On Reading Childhood Death in the Biblical Text
Parenthood is a leap into the unknown. When faced with a choice, we try to pick what is best for our children. But there are times when it is difficult to know what decision is the right one, especially when that decision might impact the life of your child. The novel coronavirus has found many parents staring into the abyss, hoping their choices do not destroy their families. While the current pandemic is new, the fear and concern parents feel when faced with uncertainty is timeless. On this point, the biblical text provides parallels to contemporary times, specifically when it comes to parents making potentially life-altering choices for their children.
To understand the view of biblical parents, one must understand the different kinds of value children held within the household. Emotional value is expressed through the biblical narratives of barren women: Sarah, Rachel, Hannah, Eshet Manoah. Rachel’s cutting words—“Give me children or I shall die!” (Gen. 30:1) ––express the cultural expectation that life for a woman was incomplete without a child. The desire for children reached beyond emotional and cultural fulfillment. Children played an important role in the family household economic system. Since most ancient Israelite households were rural, children were needed for tasks associated with an agrarian life: collecting water and sticks, watering flocks, preparing food, helping sheer herd animals, feeding animals, tending gardens, and watching younger children. Older children served the practical purpose of caring for aging parents in a world without socialized eldercare. As heirs to the family inheritance, children were needed to inherit land, the family name, movable property, etc. It was also important to pass on religious and cultural inheritance. Parents needed children in order to train up the next generation of Israelites. Without children to socialize and enculturate, a society would not be able to reproduce itself. Deuteronomy addresses this necessity in the creed Jews recite as part of the V’ahavtah: v’shinantam l’vanecha. Parents are commanded to inscribe “them” on their children (Deut. 6:7). The “them” refers back to all the “things” (commandments) which the Lord commanded the Israelites. As carriers of tradition, children represent a link to both past and future generations.
“Given all this value placed on a child, it is little wonder that the biblical text understood children as, quite literally, a gift from God. God opened a woman’s womb and allowed her to bear children.”
Given all this value placed on a child, it is little wonder that the biblical text understood children as, quite literally, a gift from God. God opened a woman’s womb and allowed her to bear children. Yet, this gift was not always a guarantee. In a world where the infant mortality rate was very high, a woman is estimated to have had six pregnancies to produce two children who reached adulthood.[1] On top of the pressure to produce children, there is some evidence that female children were less desired than male children.[2] Patriarchal societies needed males to inherit from their fathers and to carry on the family name. Male children were stronger and could work the fields easier than females, while little girls depleted the family wealth via the dowry that was given to them. Despite these differences, when discussing the death of children, the biblical text does not discriminate when it comes to childhood death. All children mattered.
Most of the stories of young children dying or almost dying are associated with male children. Consider Isaac, baby Moses, and the baby born to King David and Bathsheba. These stories are traumatic and the adults in the narratives are under great distress at the death or near-death of their sons. This sentiment is most obvious in the Pesach narrative where parents go through a bizarre ritual of painting their doorways with freshly slaughtered lamb’s blood in order to prevent their firstborn sons from being slaughtered by the Destroyer (Exod. 12:1–13, 21–23). Yet, a close reading of the biblical texts demonstrates that the thought of either male or female children dying in childhood was considered a travesty.
Certainly, one of the more traumatic deaths addressed by the Bible was the impending death of an only child. The well-known story of the Akedah is a good example.[3] Readers wrestle with Abraham’s actions as he is asked to sacrifice his child.[4] Nahum Sarna notes Abraham faces a moral, ethical, and religious dilemma.[5] Isaac is called Abraham’s yachid, his only child (Gen 22: 2). The required sacrifice of Isaac in the Akedah places the fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham (Gen 12: 1–3) on the line. Abraham makes a choice to go through with the sacrifice of his son. But, just as Abraham raises the knife to kill his son, God intervenes (Gen. 22:9-14). The text does not tell us what Abraham is thinking or feeling. In an almost animatronic manner, we see Abraham look up as his name is called, look towards the thicket, go take the ram, and offer it instead of his son. Was Abraham flooded with relief? Did he stagger towards the ram? Did his hands shake? Or was he so overcome with guilt at what he almost did that he returned form the mountain without Isaac? We are not told.
We relive the near loss of Abraham’s son yearly. Integral to the Jewish festival calendar, Isaac’s birth (Gen 21) and near death (Gen 22) are read on Rosh Hashanah in preparation for Yom Kippur when Jews ask God to also “remember us for life.” Through the Torah reading and the accompanying High Holiday liturgy, Jews experience Abraham’s trauma and rejoice in relief as his son is spared, praying that we, too, as God’s children, will be shown the same mercy.
There is another biblical father who also faced the death of his only child. His name is Jephthah. This father’s story is found in the haftarah for parshat Chukat (Judges 11:1–33). However, the haftarah only relates half of the story. As a mighty warrior, Jephthah makes an oath to God: “If you deliver the Ammonites into my hands, then whatever comes out of the door of my house to meet me on my safe return from the Ammonites shall be the Lord’s and shall be offered by me as a burnt offering” (Judges 11:30–31). The haftarah ends with the Lord delivering Jephthah and the Israelites winning the battle (Judges 11:33).
“Abraham’s only son survives. Jephthah’s only daughter (yechidah) will not. ”
Abraham’s only son survives. Jephthah’s only daughter (yechidah) will not.
Jephthah returns home and his daughter greets him with dance and timbrel. Her actions mirror that of Miriam, who danced with timbrels and sang a song celebrating another victory of the Lord (Exod. 15:20–21). Jephthah’s daughter, his only daughter, was the first thing to come out of the door of his house to meet him on his safe return from battle. Jephthah cries out at his misfortune. “Alas daughter, you have brought me low; you have become my troubler” (Judg. 11:35). His words of anguish express an emotion so raw that commentators struggle to find meaning in the narrative. Was Jephthah so naive or thickheaded to think that something other than his daughter would come to greet him? Could God have appointed a judge over Israel with such little common sense? Jephthah can say no more than these words before his daughter interrupts the narrative speaking wise words, reassuring her father that her fate is sealed and asking only for a little reprieve before she is sacrificed. “Let me be for two months, and I will go with my companions and lament upon the hills and there bewail my maidenhood” (Judg. 11: 37). Jephthah can only utter a single word: “Go.” This one word can be seen as giving his daughter permission to carry out her plan, but it might also be understood as a plea for her to remove the burden of sacrifice from upon him. “Go––and never come back so that I do not have to offer up my only child.”
A description of the actual sacrifice is lacking. Other ancient sources certainly did not shirk from providing them. The sacrifice of Iphegenia, daughter of the great Greek warrior Agamemnon, is often compared to that of Jephthah’s daughter.[6] The Greek retellings of the story do not skip over the daughter’s sacrifice.[7] While we have no way of knowing why the biblical authors glossed over this part of Jephthah’s daughter’s narrative, it is tempting to hypothesize why. It would be nice to think the male authors of the text had an attachment to their own children and could not bring themselves to memorialize such brutality in writing.
Abraham’s and Jephthah’s stories hint at the reaction parents would have at the death of a child. While many lay people respond with horror reading these narratives, a growing number of scholars have begun to question whether that reaction is valid. Because the texts skirt around the death of the children and the reaction of parents, some scholars have wondered if people in ancient Israel had the same emotional attachment to their children and felt the same pain at their deaths as those living in the Western world. The work of Nancy Scheper-Hughes has become the “go-to” text in this regard. She is a White female anthropologist who went to the shanty-towns of Brazil to observe families. These towns, like the ancient Near East, experience a high rate of infant mortality. Scheper-Hughes records an instance in which she broke through the metaphorical fourth wall. Rather than remaining in the shadows, she sobbed at the death of an infant that she was not able to save. “Noting my red eyes and tear-stained face, the woman turned to comment to a neighbor woman standing by, “Hein, hein, coitada! Engraçada, não é; Tsk! Tsk! Poor thing! Funny, isn’t she?” What was funny or amusing seemed to be my inappropriate display of grief and my concern over a matter of so little consequence.”[8] Ethnographic reports such as this, coupled with a growing awareness of what Carol Meyers calls “presentism,” reading our own context into historical or mythological stories, caused some scholars to rethink their interpretations of childhood death in the biblical text.[9]
Yet, there are places in the Bible that resist the notion parents did not care if their children died, or that parents were immune to the death of their children. Leviticus 10:1–3 and I Kings 4:17–37 describe the reaction of a father and mother, respectively, after the death of their children. In the first instance, Aaron’s two oldest sons offer up “strange/alien” fire on the altar (Leviticus 10:1–3). “And fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Lord” (Lev. 10:2). Moses reacts first, justifying the death of his nephews, explaining to his brother, “This is what the Lord meant when He said: Through those near to Me I show Myself holy, and gain glory before all the people” (Lev. 10:3). But Aaron, Aaron remained silent. Aaron’s reaction is not to cry out or to get angry at God. His reaction is silence. The medieval commentators were already uncomfortable with Aaron’s silent reaction and sought to explain it away. Ramban stated Aaron was silent because prior to Moses’ words he was weeping and crying loudly. Sforno says he was silent because he was consoled by Moses’ words. One might understand Aaron’s silence to stem from guilt. It was, after all, his responsibility to properly train up his children to become the next generation of priests, teaching them when and how to offer sacrifices. But maybe Aaron was silent because sometimes silence is the natural reaction. Sometimes there are just no words.
Second Kings 4 contains the story of a wealthy Shunammite woman who becomes a sort of patron for the prophet Elisha. Her husband is old, and they have no children. To repay her for her kindness, Elisha predicts the birth of a son (2 Kings 4:8–16). The woman is shocked: “Please, my lord, man of God, do not delude your maidservant” (2 Kings 4:16). Yet, Elisha’s word comes true and she gives birth to a son. The child grows up and when he is old enough joins his father among the reapers. For some unknown reason, the boy experiences sudden head pain. He is carried back to his mother and sits in her lap until midday, at which time he dies (2 Kings 4:17–21). His mother took him upstairs and laid him out on his bed. The fact she held the child in her lap and then was able to carry him upstairs indicates that the child was not very old. After laying the child on the bed, his mother sprang into action.[10] She took a donkey to go and find Elisha and ask for his help. Her husband questioned why she was going to see Elisha for it was not a festival day. In her state of heightened emotion, she hid the truth from him. The reader can only imagine what her pain was and how desperately she wanted to see the miracle worker who had arranged for her to have a miracle baby. When she arrived at Mt. Carmel, Elisha sent his servant, Gehazi, to meet her. When he asked how she was, she replied tersely, “fine.” She was not fine; perhaps her grief was too much to share but once. Elisha sensed that she was in bitter anguish and immediately dispatched his servant to go to the boy. But a prophet’s servant was not good enough for the mother, she wanted Elisha to come. Her words came quickly now: “As the Lord lives and as you live, I will not leave you!” (2 Kings 4:30). The boy’s mother went to the top, advocating for the life of her son and not giving up until every possible avenue was explored. Working a miracle, Elisha revived the boy. He called for the mother to come take her child. The mother who was so quick to plead her case when she thought her son was dead, is now speechless. She comes immediately, bows low, picks up her son and leaves without uttering anything. Maybe, just as her grief was written on her face when she approached Elisha to plead for the boy’s life, her relief and thanks were written on her face when she was reunited with her now living son.
“Maybe, just as her grief was written on her face when she approached Elisha to plead for the boy’s life, her relief and thanks were written on her face when she was reunited with her now living son. ”
The biblical texts can at times be difficult to relate to, especially when it comes to texts describing encroaching foreign armies or child sacrifice, much less God zapping people with fire or a miracle worker reviving a dead child. While one might be quick to call them stories, what I hope I have showed is that even if the contents are fictional, the texts are still relatable. They describe people who cared about their children, and who, like parents today, had to face the unknown.
[1] Carol Meyers, Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 110; Lawrence Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260 (1985), 1–35, esp. 18.
[2] Beth Alpert-Nakhai, “Female Infanticide In Iron II Israel and Judah,” in Sacred History, Sacred Literature: Essays on Ancient Israel, the Bible and Religion in Honor of R. E. Friedman on His 60th Birthday, edited by Shawna Dolansky (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 7-16.
[3] The reality of child sacrifice in ancient Israel is highly debated amongst scholars, some of whom argue that stories like the Akedah are a polemic against child sacrifice. Yaria Amit, Hidden Polemics in Biblical Narrative, trans. Jonathan Chipman (Leiden: Brill, 2020).
[4] Andres Michel, Gott und Gewalt gegen Kinder im Alten Testament, FAT 37 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Genesis Rabbah 56:8; Rashi.
[5] Nahum Sarna, Understanding Genesis (New York, NY: Schocken Books, 1966).
[6] Peggy Day, “From the Child is Born the Woman: The Story of Jephthah’s Daughter,” in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis, Fortress, 1989), 58–74.
[7] In some versions of the myth she is not sacrificed, but rescued by the gods or that a deer/goat was left as a substitute.
[8] Nancy Scheper-Hughes, Death Without Weeping: The Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1993), 270–71.
[9] Presentism takes place when we read anachronistically, when we place what we know of the present into the past (Meyers, Rediscovering Eve, 117–18).
[10] It is unclear if the mother understood the child to be dead. It does appear, however, that she feared for his life as she accused Elisha of leading her on by promising her a son who would then die (2 Kings 4:28).
