make his way alone in life, along his own path that resembles no other, and that they can’t teach him a thing. Nothing in their lives or experience has prepared them to be the parents of such a person. Even this honey – which came from God knows where – they taste half-heartedly, sensing that a secret is dripping out here but unable to fathom itany more than they can decipher what their son is trying to tell them.
And precisely because of their limited understanding of him, we get a strong feeling that Samson wants to calm their anxiety about him and the oppressive mystery hidden within him. He envelops them in sweetness and tries to bind them to him with the sticky honey, and he pleads with them to believe in him and trust him and be completely certain that he is really theirs, that they are really his parents despite the abnormal circumstances surrounding his conception, and that he, in his strange way, is loyal to them.
For there is betrayal in the air. It is unspoken, undefined; nor is it necessarily a ‘typical’ betrayal, of the sort commonly imputed to Samson’s birth – his mother cheating on his father with the mysterious stranger – but possibly deeper and more destructive. For if you have a child who is suffused, even in his mother’s womb, with a sense of strangeness – perhaps there was a flinching, an instinctive rejection as fleeting as a single contraction of the uterus around theembryo – and if there is always wonder and fear and even suspicion of the child and what may erupt from him: if all these hover in the family air, there is a permanent feeling of betrayal. To be more specific, a sense of being betrayed. Hidden, deep, mutual . None of them wanted it, of course, but so it was decreed, for all three. And Samson will live with this feeling all his life, and all his actions will be dedicated to understanding this feeling at close range, or grieving over it, or replaying it over and over.
Three people in the world. A couple whose son was ‘nationalised’ even before his birth. A son who is born, in effect, an orphan. How difficult is Samson’s twofold, self-contradictory mission in life: to be himself, with all his unusual inclinations, and at the same time, to be faithful to the parents from whom he differs so much. We’ll leave them for now: all the honey in the world cannot sweeten the moment.
* * *
Samson goes back down to Timnah, to get married. This time he goes there with his father alone, and we wonder, was this the custom, or did his mother decide, for some reason, not to participate in her son’s wedding ceremony? And if so, how should we interpret this blunt gesture? Is this her way of protesting against Samson’s decision to disobey her and marry the Philistine woman? Or perhaps she refused to give her consent to the marriage because she felt, with her sharp motherly intuition, that nothing good would come of this, not necessarily because of the bride but because her son, Samson, for subtle reasons she cannot express in words but recognises nonetheless, is not the marrying kind?
‘And Samson made a feast there, as young men used to do.’
Here, muses the reader, here at last Samson is trying to do something ‘like everyone else’. But it turns out that even this simple wish is destined to go bad quickly: when the Philistines see him, they choose thirty mere’im , ‘companions’, to accompany Samson during the wedding feast. Why they do so,we do not know, but it would seem that his appearance, his obvious strength, and perhaps also an air of disquiet and wildness that he carries with him always, prompt them to surround him this way, to prevent any trouble. The narrator does not say who these companions are, but it is fairly obvious that a man like Samson has no friends , not even at his wedding, but rather mere’im (the very sound of which, implying the Hebrew word ra – evil – does not bode well).
No sooner does the wedding feast begin than Samson sets his
And precisely because of their limited understanding of him, we get a strong feeling that Samson wants to calm their anxiety about him and the oppressive mystery hidden within him. He envelops them in sweetness and tries to bind them to him with the sticky honey, and he pleads with them to believe in him and trust him and be completely certain that he is really theirs, that they are really his parents despite the abnormal circumstances surrounding his conception, and that he, in his strange way, is loyal to them.
For there is betrayal in the air. It is unspoken, undefined; nor is it necessarily a ‘typical’ betrayal, of the sort commonly imputed to Samson’s birth – his mother cheating on his father with the mysterious stranger – but possibly deeper and more destructive. For if you have a child who is suffused, even in his mother’s womb, with a sense of strangeness – perhaps there was a flinching, an instinctive rejection as fleeting as a single contraction of the uterus around theembryo – and if there is always wonder and fear and even suspicion of the child and what may erupt from him: if all these hover in the family air, there is a permanent feeling of betrayal. To be more specific, a sense of being betrayed. Hidden, deep, mutual . None of them wanted it, of course, but so it was decreed, for all three. And Samson will live with this feeling all his life, and all his actions will be dedicated to understanding this feeling at close range, or grieving over it, or replaying it over and over.
Three people in the world. A couple whose son was ‘nationalised’ even before his birth. A son who is born, in effect, an orphan. How difficult is Samson’s twofold, self-contradictory mission in life: to be himself, with all his unusual inclinations, and at the same time, to be faithful to the parents from whom he differs so much. We’ll leave them for now: all the honey in the world cannot sweeten the moment.
* * *
Samson goes back down to Timnah, to get married. This time he goes there with his father alone, and we wonder, was this the custom, or did his mother decide, for some reason, not to participate in her son’s wedding ceremony? And if so, how should we interpret this blunt gesture? Is this her way of protesting against Samson’s decision to disobey her and marry the Philistine woman? Or perhaps she refused to give her consent to the marriage because she felt, with her sharp motherly intuition, that nothing good would come of this, not necessarily because of the bride but because her son, Samson, for subtle reasons she cannot express in words but recognises nonetheless, is not the marrying kind?
‘And Samson made a feast there, as young men used to do.’
Here, muses the reader, here at last Samson is trying to do something ‘like everyone else’. But it turns out that even this simple wish is destined to go bad quickly: when the Philistines see him, they choose thirty mere’im , ‘companions’, to accompany Samson during the wedding feast. Why they do so,we do not know, but it would seem that his appearance, his obvious strength, and perhaps also an air of disquiet and wildness that he carries with him always, prompt them to surround him this way, to prevent any trouble. The narrator does not say who these companions are, but it is fairly obvious that a man like Samson has no friends , not even at his wedding, but rather mere’im (the very sound of which, implying the Hebrew word ra – evil – does not bode well).
No sooner does the wedding feast begin than Samson sets his
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