'Cause Joshua told me so.
"'Cause Joshua told me so."
It was a cold and stormy night. The goat-herders were huddled around the fire pit. The roast mutton, parched grain, flat bread, all making up the evening meal, all now settled in contented bellies. A couple of wineskins being passed around.
Some jokes. Quips. Gossip. Who's hot on "Shiloh's Idol." What the teaser for the next episode of "The Macabre of Canaan's Conquest" is suggesting. That Joshua guy. He surely knew how to slay 'em.
But these goat-herders felt it was good to be back home. Home in Palestine. Those seventy years were awful. But even though it was "home," these guys didn't quite realize it as "home." They were all born in exile. Bastards so to speak. So they would wonder, why-for. How come. How to prevent it from happening again. The "it" being that disastrous juxtaposition from "us" to "other."
Some ember in the fire pit exploded. The smoke drifting in a new direction. A lull in the conversation.
And somebody eggs him on.
"Hezey, tell us a story."
And so Hezebul leaned forward, thinking for a moment of how to say this.
"Ya' know, ya' dumb grunges of goat-herders, ya' know how we need to be keepin' our goats separate from the others. There's our goats. And there's them's goats. Be damned if they ever get mixed.
"An' ya' know Zeb. Ya', you Zebul, you're nothing but a goat. You gotta know that some of us seen you and that sheep-herder Brub, we seen what you was doin' up there behind the bluff. But hey! You're one'a our goats. Don't that make ya' hitch your britches.
The fire pit red of Zeb's face was mercifully concealed by the reflected fire pit light.
And this is the tale that Hezey told.
Well. it was a long time ago. It's hot. Juicy. Got a lot'a action. Back in the days when men were real men, and women were proud of 'em. When 'strong and courageous' really meant somthin'.
That Joshua guy. Talk about being a dude! Holdin' his arms up and making the sun. The damn sun of all things! Stop dead'n its tracks. But that's another story for another night.
This one's about spies. Ya', spies. Snoopin' about spies. But kinda' being stupid about it.
And remember what I said about there's our goats, and there's them's goats? Well. Those spies were soon gonna' get their hot little goats all mixed up!
'Cause it wasn't long in their snoopin' around that they came across this little business endeavor that could meet a necessary and very pressing need. 'Cause these spies, being out on the road and all, were lookin' to get their rocks off. And 'Rahab's Brothel of Bouncin' Flax' was strategically and discreetly embedded in the city wall.
Seem's the name 'Rahab' sort of means 'The Broad.' And rumor has it she was hot. Really, really hot. And to just think about her was enough for some guys to spontaneously starch their knickers with a splunk of cum!
Knock, knock. And in they went. And it wasn't discussin' the linen business that wore them out that night!
But seems the old King of Jericho got wind of somethin' goin' on. 'Course, lotsa' men seemed to be interested in flax in that part of town, but there was somethin' a little off with these two characters. Somebody else in the Bouncy Brothel of The Broad got wind that these guys were out to 'search out the land' as the folk-tale tellers tell it.
And Old King Dude of Jericho sends a detachment of grunts to fetch these 'spies' and bust up the little party that's goin' on.
But Rahab. Being a prostitute an' all. Can say anything with a straight face.
Boy, was she good or what? She just sweet talks these grunts and tells 'em 'Sure these guys came. Guys come all the time. I never ask where they come from or whether they go. You know. I do the same for you. So we did business. But they've been satisfied and have moved on. I bet if you really beat you're balls, you could catch them. They mentioned something about the river, why don't you head off thata' way.'
And so, my fellow goat-herders, that Flaxy Bouncy Brothel of Rahab weren't named for nothin'!
But this is where it get's steamy.
And you, ya' bunch of intellectual ignoramus goat-herder bastards, here's the little lesson in all of this that you didn't know. And you, Zeb, pay attention. Damn it. This is about you.
I've told you the stories before. Joshua and the Massacre Marching Band. Kill em'! Kill em'! Kill em' all! Raw! Raw! Raw! Kill em'! Kill em' all! 'Cause they ain't "us."
All that blood and guts. Guts! Piles of bloody guts. Hate 'em. 'Cause they ain't us. And by-goom', we ain't tolerating nothin' that ain't us. And the gods got right in there, egged it all on.
And ya know what? Zeb, you know what?
Rahab weren't one of us!
Ya'!
She was one of those. Those "Others."
Yet, there they were, those damn spies. Shaggin' it up in the Flax.
But Joshua. That Joshua. That Son of Nun Joshua. That implementer of Other. Taking sexuality and gender and ethnicity and religion to make boundaries between us and them. To make it just dandy to massacre, eliminate, conduct genocide, to hate, to discriminate.
But you know Zeb, pay attention. 'Cause this is about you.
At the end of all those stories of Joshua, he had busted those boundaries. He friggin' breached them.
That little tryst with Madame Rahab busted through ethnicity . . . 'cause she was one of those despicable Canaanites. It busted through religion . . . ' cause she was one of those pagans. It busted through sexuality. . . 'cause she was a woman. It busted through sex . . . cause she was a prostitute.
And ya' know what? She weren't massacred!
And she changed the boundaries between us and them. That Other became one of us.
Zeb, you faggot! 'Cause of Rahab, you're sittin' by this fire tonight.
We're supposed to kill ya', ya' know. What ya' did up there behind the bluff! Being the despicable of despicable. Being Other and all. Joshua told us how to do it. Just massacre ya'! Heap up your rottin' guts and pile stones on em'!
And ya'! So what if the discourse of 'othering' is the discourse of murder! Holy! Murder!
Don't matter much if Other is a heretic, infidel, pagan, sodomite, savage, faggot or whore . . . Zeb, you listenin'? 'Cause behind such figures is the hapless Canaanite.
Old Arm-wavin' Joshua used the metaphors of crusade, holy war, genocide . . . the notion of extermination of what is evil and ya', Other.
But ya' know what, ya' hapless bunch of bunglin' goat-herders? Zeb here. We ain't gona' kill him.
'Cause Joshua is also a mirror that exposes othering in our lives. Tells us that what we have done to others, can be done to us.
OK, Zeb, you faggot bastard. So you're one of us now.
Just like Rahab . . . you're one of us.
'Cause Joshua told me so.
[From the Hebrew Bible, Joshua, Chapter 2]
[After reading The Queer Bible Commentary, Edited by Deryn Guest, Robert E. Goss, Mona West and Thomas Bohace, SCM Press, 2006 (Available through Amazon.com), I can never read the Bible in the same way again. The commentary on the Book of Joshua presented these old classic tales with a context that I have never perceived of them before. Truly, an epiphany for me. And it was this Commentary, and some insightful insights by my friend in Serbia that inspired my re-telling of an old, old story.]
The Refectory Manager
It was a cold and stormy night. The goat-herders were huddled around the fire pit. The roast mutton, parched grain, flat bread, all making up the evening meal, all now settled in contented bellies. A couple of wineskins being passed around.
Some jokes. Quips. Gossip. Who's hot on "Shiloh's Idol." What the teaser for the next episode of "The Macabre of Canaan's Conquest" is suggesting. That Joshua guy. He surely knew how to slay 'em.
But these goat-herders felt it was good to be back home. Home in Palestine. Those seventy years were awful. But even though it was "home," these guys didn't quite realize it as "home." They were all born in exile. Bastards so to speak. So they would wonder, why-for. How come. How to prevent it from happening again. The "it" being that disastrous juxtaposition from "us" to "other."
Some ember in the fire pit exploded. The smoke drifting in a new direction. A lull in the conversation.
And somebody eggs him on.
"Hezey, tell us a story."
And so Hezebul leaned forward, thinking for a moment of how to say this.
"Ya' know, ya' dumb grunges of goat-herders, ya' know how we need to be keepin' our goats separate from the others. There's our goats. And there's them's goats. Be damned if they ever get mixed.
"An' ya' know Zeb. Ya', you Zebul, you're nothing but a goat. You gotta know that some of us seen you and that sheep-herder Brub, we seen what you was doin' up there behind the bluff. But hey! You're one'a our goats. Don't that make ya' hitch your britches.
The fire pit red of Zeb's face was mercifully concealed by the reflected fire pit light.
And this is the tale that Hezey told.
Well. it was a long time ago. It's hot. Juicy. Got a lot'a action. Back in the days when men were real men, and women were proud of 'em. When 'strong and courageous' really meant somthin'.
That Joshua guy. Talk about being a dude! Holdin' his arms up and making the sun. The damn sun of all things! Stop dead'n its tracks. But that's another story for another night.
This one's about spies. Ya', spies. Snoopin' about spies. But kinda' being stupid about it.
And remember what I said about there's our goats, and there's them's goats? Well. Those spies were soon gonna' get their hot little goats all mixed up!
'Cause it wasn't long in their snoopin' around that they came across this little business endeavor that could meet a necessary and very pressing need. 'Cause these spies, being out on the road and all, were lookin' to get their rocks off. And 'Rahab's Brothel of Bouncin' Flax' was strategically and discreetly embedded in the city wall.
Seem's the name 'Rahab' sort of means 'The Broad.' And rumor has it she was hot. Really, really hot. And to just think about her was enough for some guys to spontaneously starch their knickers with a splunk of cum!
Knock, knock. And in they went. And it wasn't discussin' the linen business that wore them out that night!
But seems the old King of Jericho got wind of somethin' goin' on. 'Course, lotsa' men seemed to be interested in flax in that part of town, but there was somethin' a little off with these two characters. Somebody else in the Bouncy Brothel of The Broad got wind that these guys were out to 'search out the land' as the folk-tale tellers tell it.
And Old King Dude of Jericho sends a detachment of grunts to fetch these 'spies' and bust up the little party that's goin' on.
But Rahab. Being a prostitute an' all. Can say anything with a straight face.
Boy, was she good or what? She just sweet talks these grunts and tells 'em 'Sure these guys came. Guys come all the time. I never ask where they come from or whether they go. You know. I do the same for you. So we did business. But they've been satisfied and have moved on. I bet if you really beat you're balls, you could catch them. They mentioned something about the river, why don't you head off thata' way.'
And so, my fellow goat-herders, that Flaxy Bouncy Brothel of Rahab weren't named for nothin'!
But this is where it get's steamy.
And you, ya' bunch of intellectual ignoramus goat-herder bastards, here's the little lesson in all of this that you didn't know. And you, Zeb, pay attention. Damn it. This is about you.
I've told you the stories before. Joshua and the Massacre Marching Band. Kill em'! Kill em'! Kill em' all! Raw! Raw! Raw! Kill em'! Kill em' all! 'Cause they ain't "us."
All that blood and guts. Guts! Piles of bloody guts. Hate 'em. 'Cause they ain't us. And by-goom', we ain't tolerating nothin' that ain't us. And the gods got right in there, egged it all on.
And ya know what? Zeb, you know what?
Rahab weren't one of us!
Ya'!
She was one of those. Those "Others."
Yet, there they were, those damn spies. Shaggin' it up in the Flax.
But Joshua. That Joshua. That Son of Nun Joshua. That implementer of Other. Taking sexuality and gender and ethnicity and religion to make boundaries between us and them. To make it just dandy to massacre, eliminate, conduct genocide, to hate, to discriminate.
But you know Zeb, pay attention. 'Cause this is about you.
At the end of all those stories of Joshua, he had busted those boundaries. He friggin' breached them.
That little tryst with Madame Rahab busted through ethnicity . . . 'cause she was one of those despicable Canaanites. It busted through religion . . . ' cause she was one of those pagans. It busted through sexuality. . . 'cause she was a woman. It busted through sex . . . cause she was a prostitute.
And ya' know what? She weren't massacred!
And she changed the boundaries between us and them. That Other became one of us.
Zeb, you faggot! 'Cause of Rahab, you're sittin' by this fire tonight.
We're supposed to kill ya', ya' know. What ya' did up there behind the bluff! Being the despicable of despicable. Being Other and all. Joshua told us how to do it. Just massacre ya'! Heap up your rottin' guts and pile stones on em'!
And ya'! So what if the discourse of 'othering' is the discourse of murder! Holy! Murder!
Don't matter much if Other is a heretic, infidel, pagan, sodomite, savage, faggot or whore . . . Zeb, you listenin'? 'Cause behind such figures is the hapless Canaanite.
Old Arm-wavin' Joshua used the metaphors of crusade, holy war, genocide . . . the notion of extermination of what is evil and ya', Other.
But ya' know what, ya' hapless bunch of bunglin' goat-herders? Zeb here. We ain't gona' kill him.
'Cause Joshua is also a mirror that exposes othering in our lives. Tells us that what we have done to others, can be done to us.
OK, Zeb, you faggot bastard. So you're one of us now.
Just like Rahab . . . you're one of us.
'Cause Joshua told me so.
[From the Hebrew Bible, Joshua, Chapter 2]
[After reading The Queer Bible Commentary, Edited by Deryn Guest, Robert E. Goss, Mona West and Thomas Bohace, SCM Press, 2006 (Available through Amazon.com), I can never read the Bible in the same way again. The commentary on the Book of Joshua presented these old classic tales with a context that I have never perceived of them before. Truly, an epiphany for me. And it was this Commentary, and some insightful insights by my friend in Serbia that inspired my re-telling of an old, old story.]
The Refectory Manager
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