In many cultures, including the one in which this story from Judges 19 is set, hospitality is a sacred act. When one welcomes a guest, one ensures their safety and well-being. When the men of the town come to the house with violence on their minds, the host defends the husband of the concubine, yet this protection does not extend to the woman herself; the host, and then the husband, offers her up to the crowd. In this scene we catch also a glimpse of the host’s virgin daughter. In a chilling echo of last week’s tale, he offers her, along with the concubine, as an unholy sacrifice to the men. This is the only mention of the daughter; there is no indication of whether she was forced outside along with the other woman, or if she managed to escape.
If you’re joining us for the first time, welcome; you can pick up the thread of this week’s reflections at Monday’s post.
Thursday
“There is some kind of commotion outside. I hear voices, lots of men’s voices. What is it that these men want? What . . . —O God, he’s coming for me! My husband, he has my arm, he’s dragging me out—out to these men! I hear the man of the house say, ‘Ravish her, do with her what seems good to you.’ What is happening? Why are you doing this, my husband? I don’t like being your property, but even so—protect me—I am your property! Oh, my God . . . it hurts! . . . O God, where are you? . . . ” (From Dorri Sherrill)
Driving through town this evening, I turn on the radio to NPR. It’s a report on domestic violence. They play an excerpt from a tape, a woman’s call to a police station. She’s screaming for help, screaming about her husband—then, no, “I just had a temper tantrum. It’s okay. Don’t come.”
“Ma’am, do you need help?”
“No, really. No.”
I can hear a man’s loud voice in the background.
“Ma’am, if you don’t need help, tell me a number between one and five.”
A pause.
“Six.”
And I wonder if behind that door in Gibeah where stood the husband, the host, the servant, and the virgin daughter, any counting went on as their companion called for help. Whether they were counting seconds between screams, counting the laughs of the crowd outside, counting their own blessings, counting sheep in order to fall asleep that night behind the door.
I wonder what they counted, and I wonder if somewhere, anywhere, someone heard the screams and cried out for the woman beyond the door—the woman who, in the eyes of that crowd, simply didn’t count.
—Jan L. Richardson
Questions for reflection
How is it for you to journey with the woman of Judges 19 in these Lenten days? As you reflect on her story, what do you notice? What are the questions that surface for you, and what will you do with them?
From Sacred Journeys © Jan L. Richardson
