I Pulled a Card for You Today

TAMAR

Today’s card: Tamar

It’s worth acknowledging up front that hers is not the easiest of tales to read, to hear, to allow. In truth, I wince a bit when I turn over her card and I trust that she comes forward exactly when, why, and for whom she’s most needed. 

Still and always, despite the tension inherent in her text, there is something undeniably powerful and palpable about Tamar’s presence. And it is my endless belief that she is a fierce and mighty advocate on your behalf. 

Her story: Tamar was married to the eldest son of a revered family. When he died, Judah, the father said to his next-eldest son, “Go and marry Tamar, as our law requires of the brother of a man who has died. You must produce an heir for your brother.” But because he was not willing to have a child who would not be his own heir, he did everything he could to make sure she never got pregnant. Eventually he died, as well. Judah said to her, “Go back to your parents’ home and remain a widow until my youngest son is old enough to marry you.” (Though he had no intention of this happening as he was afraid that he would also die, just like his two brothers.)  

Years later, the youngest son grew up but no arrangements were ever made for Tamar to marry him. So when she heard that Judah’s wife had died, she changed out of her widow’s clothing and covered herself with a veil to disguise herself. Then she sat beside the road at the entrance to the village. Judah noticed her, thought she was a prostitute, and propositioned her—not realizing she was his own daughter-in-law. “How much will you pay me?” Tamar asked. “I’ll send you a young goat from my flock,” Judah promised. “But what will you give me to guarantee that you will send the goat?” she asked. “What kind of guarantee do you want?” he replied. She answered, “Leave me your identification seal and its cord and the walking stick you are carrying.” So Judah gave them to her. They had sex and Tamar became pregnant.

Later Judah asked his friend to take the young goat to the woman and to pick up the things he had given her as his guarantee. But she couldn’t be found. So he asked the men who lived there, “Where can I find the shrine prostitute who was sitting beside the road?” “We’ve never had a shrine prostitute here,” they replied. So he returned to Judah and said, “I couldn’t find her anywhere, and the men of the village claim they’ve never had a shrine prostitute there.” “Then let her keep the things I gave her,” Judah said. We’d be the laughingstock of the village if we went back again to look for her.”

About three months later, Judah found out that Tamar, his daughter-in-law, had acted as a prostitute and was now pregnant.” “Bring her out, and let her be burned!” Judah demanded. But as they were about to kill her, she sent a message to him: “The man who owns these things made me pregnant. Look closely. Whose seal and cord and walking stick are these?” Judah recognized them immediately and said, “She is more righteous than I am, because I didn’t arrange for her to marry my son Shelah.” 

I know: it’s incredible and shocking and close-to-impossible to imagine. But because Tamar was determined to be treated with the dignity she deserved, to have the family she deserved, to be honored, she chose a path that achieved every one of these things . . . but hardly without risk or cost.