The story of Jephthah’s daughter warrants a closer reading:

I believe that Jephthah, when taking his vow, did not have animal sacrifice in mind. The phrase “whatever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me” suggests a person joyously greeting the victor upon his return. Jephthah most likely thought (whether consciously or unconsciously) of none other than his own daughter, who, we are told, “washis only child; besides her he had neither son nor daughter.” His surprise and grief upon seeing her before him, once the Ammonites were no longer a threat, are no evidence to the contrary. His victory, after all, was gained only by virtue of his vow, a fact that his daughter herself bravely acknowledges.

The validity of this interpretation is corroborated by many parallel narratives in other ancient religions. Analogous accounts may be found in the Canaanite mythology as described by Philoof Byblos, as well as in classical Greek literature, such as the tale of Iphigenia (in Aeschylus’ play), who was sacrificed by her father Agamemnon, commander of the Greek army, to ensure his troops’ safe passage back from Troy (Iphigenia’s words of acquiescence are remarkably similar to those of Jephthah’s daughter), or Heliodorus’ novel Aethiopica, in which the king of Ethiopia delivers a fervent speech in support of sacrificing his daughter. Another extremely similar story is that of Idomeneus, the Cretan hero and warrior who swore that, should he return safely from his sea voyage, he would sacrifice to Poseidon the first living being he met. Tragically, this turned out to be his only son.

Nevertheless, we must ask ourselves how the tale of Jephthah’s daughter was perceived by Jews of later generations. Here, too, one may discern both a personal and an institutional approach. The sages’ reading of this story clearly belongs to the latter. In a lengthy discussion on the subject in Genesis Rabba, the sages do not even allow for the possibility that Jephthah intended his daughter to be the object of his vow.⁴⁴ For them, Jephthah’s sin was in overlooking the risk that an impure animal—which cannot be sacrificed—may be the first creature to come out of his house. They also maintain that, even after he made his vow, Jephthah was under no obligation to keep it; the only debate among them is whether he was completely exempt or required to pay money in its stead. Like Micah, the Midrash presupposes a correspondence between human sacrifice and animal offering. Moreover, the sages claim that Jephthah ought to have asked Pinhas, the high priest, to absolve him of his vow, but was too proud to do so—a sin for which both he and the priest were punished. The sages, it seems, are loath even to consider the suspicion that God might have actually desired Jephthah’s daughter as a sacrificial offering.

Luckily, though, we have at our disposal another source dealing with the very same question: the Book of Biblical Antiquities (Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum). The work, written by a Jew probably toward the end of the first century c.e., was translated from Hebrew into Greek and from Greek into Latin. This third-hand translation is the only remaining version, yet we can still hear resonance of the original Hebrew throughout the text. The book was once believed to have been written by Philo of Alexandria, but today scholars reject this attribution: while Philo’s other writings feature sophisticated philosophical allegories, this narrative is infused with personal religious emotion, frank and heartfelt.

And sure enough, the story of Jephthah’s daughter is presented in the Book of Biblical Antiquities in an entirely different light.⁴⁵ Here, the maiden has been destined for sacrifice from birth, a destiny implied in her very name: Seila (from the Hebrew sheilah, “borrowing”). Jephthah himself concedes the inevitability of his daughter’s fate when he says to her: “Rightly is thy name called Seila, that thou shouldest be offered for a sacrifice.”⁴⁶ Indeed, the name Seila (whose original form might have been sheula, “borrowed”) is befitting of a young girl consecrated to God.⁴⁷

Upon learning of the vow, Seila delivers a passionate soliloquy, fortifying her father’s spirit and encouraging him to fulfill his obligation. She first expresses gratitude for the deliverance of the people. Such gratitude echoes the words of Jephthah’s daughter in the Bible, yet here it acquires a particularly enthusiastic tone: “And who is it that can be sorrowful in his death when he sees the people delivered?” This is not, however, the only justification offered by Seila, who goes on to praise the firstborn sacrifice and its inherent religious value: “Rememberest thou not that which was in the days of our fathers, when the father set his son for a burnt offering and he gainsaid him not, but consented unto him rejoicing? And he that was offered was ready, and he that offered was glad.”⁴⁸ The speech no doubt alludes to the binding of Isaac, but its generalizing statements suggest a widespread ancient custom of which the sacrifice demanded of Abraham is only one instance.

As opposed to the Bible and Midrash, the Book of Biblical Antiquities relates God’s response to the sacrifice, a response that, for our discussion, is of utmost importance:

And by night the Lord thought upon her, and said: Lo, now have I shut up the tongue of the wise among my people before this generation, that they could not answer the word of the daughter of Jephthah, that my word might be fulfilled, and my counsel not destroyed which I had devised: and I have seen that she is more wise than her father, and a maiden of understanding more than all the wise which are here.⁴⁹

God, it appears, did indeed desire to receive Jephthah’s daughter as a sacrificial offering, and at night he thought of it with pleasure. He was also pleased with her wisdom, through which he silenced the wise men of her generation who might have foiled his plan. Who are the wise men to whom God is referring, and what are the words he wishes to silence? The only feasible answer, I believe, is the sages of institutionalized religion—such as those quoted in the above-mentioned midrash—who opposed child sacrifice and contrived various halachic ploys by which Jephthah could (and should) have avoided it. Admittedly, the Book of Biblical Antiquities probably predated the Midrash in question, but similar views were apparently voiced in its day. It is such opinions that the textseeks to refute when it describes God’s delight at the prospect of receiving Jephthah’s daughter.

 

Abraham, as we know, did not offer his son in sacrifice, but ended up exchanging him for a ram that happened upon him. This became a paradigm for institutionalized religion, which has developed numerous ways in which to alter, substitute, and moderate child sacrifice (as many scholars have noted). Such changes have kept something of the original idea and sentiment, only without the actual act of sacrificing the child. Thus, one of the very first commandments in the Torah is “Consecrate to me all the firstborn, whatever opens the womb among the children of Israel, both of man and beast; it is mine.”⁵⁰ One may easily discern the parallel drawn between man and beast: Just as the latter must be offered up to God, so must the former. This analogy, however, is mitigated; instead of sacrificing the firstborn, he is dedicated to service in the House of God. In time, this practice, too, was altered: The firstborns were replaced by the Levites or redeemed by money.⁵¹ Nevertheless, it seems that killing and blood must still have their place. The slaying of the wicked in war, in this sense, may be seen as a substitute for the burnt offering. God, after all, gained his claim to all the firstborn sons of Israel by smiting the firstborn sons of Egypt, whose death, perhaps, redeemed their Hebrew counterparts from a similar fate.⁵² Nor did the consecration of the Levites occur without slaughter—the mass killing of sons (and siblings) who worshipped the golden calf: “Consecrate yourselves today to the Lord, that he may bestow on you a blessing this day, for every man has opposed his son and his brother.”⁵³ The covenant of priesthood was similarly given to Pinhas following an act of killing.⁵⁴ Interestingly, in this case institutional religion invested great efforts, not in modifying the phenomenon but in uprooting it altogether. Hence the diametrically opposite halacha: “A priest who has committed manslaughter should not lift up his hands [to say the priestly benediction].”⁵⁵

Even the well-known, ancient rite of inaugurating a new city by ceremoniously sacrificing the sons of the founder has left its imprint on the Bible, namely in Joshua’s damning words against the rebuilding of Jericho: “Cursed be the man before the Lord who rises up and builds this city Jericho; he shall lay its foundation with his firstborn, and with his youngest he shall set up its gates.”⁵⁶ When Joshua’s curse comes to pass, however, it is once again described as a sacrifice: “In [Ahab’s] days Hiel of Bethel built Jericho. He laid its foundation with Abiram his firstborn, and with his youngest son Segub he set up its gates, according to the word of the Lord, which he had spoken through Joshua the son of Nun.”⁵⁷ The Zohar also refers to this practice as a favorable offering.⁵⁸

This interpretation is supported by the previous verse, which prefaces the incident by intimating a rivalry between God and Moses, a rivalry that exacerbated God’s wrath over Moses’ lack of submission: “So I say to you, let my son go that he may serve me. But if you refuse to let him go, indeed I will kill your son, your firstborn.”⁶¹ This verse should be read as referring to Moses, who had just refused to accept his mission, rather than to Pharaoh, who had not yet refused God’s command. Indeed, Moses never relays this message to Pharaoh.

God, however, is not always content with the divine kiss of death. At times, he desires that the righteous man die in great torment—the ultimate gesture of love and devotion, and perhaps one better suited to the nature of divine eroticism. This desire is reflected not only in the description of Jesus’ passion, but also in midrashic literature, such as the idea of “chastisements of love.” The phrase is generally understood to mean suffering that man must receive with love, because it is, ultimately, for his own benefit (in atoning for his sins, for instance). Yet the concept of “chastisements of love” is actually far more profound:

This particular type of suffering, then, is not the result of any transgression, but an expression of God’s love. As the passage continues: “If the Holy One, blessed be he, is pleased with a man, he crushes him with painful sufferings.” The Talmud then goes on to make an explicit distinction between an “altar of atonement” and the “chastisements of love.”⁶⁷