Care for the Dying: A Family Enterprise

Many studies have addressed how ancient Israel understood death; however, Caring for the Dead in Ancient Israel demonstrates that there is still much to be said.^[1] Noting the swing in the pendulum regarding the presence or absence of a cult of the dead, or as Sonia calls it, cult of the dead kin, Sonia adds to the long scholarly conversation on death. Her book argues that there is a cult of dead kin for all people, not just royals or elites. Unlike many previous studies, Sonia takes a broad view, investigating not only men, but women and families. In conversation with Sonia’s work, this essay engages with a subset of each of these groups— women in levirate marriages and orphans— and asks how they might fit into the cult of the dead kin.

Women in the Cult of the Dead Kin

Given the important role of women in family religion,^[2] it should come as no surprise that they too participated in the cult of the dead kin. Matthew Suriano’s work references the important role played by matriarchs, and Sonia’s book takes his work one step further, demonstrating the multiple ways that women received and offered care through the cult directly and indirectly.^[3] Much can be learned when paying attention to these indirect references. Consider, for example, Sonia’s explication of the parable given by the Woman of Tekoa (2 Sam 14). While the question itself, “Can a community execute a remaining son for killing his brother?” sounds quite rabbinic, pivoting the discussion to think about the implications of this situation for the cult of the dead kin is incredibly insightful. As Sonia puts it, the Woman of Tekoa is: “A woman acting on behalf of her dead husband and ensuring the preservation of his name and memory through their son.”^[4] In indirect references to the cult of the dead kin the concerns of the cult were not explicitly spelled out. Sonia suggests that the concerns were so embedded in ancient Israelite society that any culturally literate person would know the reference.^[5] By this rationale, in the same way the biblical authors might assume their audience would infer certain things about marriage, inheritance, and divorce, so too would they assume that the audience would understand references, even if oblique, to the cult of the dead kin. In addressing biblical portrayals of the past this essay assumes that while it is difficult to know the degree to which the Hebrew Bible accurately portrays historical realities, the biblical writers, nonetheless, are addressing situations which were familiar to their audience.

Levirate Marriage and the Cult of the Dead Kin

Sonia’s observation that the biblical text includes women actively working to preserve their husband’s name and memory can be pushed further. For example, the link to levirate marriage and Genesis 38 seems obvious, yet it is not mentioned. Levirate marriage is only referenced briefly in conversation with Ruth and Zelophahad’s daughters and in a footnote referencing Genesis 38.^[6] Yet, in Genesis 38 Tamar is also striving to ensure that her husband’s name can be preserved.^[7] In as much as one can understand the Woman of Tekoa’s actions to be partially driven by a concern for the cult of the dead kin,^[8] so too might we understand Tamar’s actions. Consider Judah’s statement that Tamar is more righteous than he (Gen 38:26). What did Judah mean? Perhaps he meant that unlike himself, Tamar made sure that her deceased husband would have someone to carry out the duties related to caring for him in death. So too, might one reconsider the birth of her children. Their birth is usually understood as a reward, as divine approval for her actions. In my rereading, the specific actions for which she was rewarded are now open for question. Was she rewarded for making sure her husband had someone to carry on his name, or for trying to secure an heir to care for his cult, or perhaps for both?

The birth of not one, but two children is also instructive. In a world with a high infant mortality rate, it is estimated that upwards of eight pregnancies would be needed for a woman to have two children surviving into adulthood.^[9] Whether biblical levirate marriage allowed for subsequent intimate encounters with the levir if the first child died is unknown. The text does not address this question. However, one might assume the answer was “no” and the birth of two children was an insurance policy, if you will, in case one of the infants died.^[10] One further consideration needs to be pointed out. With her husband deceased at the time of her twin sons’ birth, Tamar would have to continue carrying out rites related to her husband’s cult until her sons were old enough to do so.

As Tamar’s narrative can be reread in light of the cult of dead kin, so too we might also rethink the institution of levirate marriage. This type of marriage is not mentioned outside of the Hebrew Bible, and the references within Hebrew Bible are fraught with difficulties. The law set forth in Deut 25:5–10 expresses concern that the deceased man will have offspring that might “rise up in the name of his dead brother so that his name is not blotted out of Israel.”^[11] Dvora Weisberg points out how scholars have tried to square the narratives of Tamar and Ruth with the laws in Deuteronomy, as well as to relate the texts to each other. In each instance, the studies are frustrated by the institution and why it does not appear in other surrounding ANE cultures. Considering later rabbinic interpretations alongside the biblical materials, Weisberg demonstrates how each time levirate marriage is referenced, there is a sense of discomfort on the part of the men in the texts.^[12] On the other hand, women appear as willing partners. Weisberg succinctly states: “Concerns for the self [men] trump fraternal loyalties.”^[13] While Weisberg focuses on the brothers’ discomfort, it is the women’s willingness that is particularly interesting here. Not only does the wife provide for her deceased husband’s cult and name, but she is also protecting her own self-interests within that union. If she does not marry again, she will have no child to provide for her own cult after she is dead. In line with Weisberg’s observations, the woman would have personally vested interest in the levirate marriage as it would provide a child to care for her in death as well.

Studies of death and burial in the ancient world have demonstrated that death is relational and that the connection with the household of the living was continued into death.^[14] Having a child via levirate marriage might also be understood as a way to keep the family unit together in death. Sonia notes that comparative evidence from the Mediterranean world highlights the offer of women to care for their dead “in moments of crisis when the dead seemingly have no one else to care for them.”^[15] It is particularly interesting that the texts concerned with levirate unions can be dated to periods of upheaval and political unrest. Given Weisberg’s observation that levirate marriage might be chosen more by women than men, it could have been understood as a way for women to uphold the family line during times of unrest. For example, in an ideal death scenario, the family would be kept together for generations via burial in a family tomb located in the family’s territory.^[16] This what the biblical text describes as being gathered to one’s kin. The guarantee of burial with the ancestors, however, was tenuous. In addition to exile and deportation, any number of outside circumstances might result in a burial separated from the family. For example, if Chanan Brichto’s translation is correct, the Decalogue provides an additional reason one might not receive the ideal burial: dishonoring one’s father and mother. “Addressed to collective Israel (family, clan, tribe, people), it [Exod 20:12] makes tenancy and tenure of the sacred soil contingent upon proper behavior towards one’s progenitors.”^[17]

If one was buried in a family tomb, subsequent burials in the tomb would mean that the living family members would continue to interact with the deceased. This action of opening a tomb and interacting with the dead forms collective social memory.^[18] During times where the ancestral tombs could be regularly accessed, levirate marriage might not have played as pressing a role with relationship to the cult of the dead kin. However, when access to ancestral tombs was not available (e.g. in times of exile), having a living heir who could perform mortuary rites, memorialize the dead, and provide upkeep for the burial outside of the land would be of utmost concern. One could not rely on subsequent generations of extended family members opening and caring for the tomb to continue the social memory. Thus, by making sure that at the very least offspring was available to perform care for both the woman and her dead husband, the institution of levirate marriage may have been envisioned to serve a nuanced function within the cult of the dead kin: it was another way in which Judahites could keep the family unit intact in death.

YHWH as Perpetual Caregiver for The Orphan

The picture of YHWH as the perpetual caregiver for the marginalized or untended dead is explored in the final chapter of Sonia’s book. In discussing caregivers and cults of the dead, Sonia and others have argued that it was provided for husbands, fathers, and important men. So too, one can make an argument that some women received a cult.^[19] When said individuals did not have anyone to care for them, YHWH cared for them.^[20] But, if caring for the dead was as important as it seems to be in ANE cultures, one might push issue further. Was the cult of the dead kin provided for men, women, and children? If not, at what age does one qualify for care?

In discussing children, it is important to be clear about whom one is talking. The term child can refer to a certain age category, but it is also a relational term. A young person still living under their parents’ roof is a child. So too, a grown man, married with children of his own is still his parents’ child. If children are envisioned as adults, then the answer to how a child fits into the cult of the dead kin is evident. Adult children provide for their parents, and in turn adult children received care when they died. Such care was usually afforded to them by their own children. Ideally, sons, not daughters, took care of parents. Yet, the minimum age for carrying out these rites is not known. According to estimates of age at marriage and life expectancies, most sons would be adult sons when their fathers died.^[21] In some instances, wives or daughters also gave care to husbands or fathers.^[22] For the most part, Sonia’s work addresses such situations where the care for the dead kin is given by the younger generation to a member of the older (deceased) generation. But did care ever trend in the other direction? What if a child predeceased their parents? Did the parents provide for a young child’s cult of the dead kin?

Three narratives describing the death of children serve as examples for how the biblical text might answer this question. Unfortunately, they provide (at best) ambiguous answers to the question just posed. First, there is the son of the Widow of Zarephath. The child takes ill, and no breath was left in him (1 Kgs 17:17). After this, the child’s mother immediately goes to find the prophet Elijah and accuses him of killing her child. Elijah, in short order revives the child. The brief text fails to describe any death related rituals that might have been enacted between the time the child died and was revived. One might ask whether the child’s body was covered, moved, or touched in any way. One might also wonder if anyone other than Elijah was notified about the child’s death. Did the mother’s accusation carry with it an implication that Elijah should help with the funerary arrangements and burial? A similar miracle appears in 2 Kgs 4:8–37 where another child dies. Again, it is the mother who acts on behalf of the son. First, she lays her deceased child on Elisha’s bed. Then she seeks out the prophet. Unlike the Widow of Zarephath, the Shunamite woman does not accuse Elisha, but rather asks for his help. Like his predecessor, Elisha revives a dead child. Both cases stress that women jumped into action when their children were thought to be dead. The women do not sit despondently but plead with a messenger of the divine on behalf of their child.

The final narrative to consider is the death of King David’s son (2 Sam 12:15–20). Hearing of his son’s impending death, David dresses in sackcloth, sits on the ground, fasts, and like the mothers, pleads with the divine for his son’s life. The only catch? He does all while his infant son is alive. Once his son is dead, David gets up and resumes his royal duties. No further mention is made of any cult related activities for the child. Furthermore, it remains unclear how old David’s son, or any of the children mentioned, was. The only thing that these three texts have in common is that they relate the death of sons, specifically, only sons.^[23] Thus, one finds the biblical text does not provide explicit narrative examples of a cult of the dead kin given to little children by their parents.

Where the biblical text fails to offer information in obvious locations, e.g., surrounding death narratives of children, one can be encouraged to look elsewhere. Taking to heart Sonia’s push to rethink the biblical texts with an eye to the indirect, one can rethink the cult of at least a certain category of children, namely, orphans. While she does not directly address orphans as children, we might think of them as such. In describing YHWH as caregiver, Sonia notes that YHWH cares for those without a living caregiver, which she then compares to YHWH’s protection of the poor, widow, and orphan.^[24] It was a ruler’s duty to care for this group as they were often overlooked by society. For example, Hammurabi is called a shepherd and judge for the vulnerable, while Kirta defends the cause of the widow and brings justice to the orphan.^[25] So too, does God protect this cohort (Exod 22:21–24; Deut 10:18; Ps 68:5, 146:9). Of this triad, the yātôm “orphan,” was one of the most vulnerable members of ancient society.

For many readers, the translation of yātôm as “orphan,” calls to mind a child who had no mother or father. Yet, scholars of biblical and ANE literature have long noted that the term can also refer to a person with a mother, but no father.^[26] If YHWH acts as the one who cares for a yātôm’s cult, then the two possible translations of yātôm have implications for our understanding of the cult of the dead kin and the orphan’s placement within it. On the one hand, if YHWH fulfills the role of caregiver, it could mean that even if the individual’s mother is alive, a mother cannot —for whatever reason —carry out a cult of dead kin for their child. This would be a definition that appears to exclude women from caring for their children’s cult. If, on the other hand, women did have ability to act for other members of the family, then we might understand YHWH to provide care only when a yātôm referred to one who was fatherless and motherless. Here, YHWH-as-caregiver indicates the creation of a new relationship, one in which YHWH becomes part of the orphan’s kinship group.

Regarding age, one might also ask how old the yātôm was. Is this an unmarried adult child who had no other family relations? This interpretation would fit neatly into the parameters already laid out. A more provocative answer is also possible. The child could be a young child, still living in their parents’ house, who had the misfortune of losing one or both of their parents. One can imagine all sorts of scenarios in the ancient world where war, disease, or famine might remove parents from the picture. If the child in turn died, they would have no one to provide a cult of dead kin for them; therefore, YHWH would step in. Alternatively, one might envision more dire cases in which a teenaged child could be taken from their parents, sold as a slave or taken as a captive in war. Removed from their family, they again would effectively have no father or mother to enact a cult of dead kin for them when they died. If we follow Sonia’s argument, here too, YHWH might act as the perpetual caregiver.

Women and Families in the Cult of the Dead Kin

This brief survey of levirate marriage and orphans offers just two ways in which scholarship on death and the afterlife in the Hebrew Bible can be in conversation with Sonia’s work. Such readings are possible when one seeks out the silent others, such as women, or flips the conversation away from an adult-centric to a child-centric interpretation.^[27] What one finds through such investigations are the many ways in which our understanding of the family’s place within the cult of the dead kin needs to be expanded. Indeed, future research might consider the ways in which YHWH acted as protector and thus perpetual care-giver for other vulnerable members of Israelite society, such as those displaced from the traditional family structure of the bet 'av. Here, Levites come to mind. Without their own territory, the Israelite social system provided for the Levites’ welfare via tithing (Num 18:20–25). But what of their death? Without territory, where would the Levites be buried? Did YHWH step in as the perpetual caregiver? Furthermore, in cases where YHWH acts as perpetual caregiver, we might investigate how this affects our understanding of fictive kin relationships. Does acting as caregiver create fictive kin networks? Asking questions such as these will continue to broaden our understanding of the cult of the dead kin in ancient Israel.