Three poems from the book of Judges
December 21, 2012
The book of Judges contains some powerful stories. Some years ago I wrote a trio of poems exploring three of those stories and the women who feature in them: the judge and prophet Devorah, Yael who slew the general Sisera, and the nameless daughter of Yiftach (in English, his name is usually rendered Jephthah.)
Tekufat tevet, the winter solstice, is regarded as the date when Yiftach's daughter was killed. These are dark stories, but powerful ones. Today's the solstice, so I thought I'd share my trio of poems arising out of the book of Judges. If this interests you, don't miss Alicia Ostriker's long poem / ritual script Jephthah's Daughter: A Lament, available at Tel Shemesh.
JUDGES TRYPTICH
1. Devorah
Beneath her palm tree, Devorah
(the honey bee, her sting intact)
judged the acts of the Israelites
the people came with gifts
of oil and flour and yearling lambs
and she answered them with justice
she sent for Barak in his leathers
words fell from her mouth like honey
and he yearned to taste her sweetness
come with me, he pleaded
I will relinquish my own glory
if I can have you by my side
nine hundred iron chariots thundered
the Infinite cast panic like a spell
and all Sisera's army was slain
and Devorah slept, and dreamed
Sisera stumbles into a woman's tent
Jael's doors open wide to let him in
he drinks milk fermented in goatskin
he slides into sleep: her tent pin rests
at his sweaty temple: she drives it home
2. Jael
My husband is a Kenite
Kenites don't take sides
so when God told me what to do
I kept it to myself
someday the sages
will credit me with pluck
and righteousness, even if
my methods were obscure
but Sisera's mother
wrapped in happy fantasies
of her precious son's return
will never be the same
the rabbis say
Sisera demanded my body
the rabbis say
we slept together seven times
but you don't get to know
you can claim me
as a righteous convert
but my story is my own
3. Yiftach's Daughter
Israel whored with foreign gods
until Yiftach, prostitute's son, rose up
wearing holy spirit like a cloak, saying
deliver the Ammonites into my hands
and whatever exits my house to meet me
will be sacrificed to You in holy fire
and out came his only daughter
bare feet flying to greet him, Daddy!
with her tambourine beneath her arm
he rent his garments in grief
she bent her head in submission
to her father and his God's demands
two months with her friends in the hills
(curve of soft hips beneath her hands,
stretch of skin salted with hot tears)
and she returned home, pale
but resolute, and bared her neck
her father steeled himself to raise his knife
the sun went down early, turning away
from the war hero with bloodied hands
the mothers wept like the opened skies
when he burned her bones
no prophet spoke God's anger
and the maidens mourned alone