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New Book by Sarojini Nadar in the Routledge Series “Rape Culture, Religion and the Bible”

by Johanna Stiebert on

Sarojini Nadar is a long-time supporter of the Shiloh Project. Her important new book is available from this Wednesday and ready for pre-order right now (see here). The book’s title, Gender, Genocide, Gaza and the Book of Esther: Engaging Texts of Terrorism (Routledge 2025) already points to its acute timeliness.

Tell us about yourself, Sarojini.

I’m a feminist scholar of religion based in South Africa, working at the intersections of gender, race, and religion. I hold the Desmond Tutu South African Research Chair (SARChI) in Religion and Social Justice, at the University of the Western Cape. My work is shaped by the historical legacies of apartheid and Indian colonial indentured labour. It is grounded in a decolonial feminist approach that interrogates how systems of power—colonial, patriarchal, racial, and religious—intersect. Much of my scholarship focuses on how religious beliefs and sacred texts are implicated in both the legitimation of systemic violence, and in movements of resistance.

How did this book come about, and how does it relate to your broader work?

The initial research intention for the book was to conduct an intersectional feminist analysis of sexual violence in the Book of Esther—particularly in relation to the harem as a space of imperial power and sexual exploitation. I was interested in how beauty, silence, and submission function as survival strategies for women within oppressive contexts.

But while I was contemplating the book proposal, in October 2023, everything shifted. A full-scale genocidal assault on Gaza was underway. Then, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu invoked a chilling biblical command in a public speech justifying the invasion of Gaza: “You must remember what Amalek has done to you—and we remember.” Suddenly, the book of Esther took on an urgent, horrifying resonance. Amalek is not only a figure in Deuteronomy or 1 Samuel; he is also in Esther. Haman—the book’s primary antagonist—is a descendant of Agag, the Amalekite king. The ancient enemy of Israel, whose complete annihilation is divinely commanded when the Israelites enter the so-called Promised Land, is embedded in the book of Esther!

When South Africa brought its genocide case against Israel before the International Court of Justice in January 2024, it cited several biblical references used by Israeli officials, arguing that they revealed genocidal intent—framing Palestinians as Amalekites to be wiped out. Since then, the United Nations, Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and other global organisations have echoed this analysis. This was not just retaliation. These were acts of genocide.

And so the focus of the book began to shift. Or perhaps more accurately, it began to expand. From the harem to the herem. What had started as a feminist reading of sexual violence in the harem could no longer ignore the parallel structure of ethnic violence in the herem. Herem, refers to a form of sacred ban or divine command that designates certain enemies for destruction, effectively setting them apart as sacred, and as “devoted to destruction.”

My earlier readings of Esther were profoundly shaped by the pioneering work of Phyllis Trible, whose book, ‘Texts of Terror’ invited us to read the Bible with feminist suspicion—to notice the sexual violence hidden in plain sight, and to lament what the text will not, and did not. Trible taught us to attend to the silences, to read against the grain, and to grieve the unnamed and the unremembered. But as a decolonial feminist scholar shaped by intersectional ethics, I read for more than gendered violence. I read for empire. I read for ethnic terror. I read for how sacred texts encode and sacralise violence—across registers of gender, race, and power. The subjugation of women’s bodies and the annihilation of ethnic others are entangled in what I call “sacred economies of violence.”

Sacred economies of violence is a conceptual framework I developed for the book, by drawing on Patricia Hill Collins’ matrices of domination, Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of the political economy of religion, and David Chidester’s expansion of Bourdieu’s idea into the political economy of the sacred. It describes an interlocking system in which violence functions as a currency—authorised through sacred sanction—to uphold patriarchal, racialised, and religious hierarchies. Within this economy, religion does not merely reflect existing structures of power; it actively legitimises and perpetuates them, embedding violence into the symbolic and material fabric of society. In the book, I trace how the book of Esther participates in these sacred economies of violence.

What are the key arguments of your book?

This book contends that in the book of Esther the two sites of violence—harem and herem—are not mutually exclusive. They are co-constitutive. I argue that the book of Esther is a politically and theologically charged narrative that legitimises violence by those who deem themselves “divinely chosen.”  Building on Achille Mbembe’s theory of necropolitics, I propose the framework of gendered theological necropolitics to analyse how the narrative constructs hierarchies of life and death. The text signals whose lives are valued and whose deaths are acceptable, all through the intersecting lenses of gender and ethnicity.

Crucially, I argue that these dynamics are not frozen in the past but are reactivated in our present moment—particularly in how the text is interpreted and mobilised in political discourse today. Hence, the book also focuses on how this ancient text is read and used far beyond the academy—in sermons, speeches, blogposts, and everyday religious practice. These “afterlives” of scripture are central to how texts function in the world.

What do you hope readers will take from this book?

I hope readers develop a sharper critical awareness of how sacred texts and their receptions can participate in the legitimation of violence—sometimes through overt endorsement, other times through subtle theological or narrative cues. The assumption that biblical texts are neutral or benign must be challenged. My goal is to expose how these texts continue to shape moral and political imaginaries in deeply consequential ways.

I also hope to prompt a broader conversation among biblical scholars about the political and pastoral uses of scripture in our time. Esther is a living text with potent—and often dangerous—afterlives. The widely quoted phrase “for such a time as this” is frequently used to inspire women’s empowerment, but in contexts like Gaza, it has also been weaponised to justify ethnic violence. What does “such a time” mean when it becomes a rallying cry for war?

Ultimately, I hope the book models a method of reading that is both ethically accountable and politically alert—one that refuses the comforts of simplicity, and instead embraces complexity in the service of justice.

What insight does the book provide into the relationship between religion and public life?

One of the central claims of this book—and indeed, of my broader scholarly work—is that religion does not reside neatly within private belief or institutional ritual. It is deeply entangled with public life, shaping social norms and popular moral discourse. This entanglement becomes particularly visible when we examine how sacred texts are interpreted and mobilised in everyday and political contexts.

The book of Esther offers a compelling case study for how normalisation of violence and theological instrumentalisation are perpetuated through popular Christian interpretations, where the text is often read through redemptive lenses that obscure its imperial and ethnic violence. This is why I take seriously both scholarly and popular religious interpretations. Non-academic readings from general public life, are central to understanding how sacred texts structure lived realities and legitimise or contest power. Popular media and discourse are therefore, legitimate and necessary sites of scholarly inquiry for those of us committed to tracing the effects of sacred texts in the world.

It is no accident, for example, that in 2024 a Donald Trump-aligned initiative emerged in the United States under the name Project Esther. This campaign—promoted by the Heritage Foundation as a “National Strategy to Combat Antisemitism”—appropriates the figure of Esther for Christian nationalist ends. As the Jewish Voice for Peace Academic Advisory Council has revealed, Project Esther in fact weaponises antisemitic conspiracy theories under the guise of Jewish protection, while disproportionately targeting Palestinians, Arabs, Muslims, and immigrants. It seeks to dismantle the broader Palestine solidarity movement, casting dissenting voices as threats to divine or national order. In this context, the figure of Esther becomes a rhetorical shield for repression—her story is invoked to sanctify silencing and justify surveillance.

This is precisely why intersectional feminist biblical scholars must interrogate both academic and popular uses of scripture. The question is not only what a text says, but what it is made to do in the world. When religious stories are used to authorise violence or shut down critique, our task is to expose and challenge those uses, while offering more just and accountable ways of reading.

Give us one quotation from the book that you think will make a reader go and read the rest.

This is an excerpt from Chapter 5:

“Initially portrayed as vulnerable, Esther strategically leverages her gendered position to gain access to power. Once she achieves that power, the narrative shifts towards an aggressive assertion of ethnic dominance. The extermination of Haman and his supporters, along with the deaths of 75,000 “others,” is rationalised through Esther’s Jewish identity, reflecting the historical violence inflicted upon Israel’s enemies within the framework of herem. Thus, the narrative complicates the portrayal of Esther as solely a victim; she operates within a structure of divine chosen-ness that legitimises her violent actions. Her body becomes a battleground for both imperial desire and divine selection, as she is first chosen for the king’s harem and later for God’s herem.”

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Genesis 38: A Legal Case and the Vindication of Tamar

by Johanna Stiebert on

Today’s post is by Victoria Mildenhall who published another piece recently, on a story of Lot (Genesis 14). Here Victoria focuses on a different story from Genesis: the story of Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38). In terms of rape culture, this story raises questions, including, “what is a qedeshah (often translated ‘sacred prostitute’ or ‘temple prostitute’)?” and “what can we make of the levirate law and Judah’s treatment of Tamar?”

Victoria studied for her undergraduate degree with the Open University and went on to complete two Masters degrees in Ancient Religion with Theology and Criminology.  She is due to begin a PhD at Leeds University under the supervision of Johanna Stiebert (Biblical Studies) and Sam Lewis (Criminology and Criminal Justice), focusing on models of justice in the Bible that respond to instances of sexual violation.

Introduction

Chapter 38 of Genesis interrupts the Joseph story cycle and does not feature Joseph at all (see Wünch, 2012; Kim, 2010). Instead, one of the two central characters is Judah, Joseph’s older brother. As a son of Jacob, Judah is privileged by birth.[i] The text appears to be aimed at a readership who approves of him, a mature Israelite male, as a community leader. This presupposes an audience who is Israelite and accepts, even assumes, patriarchal authority.

Following a close textual examination, I will examine the complex legal tangle involving Judah and Tamar, his widowed daughter-in-law. Apart from Judah’s unnamed wife, who plays little active part in the story and dies early on (38:2-5, 12), Tamar is the only female character among males – Judah, Hirah, Judah’s three sons, Tamar’s father, and Tamar’s twin sons. As Mieke Bal points out, Tamar comes to be viewed by the adult men in the narrative as a lethal woman, and Judah almost succeeds in having her killed by burning (1987, p.100). The narrator, however, seems sympathetic towards Tamar. Ultimately, Tamar is vindicated and becomes established as a biblical matriarch.

The Story

The chapter begins with Judah going to settle near “a certain Adullamite whose name was Hirah.” He sees and takes (that is, marries) a nameless Canaanite woman (the daughter of one Shua); and they have three sons: Er, Onan, and Shelah. Judah “takes” a wife for Er (38:6) but Er is wicked and killed by YHWH (38:7), leaving behind his wife, Tamar. Judah demands that Onan fulfil the levirate law – that is, the duty of a levir (brother-in-law) when a brother has died without progeny – by impregnating Tamar and making an heir for the deceased Er (38:8).

The levirate law is discussed in Deuteronomy 25:5-10 and may have been practised in the ancient world within and outside of Israelite communities (von Rad, 1972/1978, p. 359; Alter, 2006, n.p). As Johanna Stiebert notes, this law is in tension with Leviticus 18:16 and 20:21, where it is written that a man may not uncover the nakedness of his brother’s wife or “take” her, both euphemisms for sexual activity (2016, p.46). In Deuteronomy, however, this is recommended practice when a man with a brother dies and his widow is left childless.[ii]

Onan has sex with Tamar but deliberately spills his semen on the ground to prevent Tamar from bearing a child who would not be considered his (38:9).  YHWH kills Onan too (38:10). Now Judah fears Shelah could die as well (38:11). Judah, disingenuously, tells Tamar to live as a widow at her father’s house until Shelah becomes old enough to fulfil a levir’s duty (38:10-11). 

Next, Judah’s wife dies, and he goes into a period of mourning. When this has passed, Judah, with Hirah, goes to Timnah to shear sheep (38:12). Tamar is told this, and she covers herself with a veil before sitting on the side of the road. Tamar has acknowledged that although Shelah is now old enough, she has not been given to him (38:14). So, she covers her face, leading Judah to assume that she is a zonah (“prostitute,” from the root z-n-h) (38:15).[iii] Providing his seal, staff and cord in lieu of payment, Judah has sex with Tamar; she becomes pregnant from the encounter (38:16-23).

Judah sends the payment of a kid-goat with Hirah, in order to recover his items given in pledge. The townspeople, however, when Hirah asks about a qedasha (“temple prostitute”, 38:21) tell him there isn’t one. Judah, fearing mockery, resolves to let the woman keep his things.

Three months later, Judah is told that his daughter-in-law Tamar is guilty of “playing the whore” (a verb derived from the root z-n-h) and that she is pregnant. Judah demands that she be burned to death (38:24). At this point, Tamar declares that she is pregnant by the owner of the pledge she produces: the seal, cord and staff (38:25). Judah recognises the items and states that Tamar is more righteous than he, since he did not give her his son, Shelah (38:26). Tamar is reprieved and gives birth to male twins, Perez and Zerah (38:27-30).

Tamar and Canaan, Exogamy and Death

There is little in the way of introduction to Tamar. I get the impression that she is young; she is at least one generation below Judah. She is given to one man (Er) and then another (Onan). Both fall foul of YHWH and die (38:7, 10). Shelah is withheld from her. There is no information about who Tamar’s parents are; they never speak while she is at her natal home (38:11), even when she is in crisis (38:24). There is no mention of Tamar having siblings or friends. She is told of her father-in-law’s movements (38:13) and she is talked about (38:24) – but by whom is not disclosed. All this creates the sense that Tamar is quite alone. Her powerless aloneness is in stark contrast with Judah’s authority and influence. Judah has a friend, Hirah, and possessions (sheep), as well as markers of power (a signet and staff). Judah exercises control over his wife, sons, Tamar, and in the local community. He has authority to give Tamar to his sons (Er, Onan) or to withhold her from his son (Shelah); he can send Tamar away to her father’s house and he can have her brought out from there to face execution.

Tamar’s origins are not stated. Victor Hamilton raises the theory that she is an Aramaean from Mesopotamia (1995, p.433) but it is probable that like Judah’s own wife (38:2), Tamar is from the local community and, therefore, Canaanite. Lack of clarity regarding Tamar’s ethnicity might derive from the narrator’s efforts to downplay Tamar’s (undeclared) Canaanite background in the light that she, through one of her twin sons, is ancestor to King David. Seth Kunin, however, considers the omission to affirm Tamar’s Hebrew origin, with the passage highlighting the dangers of Judah’s own exogamy (1995, p.148). Judah, after all, marries a Canaanite woman and loses his sons without progeny.

Indeed, exogamy, particularly between Israelites and Canaanites, is negatively depicted in multiple biblical passages (e.g. Genesis 24:2-4; 28:6-9), with Canaanites much maligned (cf. Leviticus 18:3). Calum Carmichael suggests that some of the laws regarding the mixing of produce, materials, or animals, which seem peculiar, even impractical – for example, the prohibition of ploughing an ox with an ass – are actually metaphors for the prohibition of sexual relations between Israelites and Canaanites (1982, p.402-3), which is a plausible theory.

On balance, I believe that the omission of details regarding Tamar’s family suggests that she is a local Canaanite who goes on to be “brought in” to Israel. Her Canaanite origins are resolved by legitimising her – as righteous and as a mother to sons who are ancestors to great figures in Israel’s history.

In the narrative, death and barrenness become attributed to both Judah’s exogamy and to Canaan. Death haunts Canaan, compatible with a trope in scripture that associates Canaan with prohibited sexual acts and idolatry (e.g. Leviticus 18). Judah’s wife dies and YHWH kills two of Judah’s sons born to her: Er and Onan; both of them die childless.

There is no comment on Er’s crime, but Onan is guilty of sexual aberration: he has sex with Tamar but avoids impregnating her, which is his duty (38:8-9). There are inter-textual links here with the earlier narrative of Lot, who also marries an unnamed woman who may be Canaanite: she also dies, and their children, too, commit sexual offences (Genesis 19). Researchers have examined the similarities between the narratives of Tamar/Judah, and Lot and his daughters, as well as Ruth/Boaz, with deception involved in every case to instigate sexual congress (Stiebert, 2016, p.146; Rashkow, 2000, p.111-112; Bal, 1987, p.98). Lot, like Judah, demonstrates the dangers of exogamy and of attempting to integrate into a Canaanite community – that is, according to the biblical ideology, promoting Israelite values and theology.

Tamar, Judah, and his sons

As part of this ideology, danger is inevitable when Judah marries a Canaanite woman and when he selects Tamar for Er, his eldest son. Neither Er, nor Tamar, has a say in the matter; the text lacks detail and assent, unlike with the courtship of Rebekah and Isaac (Genesis 24:8, 57-58). Robert Alter points out with reference to Er and his unknown offences that there is a biblical pattern of the eldest son being reckless or wild (2006, n.p) – Cain, Esau, Reuben… After Er is killed by YHWH, Judah orders Onan to “go in” to Tamar to produce a child that will belong to Er. Onan is uncooperative; Tamar, once again, has no say in the matter.

Alter observes that Tamar does not complain to Judah about Onan’s offence (1995, n.p). When Onan, like Er, is killed by YHWH, Judah views Tamar as dangerous (38:11, Bal, 1987, p.100).[iv] Judah promises Tamar that she will be given to Shelah, his youngest and only remaining son, when he is of age. He must be very young. His name comes from a root that means “to be silent or quiet,” which is appropriate, as Shelah does not speak, and, like his brothers, has no say in his father’s matchmaking (Jeansonne, 1990, p.100). Judah, arguably, feminises all three of his sons through his micromanagement and control.[v] He also asserts control over Tamar, his daughter-in-law.

Judah is preoccupied with Tamar’s womb and fertility; he gives no consideration to the rest of her: Tamar is not consulted or offered the protection of marriage, for instance. Onan, too, diminishes Tamar; he has sex with her, as instructed, but ejaculates on the ground rather than provide her and his deceased brother with a child (Stiebert, 2013, p.130). Yet Tamar, whose inner life and agency are nullified by Judah, is the one who goes on to take charge of her fertility and to manoeuvre the man obsessed with her womb to impregnate her – without realising it. Moreover, Tamar bides her time and brings about that Judah not only publicly exonerates her but pronounces her more righteous than himself. Tamar turns the tables.

Tamar – zonah and qedeshah

Judah is worried about the fate of Shelah if he marries Tamar, and commands Tamar to go and live as a widow at her father’s house. It was not Tamar who displeased YHWH; and she submitted to Judah’s orders – but it is Tamar whom Judah regards as the reason for Er and Onan’s deaths. Judah overlooks his older sons’ actions, or the possibility of them behaving in aberrant ways, and is complicit in thwarting Tamar’s prospects of having a child or remarrying. It is not entirely clear if Judah is deceiving Tamar intentionally and never intends for Shelah to fulfil the levirate duty, or if he initially intends to honour this duty and then changes his mind. That Judah sends Tamar away rather than keeping her in his household as a betrothed daughter-in-law, suggests he is absolving himself of responsibility towards her.[vi] 

Judah’s wife dies and he goes into mourning. Shelah might also be in mourning for the loss of his mother and brothers, but focus is on Judah.  After the appropriate period, Tamar “is told” (by an anonymous messenger) that Judah is going to Timnah to shear his sheep (38:13). In biblical texts sheep shearing is associated with festivities, eating and drinking (Alter, 2006, n.p; Hamilton, 1995, p.439).[vii] Judah’s attendance at the festival signals to Tamar that the mourning period is over for Judah, and perhaps also for Shelah. It appears that during this time, Tamar has had no direct contact or communication from Judah.

Tamar puts off her widow’s garments, covers herself with a veil, and sits on the side of the road. Her intention in donning the disguise is not stated and we are left to guess. Did she expect to be perceived as a zonah, a prostitute, and if so, a qedeshah, a sacred one? Did she intend to entrap Judah or Shelah? The choice of disguise makes a point: Judah has already treated Tamar like a sex object, giving her to Er, then commanding Onan to have sex with her. To me, this calls to mind Genesis 34, the narrative of the rape of Dinah by Shechem. Dinah’s brothers, Simeon and Levi, react to Jacob’s rebuke after they kill Shechem and his family by stating, “Should our sister be treated like a zonah?” (34:31). Judah has treated Tamar like a prostitute, and this is how he sees her now, sitting by the side of the road that leads to the festival, albeit without recognising her as his daughter-in-law.[viii] Judah’s proposition is brusque: he approaches Tamar with the words, “Come, let me come in to you” (38:16). Ilona Rashkow proposes that when she is called a qedeshah (38:21) this refers to the cult of Asherah or Anat (2000, p.57), while von Rad posits that the cult would be that of Astarte (1972/1987, p.359).

Given that Judah had been attending a sheep shearing festival, it might be odd that he sends a kid-goat as payment, rather than a lamb. Three possibilities occur to me.  First, it could be that a kid-goat was a standard and appropriate payment; this means there is nothing particularly significant about the payment. A second reason might be that the narrator is indicating through symbolism that Judah believes Tamar to be a Canaanite shrine prostitute. This may allude to a link between goats and prostitution, as in Leviticus 17:7, “They must no longer offer any of their sacrifices to the goat idols to whom they prostitute themselves.” Rashkow also observes that Judah promises a kid-goat that Tamar never receives, just as she never receives Judah’s son, Shelah (2000, p.39).[ix] This second reason reflects badly on Judah: it shows him as a man propositioning a sacred prostitute from a non-Israelite religion.[x] A third possibility, that lets Judah off the hook more, is that the goat is apt in Canaanite and Israelite settings, because the narrative is taking place in a time when the goddess Asherah is associated with YHWH, possibly as divine consorts. Recent archaeological discoveries of inscriptions of “YHWH and His Asherah,” such as from Kuntillet Ajrud, have prompted enquiry, particularly as the inscription uses Asherah as a personal name rather than referring to the asherah with a definite article (or asherim, in the plural) as a cultic object (as at Exodus 34:13; Deuteronomy 7:5, 12:13, 16:21).[xi] On balance, I think this third possibility is least likely, but it is worthy of consideration.

Judah does not have the payment of a kid-goat to hand, and it is here that Tamar seizes the opportunity to take a pledge. Her request is for his seal, cord and staff, all of which are most likely of far greater value to Judah than a kid-goat, as they are symbols of his identity and authority. The seal, or signet, is a personal sign and identifier (rather like a passport in present times); it takes the form of a small, inscribed cylinder, usually worn around the neck, that can be pressed on damp clay to seal agreements (Alter, 2006, n.p; von Rad,1972/1987, p. 360). A cord is symbolic in its capacity to bind, and also has practical purposes, such as when pitching a tent (Exodus 35:18) or for measuring (Psalms 78:55); the word also occurs in the expression to be bound by cords of sin (Psalm 5:22). It appears that Tamar has the measure of Judah and has bound him to her one way or another. Finally, Tamar takes Judah’s staff, a symbol of his authority and in the Hebrew Bible, a symbol of power.[xii]

In Genesis 49:8-12 Jacob, on his deathbed, addressing his sons in turn, summarises Judah’s character and foretells his fate. Jacob notes Judah’s staff (49:10) as a symbol of his authority, which points back to Genesis 38 – where Judah certainly asserts his authority over his sons and Tamar. For Tamar to take the pledge, she is essentially taking some part of his identity and authority and holding him to ransom. Another aspect underscored by Jacob that is relevant to Genesis 38 is Judah’s love of wine (49:11). It is not explicitly mentioned in Genesis 38 – but is likely to be part of sheep shearing festivities.[xiii]  Even though Tamar is veiled when Judah propositions her, we might ask how Judah does not recognise her as his daughter-in-law. This seems particularly odd when we read that Judah and Tamar are intimate (38:18). Did Tamar remain veiled throughout? Did Judah never find her voice familiar? Drunkenness appears to be one good way to account for this oddity.

Wine and viniculture also have significant associations in the Hebrew Bible with Canaan and with destruction. At Genesis 9:20-22, Noah plants a vineyard, gets drunk and is humiliated, most probably in a sexualised way, by his son, who is referred to as “Ham, the father of Canaan.”[xiv] And at Genesis 19:33-38, Lot is plied with wine by his own daughters who have sex with him while he is drunk. In some traditions, the locations of Sodom and Zoar (Genesis 19) are in Canaan. This would make Canaan associated with both wine and sexual offences. 

Later, Judah attempts to make payment (38:20). He does not go himself but sends his friend, Hirah the Adullamite. The narrator draws our attention to this character for a second time. Is Hirah the partner in crime or a bad influence on Judah? At the start of the chapter, it states that Judah “went down” to settle near Hirah (38:1). This is a topographical reference but also one that can be metaphorical. A descent is depicted elsewhere as a metaphor for behaviour that removes one from God (e.g. Isaiah 14:15).

When asking local people if they have seen the prostitute by the side of the road, Hirah uses the term qedeshah (38:21) which incorporates the Hebrew root q-d-sh, meaning “holy.” Perhaps Hirah is referring to a shrine prostitute, an officiate of a religious cult, which is juxtaposed with the term zonah, used elsewhere to denote a prostitute, sometimes in a derogatory way, or in association with idolatry. Perhaps Hirah views the qedeshah as superior to a zonah; perhaps qedeshah is a euphemism for zonah. The local people tell him that they have not seen a qedeshah in the area, and Hirah reports back to Judah. Judah makes the decision not to say anything lest they both become a laughingstock. Hamilton suggests that the risk lies in being viewed as weak for being robbed by a common prostitute (1995, p.448). 

Next is another period of time where, once again, Tamar is left waiting, as a widow at her father’s house, without contact or communication from Judah. He neither cancels the betrothal to Shelah nor fulfils it. Around three months later, Judah is told that Tamar is pregnant “and has played the zonah” (38:24). The messenger clearly delights in the gossip, using incendiary terms, “Tamar has played the whore; moreover she is pregnant as a result of whoredom” (NRSV, 38:24). Anonymous messengers stir up trouble and make things happen (38:13, 24). How does the messenger know when Judah is going to Timnah so that Tamar sits on the side of the road at just the right time? How does the messenger know that Tamar is pregnant due to prostitution when Hirah reports that nobody saw her? Should we take the messenger to be divine or supernatural? Or is the messenger a narrative device, filling in gaps for the audience to advance the action?

The Legal Case

The messenger’s words have swift and violent effect. Judah demands that Tamar is brought out and burned. James Kugel observes that the situation is a legal matter and Judah the judge and executioner (2006, p.171) – without any recourse to evidence to either support or deny the accusations of “whoring” or pregnancy. There is no room, for instance, for the possibility that Tamar could have been raped or that the gossip is untrue. To bring someone out is to remove them from the protection of their house and to expose them before their community for prosecution (cf. Deuteronomy 22:21). 

If Judah is charging and condemning Tamar for adultery, by virtue of sex with another man while betrothed to Shelah, then the punishment would more likely have been stoning rather than burning (Deuteronomy 22:21, 24). The punishment of death penalty by burning occurs in two other scriptural locations: for incest with a mother-in-law (Leviticus 20:14) and for prostitution by a priest’s daughter (Leviticus 21:9). It is not stated that Tamar is the daughter of a priest, and any charge of incest is also not explicit. There is, however, some dramatic irony here: after all, if not a priest’s daughter, Tamar is taken to be a qedeshah, literally “a holy woman,” and Judah does (albeit unknowingly) commit incest with Tamar (Leviticus 18:15). Hence, if unwittingly, the punishment is, on one level, apt.

Tamar’s family members do not appear, even though Tamar has been living in her father’s house. As Tamar is brought out, she sends word to her father-in-law and produces the pledge, stating that she is pregnant by the man to whom the items belong. Tamar knew that at some point she would need to prove the legitimacy of her pregnancy and now, with a cruel death imminent, is the climactic time to hold up the signs of Judah’s identity and status. Judah has no option but to accept the situation. He declares, “She is more in the right than I, since I did not give her to my son, Shelah”.  He is not saying she is right or he is wrong – but he is drastically changing the verdict.

William John Lyons observes that the feminine form of tsedeq (“right/eous”) is used in Genesis 38:26, which is unusual (2002, p.195-6). Women are not usually called tsedeq in the Bible. The same form of tsedeq is, however, used for Esther, Sarah and Rebekah in Rabbinic traditions. Stiebert observes another inversion, namely of sexual norms, in the story of Tamar, which also applies to the agency exercised by Ruth (2013, p. 212). Both Tamar and Ruth are in exogamous unions with Israelite men, widowed, and later, following some trickery and subterfuge, joined to another man who is related to their deceased husband. Both are brought into Israel and legitimated through their male offspring. Acting under their own initiative carries risks; their actions could either bless or damn them.  Given the limits of their agency due to their gender and ethnicity, it is questionable whether either has much free will. In both instances, Tamar and Ruth maximise what little opportunity they have.   

The possible legal complexities intimated in the story of Genesis 38 can be summarised as follows:

  • If Tamar was betrothed to Shelah at the time of her pregnancy, then both Judah and she have committed adultery and incest. Additionally, Tamar committed prostitution. Judah, if he believed the woman with the veil to be a Canaanite qedeshah, committed idolatry. Both are guilty.
  • If Judah released Tamar from betrothal to Shelah on sending her back to her natal home, then Tamar has committed no crime in terms of Israel’s law: she has reverted to the laws of her father’s house, which is Canaanite. Incest, moreover, would not be at issue, because, at the time of their sexual encounter, there was no longer a familial relationship. Judah, however, has committed idolatry by visiting a Canaanite shrine prostitute. Tamar is not guilty, but Judah is.
  • If Judah maintained that the situation regarding betrothal to Shelah was suspended but valid upon their sexual union, and if he were to claim that he was deceived into committing incest, then only Tamar is guilty of deliberate incest. Judah is still guilty of intending to commit idolatry, but as Tamar was only pretending to be a shrine prostitute he is not guilty of the violation itself.
  • If Judah accepts that he fulfilled the levirate duty himself, then neither he nor Tamar has committed incest and Judah’s offence of idolatry is nullified as the sexual congress is subsumed under the levirate law. Neither is guilty.

To save his reputation, Judah accepts responsibility for Tamar’s pregnancy, which also saves Tamar. The cord that Tamar took as part of the pledge emphasises that they are bound together. Possibly indicating the legal casuistry and fragility of this resolution, Judah does not risk having sex with Tamar ever again (38:16). Tamar, whom Judah may still suspect of having played a role in the deaths of his sons Er and Onan and who tricked him and jeopardised his reputation, remains risky.

Throughout the chapter, Tamar comes to signify a range of female archetypes of the ancient world: virgin, wife, widow, whore, priestess, mother, matriarch. Each of these roles is determined in some way or other by Judah. Judah gives her to his firstborn son, Er; afterwards, he hands her over to Onan; he sends her to be a widow in her father’s house; he takes her to be a qedeshah; he makes her a mother; she becomes a matriarch in the lineage of David (Ruth 4:18-22).  

The subtext of the story is that although Judah has power and authority in the story, it does not match YHWH’s. Moreover, the full significance of the events is not clear until generations later. Tamar, the more righteous one, is part of a story much bigger than just her own. Against the odds, she, like Ruth an outsider, acquires a noble role in the community and history of Israel.  

Tamar, the righteous Canaanite woman, is both contrasted and brought together with a corrupted Israelite patriarch. Judah’s exogamy is problematic for the narrator. Possibly indicative of this, Judah’s first two sons do not just die, they are killed by YHWH for wickedness. But Tamar is raised up as a tenacious Canaanite and she and her progeny are rewarded.

WORKS CITED

Alter, R. (1996) Genesis: Translation and Commentary. W.W. Norton and Co. Inc.. New York.

Bal, M. (1987) Lethal Love: Feminist Literary Readings of Biblical Love Stories. Indiana University Press, Indiana.

Bergsma, J. and Hahn, S. (2005) “Noah’s Nakedness and the Curse on Canaan: Genesis 9:20-27.” Journal of Biblical Literature, vol.124 (1), pp.25-40.

Carmichael, C. (1982) “Forbidden Mixtures.” Vetus Testamentum, vol.32 (4), pp.394-415.

Dever, W. (2005) Did God Have a Wife? Eerdmans Press, Michigan.

Doedens, J. (2013) “Ancient Israelite Polytheistic Inscriptions: Was Asherah Viewed as YHWH’s Wife?”  Sarospataki Füzetek, 1-2, pp.42-54.

Greenough, C. (2021) The Bible and Sexual Violence Against Men. (Rape Culture, Religion and the Bible Series), Routledge, London.

Hadley, J. (2000) The Cult of Asherah in Ancient Israel and Judah: Evidence for a Hebrew Goddess.  Cambridge University Press, London.

Hamilton, V. (1995) Genesis 18-50.  New International Commentary on the Old Testament. W.B Eerdmans, Michigan.

Jeansonne, S. (1990) Women of Genesis. Fortress Press, Minneapolis.

King, P. (1989) “The Marzeah: Textual and Archaeological Evidence.” Eretz-Israel: Archaeological, Historical and Geographical Studies (20), pp.98-106

Kim, D. (2010) A Literary-Critical Analysis of the Role of Genesis 38 Within Genesis 37-50 as Part of the Primary Narrative.  PhD Thesis, University of Sheffield.

Kugel, J. (2006) The Ladder of Jacob: Ancient Interpretations of the Biblical Story of Jacob and His Children.  Princeton University Press, Oxfordshire.

Kunin, S. (1995) The Logic of Incest: A Structural Analysis of Hebrew Mythology.  Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series (185), Sheffield Academic Press.

Lyons, W. J. (2002) Canon and Exegesis: Canonical Praxis and the Sodom Narrative.  Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series (352). Sheffield Academic Press.

Olyan,S. (1988) Asherah and the Cult of Yahweh in Israel. The Society of Biblical Literature, Georgia.

Rashkow, I. (2000) Taboo or Not Taboo: Sexuality and Family in the Hebrew Bible. Fortress Press, Minneapolis.

Stiebert, J. (2016) First Degree Incest and the Hebrew Bible.  Bloomsbury, London.

Stiebert, J. (2013) Fathers & Daughters in the Hebrew Bible. Oxford University Press, Oxford.

Von Rad, G. (1972/1987) Genesis. SCM Press, London.

Wünch, H. G. (2012) Genesis 38: Judah’s Turning Point: Structural Analysis and Narrative Techniques and their Meaning for Genesis 38 and its Placement in the Story of Joseph.  Old Testament Essays, vol.25 (3) pp.777-806.

[i] Judah is born to Leah, and is the fourth son of Jacob. His name refers to praising (YHWH) (Gen 29:35).

[ii] Note Matthew 14:3 (also Mark 6:17-29 and Luke 3:19-20) where John the Baptist condemns Herod for marrying his sister-in-law, Herodius, when his brother Philip was still alive. It may be, then, that the law applies only in the case of a deceased brother.

[iii] The NRSV uses the translations “prostitute” and “temple prostitute” for zonah and qedeshah. There is a case to be made for using the designation “sex worker” rather than “prostitute.” I will follow translations of the NRSV here. It is important to note that words of the root z-n-h, are sometimes clearly derogatory, not simply descriptive. In such cases “harlot” and “whore” (cf. 38:24) are used. As a verb, this root can also refer to idolatry rather than sexual activity. With the word qedeshah (literally, “holy woman”) there is some discussion as to whether it actually signified what has sometimes been labelled “cultic prostitution” or whether this indicates discriminatory attitudes – of either or both biblical writers or interpreters.

[iv] Gerhard von Rad cites Tobit 3:7 as another example where a wife is blamed for the deaths of her husbands (1972/1987, p.358).

[v] For an interesting examination of feminisation of men in the Bible, see Chris Greenough (2021).

[vi] Judah’s ability to determine Tamar’s fate, even after she has left his household to live in her natal home, as ordered (38:11, 24-25), signifies his authority.

[vii] See also 1 Samuel 25:2-8 and 2 Samuel 13:23-24 for other examples of sheep shearing festivities in the Hebrew Bible.

[viii] Victor Hamilton (1995, p.442) refers to Assyrian law and suggests that by donning the disguise she could have been an unmarried sacred prostitute, a female slave, or a prostitute not attached to a cult.

[ix] Note also that kid-goat links Genesis 38 to the Joseph cycle. In Genesis 37:31, Joseph’s brothers dip his coat into goat blood as a way of deceiving Jacob into believing that Joseph has been killed.

[x] Deuteronomy 23:17 which may, however, come from a different (perhaps much later) time prohibits any among the “daughters of Israel” becoming a qedeshah, translated “temple prostitute” in NRSV.

[xi] There is now a wealth of research into the relationship between YHWH and Asherah, particularly in the context of the sacred feminine in early Israel. Judith Hadley offers a comprehensive examination of archaeological discoveries alongside the biblical associations (2000, see especially pp.54-77). Saul Olyan focuses on the Canaanite associations of Asherah as a goddess (1988). William Dever concludes that Asherah is an Israelite goddess associated with YHWH worship as part of early folk religion (2005, pp.212-213). Additionally, Dever believes that asherah/asherim were never idols, but that they were used for meditative focus. Another relevant text by Jacob Doedens suggests that Asherah was an Israelite goddess who was part of a more complicated landscape of polytheism among early biblical YHWH worshippers (2013, pp.42-54, p.53).

[xii] Consider, for example, that in Exodus 4:2-5 YHWH tells Moses to throw his staff on the ground; the staff becomes a serpent and then turns back into a staff, signifying YHWH’s dominance over earthly rulers. In Exodus 7:17, Moses stretches out his staff to part the waters of the Nile at YHWH’s command. The staff is a symbol of the authority of tribal leaders in Numbers 17. 

[xiii] Canaanite festivals appear to have included excessive drinking. Philip King discusses several examples, including the marzeah, a wine-drinking festival for mourning the dead that honoured the Canaanite pantheon of El. Archaeological evidence for rites that included drinking were found also at Kuntillet Ajrud (1989, pp.98-106). Scriptural examples of Canaanite festivals that involved imbibing wine are found in Isaiah 28:7-8, Jeremiah 16:5-8; Hosea 7:14 and Amos 6:4-7. In some of these passages, the prophets repeat prohibitions of attending the Canaanite festivals that centre on viniculture because they involved also some forms of worship. The repeated prohibitions suggest that these were a problem. 

[xiv] John Bergsma and Scott Hahn examine four possible options including voyeurism, castration, paternal incest and maternal incest (2005, pp.25-40)

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Genesis 14: Could Lot Potentially Be a Victim of Attempted Sexual Enslavement or Attempted Wartime Rape?

by Johanna Stiebert on

Today’s post is by Victoria Mildenhall. The featured image is The Capture of Lot, by James Dabney McCabe, 1842-1883.

Victoria studied for her undergraduate degree with the Open University and went on to complete two Masters degrees in Ancient Religion with Theology and Criminology.  She is due to begin a PhD at Leeds University under the supervision of Johanna Stiebert (Biblical Studies) and Sam Lewis (Criminology and Criminal Justice), focussing on models of justice in the Bible that respond to instances of sexual violation.

The narrative of Genesis 14:1-24, recounting Lot’s kidnapping and rescue, is intriguing to biblical scholars for multiple reasons. Firstly, Abra(ha)m[1] is depicted here as a community leader and warrior, which is not the case in some other parts of scripture, which show him as a rather more solitary figure, or in domestic, family dynamics.  Secondly, it contains one of very few biblical references to Melchizedek and this is the only instance where this mysterious priest-king appears in person.[2]  Thirdly, the passage contains cultural, theological, political and topographical hints that might yield clues for the interpretation of surrounding passages. 

When it comes to analysing sexual violence in the Hebrew Bible, however, this pericope is most often overlooked, probably due to its abundant ambiguities, including where the intention of Lot’s kidnappers is concerned.  Yet, by examining the narrative of Genesis 14 inter-textually in the light of scriptures and themes in its close proximity, I will argue that Lot narrowly avoids becoming a victim of sexual enslavement, or wartime rape.  Four points provide the rationale for my assertion: surrounding and associated scriptures that depict or suggest sexual violation; scriptural condemnation levelled at sexual practices of neighbouring peoples, particularly the Canaanites; the presentation of Lot; and the use of the Hebrew term lqh. 

The first part of Genesis 14 describes a political conflict raging throughout the region.  A coalition of four kings, led by King Chedorlaomer of Elam, wages war with five cities south of the Dead Sea after they rebel (14:1-9). Things are going badly for the rebels when some fall into the bitumen pits and the rest flee to the hill country (v.10).  This creates an opportunity for Chedorlaomer and his cohort; they plunder Sodom and Gomorrah, taking goods, possessions, and the inhabitants, presumably as enslaved people, including Lot and his household (14:11-12, 16). One individual escapes and reports the events to Abra(ha)m, who gathers a military unit of three hundred and eighteen men and goes in pursuit (14:13-14).  In a night-time battle, Abra(ha)m and his men successfully rescue Lot and his possessions (14:15-16). Rather than keeping the plunder and enslaving any captives, Abra(ha)m returns them to the King of Sodom and is blessed by Melchizedek, to whom Abra(ha)m pays a tithe (14:17-20).

Is Abra(ha)m making a strategic point here? Is he communicating that he does not want to be implicated in any way in the horrors from which he has rescued his nephew, Lot? And if so, what might these horrors be? I argue that Lot was rescued from sexual violence, such as rape, or sexual enslavement.

The first reason that this passage might be included among texts of the Hebrew Bible suggestive of sexual aggression and violence is its proximity to other such passages, including two of male-on-male violence or, at the very least, male-on-male sexualised impropriety and domination: the first is the odd story fragment of Ham and his naked father Noah (Genesis 9:20-25), and the second, the account of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah following a threat of male-male rape (Genesis 19:5). Other examples of sexual violence are Lot’s daughters’ violation of their father (Genesis 19:30-38) and the narrative of Abra(ha)m telling Pharaoh that Sarai (=Sarah)[3] is his sister so that Pharaoh “takes” her (Genesis 12:10-20). It is against this wider background of rape-threats and violations that we find the pericope of Lot’s kidnap.

Secondly, biblical references to Canaanite people are repeatedly accompanied by aspersions as to their sexual immorality and depravity (e.g. Leviticus 18:3; Deuteronomy 20:18; 1 Kings 14:24). Targeting Abra(ha)m’s nephew for sexual enslavement or rape would fit into this picture. There is a pronounced connection in the Hebrew Bible between foreign gods, including those of Canaan, and sexual immorality. Idolatry and worship of other gods are metaphorically associated with adultery in several of the prophetic texts (Hosea 1-2; Ezekiel 16 and 23), and Israel is explicitly warned against both foreign gods and sexual impropriety to preserve collective identity and holiness (Leviticus 18). The story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 19), where Lot reappears in a later narrative, also associates Canaanite cities with very negative qualities, be this the threat of male-male rape or inhospitality (Greenough, 2021, p.21).

Thirdly, in all of his appearances in the Hebrew Bible, Lot is shown to be vulnerable.  In Genesis 13:11 he separates from Abra(ha)m, which might reflect a theological and ideological separation between (favoured) uncle and (wanting) nephew, with the narrator emphasising distance between them. In the narrative in Genesis 14, Lot has failed in protecting his household; he is in a position of responsibility, and he has not lived up to this role – hence, Abra(ha)m has to rescue him. In the later narrative of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot is under pressure, going so far as to offer up his own daughters to a mob of threatening men (Genesis 19:8). He cannot save himself or his family; Lot’s own sons-in-law don’t take him seriously (Genesis 19:14); divine messengers intervene to save Lot together with his wife and daughters; even then, Lot dithers (Genesis 19:16). He is portrayed as thoroughly ineffectual.[4]

It might be that the men of Sodom assault Lot in a sexualised manner when he is negotiating with them.  The wording describing their interaction is unusual: “Then they pressed hard against the man Lot…” (Genesis 19:9, NRSV).  Whatever is going on here, it could be sexually threatening, or, at least, threatening to Lot’s masculinity. Notably (and, arguably, superfluously) Lot is called “the man Lot”. Moreover, to protect his visitors and – presumably – himself also, Lot resorts to offering the mob in Sodom a sexual substitute: his own daughters, whom he identifies as virgins (Genesis 19:8). The offer of his own daughters, whom he ought to protect, is frightful. It also indicates both the acute danger of the situation and the sexually charged nature of the threat.

Finally, it is significant that Lot is the victim of his own daughters’ sexual violation when he is drunk and they, in turn, exploit his lack of awareness to conceive sons with him (Genesis 19:30-38). Again, Lot is rendered vulnerable here; he is exploited for sex.

Chris Greenough observes, “Hegemonic masculinity promotes attitudes, behaviours and regulation within society and culture that all serve to perpetuate notions of men as strong, powerful, warrior-like and consequently, the opposite of a victim” (2021, p.13). Lot repeatedly falls short, including in terms of implied notions of hegemonic masculinity. It is Abra(ha)m who acts as warrior and rescuer – that is, as masculine. Lot, however, needs to be rescued – first by Abra(ha)m (Genesis 14), and then by the divine messengers (Genesis 19). Lot is unable to protect his visitors or his family. He is repeatedly threatened in sexual and sexualised ways (Genesis 19:9, 33, 35) – including, I am proposing in Genesis 14. 

In terms of the implied gender ideology of Genesis a man who is overpowered, including sexually overpowered, is a man whose masculinity is diminished. Lot is repeatedly shown to be overpowered – and dramatically so here where Abra(ha)m rescues him.  Once more, Lot fails as a man; later, he cannot defend himself against his violent neighbours (whom he calls “brothers”, Genesis 19:7), or against his own daughters (Genesis 19:31-36): he certainly can’t stand up to the armies of several kings. He is completely in their power and control. 

The final indicator that sexual violation is implied in Genesis 14 is the occurrence of the Hebrew verbal root lqh (lamed-qoph-chet, Genesis 14:12).  This widely used verb is most often translated with variants of “to take”.[5] Relevant to my enquiry, lqh is also used to indicate taking for sex and rape: Sarai (=Sarah) is taken by Pharaoh (Genesis 12:19), and the verb also pertains to the kidnap and rape of Dinah by Shechem (Genesis 34:2).  Sandie Gravett (2004) proposes that lqh can be used in instances where force and violence apply, including and prominently where sexual violation is implied. 

In Genesis 14, those who are “taken” (including Lot) appear to be taken for purposes of enslavement.  Just like the other goods that are seized (Genesis 14:11-12) they become the victors’ property. As enslaved persons, whether they be male or female, they would have no agency and, consequently, no say over their bodies, including any right of refusal of rape. Moreover, in war and so-called conquest, sexual violence of those who are overpowered is no rarity – as is evidenced widely in the Hebrew Bible (e.g. Numbers 31:9-18; Deuteronomy 21:10-14; Judges 5:30, and many other examples), as well as in distressing events right up to the present. Gender is irrelevant, as rape is not about attraction or desire, but about dominance and humiliation. There are plenty of biblical indications of males humiliated in war and conquest, including in sexualised ways (e.g. Judges 16:25; 1 Samuel 31:4; Lamentations 5:13).

In summary, four key aspects underline my argument for including Genesis 14:1-24 in discourses of sexual violence and violation in the Hebrew Bible. In this case, the attempted sexual violation is perpetrated by men (the forces led by Chedorlaomer) against a man (Lot). First, surrounding narratives establish a thematic foundation for sexual violation; and secondly, Canaan and its people are prominently characterised as deviant. Third, Lot is juxtaposed with Abra(ha)m, and consistently falls short of him; Lot emerges as vulnerable and ineffectual – in other words, as inadequately masculine and as vulnerable, including as vulnerable to sexual aggression. This vulnerability is demonstrated also by the way he is threatened at Sodom and violated by his own daughters (Genesis 19). Finally, the use of lqh can be suggestive of kidnapping as well as sexual violation. Collectively, this points to, or at least strongly hints at, Lot in Genesis 14 being at risk of enslavement and, therewith, – not for the last time – at risk of sexual violence.

References

Gravett, S. (2004) Reading ‘Rape’ in the Hebrew Bible: A Consideration of Language, JSOT 28, no. 3 (2004): 279-99.

Greenough, C. (2021) The Bible and Sexual Violence Against Men. Abingdon, OX: Routledge.

[1] Abraham, as he is better known, is named “Abram” up until YHWH changes his name in the course of a covenant agreement (see Genesis 17:5).

[2] Melchizedek is a name made up of two Hebrew words meaning “king” and “righteous.” The name occurs also in Psalm 110:4 and in the New Testament, in Hebrews 7. Additionally, allusions to Melchizedek appear in the so-called Melchizedek Scroll found among the Dead Sea Scrolls (11QMelch or 11Q13).

[3] As part of the covenant (see note 1), God renames Sarai “Sarah” and blesses her (Genesis 17:15-16).

[4] Possibly, Lot had defected to the customs or gods of Sodom. Abra(ha)m steps in and attempts to negotiate with YHWH. Although Abra(ha)m falls short of asking specifically for YHWH to spare his nephew, he effectively asks YHWH to evaluate for himself whether Lot counts as a righteous man (18:23-33).

[5] See NRSV ad loc: “they also took Lot…”.

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What has the Bible to do with Deepfake Porn?

by Tasia Scrutton on

Today’s post is by Tasia Scrutton. Tasia is an Associate Professor at the University of Leeds and Director of the Centre for Philosophy of Religion and Theology.

Tasia Scrutton

The Book of Daniel recounts the story of Susanna, a married woman who is spied on by two lecherous old men while she is bathing (chapter 13). [1] Realising that they both lust after her, the men conspire to blackmail her to have sex with her. When she refuses, the men have her arrested, claiming that they saw her have sex under a tree with a young man – a ‘crime’ punishable by stoning.

Just as she is about to be put to death, Daniel – the hero of the book – interrupts, arguing that the men should be interrogated to ensure that the sentence is just. Daniel separates the two men, asking each of the men what kind of tree they saw Susanna have sex under. The first claims to have seen Susanna and her lover under a mastic tree, the second under an evergreen oak. Mastic trees are small while oaks are large; the disparity between their accounts makes it clear that they are lying and that Susanna is innocent.

The court case against Susanna involves humiliating her: the old men demand that she remove her veil in court ‘so as to sate themselves with her beauty’, and she has to submit to them both putting their hands on her head when they testify against her (Daniel 13:32 – 34). We do not know whether the story of Susanna was based on a historical episode, but it seems reasonable to think that the background state of affairs that it relates (that a woman would be stoned for alleged adultery; that the burden of proof would be on her in court to prove her innocence; that she may have been subject to humiliation during the trial) reflect the time at which it was written, the second century BCE.[2]

Despite the geographical and historical distance between this narrative and our own contemporary context, there are remarkable similarities between Susanna’s story and an all-too-real, horrifying case today. On Sunday the BBC News recounted the story of Hannah, a young woman in Australia. Hannah discovered a website called ‘The Destruction of Hannah’, which involved hundreds of photographs of her face that had been taken from social media and stitched on to violent, pornographic pictures. The website also involved polls in which hundreds of people had voted on vicious ways they wanted to abuse her. Included on the website were Hannah’s full name, her Instagram handle, the suburb she lived in and, as Hannah later found out, her phone number.[3]

Like Susanna, Hannah had an ally – in Hannah’s case in her partner Kris, with whom she set about trying to find the culprit. Kris found photographs of other women on the website who were the couple’s friends, and the couple realised that the person who posted them and created the website must be someone they knew. Eventually they whittled it down to one person, Andy, a ‘friend’ in common with the different women whose images appeared on the website.

But also like Susanna, much less happily, it turned out that the justice system was biased against Hannah. Hannah recounted her shock when she reported Andy at the police station: “We thought they’d go grab him that afternoon”, but instead she was met with disdain. One police officer asked what she had done to Andy; another suggested that Hannah simply ask him to stop. Little was done by the police to protect Hannah, and her own innocence was even called into question when she reported the crime. In so doing, the police were perpetuating a common myth of rape culture: that the victim of sexual violence must have ‘asked for it’ in some way, whether by dressing in a certain way, or doing something to hurt or anger the perpetrator.

Like Susanna, Hannah’s case also involved humiliation from the legal system that should have been protecting her: one police officer even pointed to a picture of her in a skimpy outfit and said “You look cute in this one”. Because of the lack of adequate police response, Hannah and Kris spent £10,200 in order to hire a digital forensics analyst and a lawyer, and lived for a significant period with cameras all around their house, a knife by each side of their bed, and location tracking on all Hannah’s electronic devices. Kris monitored the pornographic website in case there was any sign of escalation while Hannah reported that “I stopped having windows open because I was scared…. The world for you just gets smaller. You don’t speak to people. You don’t really go out”. Another of Andy’s victims, Jess, told the court at which Andy was eventually sentenced that, “The world feels unfamiliar and dangerous, I am constantly anxious, I have nightmares when I am able to sleep”.[4]

The Book of Daniel was written over two thousand years ago, and it is tempting to assume that the circumstances of women have improved since then. And in many parts of the world, in many respects, they have. Since 1882 women in the UK have been able to buy, sell and own property; since 1928 they have been able to vote on the same terms as men and regardless of social class; since 1991 rape within marriage has been recognised as rape and considered a crime. But in other respects women in every part of the world are still subject to many of the oppressive patriarchal circumstances recounted in the tale of Susanna. They are still subject to sexual violence, harassment and abuse; the burden of proof is often still on them to prove their innocence and/or the perpetrator’s guilt; legal systems are often still biased against them, and humiliate and blame rather than protect them. As Hannah and Jess’ reports highlight, women are still often forced to retreat into small and private spheres, not because the law explicitly dictates it, but because the ongoing threat of sexual violence so often makes it the only comfortable and safe-seeming place to be. Stories like these tell us that getting justice for women is possible. But they also tell us that, until violence against women and the threat of violence against women is no more, women throughout the world still lives in oppressive structures surprisingly similar to those experienced by biblical women like Susanna.   

Image: Susanna and the Elders, by Artemisia Gentileschi. While many artists’ depictions of Susanna and the Elder in the Baroque era depicted Susanna for an objectifying gaze aimed at igniting male desire, Gentileschi depicts Susanna empathetically, capturing the sense of Susanna’s distress. Horrifically, Gentileschi was also later forced to carry the burden of proof for a sexual crime of which she was a victim and in which the legal system was biased against her, being tortured in order to ‘verify’ her testimony against the man who raped her. Through her empathetic depiction of Susanna, Gentileschi is an ally to women who are victims of violence, depicting the emotional turmoil to which it gives rise. Artemisia Gentileschi, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

[1] The story of Susanna is ‘deuterocanonical’ or ‘apocryphal’: it appears in the Catholic and Orthodox canon of the Bible but not in the Hebrew or Protestant one. You can read the text here: Daniel, CHAPTER 13 | USCCB

[2] See Numbers 5 for an earlier biblical example of women being publicaly displayed and humiliated in a legal context

[3] Woman’s deepfake betrayal by friend: ‘Every moment became porn’ – BBC News Accessed 9th February 2025, 16:35 GMT

[4] Woman’s deepfake betrayal by friend: ‘Every moment became porn’ – BBC News Accessed 9th February 2025, 16:35 GMT

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Spotlight! Barbara Thiede

by Johanna Stiebert on

Routledge Focus Series: Rape Culture, Religion and the Bible

Barbara Thiede’s book has the title Rape Culture in the House of David: A Company of Men and was first published in 2022. The book focuses on the revered character of David, as well as on other characters in the biblical narrative he so dominates. Barbara’s close analysis exposes the rape cultures that are described in and which shaped the narrative. Barbara is now co-editor of the book series.

How do you reflect back on writing your book?

When I began writing, I focused on demonstrating that sexual violence against female characters was not the product of rogue “bad actors.” Rather, a company of men supported Bible’s rape culture through enabling, witnessing, and colluding in sexual violence. While writing, I realized the extent to which male-on-male sexualized violence similarly supported biblical rape culture. This realization generated a recent article on Saul as a trauma victim (“Hidden in Plain Sight: Saul’s Trauma Narrative in 1 Samuel,” Biblical Interpretation) and profoundly affected my forthcoming monograph, Yhwh’s Emotional and Sexual Life in the Books of Samuel. In that work, I analyze how the Israelite deity models the use of male-on-male sexual violence—not only against his enemies, but against his own men.

Writing Rape Culture in the House of David also helped me clarify the ways in which academe continues to repress the ethical interrogation of Bible, particularly in regard to sexual violence. The pages I devoted to the use of the terms rape and rape culture in my introduction helped me think about the ethical foundations this book series rests on. The outcome was an article, “Taking Biblical Authors at Their Word: On Scholarly Ethics, Sexual Violence, and Rape Culture in the Hebrew Bible,” which will be published in the Journal of Biblical Literature. That article is, in a way, partial payment of the debt I owe to the editors of this series for making the work we do possible. 

In short, writing for this series engendered enough ideas to keep me busy for years!

What has been the response to your book? 

The book has helped me connect with other scholars who are working on similar issues; in writing it, I began realizing that I belonged to a community.

Do you have any advice for authors of future publications in this series – which you now co-edit?

We are engaged in an ethical project, one that can have profound impact on real human lives. There is no reason to hold back and every reason to be precise and thorough in interrogating biblical literature for the sexual violence that goes unaddressed by most of its exegetes and readers.

What topics in the area of rape culture, religion and/or the Bible would you like to see a book on?

We have much to do in exploring male-on-male sexualized violence. Just as importantly, we have only begun to address the ethnic and racial elements that undergird rape culture in biblical literature and in our own time. And finally, we could ask how characters whose gendered presentations do not conform to binary expectations also become victims of brutal and sexualized violence in biblical literature.

Shout out!

I must first note the editorial work of Johanna Stiebert and Caroline Blyth in the series’ formative years. I benefited enormously from their labors on my behalf.

Every single one of the authors who have contributed to this series deserves a shout-out; they are forging pathways, creating a scholarly community, and developing a space for asking the ethical questions that must be made foundational to the academic project. I love reading their work!

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Spotlight! Ericka S. Dunbar

by Johanna Stiebert on

Routledge Focus Series: Rape Culture, Religion and the Bible

Ericka S. Dunbar’s book in the series is Trafficking Hadassah: Collective Trauma, Cultural Memory, and Identity in the Book of Esther and in the African Diaspora. It was first published in 2022 and is one of our best sellers. The book expounds how Africana female bodies have been and continue to be colonized and sexualized, as well as exploited for profit and pleasure. It shows how this contributes to adverse physical, mental, sexual, socio-cultural, and spiritual consequences for girls and women, and links present-day systemic violence to the canonised template in the book of Esther. 

How do you reflect back on writing your book? 

Writing my book was a process that I deeply value and appreciate. Publishing this book felt like a full circle moment. The topic is one that I started researching and writing about in seminary. I didn’t imagine then that I’d go on to do PhD work and that my senior project would inspire my dissertation, but that’s my story. The process allowed me to explore questions that had been with me since I was a little girl and to amplify the voices of women who taught me about sexual exploitation, rape culture, and intersectionality from their lived experiences. They transformed how I understood and interacted with the biblical text, so I was honored to share the impact of my engagement with these brave and resilient women with the world.

What has been the response to your book?

Extremely positive. I am pleasantly surprised that it was as well received in church settings as it has been in the academy. One of the most meaningful experiences I have had was people disclosing that the book gave them the courage to tell their own stories and inspired them to do more to transform rape cultures. 

How and where are you now and what are you doing or working on at present?

I am well. I am an Assistant Professor of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament at Baylor University (Waco, Texas, USA). I am currently working on a book on migration in the Bible. I recently offered a keynote at a Migration and Food Needs Symposium where I assessed a few stories in the Hebrew Bible that depict a nexus between food insecurity and migration. These stories illuminate that there are benefits and negative consequences of migration. Moreover, an intersectional lens exposes that not everyone experiences migration and food insecurity in the same way, or to the same extent, and that women often experience disproportionately negative physiological and psychological consequences because of migration. Again, these consequences intersect with food insecurity and with rape culture (such as when they result from being trafficked and sexually exploited in order to resolve food insecurity). 

Do you have any advice for authors of future publications in this series?

The world needs to encounter your voice and unique engagement with religion and the Bible. Do the work! It’s a rewarding experience to publish a book that works towards transforming toxic cultures. 

What topics in the area of rape culture, religion and/or the Bible would you like to see a book on?

Perhaps a book on eunuchs and sexual exploitation.

Do you have a shout-out to anyone working in this general area? Please shout about them!

Rhiannon Graybill. I appreciate her latest monograph, Texts After Terror: Rape, Sexual Violence, and the Hebrew Bible. 

Ericka’s book is available from Routledge. It is out in paperback. Like the eBook version, this costs just under £16. 

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The Woman from Judges 19

by Hilary Willett on

Hilary Willett (she/her) fights for gender justice by writing icons and reclaiming the lives of biblical women. Her most recent icon writes the unnamed woman whose story is found in Judges 19. Here, Hilary reflects on the process of writing this icon.

“The Woman from Judges 19” is one of the more confronting icons I have written. I knew I wanted to write it within a few months of learning iconography. I first read about this woman in Phyllis Trible’s book Texts of Terror.[1] Judges 19 tells the story of a woman in scripture who should be known and mourned everywhere, but is rarely discussed.

The woman in Judges 19 has no name. In many translations, she is rather crudely described as a “concubine” to a Levite man. In even less forgiving translations, she is described as an “unfaithful” concubine (ESV, NIV). But it is hard to know the precise nature of her relationship with the Levite. At times, the Levite is described as her “husband.” Some scholars speak of her as a “secondary wife.” For myself, I do not really want to describe her according to her relationship with a man. It is enough to know that this woman existed and that the biblical authors give her no name.

This unnamed woman appears to be in a fraught relationship with the Levite. While the woman from Judges 19 is not given much agency by the textual authors, she does leave the Levite man at the beginning of the narrative. She travels back home and is away for four months. This hint of autonomy, however, is short-lived. The Levite sets out with a servant, follows her to her home and is welcomed (“with joy!”) by the woman’s father. The father and the Levite enjoy food and drink for five days. The father does not uphold his daughter’s choice to live separately from the Levite in this moment, he focuses on male comfort and social expectations around hospitality.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the woman’s father encourages the Levite to stay for another night. The Levite wants to leave (a deeply unwise decision). He takes the woman with him; there is no objection to her leaving with him in the text. As they travel, the Levite refuses to stop for the night at many of the safe havens they pass, preferring to keep travelling until they reach a Benjamanite town. Unable to travel any further, the Levite and the woman are stranded. The Levite is unable to find a place to keep them safe for the night.

Eventually, an older man takes pity on the Levite and shelters him, the woman, and the Levite’s servant. However, the house is surrounded by men who wish to rape the Levite man. To protect the Levite, the woman is cast out of the house. She is raped to death. She dies with her hands on the doorstep of the house.

But this story, as horrific as it is, gets worse.

The Levite cuts up the woman’s body and sends the pieces throughout Israel to incite war. Israel goes to war against the tribe of Benjamin, virtually wiping them out. Towns, people, and animals are destroyed, until only 600 men are left alive. Then, fearing a future where the tribe of Benjamin is eradicated, these armies kill the inhabitants of another town (Jabesh-Gilead), sparing only 400 virgin women. These women are given to the 600 Benjaminites to continue the bloodline of the tribe. The men left without wives are instructed to abduct still more women from Shiloh.

There is a reason we don’t often talk about this story. It is depraved. It is a story of extreme male violence and terror, of war justified by patriarchal sin. At the heart of this violence is a woman, whose name is absent, whose voice is silenced, and whose body is not her own. She is used, over and over, by men who care more about protecting their masculinity, upholding social expectations, and enacting vengeance. Her vulnerability is extreme – just like every innocent person who died in the fallout of war, just like every one of those 400 women from Jabesh-Gilead, just like every woman abducted from Shiloh.

To show such vulnerability in this icon, the woman is written naked. To show her stark reality, the shadows are deep; there is no colour apart from the red lines on her skin. These lines indicate where her body will be divided up. In the middle of some of the sections, a tribe of Israel is written on her body. This visual allusion drew upon butchers’ charts for inspiration, which divide up animals according to their meat cuts. Her face is hidden to highlight the absence of her name or any identifying feature. Finally, to show the utter horror of her situation, her halo is fractured, its pieces raining down on her body.

There is a reason why we should tell this woman’s story. It is because the story has not ended. There is so much war and violence occurring in the world today, so much justifying the unjustifiable. Every time we allow violence to reign in the home, in church, in society, and in politics, it is horrifying. Every time a vulnerable body is used, every time women are abused, every time innocent people become fallout or justifications for war, we need to remember this story and say very clearly: “No. No more. Never again. This ends here.”

Find more of Hilary’s icons – including the Woman from Judges 19 – at Lumen Icons: https://www.lumenicons.nz/

[1] Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984).

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Power Dynamics: Who Can Say No?

by Princess O'Nika Auguste on

Princess O’Nika Auguste hails from Helen of the West, the Caribbean island of Saint Lucia. She is a PhD student in Biblical Studies at Dublin City University. Follow her on Twitter:/X @isletheologian.

The complex interplay of power dynamics is not limited by time; it is present in ancient history, in holy books like the Bible, and in our current world. Indeed, many stories that depict human interactions bear witness to the presence of complex power relationships across time and space. Two such stories include that of David and Bathsheba (2Sam 11), and the encounter between Mary and the Angel Gabriel (or God in Luke 1). This post will engage these biblical narratives alongside contemporary narratives in order to ruminate on this complex and timeless topic. By examining these stories, I will highlight the deep and long-lasting effects of power relations, acknowledging their presence over generations and influence on the human condition. 

Jenna Van Schoor describes power dynamics as “the balance of power between two or more people when they engage with each other. Depending on cultural and other relevant contexts, this can look very different” (van Schoor 2023 What Are Power Dynamics). So, how do the narratives of Bathsheba and David and Mary and Gabriel/God reflect these dynamics of power? The power of both David and Gabriel is signaled initially by their gender and status – David as a king and Gabriel as an angel/deity. In each story, this power is contrasted with the lack of status held by Bathsheba and Mary both of whom have little or limited status. David and Gabriel thus wield great authority, power, and influence over Bathsheba and Mary respectively.

David and Bathsheba’s story is widely contested on and offline. Every year there are debates on social media about whether Bathsheba was raped by David. In this narrative, the power dynamics are those of a king and his subject. Thus, any conversations about the relationship between David and Bathsheba needs to include the nuanced discussion around concepts of consent, cultural context and, of course, power disparities.

The limited amount of detail given in the biblical text of the Bathsheba narrative reveals its complexity. The text tells us that David sent men to find Bathsheba after he observed her taking a bath (2Sam 11:2–5). We read, “David sent messengers to get her, and she came to him, and he lay with her,” after which she became pregnant. The text is silent on Bathsheba’s feelings about the encounter. Some, like Randall C. Bailey (1990, 86) contend that Bathsheba was a consenting and equal partner. They suggest she flirted with David and even requested to be sent for. Despite extensive research by feminist biblical scholars like Phyllis Trible, Jennifer Wright Knust, and Johanna Stiebert which problematise the power dynamics between Bathsheba and David, such interpreters continue to deny the power differentials and insist that Bathsheba consented to King David’s advances for sex.

It is important to recognise, however, that even if Bathsheba had agreed to the encounter with King David, this relationship is still problematic because David is the king, and the inequality of relationship amounts to an abuse of power. The problem is one of consent and Bathsheba’s ability (or lack thereof) to say ‘no’ or refuse the advances of one who has power and authority over her.

Similar power dynamics exist in contemporary culture, where powerful men have sexual relationships with women who have less power and status than them. Examples of powerful men who have used their power to abuse women include Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein, R. Kelly, and Danny Matterson. In some instances, these men have been found guilty of rape, but all of these relationships amount, at the very least, to an abuse of power. Another example is the relationship between Monica Lewinsky and former US President Bill Clinton – a relationship which is still the subject of intense media debate decades later. In the mid-1990s, President Clinton started an intimate relationship with a young White House intern named Monica Lewinsky. Eventually, media leaks about the affair led to Clinton’s impeachment although he was ultimately acquitted and remained in office until 2001. Monica Lewinsky, on the other hand, was demonized as an opportunist and seductress who tempted an honourable man and she continues to bear the fallout from this affair to this day. While some argue that Monica was a free intern and could have left the relationship at any time, we have to question whether this was even an option for her given the power disparity between them (as intern and president). What would have happened to her if she had ended the relationship? Would she have been able to find other forms of employment? What consequences would she have suffered for denying the most powerful man in the world? Would she have been ostracized from Washington DC? (See Sex, power, and humiliation: eight lessons women learned from Monica Lewinsky’s shaming).

The relationship between defamed R&B singer, R. Kelly, and the late singer Aaliyah offers another opportunity for reflection on relational power dynamics. Their relationship began in the early 90s when Aaliyah was emerging in the music industry. There were rumours that Aaliyah (15) and R. Kelly (27) were married – a rumour that was also implied in her album Age Ain’t Nothing but a Number, which Kelly was heavily involved in. At the time of the relationship, Aaliyah was underage and was also looking to grow in the music industry. Her family argue that Kelly took advantage of her at a time when she was very vulnerable. Others argue, however, that Aaliyah and her family used the relationship with R. Kelly to cement her as music royalty. Aaliyah already had connections in the music business as her aunt was Gladys Knight and her uncle was recording producer Barry Hankerson. This meant that an alliance between Aaliyah and R. Kelly would strengthen Aaliyah’s place in Hollywood. However, it is now known that when Aaliyah’s parents found out about the relationship they had her marriage annulled and Aaliyah never worked with R. Kelly again. Her marriage to the singer was covered up until years after her death and after R. Kelly had been accused and convicted of sexual assault unrelated to Aaliyah’s case. 

How do the relationships between Monica Lewinsky/Bill Clinton and Aaliyah/R Kelly relate to the story of Bathsheba and David? It could be argued that, like Monica and Aaliyah, Bathsheba was a seductress and an opportunist who used her relationship with a powerful man to ‘get ahead’. Some scholars suggest that Bathsheba was of noble blood because she was the granddaughter of Ahithophel, King David’s counsellor (2Sam 11:3; 23:34). Bathsheba’s father was Eliam, and her husband was Uriah the Hittie both of whom were part of a group of soldiers called David’s Thirty Mighty Men (2Sam 23:8-38). Those men were David’s closest friends and thus, it could be argued that Bathsheba may have taken advantage of her family’s connections to advance in society through her connection to the throne. But, like Monica and Aaliyah, we have to ask, did Bathsheba have the ability to consent to the relationship with David? Could she have said no to him without fear of consequence? Can any woman in a relationship where this is a large disparity in power say no?

Before these questions are answered, we need to discuss rape and consent. According to Barstow (2023), rape is

“unlawful sexual activity, most often involving sexual intercourse, against the will of the victim through force or the threat of force or with an individual who is incapable of giving legal consent because of minor status, mental illness, mental deficiency, intoxication, unconsciousness, or deception. In many jurisdictions, the crime of rape has been subsumed under that of sexual assault. Rape was long considered to be caused by unbridled sexual desire, but it is now understood as a pathological assertion of power over a victim.” (Barstow 2023).

When we consider this understanding of rape, we must ask ourselves, did any of these women have the freedom to fully consent to their relationship with such powerful men? Could Monica Lewinsky say no to President Bill Clinton? Could Aaliyah say no to the “King of R&B,” R. Kelly? Could Bathsheba say no to King David? If the answer is no, then by the rape definition above these women were coerced into sexual relationships with men in higher positions than them because if they said no, they could lose their livelihoods.  

Perhaps one of the reasons that some interpreters understand Bathsheba as a consenting participant in the relationship is the fact that the biblical the text is not clear on Bathsheba’s feelings and perspective. This is in contrast to another text, 2 Samuel 13, where King David’s daughter, Tamar, is raped, and the biblical writer is very clear about her violation. Tamar clearly resists her rapist, saying ‘no’ and asking him not to ‘force’ her (v 12). She declares his intentions to be evil and offers him a way out (vv 12, 13). She does everything she can to prevent her assault. She is the “ideal victim.” The fact that the author of 2Sam 11 is not explicit about Bathsheba’s role in her relationship with David has led some to be convinced that Bathsheba was complicit in the affair and thus just as guilty as David. Bathsheba does not fulfil the ideal victim trope.

So, what is the ideal victim? According to Mary Morgan,

“Victims of sexual assault are forced to prove not only the guilt of their perpetrator, but also their own innocence. The ideal victim is seen as innocent in the eyes of the public, the judge, the jury and the public. The ideal victim cannot be blamed whatsoever for violence committed against them. It is only then, when the victim has been deemed completely innocent, that perpetrators are evaluated for their guilt” (Words from an “Unideal” Victim).

So, can a woman only be a rape victim if she is deemed to be good, pure, and holy? Conflicting with the myth of this ideal victim is another common rape myth that good and holy women would not be the target of predatory men. But these myths – like all rape myths – only serve to excuse perpetrators of sexual violence and blame victims.

These rape myths are conceivably one of the reasons why many find it difficult to consider the Virgin Mary a rape victim. But equally, people may find it difficult to believe the Virgin Mary was a rape victim because of who impregnated her. To identify Mary in this way is to question the reputation of an angel and of a good God. While the relationship between David and Bathsheba is open to discussion, many seem afraid to debate the narrative of Mary in order to raise similar questions – either because it is too complicated, or because it would cause controversy. The idea that Mary was sexually assaulted or raped would be hugely controversial, of course, because it would be to accuse the deity of sexual violence.

The Biblical narrative in Luke 1 narrates that when the angel Gabriel came to speak to Mary she was afraid and did not understand what the angel was speaking about. The angel told her not to be afraid, that the deity would overshadow her, and Jesus would be born. At the end of the narrative, Mary submits. (Luke 1:26-38).  The text reads:

The virgin’s name was Mary. 28 And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” 29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30 The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32 He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” 34 Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” 35 The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. 36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God.” 38 Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Some argue that Mary is portrayed as having autonomy in this text because she agrees to become pregnant with Jesus (Barber 202, 22). Mary Daly, for example, argues that Mary as the virgin mother could be empowering and an image for female autonomy (Daly 1993,84).

But did Mary have the full freedom of consent? What if Mary did not consent and the deity abused his power? In Luke 1 we find a similar power disparity to that seen between David and Bathsheba – but the inequalities between Mary and the angel are even greater. Here we see an all-powerful male impregnating a young, vulnerable woman. And so, the same questions about power dynamics that were applied to Bathsheba should also be applied to Mary. Could Mary say no? Could she leave? What would have been the consequences if she had told the angel Gabriel “no”?  While some scholars will not go as far as to suggest the Mary was a victim of rape, there there are those who find her consent troubling. Wil Gafney, for example, notes although Mary’s ancient context would have meant that she probably could not have consented to the encounter, she still used whatever agency she had to withhold her consent initially by asking the question, “How could this be?”  Gafney notes that while she did agree, her consent was problematic because, “Mary’s submission [‘here I am, the woman-slave of the Lord] is in the vernacular of slavery… In this light, her consent is troubled and troubling.” (Gafney, Did Mary Say “Me Too”?) 

Thus, both the narratives of Mary and Bathsheba raise questions of power dynamics and consent. Our traditional interpretations of these stories are troubling because if we are not interpreting these women as victims of male power, we are sexualizing them – Mary a virgin and Bathsheba an adulteress. This, in turn, emboldens patriarchy and sexual violence and puts women in similar power relationships in our own time in a perilous situation. Perilous situations that benefit men. When power disparities are overlooked, we underplay how these dynamics can lead to sexual violence and sexual coercion. Consent is not complicated; power dynamics should not determine who can say no!

References

Bailey, R.C., 1990. David in love and war: The pursuit of power in 2 Samuel 10-12 (Vol. 75). A&C Black.

Barber, M., 2021. Hagar and Sarah and Mary and Elizabeth: Reading Luke 1 with Genesis 16/21 (Doctoral dissertation, Union Theological Seminary).

Daly, M., 1993. Beyond God the father: Toward a philosophy of women’s liberation. Beacon Press.

Klein, L.R., 2003. From Deborah to Esther: sexual politics in the Hebrew Bible. Fortress Press.

Kirk-Duggan, C.A. ed., 2004. Pregnant passion: gender, sex, and violence in the Bible (Vol. 44). Brill.

Reilly, F., 2005. Jane Schaberg, Raymond E. Brown, and the problem of the illegitimacy of Jesus. Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, 21(1), pp.57-80.

Schaberg, J., 2006. The Illegitimacy of Jesus. A Feminist Theological Interpretation of the infancy Narratives, Expanded Twentieth Anniversary Edition.

Images

“David en Batseba, RP-P-2015-17-117-8” by Rijksmuseum is marked with CC0 1.0. To view the terms, visit https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/deed.en/?ref=openverse.

“File:PM 080988 E La Granja n.jpg” by PMRMaeyaert is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/?ref=openverse.

“<div class=’fn’> <div style=’font-weight:bold;display:inline-block;’><a href=’https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/en:Annunciation’ class=’extiw’ title=’w:en:Annunciation’><span title=’announcement of the birth of Jesus to Mary’>Annunciation</span></a></div></div>” by Fra Angelico is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

  

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The Bible and Violence: Online Conference

by Chris Greenough on
An painting of a violence scene from the Bible

It’s just over a year since we launched our Bible and Violence project. With a list of over 120 stellar chapters, The Bible and Violence will be an inclusive reference work that explores the complex dynamics between the Bible, its interpretation, reception, and outworkings, with particular emphasis on violence in its multifarious forms.

We’re so excited to share the good news with you. The Bible and Violence project will be holding an online conference from Monday 25th – Wednesday 27th March 2024. The aim of this short conference is to share some of the work already submitted by contributors – to give you a sneak preview of the varieties of violence in biblical books and their uses.

Our fabulous line up of speakers and topics is below.  Please note all times are GMT (UK), so please check for your local time equivalent.

The event is free, but please follow this link to sign up. Places are limited, so don’t miss out.

For any queries, please contact: [email protected]

Monday 25th March
9:15-9:30Welcome
9:30-10:15Erin Hutton, Australian College of Theology, AustraliaStriking like the Morning Star: How can Song of Songs 6:4–10 prevent domestic abuse?
10:15-11:00Grace Smith, University of Divinity, AustraliaRape Culture and the Bible: the efficiency of rape and rape propaganda
11:00-11:15Break
11:15-12:00Robert Kuloba, Kyambogo University, UgandaThe Ideological Dilemma of Suicide in Uganda: African Bible Hermeneutical Perspectives
12:00-12:45Deborah Kahn-Harris, Leo Baeck College, UKViolence in the Book of Lamentations
12:45-13:00Close
Tuesday 26th March
14:00-14:15 Welcome
14:15-15:00Stephen Moore, The Theological School, Drew University, USAViolence Visible and Invisible in the Synoptic Gospels
15:00-15:45Juliana Claassens, Stellenbosch University, South AfricaExploring Literary Representations of Violence in Bible in/and Literature
15:45-16:00Break
16:00-16:45Barbara Thiede, UNC-Charlotte, USAViolence in the David Narrative: A Divine Order
16:45-17:30Alex Clare-Young, Westminster College, Cambridge Theological Federation, UKThe Bible and Transphobia: The Violence of Binarism
17:30-17:45Close
Wednesday 27th March
14:00-14:15Welcome
14:15-15:00Alexiana Fry, University of Copenhagen, DenmarkViolence, Trauma, and the Bible
15:00-15:45Susannah Cornwall, University of Exeter, UKThe Bible, Intersex Being and (Biomedical) Violence
15:45-16:00Break
16:00-16:45Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, ALT School of Theology, SwedenViolence and Lack of Violence in the Reception of David
16:45-17:30Luis Quiñones-Román, University of Edinburgh, UKDivine Violence in The General Letters
17:30-17:45Close
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New Book: The Bible and Gender-Based Violence in Botswana

by Johanna Stiebert on

In this post we feature the forthcoming book The Bible and Gender-Based Violence in Botswana (Routledge, 2024) by Mmapula Diana Kebaneilwe. The book is in the Routledge Focus series, ‘Rape Culture, Religion and the Bible’, which is edited by Emily Colgan, Johanna Stiebert and Barbara Thiede. The book is out in March and ready for pre-order from 22 February 2024. (Yes, this post is early… – but we just couldn’t wait!) Read about the book here first!

  1. How did the book come about?

The current rampancy of gender-based violence (GBV) against women and girls in Christianised Botswana prompted the writing of this book. As a Motswana woman who lives and has lived in this country since birth, I have witnessed uncountable inhumane acts of violence that disproportionately affect women and girls. I have experienced GBV myself, as have many women and girls that I know personally (family and friends), as well as those I only read or hear about on different media platforms, including the national television station, newspapers, etc. They, we have suffered GBV, and many have lost their lives at the hands of men and boys, those who are most often the perpetrators of GBV. Therefore, my identity, experiences, and research created in me the hunger to put together in print Batswana women’s stories of GBV alongside stories of GBV against biblical women. My quest has been to explore how the Bible and the Botswana faith communities it inspires intersect with traditional political landscapes to reinforce GBV. 

  • What does activism mean to you, and how does this book relate to religion and GBV?

Activism means everything to me. I am of the view that keeping quiet about acts of violence and injustice of whatever nature, including GBV, equates to colluding with perpetrators, and hence, I choose to expose, name, and seek ways to correct such. Researching and writing on GBV, as in this book, is a way of campaigning for social change regarding women’s and girls’ rights. Their rights are being stifled by gender inequality, which has resulted in our pandemic of GBV. 

The book relates to religion and GBV in that stories of GBV against women in Botswana are read alongside similar stories from the Bible, the sacred literature of Christianity, the dominant religion in Botswana. My research has revealed unbelievable resonance between GBV against textual biblical female characters and Botswana’s real flesh and blood female persons. The exercise of inter-reading or co-reading is an important one, given the authority and respect accorded the Bible in the Botswana context where many people intimately associate themselves with its faith and teachings.

  • What are the main themes of the book?

The main themes of the book are as follows:

  • Demonstrating and acknowledging that GBV is endemic in the Bible and in Botswana
  • Insisting that there should be no recycling of biblical injustices: read it, name it, and fix it
  • Reading the Bible and its stories of GBV in a quest for transformational revelation and for gender justice in Botswana and beyond.
  • Who would benefit from the book?

The book will benefit everyone willing to seek positive change in regard to gender equality, and is intended for a wide readership, including researchers, postgraduates, church leaders and other representatives of religious institutions, and upper-level undergraduates.

  • Give us a quotation from your book and tell us why you chose it?

“Like a mirror, the Bible is an accessible resource—but only if we first, use it and second, use it purposefully and constructively with integrity” (Kebaneilwe 2024, 84).

I choose the above quotation because I believe that the Bible is confrontational in nature by reflecting parts of life that we do not want to see or do not want to admit to: jealousy, passion, anger, violence, etc. Like a mirror, its transformational effect can only be accessible if we first admit what we see when we look into its pages.  Ultimately, concealing, spiritualising, or twisting the rottenness in biblical texts will only serve to perpetuate the same in our world, which explains why even in Christianised contexts like Botswana, we still find heinous acts of injustice and violence, including, in this case GBV. 

Congratulations to Mmapula from everyone at The Shiloh Project!

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