Legends of the Jews turns to Joab's Sword Fuses to His Hand in Battle Against Amalek.
The horror! Joab, a seasoned warrior, suddenly finds himself in this grotesque predicament. He rushes back to his lodgings, desperate to free his hand from the bloody weapon. He hopes that hot water will do the trick, somehow dissolve the unholy bond.
Fate, or perhaps divine justice, has other plans.
On his way, he's confronted by a woman. This isn't just any woman; it's the very one who helped him when he initially fell into the city – a debt he clearly hasn't repaid. She cries out, "Thou eatest and drinkest with us, yet thou slayest our warriors!" (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews). Joab realizes he's been betrayed. His presence, his purpose, is now known.
In a moment of terrible judgment, he silences her. He kills the woman who once aided him.
But here's where the truly strange and unsettling part of the story unfolds. The moment his sword touches her, the weapon miraculously separates from his hand! His hand regains its full mobility. Why? Because, as the story tells us, the dead woman was pregnant. The blood of the unborn child, that innocent, unrealized life, is what loosed the sword (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews). The very act of violence, of spilling innocent blood, is what releases Joab from his physical affliction. The bond between man and weapon, forged in bloodshed, is broken by…more bloodshed. A chilling paradox.
What does it all mean? Was this divine intervention? A karmic balancing act? A stark reminder that even in war, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed? Perhaps the story is meant to highlight the Jewish concept of kiddush (the sanctification blessing over wine) ha-chaim, the sanctification of life. Even the potential for life, the unborn child, holds immense value.
Or maybe it's a cautionary tale about the corrupting influence of power and the dangers of unchecked zeal, even when cloaked in righteous purpose. Food for thought, wouldn't you agree?