Parshat Vayera4 min read

Sodom Built an Economy of Cruelty Against Strangers

A girl in Admah hid bread for a stranger. The city smeared her with honey and hung her on the wall. Her cry reached heaven before she did.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Judges Had Names
  2. Coins That Could Not Buy Bread
  3. Admah Hung a Girl for a Loaf
  4. Eliezer Paid the Judge in Kind
  5. The Sky Opened on the Sixteenth of Nisan

The stone hit Eliezer in the forehead and opened him. Blood ran into his eye. The man who had thrown it did not run. He sued.

Sodom Built an Economy of Cruelty Against Strangers Click for full size

In Sodom a wound was a bill. The striker claimed the physician's fee for blood-letting. The court agreed. Kindness toward a stranger was the crime. Injury to a stranger was a service, and services were paid.

The Judges Had Names

Sodom did not collapse into cruelty by accident. It administered cruelty. Four judges ran the city-federation. Serak sat in Sodom proper, Sharkad in Gomorrah, Zabnac in Admah, Menon in Zeboiim.

Eliezer, servant of Abraham, renamed each one as he met them. Shakra: Liar. Shakrura: Habitual Liar. Kezobim: Deceiver. Matzlodin: Wanderer-in-Falsehood. He did not need a sermon. He had looked at the officials.

Sarah had sent him to check on Lot. He walked in expecting a nephew's house. He found a legal system built to punish anyone who arrived hungry.

Coins That Could Not Buy Bread

On the street a traveler still stood, coins in both hands, rocking on his feet. The coins were marked with the names of the men who had given them. The giving had been public, warm, almost festive. Then a proclamation had gone through the city: sell this man nothing. No bread. No water.

Eliezer watched the man sit down. The law required only patience. When he died, the citizens would come back, reclaim their marked coins, and argue over the clothes. The marked money always came home.

Farther on, six men were working a public bed. A stranger had been laid on it and measured. He was too short. They stretched his limbs toward the posts. He screamed. The judges offered the same words they offered every time: "This is our hospitality to those who come into our land."

If a man was too long, they folded the sides in, or cut what did not fit. Word had spread. Strangers stopped coming of their own will, which suited the city perfectly.

Admah Hung a Girl for a Loaf

In Admah, one of the federated cities, a young woman of a wealthy household gave bread and water to a wandering stranger. The townspeople found out. They brought her before the judge. She was condemned to death.

The method was public and slow. They coated her in honey and hung her at the city wall for the bees and the flies, so that every resident would understand what charity cost in Admah.

She cried. The cry went up. God heard it. That sound tipped the verdict from deliberation into finality.

Eliezer Paid the Judge in Kind

Eliezer found the single weakness in a court designed to harm strangers. It could be used on its authors.

When the Sodomite who had struck him sued for the physician's fee, Eliezer listened to the verdict. Then he picked up a stone, opened a wound on the judge's forehead, and asked the Sodomite to collect from the judge what he was owed for that service.

The judge could not answer. The law had been turned against its own mouth with complete precision.

Eliezer did not stay to enjoy it. He was a visitor. He went home. The courts of Sodom went on functioning exactly as they had been designed to function.

The Sky Opened on the Sixteenth of Nisan

They went on functioning until the morning of the sixteenth of Nisan, when fire fell on every city that had built those courts.

God burned them with fire and brimstone and destroyed them until this day. The girl on the wall was already gone when the sky opened. Her cry was not. Lot got out. The cities of the plain did not.

The marked coins melted. The iron beds warped. The judges' names lasted only as insults Eliezer had given them on his way through.


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Sources

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Jasher 19Book of Jasher

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Book of Jasher, J. H. Parry edition (1887) · Public Domain

The familiar story centers on their destruction, but the Book of Jasher, a non-canonical Jewish text that elaborates on stories from the Hebrew Bible, really paints a vivid picture. Chapter 19 gives us some truly disturbing details.

It starts with the judges of Sodom and Gomorrah – Serak, Sharkad, Zabnac, and Menon. Eliezer, Abraham's servant, apparently had a few choice nicknames for them, changing their names to Shakra, Shakrura, Kezobim, and Matzlodin – perhaps a satirical commentary on their wickedness.

The real horror begins with the beds. Yes, beds. The people of Sodom, driven by their judges, set up beds in the streets. And if a stranger happened to wander into town, they'd be forced onto these beds. Six men would measure the poor soul, and if he was too short, they’d stretch him until he screamed. Too tall? They’d hack off bits of him until he fit. “Thus shall it be done to a man that cometh into our land,” they’d say.

The cruelty didn't stop there. They'd give a poor man silver and gold, but then forbid anyone from giving him food. The Book of Jasher tells us that if the stranger died of hunger, the townspeople would snatch back their coins and even fight over his clothes before dumping his body in the desert.

Eliezer himself witnessed this depravity firsthand when he visited Sodom to check on Lot. He saw a Sodomite stripping a poor man and, intervening, was promptly stoned in the forehead. The attacker then demanded payment for removing the "bad blood"! When Eliezer refused, he was dragged before Shakra (the judge), who sided with the attacker. Eliezer, in a moment of grim justice, then stoned the judge, arguing that he should now pay the attacker, since he was the one enforcing the twisted law.

It’s a brutal, eye-for-an-eye moment.

The story then shifts to Lot's daughter, Paltith. A poor man was starving to death in Sodom, just as described earlier in the chapter. Moved by compassion, Paltith secretly fed him bread, hiding it in her water pitcher. People were amazed at how this man survived for so long without food. They spied on her, caught her in the act, and, according to the Book of Jasher, burned her alive for the crime of showing kindness.

A similar fate befell a young woman in Admah. She gave a thirsty traveler bread and water, and for that act of hospitality, she was covered in honey and left to be stung to death by bees. The text makes it clear: "Her cries ascended to heaven."

It's no wonder, then, that the Lord was provoked. The Book of Jasher emphasizes that Sodom and its sister cities were not suffering. They had plenty, but they refused to share. As it says, "they had abundance of food, and had tranquility amongst them, and still would not sustain the poor and the needy." This lack of compassion, this active cruelty, made their sins "great before the Lord."

This brings us to the familiar story of the angels' arrival, Lot's hospitality, and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot, his wife, and his daughters are warned to flee. But Lot’s wife, Ado, looks back. The Book of Jasher tells us it wasn’t out of mere curiosity, but because her compassion was moved for her daughters who remained in the city. And, as we know, she turned into a pillar of salt. A pillar of salt that, according to the Book of Jasher, was perpetually licked by oxen, only to regenerate each morning.

Lot and his two remaining daughters fled to a cave. Believing the world was destroyed, the daughters got their father drunk and slept with him. The resulting offspring were the ancestors of the Moabites and Ammonites. The firstborn called her son Moab, saying, "From my father did I conceive him." The younger also called her son Benami. It’s a disturbing conclusion to an already disturbing story.

Abraham, rising early the next morning, saw the smoke rising from the cities "like the smoke of a furnace."

So, what are we left with? The story of Sodom and Gomorrah isn't just about sexual sin, as it's often portrayed. The Book of Jasher highlights the utter lack of compassion, the institutionalized cruelty, and the horrific treatment of the vulnerable. It's a chilling reminder that a society's moral compass can become so twisted that even basic human kindness becomes a capital crime. And it leaves us to consider: what are the "Sodoms" of our own time, and what can we do to avoid repeating their mistakes?

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Legends of the Jews 5:151Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The stories we hear about Sodom in the Torah only scratch the surface. Jewish tradition paints a truly horrifying picture of this infamous city and its sister, Gomorrah. According to the legends, these weren't just places of generic "wickedness." They were places where inhumanity was codified into law.

Travelers eventually learned to avoid these cities like the plague. But sometimes, a hapless soul would wander in. The Sodomites, in their twisted way, would offer them gold and silver. Generous. Except, they would never give them bread. The goal was simple: to ensure the stranger starved to death. And once the poor soul breathed their last, the residents would swoop in, reclaim their marked coins, and squabble over the stranger's clothes – after burying him naked, of course.

A world where even basic human decency is perverted into a tool of oppression.

One day, Eliezer, Abraham's trusted servant, found himself in this den of iniquity. Sarah, Abraham's wife, had sent him to check on Lot, Abraham’s nephew, who resided in Sodom. As Eliezer entered the city, he witnessed a group of Sodomites stripping a stranger of his garments. Outraged, Eliezer intervened, attempting to defend the poor man.

Predictably, the Sodomites turned on him. One of them hurled a stone, striking Eliezer's forehead and drawing blood. What happened next is truly Sodomite: the assailant, seeing the blood, demanded payment for performing what he called a "cupping" procedure – as if injuring someone entitled him to compensation!

Eliezer, understandably, refused. He was dragged before their judge, a delightful character named Shakkara. And here's where the true horror of Sodom shines: the law of the land sided with the assailant. The judge ruled that Eliezer had to pay for the assault!

But Eliezer was no fool. Quick as a whip, he picked up another stone and hurled it at Shakkara's forehead. Blood flowed freely. Eliezer, without missing a beat, turned to the judge and said, "Now, pay my debt to the man, and give me the balance!"

The perfect, brutal logic of turning their own twisted system against them?

This story, found in sources like Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, isn't just a funny anecdote. It's a glimpse into a society so corrupt that its very foundations were rotten.

What does this story of Sodom and Eliezer teach us? Perhaps it's a warning. A warning about the dangers of unchecked power, of twisted justice, and the importance of standing up, even when faced with overwhelming wickedness. Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the darkest of places, a spark of defiance, a commitment to what is right, can shine through.

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Legends of the Jews 5:156Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

Legends of the Jews turns to Destruction of Sodom of Admah.

It wasn't just Sodom and Gomorrah. There were other cities in that region, equally deserving of divine wrath. Take Admah, for example. According to Legends of the Jews, the people of Admah were, well, no better.

A weary traveler arrives in Admah, seeking only a night's rest before continuing his journey. He's a stranger, an outsider. A young woman, the daughter of a wealthy man, sees him and, moved by compassion, offers him water and bread. A simple act of kindness. Wrong.

In Admah, such kindness was a crime. When the townspeople learned of the girl's generosity, they were outraged. They seized her, dragged her before a judge, and condemned her to death!

Now, get ready for the truly gruesome part. This wasn't a quick, relatively painless execution. Oh no. The people of Admah devised a punishment that was as cruel as it was unusual. They smeared her body, from head to toe, with honey. for a second. Covered in sticky, sweet honey, she was then exposed to swarms of bees.

Her cries, heartrending and desperate, were ignored by the callous onlookers. They watched, unmoved, as she suffered a horrific death.

It was this act, this specific, brutal act of inhumanity, that pushed God over the edge. According to Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, it was then that God resolved upon the destruction of these sinners. Not because of some vague notion of wickedness, but because of this concrete example of unimaginable cruelty.

What does this story tell us? It's a stark reminder that evil often manifests not in grand schemes, but in small acts of cruelty and indifference. It’s a challenge to look at our own communities and ask ourselves if we are creating systems of cruelty that victimize the vulnerable among us. And maybe, just maybe, it's a call to cultivate compassion, even when it goes against the grain.

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Book of Jubilees 16:11Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

This ancient Jewish text, considered canonical by some but not included in the standard Hebrew Bible, gives us a vivid, almost apocalyptic, picture. It paints a stark image of divine retribution.

Jubilees 16 pulls no punches. It says God "burned them with fire and brimstone, and destroyed them until this day." A total wipeout, meant as a lasting lesson. The text emphasizes the sheer wickedness of the Sodomites. It wasn't just about violating some arbitrary rule. It was about being "wicked and sinners exceedingly," defiling themselves, committing fornication, and spreading uncleanness across the earth.

The Book of Jubilees is really hammering home the idea that these actions have consequences, not just for individuals but for the land itself. It’s like a spiritual pollution that demands cleansing. This idea of the land being defiled by sin is a recurring theme in ancient Jewish thought.

It doesn’t stop with Sodom. The text goes on to say that God will execute judgment on any place that mirrors the "uncleanness of the Sodomites." It’s a chilling warning, a direct comparison, stating that the punishment will be "like unto the judgment of Sodom." This is a serious, serious threat.

But there's a glimmer of hope, a reminder of divine mercy amidst the destruction. LOT. "But Lot we saved; for God remembered ABRAHAM, and sent him out from the midst of the overthrow." It’s a powerful evidence of the idea of intercession. Abraham's righteousness, his covenant with God, provided a shield for Lot.

So, what do we take away from this fiery passage? It's more than just a condemnation of a particular city's sins. It’s a reflection on the enduring consequences of our actions, the interconnectedness of humanity and the land, and the ever-present possibility of redemption. About the choices we make, and the world we're building.

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