CFM through the HB: The Formation of Israel

 

Women shape the narrative (and the nations)

Last week, I was impressed with the premier role that Rebekah played in the narrative. She is the only one in the narrative of Isaac who receives direct, specific, significant revelation, and she makes it happen by constructing the ruse through which Jacob receives the birthright blessing from his father. 

In this week’s reading, the women of the text continue this pattern of shaping the story. In the description of the birth of each Israelite tribe’s namesake, Jacob is so marginalized by the strength of the female characters that it almost seems like an abusive matriarchy at work. In Genesis 30:1, Rachel tells Jacob, “Give me children or I shall die!” This is a manipulative tactic, a brash demand. Anyone who says that Rachel patiently waited upon the Lord has severely undercut what is written here. She turns to her handmaid–another marginalized person in the story–to provide heirs. 

But don’t get me wrong. While it seems like the victim and oppressor roles have reversed, what I think is really going on here is women responding to and within the limits of patriarchal society. In a society where a woman’s role is limited to the bearing and nurturing of children, these ancient matriarchs Leah and Rachel take full power over what is given them by society, and they do so with the divine aid of God. In the case of Rachel’s manipulation of Jacob I mentioned, as well as Leah’s commodification of Jacob’s sex through an exchange of mandrakes (Gen 30:16), I think what we’re seeing is the rise of sexual politics, as complex and strategic and powerful as the political games played between the various nations this is an origin story for. The tribes of Israel will discover what is within their power. They will take that power and gain additional power just like their matriarchs did. And like Jacob who wrestles with God and demands that he bless him, Leah and Rachel take charge of the situation and take hold of what little power they have in society to great effect. 

The trickster, tricked, tricks a trickster 

Jacob was a born trickster. His name even means “supplanter” or “trickster,” and it’s perhaps a bit of poetic justice that he himself is tricked by his father-in-law Laban on several occasions. But I think Jacob’s real superpower is patience. This is of course, an obvious point to make about the sevens of years he worked for Laban for two wives. But a story that I don’t remember learning about previously was one that shows off both his patience and supernatural ingenuity: the story of the peeled rods. 

In Genesis 30:35, Laban plays one more trick on Jacob, hiding the speckled and striped sheep that he had promised to his departing son-in-law.

Then in verses 37-38, Jacob finds a unique solution. 

“Then Jacob took fresh rods of poplar and almond and plane, and peeled white streaks in them, exposing the white rods. He then set the rods that he had peeled in front of the flocks in the troughs, that is the watering places, where the flocks came to drink.” 

The flocks came to drink at the same place they mated, and doing so in the presence of the peeled rods resulted in striped and speckled offspring–plenty for Jacob to start a successful herd. In so doing, Jacob bests his father-in law’s trickery by sorcery, but also the same way he had done so before–with the patience to wait until more spotted and striped sheep became available. 

 To become like God

In ancient polytheistic religious writing, there are plenty of stories of men becoming gods–and gods becoming men. It has been argued that in correction of this theme, Biblical monotheism contains no such trajectory for any of humankind. The Hebrew Bible seems to draw a clear dividing line between humans and God–which is a foundational reason why the Mormon belief that “as man is, God once was. As God is, man may become.” 

But a close reading of the Biblical text, I think, reveals something more nuanced about the human potential to become god-like. Yes, the God of Genesis seems averse to god-like humans. But that aversion actually illustrates the possibility. And as the story of the ancient patriarchs progresses, God seems to warm up to the idea a little–or at least conceded to it under certain conditions. 

In Genesis 3, one of God’s first commands to Adam and Eve is against an action (eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge) that will make them god-like. When they take the fruit (Gen 3:4-7), God’s response is to enforce mortality, putting seraphim and a flaming sword in front of a tree that would Grant Adam and Eve–in addition to their god-like wisdom–god-like immortality. 

In Genesis 6:1-4, another opportunity for humans to progress to become like god opens up when the sons of god (perhaps seduced) marry the daughters of men. God responds by limiting the mortal lifespan even further than he did in the Garden of Eden (Gen 6:3). 

In Genesis 11, the people of Babel build a tower with the intent to reach the heavens. God responds by confusing their language. 

In each of these movements that humans make to approach godliness, God pushes them back. It’s almost like he’s pushing them away, saying, “ew. Humans. Get away from me.”

But God does offer ways to connect with him, on his own terms, through covenants. A covenant is like a partnership between humans and God. It is initiated by God himself–instead of taken by humans by their own initiative. Covenants require strict obedience and sacrifice. The Abrahamic covenant, for example, included the cutting of animals asunder and the cutting of male foreskins. But this is evidently God’s way of administering an approach to Godhood, however measured, with humanity. 

From earlier examples, the tower of Babel especially, it is easy to draw the conclusion that a divine pathway from the human realm to the realm of the divine is strictly forbidden. But Jacob sees otherwise in vision at Bethel, his head cushioned by a pillow of stone (Genesis 28:10-14). There is a ladder, or stairway, to the divine realm. It’s just not something humans are allowed to create. Only when Jacob is at a low point, does God even reveal the divine stairway. 

When Jacob’s ladder is revealed though, it would be a leap to say that God is revealing a path to achieve a god-like status, or even that he is giving Jacob an opportunity to get on the ladder at all. The Genesis text has no such detail. The only beings on the ladder were “the angels of God” (Gen 28:12), and God doesn’t put Jacob on the ladder or invite him up. I think a reading more faithful to the text is that God was showing him how divine beings come to earth for the aid of God’s chosen people, not that humans have the ability or invitation to ascend. 

Covenants establish a connection between human and God, but I don’t mean to imply that they are an elevation of the human condition to godhood. What I’m saying is that as the Genesis saga progresses, God gets more and more comfy with humanity, establishing connections, aiding them with his power, and even revealing to them wisdom beyond their comprehension. While none of these elements rise to the level of polytheistic human-to-god mythos, they do blur the distinction between human and god in ways not as clear cut as some might initially suppose. 

And then we get to what I think is the most powerful blur between human and God thus far in scripture. In Genesis 32:22-31, Jacob wrestles all night with a divine man. If gods and humans are so different, this is a peculiar scene–one which we should be careful not to read our preconceived notions about God into. “When the [divine] man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob,” we read, “he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him” (verse 25). God (as this man is later identified) resorts to a cheap shot. As in other times when the line between the divine and the human has been blurred, God takes advantage of Jacob’s mortal weakness to get the upper hand and detaches. “Let me go,” God says, “for the day is breaking.” But Jacob responds, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” This is unique from other instances of humans approaching godliness because it is on the human’s terms—not God’s. Even after his hip is put out of place, Jacob wrestles on, insistent on receiving a blessing, and he receives that blessing. His name is changed to Israel, which means “he who strives with God,” or “God strives.” 

President Nelson has recently talked about the meaning of the word Israel as “Let God prevail.” This is sort of in line with one possible translation. Israel can mean “May God prevail” as in “I hope that God will prevail against our enemies.” But it just as easily could mean “He who prevails or strives with God” or even, “He prevails or strives against God.” As contrary as it sounds, I actually think this last translation makes the most sense in context. Jacob has just strived against God, and prevailed in securing a blessing. The legacy of Israel may be pitting your will against the will of God and getting the upper hand. And that’s what makes Israel the most equal with God out of the other humans of Genesis who attempted to reach a divine status. 

Data over Dogma?

I follow a Bible scholar on TikTok who’s catchphrase (or the closest he has to one) is “data over dogma.” This means that in proper scriptural interpretation (exegesis), one must not let the doctrines that are a part of your church or faith tradition influence your reading of the text. Instead, your exegesis should be driven by the evidence, the data that exists in the text or from other historical sources. He is, for example, a sharp critic of those who try to read the doctrine of the trinity retroactively back into the scriptures. 

It’s easy to see dogma over data at work in Sunday School. In Sunday School today, the teacher drew a ladder on the chalkboard to signify Jacob’s ladder, and drew out each of the ordinances that lead us to heaven as rungs on the ladder. That’s all fine as a description of what we believe, but it’s absolutely not in Genesis when Jacob’s ladder is described. Another way this happened in Sunday School today is people reading the scriptures within assumptions like “God knows the end from the beginning” or “God wants his children to be like him.” There’s just not evidence for that in the text. In Genesis, God makes mistakes. He acts selfishly. He changes his mind. The writers of the Pentateuch believed in a God that is different, theologically, from the one we have constructed in the church. 

Now, I actually think I disagree with this bible scholar a little–though I don’t know his private thoughts on this in full. I actually think that sometimes it’s a good thing to privilege dogma over data. In many ways its unavoidable, and we know so little about the text that sometimes we need doctrines outside it (especially if we believe such doctrines are divinely inspired) to help us choose an interpretation among several possible. But I do agree that it is important to read the text and try to remove the lens of dogma and see it for what it is sometimes too. 

If you were to line up a systematic theology of the God described in Genesis next to a similar theology of the God we worship in Mormonism, you would have two significantly different lists. If there is a real God, then the Old Testament authors are likely more correct than us on some details. We are likely more correct than the Old testament authors on other points of doctrine. But absent direct access to God and all of his ways and characteristics, I think it beneficial to explore all possibilities, to wrestle, if you will with the nuance of different conceptualizations of God.