour is duly decontaminated. The levirate marriage provision serves similarly to contain Tamar’s story, as she can hardly be faulted for her actions if they are devised in order to fulfil Torah. The problem for containing forces arises in that both comedy and feminist critique resist these attempts at control, and, when the

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mechanisms of control are exposed, the restraints can be broken. For example, Carol Smith writes that Bathsheba and Jezebel (and Athaliah) can be seen, ‘even through the distorting lens of the Deuteronomistic overlays on their narratives, to have been women who were forces to be reckoned with in their respective kingdoms’.29 The comedy in the stories of Rahab, Tamar, Ruth, and others—in spite of the characters’ subjugation to redaction—retains its subversive character, as does feminist critique. United in their resistance, comedy and feminist-critical interpretation can engage with these women and their stories to reveal the redactional agenda, dismantle its power to contain and control, and reinvigorate the text’s subversive streak.

Survival The ninth and final point of contact between comedy and feministcritical interpretation, following on from both subversion and control, is the idea of survival. Comedy engages a threat and lessens it by ridiculing it, weakening that threat’s control. Thus, humour opens up a means to survive the threat through catharsis and/or escape, even if only temporarily. Feminist critique is also interested in survival through uncovering the submerged voice and story of women in the biblical text and through the history of interpretation. In so doing, these biblical women continue to survive, both in and beyond the text. Comedy innately believes that life goes on. Feminist interpretation also has an interest in survival—namely, how women survive in and beyond the text. In most of the texts examined for this monograph, what is at stake is not a metaphorical survival, but actual bodily survival, for the woman herself (for example, Rahab, Jael, Jezebel), for the Israelites as a nation (for example, Exod. 1–2, Esther), for the family through continuation of the line (for example, Lot’s daughters, Tamar, Ruth). When these women prevail, survive, and aid the survival of others, the text then becomes a model for reality. Survival in the text enables survival in life. As considered with respect to the actions of Shiphrah and Puah, this enabling can happen in at least three ways. First, comedy weakens the control of that which threatens by ridiculing it. 29

Carol Smith, ‘ “Queenship” in Israel’, 162; cf. Loades, ‘Feminist Interpretation’, 86.

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‘The comic may not immediately change reality but it does alter the community’s relationship to reality by reducing fear.’30 Comedy, as it reduces threat through ridicule, ‘frees us from paralysis and mobilizes courage’.31 Second, comedy provides a catharsis and/or an escape from the threat, even if it is only a temporary one. This role of comedy corresponds to the Relief Theory, in which humour and laughter can release pressure and suppressed emotion. Third, comedy facilitates the rise of hope through offering, in story form, a promise that survival in the ‘real’ world is indeed possible. For those times when the Israelites found themselves the weaker side, the survival instinct of comedy would have been a powerful inspiration to them. Reinhold Niebuhr argues that ‘laughter alone never destroys a great seat of power and authority in history. Its efficacy is limited to preserving the self-respect of the slave against the master. It does not extend to the destruction of slavery.’32 This, however, sounds like too light a treatment of the importance of selfrespect and the power of a tool that can help preserve it. Morreall offers a better, more positive view of comedy’s relationship to oppression when he writes: ‘The person with a sense of humor can never be fully dominated, even by a government which imprisons him, for his ability to laugh at what is incongruous in the political situation will put him above it to some extent, and will preserve a measure of his freedom—if not of movement, at least of thought.’33 Comedy’s preference is to avoid violence, so it is rarely an overt revolutionary, organizing the charge. Instead it is the underground resistance, constantly undermining the threat, providing escape routes, and inspiring hope with its determination to survive. Some readers and interpreters encounter difficulty when the ethics that appear to govern the text are in conflict with the ethics that govern contemporary society. This point has already arisen in discussion of the incest of Genesis 19 (Ch. 2) and Jael’s brutal murder of Sisera (Ch. 5). Deception, murder, gleeful warfare, aberrant, or at least unconventional, sexual encounters—the texts studied in this monograph defy much of what is considered ‘acceptable’ in current times. The evidence offered by the teachings of the Torah is that some 30 31 32 33

O’Connor, ‘Humor, Turnabouts and Survival’, 63–4. Berggrav, ‘Humor and Seriousness’, 207. Niebuhr, ‘Humour and Faith’, 138. Morreall, Taking Laughter Seriously, 101.

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of this behaviour was indeed considered unacceptable in biblical times, as well. However, comedy is not concerned with adhering to socially constructed categories of ‘allowed’ and ‘forbidden’ behaviour. The treatment of Jael in Chapter 5 included a quote from Athalya Brenner that ‘whenever two social principles come into conflict . . . the Bible teaches that survival comes first’.34 Observing ‘rules’ follows in a distant second position to the objective of living another day. The Israelites exhibit a determination to survive. Comedy helps them to do it. Too many biblical women disappear after their role in aiding the survival of Israel is complete. Conduits for the survival of others, they themselves are unable to prevail over the power of the redacting pen. At the point of this sharp and forbidding pen, comedy and feminist interpretation may stand together against the threat and courageously carry on the task of empowering those who are struggling to survive, especially those women in the text whose lives are stifled once they have served their purpose. Through refusing to let the stories continue without scrutiny and exposure and to reconstruct and retell these stories from perspectives other than patriarchy and to study the women’s lives outside and beyond the biblical text are all ways that feminists have enabled the survival of biblical women. Reading the Hebrew Bible through the lens of comedy is yet another means to aid that survival.

THE INTERPRETATIVE CHOICE The use of comedy as a lens through which to interpret the Hebrew Bible is not straightforward for feminist-critical interpretation. Comedy’s dual conservative and rebellious natures mean that the comic can be both an obstacle and an aid for feminist critique. In its subverting mode, comedy champions women who best men, thus making fools of those men. In its preserving mode, comedy makes fools of men by allowing them to be bested by women. Brenner writes: Images of capable women do appear in the H[ebrew] B[ible]. However, I remain convinced that, more often than not, such female images are 34

Brenner, The Israelite Woman, 120.

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there not in order to tell us something, anything, positive or otherwise, about femaleness and femininity, but as mirrors for male images and male behaviour. The more capable and wiser the female figure is, the more stupid the male counterpart she mirrors becomes.35

In this formulation, the status of ‘capable’ and ‘wise’ women is simultaneously elevated and lowered. However, Brenner’s capable and wise women are not just the female heroes of the Hebrew Bible; they are also the heroes of comedy as well. And comedy as an interpretative lens offers alternative formulations. The nine points of contact suggested here can hopefully serve at least as a starting point from which to bring into fruitful conversation the highly compatible perspectives of the comic and feminist critique. Reading the Hebrew Bible as a feminist is a challenging task. Reading it through the lens of comedy does not remove the challenge of this task. However, it does offer another avenue by which to travel through the challenges. Feminist critics then must choose whether they will engage comedy as an aid to interpretation, and, if the answer is affirmative, they must also choose how they will do so. Feminist critique does not allow that interpretative freedom is completely unbounded, but Osiek affirms in the first person that, ‘within the limits imposed upon us by our experience and human conditioning, we really are free to choose our own hermeneutical direction’.36 Claudia Camp furthers the conversation by identifying patriarchy-resisting approaches feminists may choose in their critical endeavour. First, they may opt for a separate existence, living on margins, which for Camp is ‘fine’ but also requires a recognition that this response is an abdication of ‘the power to transform the world’. A second avenue of resistance to patriarchy is to work within the system, a choice that positions them where they could obtain the power to transform, but also places them in a position that supports present power structures. Resist from without or resist from within is a choice that has faced subversives of every constituency. It is in her conclusion that Camp finally offers something of a third way and draws comedy into the range of options, writing that, regardless which path of resistance is taken, ‘the energy for change will come in women’s seeing the paradox of our existence, 35 Athalya Brenner, ‘Self-Response to “Who’s Afraid of Feminist Criticism?’’ ’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), Prophets and Daniel: A Feminist Companion to the Bible, FCB, 2nd ser. 8 (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 245–6 (246). 36 Osiek, ‘The Feminist and the Bible’, 104.

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drawing on the power of our liminality for ourselves, reading the Bible as tricksters ourselves’.37 Any reader who chooses the path of subversion, the path of trickery, the path of comedy need not choose to resist from without or from within, for comic interpretation can happen from either or both locations. While maintaining an uncomfortable, even painful, awareness of the hold patriarchy retains on the biblical text, its comedy, and its women heroes, feminist critics can still choose to join their own interpretative efforts in a subversive collaboration with comedy. They can allow comedy’s revelatory, corrective, survivalist, subversive nature to do its work, revealing, correcting, surviving, and subverting with the hope that the collective cleverness of every trickster reading the Hebrew Bible can bring this tale to its gloriously complex and complicated happy ending.

37

Camp, ‘Wise and Strange’, 33.

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Index of Biblical References Genesis 12:10–20 41 12:10–30 59 19 114, 247 19:30–8 49–50 19:31 49 19:32 50 19:33 50 19:34 49–50 19:35 49–50 19:36 49 19:37 182, 194 19:37–8 49 20:1–18 59 21 82 21:15 75 n. 35 24:59 50 n. 41 25:24–6 59 25:28 133, 143 n. 6 26:1–11 59 27:1 50 27:1–40 50–1 27:5 50 27:8 51 27:8–10 50 27:15–17 50 27:21 59 27:22 59 27:27–9 50 27:30 51 27:34–5 51 27:35 52 27:39–40 50 27:43 51 29–31 146 29:21 146 29:21–30 52 29:23 52 29:24 50 n. 41 29:25 52 29:27–8 146 29.29 50 n. 41 30:3 134 n. 100 30:14–16 53 n. 46 30:25–43 60

31:14–16 54 31:17–21 52–3 31:19 52 31:30 52 31:30–5 52–3 31:33–4 52 31:34 52, 59 31:34–5 146 31:35 53 34:2 134 n. 104 34:3 133 35:8 50 n. 41 37:22 75 n. 35 37:24 75 n. 35 38 56–8, 65 38:12 181 38:14 56–7 38:14–15 56 38:15 57–8 38:15–18 56 38:16 57 38:19–23 56 38:20 57 38:21 58 38:22 58 38:24 56, 58 38:25 56–7 38:25–6 181 38:26 56–7, 182 38:27–30 56 44:1–45:15 41 50:23 134 n. 100 Exodus 1–2 78, 80, 83–4, 223, 226, 246 1:1–6 72 1:1–2:10 80 1:8–14 68 1:8–2:10 83 1:9–14 74 1:10 70 1:11 73, 81 n. 59 1:12 74 1:15 81 n. 59 1:15–21 67–8, 81, 230

276

Index of Biblical References

1:15–2:10 79, 84 1:16 70–2, 81 n. 59 1:17 70–2, 74, 76, 81 n. 59 1:17–18 76 1:18 71, 81 n. 59 1:19 71, 78 81 n. 59 1:20 70, 74 1:21 70 1:22 68, 71, 75, 81 n. 59, 82 2:1–10 67, 81–2, 230 2:2–3 76 2:2–4 71 2:4 76 2:5–9 71 2:5–10 81 n. 59 2:8 69 2:10 72–3 2:15 82 4:25 190 6:20 83 7–12 70 12:31, 32 69 14 70 15:20 83 22:16 133 22:21–2 62 Leviticus 18:15 62 18:18 62 20:12 62 25 192 25:25 184, 190 27:9–33 184, 190 Numbers 6 125 13:1–14:10 86 22:1–25:5 194 26:59 83 Deuteronomy 4:39 96 7:1–6 89 11:16 133 14:28–9 62 n. 69 20:16–18 89 21:14 134 n. 104 21:15–17 62 22:24 134 n. 104 22:29 134 n. 104 23:1 191–2

24:4–7 194 24:17 62 n. 69 24:19, 21 62 n. 69 25 192 25:5–10 62, 190 27:19 62 27:20 191–2 Joshua 2 85–7, 91, 94–5, 98, 100 2:1 88, 90–1 2:1–7 85 2:3 90 n. 15 2:3–5 87 2:3–7 96 2:4 76 n. 44, 89, 90 n. 15 2:6 89 2:8–14 85, 87, 96 2:9 88 2:9–11 88, 96 2:11 96 2:13 88 2:15 91 2:15–16 85 2:16 89 2:16–21 87 2:18 88 2:22 90 2:22–3 85 2:23 88 2:24 88–9 5:1 96 6 87 6:17 89 6:20 91 6:23 88 6:25 87–8, 94, 97 7:24–5 89 9:1–2 96 9:3–4 96 10:1–5 96 11:1–15 96 Judges 1:12–15 129 3:9 102 3:15 102 3:21 108 n. 42 4 99–100, 105–6, 111, 113, 115 4:2 105, 114 4:3 114 4:4 101, 103

Index of Biblical References 4:4–5 99 4:6–10 99 4:7 105, 114 4:9 105, 114 4:10 104 4:11 103 4:12–16 99 4:13 104 4:14 105, 114 4:15 114 4:16 104 4:17 99, 103, 105 4:17–22 111, 140 4:18 101, 104, 106, 108, 110–11 4:18–20 99 4:19 106, 110–11 4:20 104, 115 4:21 99, 105, 108, 109 n. 48, 111, 114, 140, 188 n. 23 4:22 99–100, 109 n. 48, 111 n. 55 4:23–4 99, 114 4:24 105, 114 5 99 n. 1, 111, 113 5:12 102 n. 11 5:24–7 111 5:25 114 7:16 102 n. 9 7:20 102 n. 9 13–16 116 13:1 139 13:5 124, 134, 136 13:7 124, 136 14–16 129 14:1 129 n. 83, 130 14:1–2 129 14:2 129 n. 83 14:4 138–9 14:5 129 n. 83 14:7 129 n. 83 14:9 129 n. 83 14:10 129 n. 83 14:11 129 14:12 129 14:12–14 122 14:13 129 14:14 129 14:15 133 14:19 129 n. 83 15:4 102 n. 9, 129 15:5 102 n. 9 15:6 129 n. 83 15:8 129 n. 83

15:9 129 n. 83 15:10 129 n. 83 15:11 129 n. 83 15:12 129 n. 83 15:13 129 n. 83 15:20 128 16:1 129–30 16:1–3 132 16:4–22 116, 118, 138, 141 16:4 118, 129–30 16:5 118, 129 n. 83, 132–3 16:6 131 16:6–17 119 16:7 136 16:8 129 n. 83 16:9 130–1 16:10 131 16:11 136 16:12 130 16:13 130–1 16:14 108 n. 42, 130, 133, 140 16:15 129, 131, 134 16:16 132 16:17 125, 131, 134, 136 16:18 129 n. 83, 131 16:19 134 16:19–21 119 16:20 130–1 16:21 129 n. 83, 137 16:22 126 16:27 129 16:28 127 16:30 139 16:31 129 n. 83, 139 19:24 134 n. 104 20:5 134 n. 104 1 Samuel 1:10–11 125 1:11 125 10:24 173 16:12 155 16:21 133 18 144 18:1 133 18:3 133 18:6 151 18:14 155 18:15 155 18:18 148 n. 20 18:20 133, 143–4, 150 n. 30 18:21 144

277

278

Index of Biblical References

18:23 148 n. 20 18:25 144 18:27 145–6 18:28 133, 143–4, 150 n. 30 18:30 155 19:1–7 145 19:11 145, 148 n. 17 19:11–17 144 19:12 145 19:13 145 19:14–17 145 20:17 133 20:30–4 145 22:2 160 24 159 24:4–5 188 n. 23 25 152, 159 25:1–11 152 25:2–3 152–3 25:3 153, 155, 159 25:6 156, 158 25:7 156 25:8 152, 156 25:10 160 25:10–11 157 25:11 158 25:13 152, 157 25:17 154 25:18–35 152 25:20 159 25:21 158 25:22 157–8 25:24 158 25:24–31 157–8 25:25 154 n. 45, 157–8 25:26 158–9 25:27 158 25:28 158 25:29 158 25:30 150, 158 25:31 157–8 25:33 159 25:37–8 152 25:39–42 152 25:40 168 n. 88 25:44 147 26 159 27:3 152 n. 35 30:5 152 n. 35 2 Samuel 2:2 152 n. 35

3:3 152 n. 35 3:12–16 147 3:14 145 n. 10 3:15 168 n. 88 3:16 147 5:25 151 6–16 148 6:16 144 n. 9, 150 n. 30, 151 6:16–23 144 6:20 148, 151 6:20–2 148 6:21 150, 153 6:22 148 6:23 148, 151 11 161, 165 11–12 150, 163 11:1–5 161 11:1–12:25 161 11:4 161, 164, 168 n. 88 11:9–13 161 11:11 161 11:22–7 161 11:26 165 12:1–6 163 12:24–5 161 13:1 133 13:4 133 13:12 134 n. 104 13:14 134 n. 104 13:22 134 n. 104 13:25 169 13:32 134 n. 104 21:15–17 166 22:17 73 n. 21 1 Kings 1 51, 165 1–2 161, 163, 175 1:1–4 166 1:2–3 166 1:4 166 1:11–31 161–2 1:13 162 1:15 166 1:17 162 1:29 162 1:30 162 1:31 167 2:13–18 167 2:13–25 161, 166 2:25 168 3:12 173

Index of Biblical References 3:13 173 8:23 96 11 176 n. 20 11:5 176 n. 20 11:33 176 n. 20 14:8 173 16:8–20 174 n. 9 16:31 171, 176 16:31–3 176 18 171 18:4 178 18:13 178 18:40 178 19:1–3 174 21:1–16 171, 173 21:4–7 173 21:7 172, 174–5 21:8 173 21:9 173 21:15 175 21:16 173 21:25–6 172 21:27 173 22:20 133 22:38 173 22:40 172 n. 5 2 Kings 1:2 172 n. 5 1:17 172 n. 5 9:15 172 n. 5 9:22 177 9:30 177 9:30–7 171 9:31 174 n. 9 9:35–6 173 9:37 172 18:5 173 23:25 173 Isaiah 6:2 190 32:6 154 n. 45 47:2 135 n. 107 57.8 91 n. 16 Jeremiah 20:7 133 20:10 133 Ezekiel 1:13 102

16 85 16:5 75 n. 35 16:8 191 22:10 134 n. 104 22:11 134 n. 104 Nahum 2:4 102 Psalms 14:1 154 18:17 73 n. 21 53:1 154 78:36 133 Job 3:12 134 n. 100 31:10 135 n. 107 Proverbs 9:3–6 110 9:4 110 9:14–18 110 9:16 110 Ruth 1–3 195 1:1 185, 194 1:2 194 1:4 194 1:6 185 n. 14, 186, 194 1:7 186 1:8 186 1:10 186 1:11 186 1:12 186 1:15 186 1:16 186 1:16–17 185 n. 14 1:21 186 1:22 186, 194 2 183 2–3 189 2:1 187 2:2 194 2:6 194 2:10 181 2:12 187, 189, 191 2:19 181 2:21 194 3 187–8, 193, 195 3:1–5 180

279

280

Index of Biblical References

3:2 181 3:3 188, 190 3:4 190, 193 3:5 186 3:6–13 180 3:7 111, 188, 190–1, 193 3:8 188, 190, 193 3:9 186–92 3:11 182, 187 3:13 193 3:14 181, 188, 190, 193 3:16–18 180 3:18 195 4 195 4:1–10 182 4:1–12 195 4:3 194 4:5 184, 192, 194 4:10 194 4:11 181 4:11–12 180 4:12 181, 221 4:13 189 4:17–22 180 Song of Songs 1:7 143 n. 6 3:1 143 n. 6 3:2 143 n. 6 3:3 143 n. 6 3:4 143 n. 6 4:3 109 n. 48 6:7 109 n. 48 7 33 Ecclesiastes 1:17 155 Lamentations 5:11 134 n. 104 Esther 1 207 1:1 209 1:3 203 1:6–8 209 1:9 210 1:10 205, 208 1:11 208, 215 1:14 205 1:19 208 1:21 208

1:21–2 208 2 202, 207, 221 2:2 208 2:3 208–9 2:4 208 2:9 208 2:12–14 209 2:16 203 2:17 133, 215 2:18 210 2:20 206 2:21 203 3:2 206 3:7 203 3:9 208, 210 3:12–13 205 3:12–15 208 3:13 209 3:15 207 4:5 205, 208 4:17 206 5:3 205, 208–9 5:4 208 5:5 210 5:6 205, 208 5:8 208 5:9 206, 208 5:10 205 5:12 210 5:13 208 5:14 206, 210 6 215 6:4 203 6:6 205–6 6:8 215 6:11 206 6:12–13 206 6:14 210 7–8 203 7:2 205, 208 7:3 208 7:4 207, 209 7:8 203 7:9 203 7:10 207 8:2 207 8:5 208 8:8 207 8:9 209 8:9–14 208 8:11 207, 209 8:15 215

Index of Biblical References 8:17 207, 209–10 9 203, 207, 221 9:1 207 9:5 209 9:9 205 9:11 210 9:12 208 9:13 208 9:15 210 9:16 210 9:17 209 9:18 209 9:19 209 9:20–31 216 9:22 207, 209 9:28 216

10 207, 220 10:2 220 10:3 220 Daniel 6 207 n. 38 10:6 191 1 Chronicles 2:16–17 152 n. 35 3:1 152 n. 35 6:3 83 15:29 144 n. 9 2 Chronicles 18:18–21 133

281

General Index Abigail 39–40, 142, 150, 152–60, 163, 165, 168–70, 208, 224, 226, 230 Ackerman, Susan, 116, 120–1, 124, 126, 129, 134, 137, 140, 222–4 Alter, Robert, 130, 139, 146, 148 Abishag 121, 142, 166–70, 226 ambiguity 21, 45, 47–8, 66, 108, 119, 135–6, 181, 190–4, 219, 224, 226 Amit, Yairah, 99 n. 2, 120 n. 25, 121 n. 42, 125 n. 67, 125 n. 69, 132, 141 antihero, 15, 48, 100, 126, 128 see also ‘not hero’ Aschkenasy, Nehama, 152, 156, 164 n. 76, 177 n. 24, 183, 186–7, 193, 197, 214–15 Ashley, Kathleen M., 45, 48, 66 Bakhtin, Mikhail M., 214–15 Bal, Mieke, 45, 53, 58 n. 59, 101–2, 106 n. 29, 112, 117, 122 n. 44, 124 n. 66, 134 Bathsheba 38–9, 51, 142, 160–70, 175, 184, 222, 225–6, 230, 246 Beal, Timothy K., 199, 204 n. 25 Bechtel, Carol M., 204, 207, 212–13 Bellis, Alice Ogden, 49, 101, 178 Berger, Peter L., 6, 8, 11, 14, 24–7, 221, 228 n. 21, 231–2 Berggrav, Eivind, 27, 33, 229, 247 Bergson, Henri, 12–13, 69, 216 Berlin, Adele, 153, 157 n. 53, 165, 167, 200, 204–5, 209, 212–13, 219 n. 73, 220 Biddle, Mark E., 24, 156 n. 48, 232, 243 Bird, Phyllis, 2, 58, 86, 90 n. 12, 95–6, 224–5 Black, James, 182, 188, 191 n. 40, 196 Bledstein, Adrien Janis, 107, 118, 124, 132 Blenkinsopp, Joseph, 117 Boling, Robert G., 96, 105 n. 24, 109 n. 48, 111, 121, 127–8 n. 79. Bos, Johanna W. H., 104, 106, 109 n. 48, 114, 186–7, 189

boundaries, drawing 23–4, 26, 39, 45–9, 55, 77–8, 92, 94–5, 113, 128, 136–7, 178–9, 194, 217–18, 226–7, 236–8, 240, 244 Brenner, Athalya, 1–2, 13, 24–25, 30–3, 61, 86 n. 4, 88 n. 8, 90–1, 96 n. 32, 97 n. 35, 101, 107–8, 111 n. 56, 114, 175–6, 223, 227–8, 248–9 Brown, Cheryl Anne, 90, 104–5, 107, 109 n. 48, 111–12, 126, 127 n. 79 Brueggemann, Walter, 58 n. 59, 148 n. 18, 154, 156 n. 48, 157–8, 160–1, 163 Burns, Rita, 71, 73–5, 80, 81 n. 59, 83 Bush, Frederick William, 191 n. 38, 193, 204 n. 25 Camp, Claudia V., 41 n. 2, 63, 65, 116–17, 124, 135, 176–8, 149–50 Campbell, Edward Fay, 182, 186, 188–9, 191, 193 carnival 18, 26, 214–15, 218 carnivalesque 198, 214–17 characterization, comic, 17, 67–70, 83–7, 91, 100–1, 119–26, 153–5, 200–1, 204–6 Childs, Brevard S., 72, 75 n. 40, 81–2, 223 Clines, David J. A., 143, 145, 149–50, 204 n. 25, 207 comedy passim comic, the 6–13, 24, 28, 31–3, 37–8, 47, 94, 114, 118, 126, 158, 166, 171, 178, 221, 225, 229, 231–2, 236, 247–9 containment 26–7, 63, 96–8, 113–14, 130, 138–9, 218, 226, 245–6 Corrigan, Robert W., 8, 15, 16 n. 41, 18, 28, 37–8, 185 n. 13, 229, 242 Craig, Kenneth M., 214–16, 219 creativity 17, 45, 47, 100, 111, 196, 239–40 Crenshaw, James L., 117–18, 125 n. 67, 134–5, 136 n. 110 Critchley, Simon, 8 n. 7, 24–6, 228, 231–2

General Index Deborah 39, 99–115, 138, 230 Delilah 38–9, 41 n. 2, 108 n. 42, 116–42, 176, 222–6, 230, 237 Deuteronomistic History/ian(s) 96–8, 112, 139–40, 170, 244–6 dialogue 18, 39, 68, 87–8, 99, 130, 132, 156–8, 186–7, 200 n. 14, 229 Donnelly, Doris, 7, 29 n. 93, 30, 240 Durham, John I., 71, 75, 76 n. 42, 81 Eckman, George P., 7, 25, 36–8, 93, 242 Engar, Ann W., 41 n. 2, 47, 55, 62 n. 70, 64 escape 26–8, 60, 79, 201–2, 211–13, 247–8 Esther 38–40, 41 n. 2, 133, 175, 198–220, 222–3, 225–6, 230–3, 246 Exum, J. Cheryl, 55 n. 53, 73, 75 n. 75, 76, 78, 83–4, 117–21, 126–7, 127–8 n. 79, 130–1, 134 n. 102, 136 n. 110, 143–4, 163–4, 181 n. 2, 237 farce 17, 20, 39, 193, 198–214, 217–18, 230, 239 Fewell, Danna Nolan, 89, 93, 101, 104, 107–10, 112, 116, 122, 126, 133, 158, 161, 191 n. 41, 222 fool 17, 38–9, 47, 50, 53, 55, 57–8, 68–70, 72, 84, 93, 100–1, 113, 124, 138–9, 152–7, 160, 172, 200–1, 203, 205–6, 215, 225–28, 242, 248–9 foreign(ness) 39, 78, 84, 92–4, 96, 98, 100, 119–21, 137–8, 175–8, 181, 183, 194–6, 218, 220, 222–3, 226–9, 233, 237–8 Fox, Michael V., 207 n. 37 Fretheim, Terrence E., 73–6, 79, 81 Freud, Sigmund, 8 n. 10, 12, 20, 228 Frye, Northrop, 10–11, 13, 15, 17–19, 130, 203 Frymer-Kensky, Tikva, 101, 105, 112 Fuchs, Esther, 55, 144 Garsiel, Moshe, 153–4, 157, 160, 165 Good, Edwin M., 18, 19 n. 49, 25, 37, 42, 230, 232 Gray, John, 103 n. 17, 172, 182, 190–1 Greenstein, Edward L., 31, 117, 127 n. 78, 229 n. 25 Guest, Deryn, 101–2

283

Gunn, David M., 30, 89, 101, 104, 107–10, 112, 121 n. 42, 127 n. 77, 149 n. 25, 156 n. 48, 158, 161–3, 167 n. 85, 191 n. 41, 222 happy ending 15, 18–19, 83, 87, 97, 127, 159–60, 161, 166, 185–6, 187 n. 22, 195, 211, 225, 250 Harris, J. Gordon, 90, 104–5, 107, 109 n. 48, 111–12, 126, 127 n. 79 hero 15, 17, 22, 39, 44, 68, 86, 95–6, 99–100, 114, 116–17, 119, 121–3, 128, 137, 146, 157, 160, 183, 206, 218–20, 249–50 heroine 50, 140, 206 hiddenness 17, 20, 47, 50, 76–7, 89–90, 105–6, 110, 131, 173, 187–90, 225 Hobbes, Thomas, 8, 77 Hobbs, T. R., 156 n. 48, 159, 177 humour passim Hutcheson, Francis, 9, 215 Hyatt, J. Philip, 68, 72–3, 81 Hyers, M. Conrad, 8, 15, 24, 38 n. 131, 68 hyperbole 18, 73–4, 103–4, 114, 158, 172–3, 199, 201, 209–10, 230 incongruity 6, 17, 19, 35, 38, 47, 61–2, 68–9, 89, 104, 106, 128, 138, 161, 167, 169, 200, 216, 225–6, 231–3, 247 theory 8–9, 35, 231 intertextuality 58–60, 180–2, 221–5, 239 irony 12, 17–20, 39, 47, 50, 56–7, 65, 74–6, 87–9, 102, 104–5, 110, 118, 128–9, 138, 140, 147–52, 158, 161–2, 166–7, 172–3, 188, 225, 231 Jael 38–40, 41 n. 2, 99–115, 140–1, 175, 188 n. 23, 222–4, 226–7, 230, 246–8 Jemielity, Thomas, 94 Jezebel 39, 171–9, 222–7, 230, 237, 246 Jobling, David, 148 n. 20, 170 joke 3, 12, 17, 20, 24–6, 29, 34, 39, 49, 71, 78, 95, 137, 141, 178, 188, 201, 228, 238, 241, 244 Jones, Bruce W., 206, 208 Kerr, Walter, 14–15, 97 Kierkegaard, Søren, 15–16, 34 Klein, Lillian R., 105, 107–8, 110, 111 n. 59, 112, 120–1, 126, 129, 134, 140, 162, 164, 168 n. 87

284

General Index

LaCocque, André, 194, 206 laughter passim Lauter, Paul, 5, 9, 16, 25, 93, 228 n. 20 Leah 41, 49, 50 n. 41, 51–5, 59–60, 146, 180–2, 188, 222, 226 Leneman, Helen, 120–1, 124 n. 66 Levenson, Jon D., 154, 157, 159, 203–4 n. 25, 207 n. 37 Levine, Amy-Jill, 244 Linafelt, Tod, 182, 187, 188 n. 23, 189, 191, 193–4, 196–7 Lot’s daughters 41, 49–50, 57, 59, 64–5, 182, 226, 246

paradox 45, 65, 116, 159, 200 n. 14, 249–50 parody 12, 17, 18 n. 48, 20, 34, 86, 118, 172, 212, 228, 239 Pharaoh’s daughter 69–73, 75–6, 79–84, 181 n. 2, 222–3 plot movement 15, 17–18, 20, 39, 70–1, 87, 126–7, 156, 185–7, 200, 203–4, 206, 208, 215, 225 Polzin, Robert, 116, 151 Propp, William Henry, 72, 74, 75 n. 40, 76, 80–1 Puah 67–84, 181 n. 2, 226, 246–7

matriarch(s) 40–66, 122, 146–7, 180–3, 195, 197, 221–2, 225–6 Matthews, Victor H., 43, 109 n. 49, 117, 121–2, 176 McCann, J. Clinton, 101–3, 104 n. 20, 107, 108 n. 47, 118, 124 McKenzie, Steven L., 156 n. 48, 157, 159–60, 163–7 McKinlay, Judith E., 88, 97, 174 Michal 39, 41 n. 2, 108 n. 41, 121, 133, 142–52, 159–60, 165, 169–70, 222, 224–5, 230 midwives 41 n. 2, 67–84, 181 n. 2, 223–5 Moore, Michael S., 90, 104–5, 107, 109 n. 48, 111–12, 126, 127 n. 79 Morreall, John, 8–9, 12, 17, 21–3, 29, 39, 91, 185–6, 200, 202, 240, 247 Moses’ mother 67–84, 181 n. 2, 222 Moses’ sister 67–84, 181 n. 2, 222

Rachel 39, 41, 50 n. 41, 52–5, 59–60, 146, 165, 180–2, 222, 226, 230 Rad, Gerard von, 58 Radday, Yehuda T., 12–13, 30 n 95, 32, 38–9, 127 n. 79, 153 n. 37, 198, 211 Rahab 39–40,76 n. 44, 85–98, 100, 112–13, 141, 157, 175, 222–7, 230, 237, 244–6, Rebekah 39, 41, 49, 51–2, 55, 59–60, 62 n. 70, 63, 133, 143 n. 6, 162–3, 165, 222 Reinhartz, Adele, 235–6, 244 Reis, Pamela Tamarkin, 110–11, 113–14 relief theory 8, 38, 202, 231, 247 repetition 17, 19, 39, 57, 59, 89, 105, 129–30, 156, 158, 194, 199, 201, 207–9 revelation 24, 32–3, 46, 77, 178–9, 218, 231–3, 237, 242–3, 246, 250 reversal 17–19, 57, 59, 62 n. 70, 88–9, 106–9, 128–9, 161, 163–6, 187, 199, 201, 206–7, 209, 214–15, 218, 222, 225–6, 230, 232–3 Ringe, Sharon, 238–9 Ruth 39, 41 n. 2, 64, 111, 141, 175, 180–97, 221–7, 237, 245–6,

Nelson, Richard D., 88, 96, 177, 224 Newsom, Carol, 238–9 Niditch, Susan, 44–6, 49–51, 53, 56–7, 60–1, 77, 116–17, 122–3, 135 n. 107, 146, 183, 196, 204–5, 208 n. 40, 217–18 Niebuhr, Reinhold, 231–2, 247 Nielsen, Kirsten, 182, 184, 189–90 ‘not-hero’ 17–18, 22, 28, 38–39, 47, 67, 86, 126, 231 Noth, Martin, 68, 72, 74, 81 O’Connor, Kathleen M., ix, 212, 218, 220, 233, 247 Osiek, Carolyn, 236 n. 4, 238, 249 other, (the) 60, 77–8, 94–5, 113, 123–4, 128, 135, 174–8, 194, 217–18, 220, 226–9, 236–7

Sakenfeld, Katherine Doob, 182 n. 3, 191 n. 38, 197 sarcasm 12, 147–54, 174 Sarna, Nahum M., 58 n. 59, 72–3, 75, 79 Sasson, Jack M., 182, 184, 206 satire 9, 12, 17, 18 n. 48, 20, 25, 34–5, 93–4, 201, 239 Schneider, Tammi J., 102–3, 107, 132, 140 Schottroff, Luise, 236 n. 4, 237

General Index

285

Schroer, Silvia, 236 n. 4, 237 Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth, 240, 243 sense of humour 6, 11, 30, 33 n. 106, 36, 96, 228, 240 Seow, C. L., 151 sexuality 20, 23, 35, 39, 44, 47, 49, 53, 56, 60, 90–1, 96, 106–12, 128–9, 132–5, 138, 140, 148–50, 164, 167, 176–7, 181–2, 190–4, 199–200, 215–16, 223–6, 237, 245, 247 Sherwood, Yvonne, 235, 239–40 Shiphrah 67–84, 181 n. 2, 226, 246–7 Smith, Carol, 116, 121, 135, 136 n. 110, 139–40, 175, 246 Soggin, J. Alberto, 103, 107, 124, 127 n. 79 Solvang, Elna, 150, 160–1, 163–5 Speiser, E. A., 51, 54 Spencer, F. Scott, 33 Steinberg, Naomi, 41 n. 2, 43–4, 46, 60, 66 situation(al) ethic(s) 23, 39, 47, 64, 91–2, 111–12, subversion 19, 25–7, 39–40, 45, 47, 61–3, 66, 75 n. 40, 78, 80, 84, 92–4, 96, 98, 109, 113, 115, 128, 135, 137, 152, 168–70, 179, 186, 194–7, 217–18, 220, 226, 229, 231, 243–6, 248–50 superiority theory 8, 38, 77, 231 surprise 17, 20, 47, 105–8, 110, 166, 186–9, 201, 225 survival 27–8, 40, 44, 46–9, 56, 60–1, 64, 71, 79–80, 83–4, 89, 94, 98, 112, 114–15, 139, 146–7, 181, 183, 196–7, 217–18, 226, 233, 244, 246–8, 250 Sypher, Wylie, 26, 228

Tamar (David’s daughter) 134 n. 104 tragedy 7, 10, 13–16, 18–19, 21–2, 26, 30–1, 38, 118, 139, 157, 166, 190, 199 Trible, Phyllis, 80, 171, 172 n. 2, 175, 178–9, 183, 186–7, 189 n. 28, 195–6 trickster 38, 41–66, 113, 122, 124, 128, 131, 144–7, 162–3, 165–6, 180, 182–4, 196, 200, 206, 221, 250 Turner, Laurence A., 51, 59

Tamar 38–41, 49, 50 n. 41, 55–8, 59–60, 62–3, 65–6, 121, 133, 141, 175, 180–2, 188, 221–7, 230, 242–3, 245–6

Zakovitch, Yair, 30–1, 33, 37, 85–6, 87, 90 n. 14 Zlotnik, Helena, 173, 223

Van Wolde, Ellen J., 153, 156–7 n. 48, 181 n. 2, 182 n. 3, 190, 221–2 violence 26–8, 69, 114, 117, 133, 198, 200–2, 212–14, 229–231, 247 Wacker, Marie-Threres, 236 n. 4, 237 weapon, comedy as 20, 27, 39, 47, 60, 76–7, 78–9, 84, 227, 229, 244 Webb, Barry G., 105, 107, 109, 125, 132 Weems, Renita, 69, 70, 76–8, 209 Weisman, Ze’ev, 153 n. 39, 154 n. 45, 156 n. 48, 204 Wenham, Gordon J., 52 Whedbee, J. William, 4, 13, 18, 26–7, 30, 38, 41, 55–6, 118, 126–7, 130 Williams, James G., 53 n. 46, 105 n. 24, 114 wordplay 18, 34–5, 71–3, 90–1, 101–2, 106, 109 n. 48, 127–8, 153–5, 172, 199, 201, 210, 225 Yee, Gale A., 75 n. 40, 108, 172, 174 n. 11