Judges 19:20-20:26

Hook

We gather today in the quiet space of remembrance, where the echoes of the past can bring both poignancy and profound connection. The occasion that draws us near is not one of joy or celebration, but a more tender, often solitary, observance: the marking of a loss, the contemplation of a memory that has shaped our journey. Perhaps it is the anniversary of a death, the echo of a life that has transitioned beyond our physical grasp. Or perhaps it is a moment when a particular aspect of our experience, a challenge overcome, a transformation endured, brings to mind those who walked with us, or those whose absence is keenly felt. This is a time for gentle inquiry, for allowing the vast landscape of our inner lives to unfold. We are not here to force an emotion or to arrive at a predetermined conclusion. Instead, we are invited to be present with whatever arises, to honor the complex tapestry of feelings that remembrance weaves.

The ancient text before us, from the Book of Judges, is not an easy one. It plunges us into a world of profound moral ambiguity, of violence and betrayal, of a society fractured by a devastating lack of ethical guidance. The story of the Levite and his concubine, and the horrific events that follow, is a stark reminder of how easily humanity can stray, how deeply the consequences of injustice can reverberate. Yet, within this darkness, there are moments that speak to universal human experiences: the desire for hospitality, the vulnerability of travel, the pain of betrayal, and the desperate, often destructive, search for justice.

As we approach this passage, we are not seeking to find simple answers or to condone the actions depicted. Instead, we are using it as a lens through which to explore our own experiences of loss, of fractured relationships, of the search for meaning in the face of suffering. The concubine’s story, truncated and ultimately dehumanized by the narrative, can represent any life that is diminished, any voice that is silenced, any individual whose dignity is violated. The Levite’s subsequent actions, driven by a twisted sense of justice, speak to the ways in which grief and anger can lead us down paths of destruction. The societal breakdown, the lack of a guiding moral compass, mirrors those times in our own lives when we feel adrift, when the familiar structures of support and understanding seem to have crumbled.

In this ritual space, we hold the potential for transformation. Even in the face of unspeakable acts, we can find glimmers of what it means to be human, to seek connection, to grapple with the consequences of our choices, and to strive, however imperfectly, for a more just and compassionate world. The strength of this intermediate-level engagement lies in our capacity to hold complexity, to acknowledge the shades of gray, and to find personal resonance within a narrative that, on its surface, seems so distant and brutal. We are not here to judge the characters, but to learn from the echoes of their humanity and their failings, and to apply those lessons to our own ongoing journey of remembrance and meaning-making. This is a deep dive, a thirty-minute immersion into the currents of human experience, guided by gentle intention and the hope that even in the darkest narratives, we can find sparks of light for our own lives.

Text Snapshot

"In those days, when there was no king in Israel, a certain Levite residing at the other end of the hill country of Ephraim took to himself a concubine from Bethlehem in Judah. Once his concubine deserted him, leaving him for her father’s house in Bethlehem in Judah; and she stayed there a full four months. Then her husband set out, with an attendant and a pair of donkeys, and went after her to woo her and to win her back. She admitted him into her father’s house; and when the young woman’s father saw him, he received him warmly. His father-in-law, the young woman’s father, pressed him, and he stayed with him three days; they ate and drank and lodged there. Early in the morning of the fourth day, he started to leave; but the young woman’s father said to his son-in-law, “Eat something to give you strength, then you can leave.” So the two of them sat down and they feasted together. Then the young woman’s father said to the man, “Won’t you stay overnight and enjoy yourself?” The man started to leave, but his father-in-law kept urging him until he turned back and spent the night there. Early in the morning of the fifth day, he was about to leave, when the young woman’s father said, “Come, have a bite.” The two of them ate, dawdling until past noon. Then the man, his concubine, and his attendant started to leave. His father-in-law, the young woman’s father, said to him, “Look, the day is waning toward evening; do stop for the night. See, the day is declining; spend the night here and enjoy yourself. You can start early tomorrow on your journey and head for home.” But the man refused to stay for the night. He set out and traveled as far as the vicinity of Jebus—that is, Jerusalem; he had with him a pair of laden donkeys, and his concubine was with him."

Kavvanah

Let us begin by settling into a posture of gentle presence. Find a way to be comfortable, whether sitting, standing, or lying down. Allow your breath to deepen naturally, without effort. Feel the support beneath you, the earth or the chair holding you. For these next moments, we are cultivating an inner spaciousness, a quiet receptivity to the unfolding of memory and meaning.

The phrase "when there was no king in Israel" resonates deeply, doesn't it? It speaks to a time of potential chaos, of a lack of centralized authority, of a society where individual actions, or the actions of small groups, could have far-reaching and devastating consequences. For those of us who have experienced loss, this phrase can evoke the feeling of a world that has suddenly lost its anchor, a sense of disorientation when familiar structures or sources of guidance have been removed. It can speak to the times when we felt adrift, when the absence of a guiding presence – be it a person, a belief system, or a sense of order – left us feeling vulnerable and exposed. In our grief, we might find ourselves in a "time when there was no king in Israel" within our own lives, grappling with a world that feels unmoored, a landscape where the usual rules no longer seem to apply. We are invited to hold this feeling of disorientation with compassion, acknowledging that it is a natural part of navigating profound change and loss.

Consider the concubine, whose story is so tragically brief and ultimately brutal. She deserts her husband, seeking refuge, perhaps seeking a different path, or perhaps fleeing an unbearable situation. Her motivations are not fully explained, leaving her vulnerable to interpretation and judgment, a fate all too common for those whose experiences are not fully witnessed or understood. As we hold her story, we can reflect on the moments in our own lives when we felt the need to depart, to seek a new direction, or to escape from a situation that felt unsustainable. We can also hold compassion for those whose stories we may not fully understand, whose actions may seem perplexing or even wrong, recognizing that behind every choice lies a complex web of circumstances and emotions. Our kavvanah, our intention, is to approach these moments with curiosity rather than condemnation, with empathy rather than judgment, both for ourselves and for others whose journeys intersect with ours.

The journey of the Levite, seeking to "woo her and to win her back," speaks to the complex dynamics of relationships, the attempts to mend what has been broken, to reclaim what has been lost. His arrival at the father's house, the warm reception, the days of feasting – these moments of apparent reconciliation and hospitality are tinged with an undercurrent of unease. The father-in-law's persistent urging to stay, the dawdling meals, the repeated invitations to prolong the visit – these can be seen as both genuine hospitality and a subtle, perhaps unconscious, attempt to delay the inevitable or to control the situation. In our own relationships, especially after loss or estrangement, we may find ourselves navigating similar currents of desire for reunion, the careful dance of rebuilding trust, and the subtle pressures that can arise. Our kavvanah is to recognize the delicate balance between connection and autonomy, between the desire to hold on and the necessity of allowing space for growth and healing. We can bring a gentle awareness to the ways we seek to "win back" what has been lost, and to the ways others seek to connect with us, always honoring the inherent dignity and agency of each individual.

The refusal to stay overnight in Jebus, the decision to press on towards Gibeah, a town of aliens who are "not of Israel" – this choice reveals a rigid adherence to tribal identity and a fear of the "other." This is a crucial point where the narrative foreshadows the terrible violence to come. The Levite’s decision, driven by a sense of belonging and perhaps a fear of impurity, sets the stage for the tragic events in Gibeah. In our own lives, moments of fear, of clinging to rigid identities, or of a reluctance to engage with those who are "different" can inadvertently lead us down paths that isolate us or contribute to cycles of misunderstanding and conflict. Our kavvanah is to cultivate an openness to the unfamiliar, to challenge our own assumptions about belonging and exclusion, and to recognize how our choices, even those that seem motivated by a desire for safety or tradition, can have unintended consequences. We can ask ourselves: In what ways do I choose familiarity over exploration? In what ways does my sense of "us" create an unintended "them"?

The arrival in Gibeah, the seeking of shelter, and the subsequent rejection by the community – "nobody took them indoors to spend the night" – is a powerful depiction of the breakdown of social responsibility and the failure of hospitality. The old man who eventually offers shelter represents a flicker of humanity in a darkening landscape, a reminder that even in the absence of widespread societal care, individual acts of kindness can emerge. His words, "Peace be with you; do not worry. However, all your needs are upon me. I will supply all your needs, as it is not right for you to eat your own food in my house. Just do not stay the night in the square," encapsulate a profound generosity, a willingness to share what little he has and to extend true welcome. In our own journeys of grief and remembrance, we may experience moments of profound isolation, of feeling unseen or unprotected by the wider community. Our kavvanah is to hold both the pain of that isolation and the profound gratitude for any flicker of kindness or support that appears. We can remember the importance of extending that same spirit of radical hospitality to others, recognizing that in offering shelter and sustenance, we are also offering a form of healing. This is a journey not of judgment, but of deep, empathetic witnessing, allowing the text to illuminate our own inner landscapes and the shared human experience of seeking connection and meaning.

Practice

The intention of our practice today is to engage with the echoes of this ancient narrative in a way that is personally meaningful and restorative. We are not seeking to replicate the events of the text, but to draw from its themes of loss, fractured connection, and the search for meaning. The following practices are offered as invitations, not obligations. Choose the one that resonates most deeply with you in this moment.

Practice 1: The Candle of Witnessing

Objective: To create a tangible space for acknowledging loss and bearing witness to the pain, both personal and collective, that the text evokes.

Materials:

• A candle (any size or color)
• A safe place to light the candle
• A lighter or matches

Instructions:

1. Preparation: Find a quiet space where you will not be disturbed. Set the candle on a stable surface. Take a few deep breaths, allowing yourself to arrive fully in this moment.
2. Lighting the Flame: As you light the candle, set an intention. You might say, silently or aloud: "I light this flame to bear witness to the losses I have carried, and to the pain that echoes in this ancient story. May this light illuminate the path toward healing and understanding."
3. Silent Reflection: Gaze into the flame. Allow your mind to wander to any aspect of the text that has touched you:
   • The feeling of a world without clear guidance ("when there was no king").
   • The pain of desertion or abandonment, or the complex reasons for leaving.
   • The awkwardness or tension in attempts to reconcile.
   • The fear of the "other" and the consequences of exclusion.
   • The profound loneliness of being rejected by a community.
   • The brutality and devastation depicted.
   • The grief and anger that can follow trauma.
   • The desire for justice, and its often destructive manifestations.
   • Hold these thoughts and feelings gently. Do not force them, but allow them to be present.
4. Naming (Optional): If it feels right, you may choose to name specific individuals or experiences that come to mind. You might whisper their names, or simply hold them in your heart as you watch the flame. This is a space for acknowledging their presence and your connection to them.
5. The Gift of Presence: Recognize that by simply being present with this light, you are offering a gift of respect and remembrance. You are not alone in carrying these burdens. The flame symbolizes resilience, the enduring spark of life, and the possibility of renewal.
6. Extinguishing the Flame: When you feel ready, gently extinguish the candle. As you do so, you might say: "May this light be a beacon of hope, and may peace be with all who have suffered. I release this flame, carrying its warmth within me."

Practice 2: The Resonance of Names

Objective: To connect with the human element within the narrative by giving voice to those who are often unnamed or whose stories are incomplete, and to connect this to our own naming practices.

Materials:

• A notebook or journal
• A pen or pencil
• A comfortable place to sit

Instructions:

1. Opening: Begin by grounding yourself. Close your eyes for a moment and take a few deep breaths. Notice the feeling of your body in space.
2. Engaging with the Text's Names:
   • The Levite: The text names him as a "certain Levite." While unnamed, his actions drive the narrative. What qualities or feelings does his ambiguous identity evoke in you? Write down any words or phrases that come to mind.
   • The Concubine: She is identified by her role as a "concubine" and later as "the woman." Her personal name is not given. What does it mean for a person's identity to be defined by their relationship or status? Write down your thoughts or any names you feel drawn to offer her in this space of remembrance.
   • The Father-in-Law: He is described by his relationship. What does his hospitality, and its potential complexities, suggest?
   • The Old Man: An unnamed, but significant, figure of kindness. What does his act of generosity represent?
   • The Benjaminites: Collectively referred to by their tribal name. What does it mean when an entire group is perceived as a monolithic entity, capable of both hospitality and horrific violence?
3. Connecting to Your Own Experience:
   • Now, turn your attention inward. Think about the people in your life, past or present, whose names hold significance for you. These might be loved ones who have passed, people who have impacted you deeply, or even aspects of yourself that you wish to acknowledge.
   • In your journal, write down the names of 3-5 individuals or significant aspects of yourself.
   • For each name, consider:
     • What is the first feeling that arises when you think of this name?
     • What is one word that describes your relationship with them, or the essence of this aspect of yourself?
     • What is one memory, however small, that you associate with this name?
4. The Act of Naming: The act of naming is powerful. It confers recognition, validates existence, and creates a connection. By writing these names, you are actively engaging in the ritual of remembrance. You are bringing these individuals and aspects of yourself into this present moment, honoring their presence in your life's narrative.
5. Closing: Take a moment to look at the names you have written. Offer a silent blessing or a word of gratitude for each one. You can choose to keep this list private or share it with someone you trust.

Practice 3: The Story of Shared Sustenance

Objective: To explore the theme of hospitality and sustenance in the text, and to translate this into a personal act of giving or receiving care.

Materials:

• A small amount of food (e.g., a piece of fruit, a cracker, a spoonful of honey) or a beverage.
• A glass or small bowl.
• A quiet space.

Instructions:

1. Invitation to Share: The text presents contrasting examples of hospitality. The people of Gibeah refuse shelter, while the old man offers abundant sustenance. The Levite, in turn, carries his own food, perhaps a sign of self-reliance or a lack of trust. Consider the profound human need for both physical and emotional sustenance. In our grief, we may feel starved for comfort, or we may be hesitant to accept it.
2. Preparing the Offering: Take your chosen food or beverage. As you prepare it, reflect on the idea of "sustenance." What does it mean to be nourished, physically and emotionally? What does it mean to offer nourishment to another?
3. The "Mitzvah" of Food: The Hebrew concept of hachnasat orchim (welcoming guests) is deeply ingrained in Jewish tradition. It emphasizes the importance of providing for the physical and emotional needs of visitors. The old man in Gibeah, despite his own humble means, embodies this ideal. He says, "Eat something to give you strength, then you can leave," and later, "All your needs are upon me." This is not just about providing food; it is about offering a sense of safety, dignity, and belonging.
4. Your Personal Ritual:
   • Option A: Offering and Receiving: Hold the food or beverage. Imagine you are offering it to someone in your life who is currently in need of sustenance – physical, emotional, or spiritual. It could be a friend, a family member, or even yourself. As you hold the offering, say: "May this be a symbol of comfort and strength. May you feel nourished and cared for." Then, gently consume a small portion of the food or drink yourself, as if you are receiving this same nourishment.
   • Option B: Act of Tzedakah (Charity/Justice): If the idea of consuming the food feels less resonant, consider this as a prompt for tzedakah. The text highlights a society where basic human needs are neglected. You can transform this reflection into an act of generosity. Before or after this ritual, consider making a small donation to a local food bank, a shelter, or an organization that provides support to those in need. As you do, think of the people who are often overlooked, those who are struggling to find sustenance. You can say: "In the spirit of remembrance and compassion, I offer this act of tzedakah to nourish those who are in need, mirroring the care that was so absent in Gibeah."
5. Reflection: After your practice, take a moment to journal about your experience. What did it feel like to prepare and offer this sustenance? What did you notice about your own needs for nourishment? How did this practice connect you to the themes of the text?

Community

In times of grief and remembrance, the presence of community can be a profound source of solace and strength. The ancient text, while depicting a society in disarray, ultimately calls for a collective response. Even in the darkest moments, the need for connection and shared experience remains. Here are ways to weave community into your practice, whether by seeking support or by offering it to others.

Option 1: Sharing a Reflection, Receiving a Listening Ear

Objective: To create a safe space for vulnerability and mutual understanding by sharing a personal reflection on the text or your experience.

How to Practice:

• Identify a Trusted Individual or Group: This could be a partner, a close friend, a family member, a support group, or a spiritual community. Choose someone with whom you feel a sense of safety and trust.
• Prepare Your Sharing (Optional but Recommended): Before you meet, consider what you might want to share. It could be:
  • A particular verse or phrase from the Judges text that resonated with you.
  • An emotion that the text evoked (sadness, anger, confusion, compassion).
  • A personal memory or experience that the text brought to mind.
  • A question you are grappling with related to the themes of justice, community, or loss.
  • Sample Language: "When I read about the rejection of the travelers in Gibeah, it brought up a feeling of loneliness for me. It reminded me of a time when I felt very unseen..." or "The Levite's decision to dismember his concubine is so disturbing, but it also makes me think about how anger can take over when we feel powerless. I've struggled with that myself."
• Offer Your Sharing: When you are ready, say to your chosen companion or group, "I've been reflecting on a passage from the Book of Judges, and it brought up some feelings for me. Would you be open to hearing them?"
• Listen and Receive: The most important part of this practice is to allow yourself to be heard without judgment. Your listener’s role is to offer their presence and attention. They don't need to "fix" anything, but simply to bear witness to your experience.
• Reciprocity (Optional): If it feels natural, you might also invite your listener to share their own reflections or feelings, or ask them how they are doing. This creates a shared space of mutual support.

Option 2: Creating a "Web of Support" Through Shared Stories

Objective: To collectively acknowledge the interconnectedness of our experiences and to offer each other the strength that comes from knowing we are not alone.

How to Practice:

• Gather a Small Group: Assemble a few people who are open to this practice, perhaps those you are engaging with in a deeper-dive ritual or a close-knit circle.
• The "Thread" of Connection: Provide a ball of yarn or string. Each person takes a turn sharing a brief reflection, a memory, or a feeling inspired by the text, or by their own experience of remembrance.
• The Act of Weaving: As each person shares, they hold onto the end of the yarn and toss the ball to another person. As the yarn is passed, a "web" begins to form, symbolizing the interconnectedness of the group and the shared threads of human experience.
• Sample Sharing Prompts:
  • "The feeling of being rejected in Gibeah reminds me of how important it is to create welcoming spaces. I want to offer my strength to those who are feeling ostracized." (Then toss the yarn).
  • "The Levite's rage is terrifying. It makes me think about the importance of finding healthy ways to process anger after a loss." (Then toss the yarn).
  • "The old man's act of hospitality is a beacon of hope. I am grateful for the moments of kindness I have received in my own difficult times." (Then toss the yarn).
• Holding the Web: Once everyone has shared and the web is formed, gently hold it together. Take a moment to feel the tension and strength of the connections. You can say: "We are bound together by these shared threads of experience, by our capacity for both pain and compassion. May this web of support sustain us."

Option 3: Offering a "Gesture of Care" to the Wider Community

Objective: To translate the themes of justice and compassion from the text into a tangible act of service that benefits others.

How to Practice:

• Reflect on the Need: The story in Judges highlights a profound lack of empathy and care within the community. Consider where you see similar needs in the world around you today. Where is there a lack of hospitality, a disregard for human dignity, or a need for comfort and support?
• Identify a "Gesture of Care": This can be a small, personal act or a more organized effort. Examples include:
  • Preparing a Meal for a Neighbor: If you know someone who is grieving, struggling, or simply in need of a break, offer to bring them a home-cooked meal.
  • Writing a Letter of Encouragement: Send a thoughtful letter or card to someone you know who is going through a difficult time.
  • Donating Items: Contribute to a local shelter, a food bank, or an organization that supports vulnerable populations. Think about what kind of "sustenance" is most needed.
  • Volunteering Time: Offer your time and skills to a cause that aligns with the themes of compassion and justice that you explored in your ritual.
  • Creating a "Welcome Basket": If you have new neighbors, especially those who might be feeling isolated, create a small basket with local treats or helpful information as a gesture of welcome.
• Infuse with Intention: As you prepare your gesture, hold the intention of bringing comfort, care, and a sense of shared humanity to others. You might say, "As I offer this [meal/donation/letter], I am remembering the importance of kindness and justice. May it bring a measure of peace and support to those who receive it."
• Share Your Intention (Optional): If you are comfortable, you can share with the recipient or the organization that you are offering this gesture in remembrance or as an act of compassion inspired by your ritual. This can amplify the intention and create a ripple effect of care.

Takeaway

The story from Judges, with its stark depiction of societal breakdown and individual tragedy, serves as a powerful, albeit challenging, text for our journey of remembrance and meaning-making. It reminds us that in times of profound loss and societal fragmentation, the absence of clear ethical guidance can have devastating consequences. Yet, within this darkness, we find enduring human themes: the desperate search for connection and belonging, the complex dynamics of relationships, the profound need for hospitality and care, and the human struggle for justice, even when that struggle is fraught with peril.

Our engagement with this text has not been about finding simple answers, but about cultivating a deeper capacity to hold complexity and to draw meaning from difficult narratives. We have explored the echoes of lost guidance, the pain of fractured relationships, and the universal yearning for safety and sustenance. Through our practices – the candle of witnessing, the resonance of names, and the gesture of shared sustenance – we have sought to transform the raw material of the text into personal acts of healing, remembrance, and compassion.

The central takeaway is the enduring power of our intention. By consciously choosing to engage with difficult memories and challenging narratives, we can foster resilience, deepen our empathy, and cultivate a more profound connection to ourselves and to others. The "when there was no king" in our own lives, those moments of uncertainty and disorientation, can become opportunities for introspection and for building our own inner compass of wisdom and compassion. The concubine’s story, though tragically truncated, reminds us to honor every individual story, to listen with open hearts, and to recognize the inherent dignity in every person. The old man’s hospitality, however small in the grand scheme of the narrative, underscores the transformative power of simple acts of kindness.

Ultimately, this practice is an ongoing invitation to move through grief not by denying its presence, but by weaving it into the fabric of our lives with intention, care, and a commitment to building a more just and compassionate world, one shared moment, one remembered name, one act of kindness at a time.

Citations

• Judges 19:20-20:26, The Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures, The Jewish Publication Society, 1985. https://www.sefaria.org/Judges_19%3A20-20%3A26
• Metzudat David on Judges 19:20:1. https://www.sefaria.org/Metzudat_David_on_Judges.19.20.1
• Metzudat David on Judges 19:20:2. https://www.sefaria.org/Metzudat_David_on_Judges.19.20.2
• Minchat Shai on Judges 19:20:1. https://www.sefaria.org/Minchat_Shai_on_Judges.19.20.1
• Malbim on Judges 19:20:1. https://www.sefaria.org/Malbim_on_Judges.19.20.1
• Steinsaltz on Judges 19:20. https://www.sefaria.org/Steinsaltz_on_Judges.19.20
• Abarbanel on Judges 19:20:1. https://www.sefaria.org/Abarbanel_on_Judges.19.20.1