Tamar

In the last week, my attention was drawn, quite by chance, to different narratives involving one incident narrated in the Old Testament- the story of Tamar. I've been familiar with this story from childhood- and the way the focus, both in the text, and in subsequent discourse rarely stays on Tamar- she is literally written out of her own story, having provided the impetus for the more "consequential" events in the form of the actions of her male family members. Of course, where the focus does stay on Tamar, it's sometimes in the form of gross victim blaming interpretations- one of which I had the privilege of reading last week.

The Old Testament doesn't tell us much of what became of Tamar- but it does tell us that she had a niece who shared her name, and about whom the only other piece of information we have is that she was considered to be "a beautiful woman".

I'd like to remember them both this way. (I've messed around with the timelines, compared to the Biblical text- sorry, not sorry. :D)

Your father

placed you on my lap,

said-

We're naming her Tamar.

My brother-

he was always like that-

trying to fix what

had broken

by brute force

or by kindness

which was also

brutal

in those days

because I couldn't bear it-

couldn't bear that the world

was unshaken,

that it moved to its usual rhythm

sun, moon, stars

following their appointed paths.

Spring had come and gone

and now summer was on its way out

and your eyes were hazel,

the colour of dead leaves,

but soft, soft, soft.

I wished you dead,

in that instant-

you had your life ahead of you

and I loved you in that instant

because you had your life ahead of you.

But soon, I loved you for yourself.

You made that easy.

You've heard all this before-

we have had no secrets, you and I-

it was to me you'd come

for comfort when some childish game

went wrong, and your playmate

was revealed to be

a perfidious wretch

who deserves to go to bed hungry

doesn't she mother?

(for that's how you called me, only me,

your mother, she had to smile and bear it

and I am not ashamed to say, I rejoiced in it,

for I had tasted her pity and knew it to be

as bitter as strangers' mockery)

and it's you now, who bathes this

crumbling body, soothes these

swollen joints with the most

fragrant of oils

touches my limbs as though

they are loved.

Miriam, that one from the kitchen

who won't shut up-

she tells me of how

tales of your beauty

are being carried

through the land-

your body is to be

a treaty, the trade

for men, and weapons

and allegiance-

If I could,

I would kill Absalom myself

for this, no, don't look

so distressed-

You want to say

Father would never--

but then, Absalom is, after all,

his father's son,

a man,

and with them, it is always thus-

blood and war and taking

what isn't theirs.

Here, take these:

the ornaments that your father

insisted that I wear-

a defiance he insisted on

and I acquiesced to

because I loved him too.

And these- that the King gifted me

every passing year,

see how he weighed my sorrow

in gold and precious stones-

It was all I could do to pretend-

acceptance-

because I knew-

this day would come, and that

you, my darling one,

would not share my fate,

though you have my name.

I have arranged it-

Benjamin is to be trusted,

and Rachel, but the hearts

of men are oft easy turned,

so keep this dagger with you,

and do not hesitate to use it,

but only as a last resort.

Keep your hands clean of blood,

For as long as you can-

Once stained, there’s no washing away.

What more can I say to you?

Don't weep, my heart.

This parting is but temporary,

though it last the remainder of our lives.

Live your life, my daughter,

May your cup ever be filled

and run over-

You were meant for joy.