The text doesn’t record my reason for leaving, but trust me, it was bad. It had to be bad to commit the greatest possible offense: to bring dishonor on an important man. A Levite, no less. A member of the priestly lineage. A representative of God, a mediator between humanity and divinity. But being his concubine was unbearable. So, I left. I went back to my father’s house.
Of course, he followed me. I shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s just like him to chase me down, to allow me no space to breathe.
My father obviously realized the extremity of my offense, so he offered extreme hospitality to the Levite, hoping to ease his anger. The Levite grew angry at my father’s generosity, urging him to stay day after day, night after night. Finally, he grabbed his possessions (namely, me), and left.
You would think that all of this – chasing me down, following me all the way from Ephraim to Bethlehem, staying for several days to gain me back – suggests that he valued me. If not as a concubine or wife, at least as a valuable possession. But you would be wrong. It wasn’t me he was concerned about reclaiming, but his dignity. I had shamed him by leaving. Dishonored him. And he wanted his honor back.
So, when, on the journey back to Ephraim, a group of men surrounded us in Benjamin and demanded a body – any body – to take advantage of, the Levite didn’t pause. He cast me out into their greedy and violent hands.
When he discovered me abused, beaten, and dead in the morning, he took great offense.
When he reached home, he took a knife and cut up his concubine, limb by limb, into twelve parts and sent them into all the areas of Israel. Everyone who saw it was saying to one another, “Such a thing has never been seen or done, not since the day the Israelites came up out of Egypt. Just imagine! We must do something! So speak up!” (Judges 19:29-30)
The Levite was angry with me for committing the greatest possible offense by dishonoring him, embarrassing him. He was angry with the Benjamites for destroying his property. The irony is, he was actually the one committing the greatest possible offense – abusing and taking advantage of the most vulnerable in society. His dignity is not more valuable than my life.
His abuse of me, his violence toward me, his possession of me, his ultimate dishonoring of my body, these are the greatest offense. Society may delude us into thinking that powerful men’s egos are the most precious things. But really, it is the marginalized, the oppressed, the powerless. The nameless sexual victims fleeing violence and praying that their fathers will protect them. We are the ones who mustn’t be abused. For that is the greatest offense.
Neglected Word 