4 min read

The Economy of Cruelty That Made Sodom What It Was

Sodom had judges, courts, and laws built to punish kindness toward strangers and reward their suffering. Cruelty was the civic code, not the exception.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Four Judges, One Policy
  2. The Marked Coins and the Iron Bed
  3. What Happened to Kindness in Admah
  4. The Legal System's One Vulnerability

Four Judges, One Policy

Sodom did not collapse into cruelty by accident. The texts describe something worse: a city of perfect, legalized cruelty, administered by professionals who had names.

The Book of Jasher names the four judges of Sodom's city-federation: Serak in Sodom proper, Sharkad in Gomorrah, Zabnac in Admah, Menon in Zeboiim. When Abraham's servant Eliezer later encountered them, he renamed each one. Shakra: Liar. Shakrura: Habitual Liar. Kezobim: Deceiver. Matzlodin: Wanderer-in-Falsehood. The servant of a righteous man could see what these cities were by looking at their officials. He had met them. He knew.

The Marked Coins and the Iron Bed

Travelers who entered Sodom received silver and gold on arrival. Generously, publicly, with the warmth of a city welcoming its guests. Each coin was marked with the giver's name. Then a proclamation went out through the city: sell this man nothing. No bread. No water. When the stranger died of hunger, the citizens returned and reclaimed their marked coins, then stripped the body and argued over the clothes. If the man had not yet died -- if he was still standing, still hungry, still holding coins he could not spend -- the law of hospitality required only patience. Eventually he would sit down. Eventually he would stop moving. The marked money came back.

Stranger still was the bed. Sodom kept public beds in the streets for travelers. Each bed had a precise, intended size. A traveler laid on the bed was measured. Too short -- six men stretched his limbs until he met the length of the bed or the gates of death. Too long -- the sides folded in. When the traveler cried out, the judges offered the same words each time: this is our hospitality to those who come into our land. Word spread. Strangers stopped coming voluntarily, which suited the city perfectly.

What Happened to Kindness in Admah

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 of execution was public and slow -- coated in honey, suspended at the city wall, left for the insects -- so that every resident would understand precisely what charity cost in Admah. The tradition records that her cry ascended to heaven. This, more than any other detail, was the thing that tipped the divine verdict from deliberation into finality.

Eliezer discovered the single weakness in a court system designed to harm strangers: it could be turned on itself. When a Sodomite hit him with a stone and then sued him in court for the physician's fee of the blood-letting, Eliezer listened to the verdict, 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 used against its own author with complete precision.

The tradition does not present this as a triumph. Eliezer was a visitor. He went home. The courts of Sodom went on functioning exactly as they had been designed to function, and they went on functioning until the morning of the sixteenth of Nisan when fire fell on every city that had built them.


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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Jasher 19Book of Jasher

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. Can you imagine?

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

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.

It's a chilling image, isn't it? 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!"

Can you imagine the sheer audacity? 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. It's a reminder that laws and customs, without a moral compass, can become instruments of unimaginable cruelty.

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

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.

Imagine the terror, the pain, the sheer agony as the insects stung her relentlessly. 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. What do you think?

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Book of Jubilees 16:11Book of Jubilees

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. It’s a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming judgment, compassion and protection can be found.

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. It makes you think, doesn't it? About the choices we make, and the world we're building.

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