Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Numbers 36 and Book Conclusion

Chapter 36

Nowadays, most people marry each other because they love each other for who they are, regardless of race or social status. (I know that sounds vague, but generalizations usually are.) Far fewer of us are forced into marriages arranged solely for political or economic reasons. The annals of literature, media, and history itself burst to the gills with such stories.

One extreme example is Japan's Lady Sen (Senhime), who lived during the 1600s. At the age of six or seven, she was married off to Toyotomi Hideyori, son of the famed Toyotomi Hideyoshi (who united Japan). Being married off at such a young age obviously sucks, and of course a TV adaptation of the story in 2011 had to make it even more poignant by casting Mana Ashida (Pacific Rim), the mistress of heartstring-tugging, as young Lady Sen. That's a long-winded way to say that I'm glad most people don't have to do this any more. I know I could have just said that right out without all this random babble, but what fun would there be in that?

Zelophehad's daughters, whom you might remember from way back in Numbers 27, now come across another wrinkle in the inheritance laws, one whose solution requires limitations on whom they marry. To prevent husbands from other tribes usurping their inheritance, God tells Zelophehad's daughters to marry within their clan (that of Manasseh, son of Joseph) so that they don't lose their inheritance. Although their "potential husband pool" was restricted, it's not like they were limited to only a handful of men. According to 26:34, they had about 52,700 men to choose from, so they were bound to find a Mr. Right (or at least a Mr. Right-ish) in there somewhere among the multitudes.

However, if there had been a Romeo and Juliet type of situation with a daughter falling in love with a man from the tribe of, say, Benjamin or Dan (which I'm using as examples because they're not funny sounding names--just kidding), then that would have caused some consternation. Again, I'm glad that, for the most part, we aren't restricted by similar conditions when we choose a spouse to spend the rest of our lives with.

Book Conclusion

Bram Stoker's Dracula is famous because of, well, the character of Dracula (duh), but it's also written in an intriguing format. Basically an epistolary novel, it consists of not only letters, but also diary entries, newspaper clippings, and even dictations of wax phonograph cylinder recordings to tell one overarching story. Numbers has a similar feel, using conventional stories, a smattering of poetry, boring historically significant census records, legal regulations, and instructions for holy procedures--all to tell the story of how one generation of Israelites basically blew it. Sure, Exodus had both stories and regulations as well, but the book split neatly and almost exactly into two halves: first came the stories followed by the laws and instructions for the tabernacle. Numbers strews everything about, stories often interrupted by censuses and reminders of rules.

Although I'm sure God has a reason for this seemingly haphazard approach, perhaps it reflects the Israelites' state of mind at the time--inconsistent and desultory. (Of course, I have to keep in mind that just because I don't see a pattern doesn't mean that there isn't one.) The book also ends quite abruptly, which drives me just a bit nutso because some of my students inveterately end their essays this way every single time--as if they, on the verge of finishing their essays, suddenly realize that they need to beat their high score on Tsum Tsum right now. But never fear; Deuteronomy will bring the Pentateuch to a fitting conclusion, reviewing most of what's come before while also hinting at new material. (Which, to drive the point home, is what concluding paragraphs in essays should do, right?)

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