The Harlot by The Side of The Road: Forbidden Tales of The Bible

by Jonathan Kirsch

  “Master,” pleaded the servant, “let’s spend the night here among the Jebusites.”

  “No, not here,” said the Levite. “Not in a town full of strangers!”

  “But the storm—” the servant began to protest.

  “We will go to a place where we are sure to find a friendly welcome and a warm bed—Gibeah is not far off, or perhaps Ramah,” the Levite insisted, naming places along the road where he knew he would find himself among fellow Israelites. “I couldn’t sleep knowing I was alone among strangers who might slaughter us in our beds!”

  Looking back on that terrible night, the Levite often wished that he had consented to stay among strangers in Jerusalem. As it turned out, the Jebusites could not have been less welcoming than the Israelites in whose town they bedded down.

  So they passed on and went their way; and the sun went down upon them near to Gibeah, which belongeth to Benjamin. And they turned aside thither, to go in to lodge in Gibeah; and he went in, and sat him down in the broad place of the city; for there was no man that took them into his house to lodge.

  —JUDGES 19:14–15

  The concubine would certainly have felt the same way, if she were asked her opinion—and if she were able to offer one.

  The sun was setting just as the party of travelers—the Levite and his concubine, their servant and the two donkeys—reached the town of Gibeah in the land that belonged to the tribe of Benjamin. They trudged through the streets, chilled and hungry and soaking wet, but no one opened a door to them. At last, they sat themselves down in the town square and waited for some good-hearted soul to offer them food and lodging. But not a single Benjaminite offered to take them into his house for the night.

  At last, the empty streets of Gibeah echoed with the footfalls of an old man crossing the town square on his way back from a long day in the fields outside town. The old man’s birthplace was in the hill-country of Ephraim, but now he lived among the Benjaminites in Gibeah. He walked with his head down to keep the rain out of his face, and when he glanced up, he saw the travelers in the middle of the square.

  “Where are you going?” he asked in a friendly way. “And where do you come from?”

  “We are coming from Bethlehem in Judah, and we are heading toward my home in the hill-country of Ephraim,” the Levite explained. “We stopped here to find shelter from the storm, but no one has offered us a place to stay.”

  And, behold, there came an old man from his work out of the field at even; now the man was of the hill-country of Ephraim, and he sojourned in Gibeah; but the men of the place were Benjaminites. And he lifted up his eyes, and saw the wayfaring man in the broad place of the city; and the old man said: “Wither goest thou? and whence comest thou?” And he said unto him: “We are passing from Beth-lehem in Judah unto the farther side of the hill-country of Ephraim;… and there is no man that taketh me into his house. Yet there is both straw and provender for our asses; and there is bread and wine also for me, and for thy handmaid, and for the young man that is with thy servants; there is no want of any thing.”

  —JUDGES 19 16-19

  And the old man said: “Peace be unto thee; howsoever let all thy wants lie upon me; only lodge not in the broad place.” So he brought him into his house, and gave the asses fodder; and they washed their feet, and did eat and drink.

  —JUDGES 19.20-21

  Then, lest the old man think him to be a beggar and a vagrant, the traveler continued:

  “I have straw and fodder for the asses, food and wine for myself and the girl and the young man,” he said. “We have all we need, sir, except a roof over our heads.”

  “I am a man of Ephraim, too!” the old man said with real warmth. “You are welcome under my roof—I will give you food and drink—but you must not spend the night in the street, I beg you!”

  So the Levite traveler and his party followed the old man as he led them to his home. As hospitality requires, the old man put out straw in the courtyard for the asses, set out bowls of water so his guests could wash their feet, and ordered his daughter to lay out food and drink for a late supper. The concubine ate sparingly and in silence, then followed the old man’s daughter to a back room and promptly went to sleep on a pile of bedding in the corner. The servant slept on a pile of straw in a storeroom at the back of the house. But the traveler and the old man stayed up late into the night, laughing and drinking, sharing stories of the good country where the tribe of Ephraim dwelled, and bemoaning their misfortune in ending up among the Benjaminites.

  As they were making their hearts merry, behold, the men of the city, certain base fellows, beset the house round about, beating at the door; and they spoke to the master of the house, the old man, saying: “Bring forth the man that came into thy house, that we may know him.”

  —JUDGES 19:22

  “At least for you and your woman,” said the old man from the land of Ephraim, seeking to comfort the Levite after his ungracious reception in the streets of Gibeah, “it is only for one night.”

  The two of them were still trading stories and sipping wine when they heard sudden noises in the alley outside the old man’s house—a shout, a scuffle of feet, a thud. The Levite traveler looked at his host in alarm, but the old man only laughed and reached for the wine jar. Then they heard the sound of urgent whispering right outside the door, and even the old man seemed suddenly alert.

  “Hey in there!” someone shouted from outside the front door, pounding on the wooden door with a fist. “Open up!”

  “What do you want?” the old man called out, his quavering voice betraying his fear. “It’s late. Go home. Leave us alone!”

  Then suddenly the noise seemed to come from all directions at once, as if a gang of men had surrounded the little house and were trying to force their way in through every window. A few moments later, the pounding and shouting stopped just as suddenly as it had started, and now a voice was heard again at the front door.

  “Bring out the man who is inside there with you,” a hoarse voice shouted on the other side of the door. “Bring him out!”

  And the man, the master of the house, went out unto them, end said unto them: “Nay, my brethren, I pray you, do not so wickedly; seeing that this man is come into my house, do not this wanton deed.”

  —JUDGES 19.23

  “Yes, bring him out,” a second man said with unmistakable menace, “so that we may get to know him—” and his words incited harsh laughter from the crowd.

  The traveler looked at his host. “What do they mean?” he asked, although he already feared the worst.

  The old man only confirmed his fears. “Around here,” the old man said, “the sons of hell among these foul Benjaminites like to ‘know’ a man the way a man knows a woman.”

  “What will we do?” the traveler asked, looking in vain around the room for a place to hide.

  The old man did not answer. He sat for a few moments in silence, then struggled to his feet and staggered toward the front door, still a bit tipsy but sobering up fast. He leaned up to the door and shouted loudly so the men outside would be able to hear him plainly enough.

  “No, my brothers,” the old man said, his words slightly slurred on his tongue. “Do not do such a wicked thing—”

  “Bring him out!” came the shout from outside.

  “You can see he is my guest!” the old man continued in a pleading tone. “Do not treat a guest in such a wanton way!”

  The crowd answered with a fresh flurry of shouting and pounding, and the old man feared that they would simply break down the door and have their way with him and his guest. He glanced toward the curtained opening to the room where his daughter and the traveler’s concubine had gone to sleep. Surely they were awake now, he thought to him-self—who could sleep through all that commotion? And then quite a different thought forced its way into his wine-soaked brain.

  “Hey!” he shouted to the men outside. “I have a daughter—a virgin!”

  “Behold, here is my daughter a virgin,
and his concubine; I will bring them out now, and humble ye them, and do with them what seemeth good unto you; but unto this man do not so wanton a thing.”

  —JUDGES 19.24

  The Levite turned and stared at the old man.

  “And my guest is traveling with a very pretty young woman!” the old man continued. “They’re both here right now!”

  The noise outside stopped suddenly. The traveler, too, listened in amazement.

  “I will bring them out to you now,” the old man continued. “Do whatever you want with them—whatever strikes your fancy—but leave the two of us alone!”

  At first, the traveler bristled at the old man’s words. What right did he, have to offer up the concubine to the mob? The old man’s own daughter—well, that was one thing. But the concubine belonged to him, the Levite thought to himself, and no one had asked him whether she might be thrown to the mob like a piece of raw meat to a pack of dogs! But he said nothing, waiting to see whether the old man’s offer would satisfy the men outside the door. But it only seemed to incite the crowd outside the door to an even louder chorus of catcalls and whistles.

  “It’s no good,” the old man said miserably. “It’s not a woman these sons of hell want!”

  The Levite, however, was not ready to give up on the idea, which began to seem quite compelling as he contemplated what the mob intended to do to him. After all, he told himself, the concubine was such an annoyance, such a burden, and she had caused him so much grief over the last few months. Why should he put himself at risk of the mob’s vile appetites in order to spare her?

  So the Levite rose from the corner where he had been huddling in fear, stalked into the room where the concubine, too, was cowering, and manhandled her to the door. When the old man saw what the traveler intended to do, he lifted the stout length of wood that barred the threshold and opened the door just wide enough for the traveler to shove his concubine into the street.

  [S]o the man laid hold on his concubine, and brought her forth unto them; and they knew her, and abused her all the night until the morning; and when the day began to springy they let her go.

  —JUDGES 19:25

  Then came the woman in the dawning of the day, and fell down at the door of the man’s house where her lord was, till it was light. And her lord rose up in the morning, and opened the doors of the house, and went out to go his way; and, behold, the woman his concubine was fallen down at the door of the house, with her hands upon the threshold. And he said unto her: “Up, and let us be going” but none answered.

  —JUDGES 19:26–28

  The young woman hissed and scratched as she tried to brace herself in the doorway, but now a half dozen of the men outside seized her by the hair, by the wrist, by the ankle. Pushed from behind and pulled forward at the same time, the young woman tumbled into the street to the jeers of the crowd. Then the old man and the traveler shouldered the door closed again, dropped the bolt of wood in place, and fell to the floor in exhaustion. Outside, the crowd fell suddenly and ominously silent, at least for one long moment, and then new and even more terrible sounds began to reach the ears of the old man and his honored guest as they sat with their backs against the door.

  That is where they stayed all night long, the old man and the traveler, each one mute, each one avoiding the other one’s eyes, each one listening to the terrible sounds from the street, the sounds that a gang of men make when they take turns raping a woman over and over again, doing exactly what they please to her, until the sun began to come up.

  At first light, the Levite looked over and saw the old man was asleep—or at least he was pretending to sleep. Then he heard a soft thud as if someone had let a sack of flour fall against the door. A moment later, he heard the sound of voices fading into the distance as the men hastened away from the old man’s house. The traveler waited a long time to be sure that they were finally gone, then cautiously opened the door of the house.

  The young woman was sprawled in front of the house. Her two arms were outstretched, her hands were reaching toward the door, but she was still and silent. She seemed almost at rest, as if she were merely asleep, and the mad thought occurred to him that it had all been a bad dream. Yes, of course, a dream! Somehow, despite everything he had heard during the long night, the Levite traveler succeeded in convincing himself that it was so.

  “Up!” the man said out loud, addressing the woman as he crossed the threshold, stepped over her body, and headed toward the courtyard where the two asses were tied up. “Up,” he said briskly, “and let us be going!”

  No one heard, and no one answered.

  The donkey she had ridden from her father’s house carried the mutilated corpse of the concubine back to the hill-country of Ephraim. By the time the traveler and his servant reached home with their gruesome baggage, the Levite had worked himself up into a pious frenzy at the way the Benjaminite sons of hell back in Gibeah had abused her beautiful young body—and he had devised a plan to punish them for what they had done.

  [T]hen he took her up upon the ass; and the man rose up, and got him unto his place. And when he was come into his house, he took a knife, and laid hold on his concubine, and divided her, limb by limb, into twelve pieces, and sent her throughout all the borders of Israel. And it was so, that all that saw it said: “Such a thing hath not happened nor has been seen from the day that the children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt unto this day; consider it, take counsel, and speak.”

  —JUDGES 19 28-30

  The servant laid out her battered and bloody corpse, the face unrecognizable and the private parts unspeakably insulted, on the table in the Levite’s house. As the servant watched in amazement, the Levite himself took a sharp knife that he used for butchering and cut the young woman’s body into twelve pieces, limb by limb. He wrapped each piece of the corpse tightly in linen and cord, and then he dispatched the twelve grisly packages by messenger to all of Israel—all the tribes except Benjamin, of course, against whom he now hoped to incite a war of revenge, a war that would cleanse all of Israel, a holy war.

  “Such a thing hath not been seen from the day the children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt unto this very day,” went the Levite’s message. “Consider it, and speak.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GOD AND GYNO-SADISM

  Heroines and Martyrs in the Book of Judges

  FOUR HUNDRED VIRGINS

  “ALL UNTRUTHFUL, AND ONE A KLEPTOMANIAC”

  GOD, GIBEAH, AND GYNO-SADISM,

  “BETWEEN HER LEGS HE KNELT, HE FELL, HE LAY”

  BLACK PROPAGANDA

  The Book of Judges is a grab bag of tall tales about the time of troubles that followed the conquest of Canaan, a place where the Israelites were beset by bitter enemies, riven by tribal hatred, and lured into apostasy by strange gods and goddesses. The tale of Samson and his catastrophic seduction by Delilah (Judg. 13-16) is perhaps the single most familiar story in Judges, one that has escaped the confines of the Sunday school classroom and spread into the popular culture. And Samson is emblematic of the plight of the nation of Israel, whose people were equally susceptible to seduction and brought down calamity on their own heads.

  But the tale of Samson and Delilah is hardly the most lurid of the atrocity stories that we find in the Book of Judges, an escalating cycle of sin and scandal that reaches a bloody climax of mass rape and mass murder in the account of the Levite traveler and his concubine. Indeed, the biblical author is eager to show us by gruesome example how badly ordinary people behave when they enjoy too much liberty, and the essential message of Judges is repeated throughout the book like a mantra. “In those days there was no king in Israel,” the author writes. “Every man did that which was right in his own eyes” (Judg. 21:25).

  The moral chaos that prevailed in ancient Israel before the crowning of a king, as depicted in Judges, begins with sexual violence, escalates into civil war, and ends with genocide. Throughout the Book of Judges, the victims of these excesses are oft
en wholly innocent women. We have now encountered two of them: Jephthah’s daughter, a doomed young woman who achieves a certain tragic grandeur in death (see chapter ten), and the Levite’s concubine, a woman of whom we know nothing at all except that she is gang-raped to death, then dismembered and scattered among the tribes of Israel. Significantly, the biblical author takes care to specify the tribe of the men who abuse her, and even the town where she dies—Gibeah—but her name is never mentioned. So her story has come to be called the Gibeah Outrage in a kind of reverential shorthand.

  “Oh miserable men, who destroy your own species through those pleasures intended to reproduce it,” cried Rousseau in his own horror-soaked retelling of the tale, “how is it that this dying beauty doesn’t freeze your fierce lusts?”1

  The tale of the Levite traveler and his concubine bears a striking resemblance to a Bible story that we have already encountered: the tale of Lot and his daughters, who are saved from a gang of Sodomites by a pair of helpful angels. The old man who hosts the Levite and his concubine in Gibeah, just like Lot back in Sodom, offers a couple of young women to the lusty mob for their pleasure in order to spare his guest (and himself) from their unwanted attentions. From what we recall about the intervention of the angels in Sodom, we do not really expect the young women in Gibeah to be cast into the arms of the mob—something, angelic or human, will spare them at the very last moment.