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The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son: The Transformation of Child Sacrifice in Judaism and Christianity
The near-sacrifice and miraculous restoration of a beloved son is a central but largely overlooked theme in both Judaism and Christianity, celebrated in biblical texts on Isaac, Ishmael, Jacob, Joseph, and Jesus. In this highly original book, Jon D. Levenson explores how this notion of child sacrifice constitutes an overlooked bond between the two religions.
Levenson argues that although the practice of child sacrifice was eradicated during the late seventh and sixth centuries B.C.E, the idea of sacrificing the first-born son (or the late-born son whose preferential treatment promotes him to that exalted rank) remained potent in religious literature. Analyzing texts from the ancient Near East, the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and rabbinic literature, Levenson shows how tales of the son handed over to death by his loving father in the Hebrew Bible influenced the Church's identification of Jesus as sacrificial victim. According to Levenson, the transformation of the idea of child sacrifice was central to the accounts given by the people Israel and the early Church of their respective origins, and it also underlay the theologies of chosenness embraced, in their differing ways, by the two religions. Furthermore, the longstanding claim of the Church that it supersedes the Jews, says Levenson, both continues and transforms elements of the old narrative pattern in which a late-born son dislodges his first-born brothers. Levenson's book, which offers novel interpretations of several areas crucial to biblical studies, will be essential reading for scholars in the field.
Levenson argues that although the practice of child sacrifice was eradicated during the late seventh and sixth centuries B.C.E, the idea of sacrificing the first-born son (or the late-born son whose preferential treatment promotes him to that exalted rank) remained potent in religious literature. Analyzing texts from the ancient Near East, the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and rabbinic literature, Levenson shows how tales of the son handed over to death by his loving father in the Hebrew Bible influenced the Church's identification of Jesus as sacrificial victim. According to Levenson, the transformation of the idea of child sacrifice was central to the accounts given by the people Israel and the early Church of their respective origins, and it also underlay the theologies of chosenness embraced, in their differing ways, by the two religions. Furthermore, the longstanding claim of the Church that it supersedes the Jews, says Levenson, both continues and transforms elements of the old narrative pattern in which a late-born son dislodges his first-born brothers. Levenson's book, which offers novel interpretations of several areas crucial to biblical studies, will be essential reading for scholars in the field.
257 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1993
13 people are currently reading
369 people want to read
About the author
Jon D. Levenson
21 books20 followersJon D. Levenson is the Albert A. List Professor of Jewish Studies at the Harvard Divinity School.
He is a scholar of the Bible and of the rabbinic midrash, with an interest in the philosophical and theological issues involved in biblical studies. He studies the relationship between traditional modes of Biblical interpretation and modern historical criticism. He also studies the relationship between Judaism and Christianity.
Levenson's foci include: Theological traditions in ancient Israel (biblical and rabbinic periods); Literary Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible; Midrash; History of Jewish biblical interpretation; Modern Jewish theology; Jewish-Christian relations.
He is a scholar of the Bible and of the rabbinic midrash, with an interest in the philosophical and theological issues involved in biblical studies. He studies the relationship between traditional modes of Biblical interpretation and modern historical criticism. He also studies the relationship between Judaism and Christianity.
Levenson's foci include: Theological traditions in ancient Israel (biblical and rabbinic periods); Literary Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible; Midrash; History of Jewish biblical interpretation; Modern Jewish theology; Jewish-Christian relations.
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February 22, 2014
The firstborn of thy sons shalt thou give unto me. –Exodus 22:29
Did Israel at one time offer child sacrifice to God? If so, when and how did they overcome this barbaric ritual?
Levenson takes seriously the hints throughout the Bible that Israelites once condoned child sacrifice to Yahweh, though he doubts its practice was widespread. The firstborn belonged to God, and the most pious parents considered the most appropriate means of giving him to God was in sacrifice. Levenson argues that the phrase “beloved son” (yahid) seems to have been, at least on occasion, a technical term for the son sacrificed as a burnt offering. This practice was roundly condemned by the prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel, and in time worshipers began to understand that God would accept animal sacrifice in place of one’s favored son. The story of Abraham and Isaac is a key example.
Sibling rivalry is a common Old Testament theme, reinforced often by the outward favoring by the parents of one son over another. One would imagine the “beloved son” to be the firstborn, with all the privileges that go with that station, but the Bible breaks the rules often. Abel over Cain, Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau, Joseph, David, the list goes on. The “beloved son” is not only favored by parents but God-chosen, and belongs to God … either in sacrifice or by atonement.
This theme of the sacrificial death of the beloved son was never purged from the Judaic mindset, even to the point of believing Abraham did put the knife to Isaac. Many midrashic interpretations of the sacrifice of Isaac refer to his blood being spilled. Perhaps all of his blood, depending upon which midrashic commentary you read.
Intelligent, deeply researched, and reasonable, this is a look at just about every “beloved son” in the Bible except the one you expect: Jesus. It goes without saying that Jesus is the ultimate beloved son, but he gets only a brief nod here and there. Still, this book will inevitably make you think differently about what the death of Jesus meant. There is a bit of New Testament theology thrown in, but the focus is really the development of a theme through the Old Testament … the theme of giving the one you love most to God.
Did Israel at one time offer child sacrifice to God? If so, when and how did they overcome this barbaric ritual?
Levenson takes seriously the hints throughout the Bible that Israelites once condoned child sacrifice to Yahweh, though he doubts its practice was widespread. The firstborn belonged to God, and the most pious parents considered the most appropriate means of giving him to God was in sacrifice. Levenson argues that the phrase “beloved son” (yahid) seems to have been, at least on occasion, a technical term for the son sacrificed as a burnt offering. This practice was roundly condemned by the prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel, and in time worshipers began to understand that God would accept animal sacrifice in place of one’s favored son. The story of Abraham and Isaac is a key example.
Sibling rivalry is a common Old Testament theme, reinforced often by the outward favoring by the parents of one son over another. One would imagine the “beloved son” to be the firstborn, with all the privileges that go with that station, but the Bible breaks the rules often. Abel over Cain, Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau, Joseph, David, the list goes on. The “beloved son” is not only favored by parents but God-chosen, and belongs to God … either in sacrifice or by atonement.
This theme of the sacrificial death of the beloved son was never purged from the Judaic mindset, even to the point of believing Abraham did put the knife to Isaac. Many midrashic interpretations of the sacrifice of Isaac refer to his blood being spilled. Perhaps all of his blood, depending upon which midrashic commentary you read.
Intelligent, deeply researched, and reasonable, this is a look at just about every “beloved son” in the Bible except the one you expect: Jesus. It goes without saying that Jesus is the ultimate beloved son, but he gets only a brief nod here and there. Still, this book will inevitably make you think differently about what the death of Jesus meant. There is a bit of New Testament theology thrown in, but the focus is really the development of a theme through the Old Testament … the theme of giving the one you love most to God.
July 13, 2014
There is plenty to disagree with here, but that's not the point of this book. There is sensitive exegesis, light from Rabbinic sources, and the sort of judicious and brilliant arguments that only a Talmudist can make (David Daube is another). The point is this: the Aqedah is at the core of the Bible. Or rather, the death and resurrection of the beloved (yahid) son is in the stories of Cain and Abel, Abraham, Isaac & Ishmael, Jacob & Esau, Joseph and his brothers, Job, and of course, Jesus. Yet we do atonement theology, soteriology, ecclesiology, and eschatology largely without reference to it. Read Levenson and then read Romans 11 and THEN ask what is going on with the Church and the Jews for the past 2000 years.
The Christian church needs more Jewish scholars interpreting the NT scriptures.
The Christian church needs more Jewish scholars interpreting the NT scriptures.
February 26, 2025
Jon D. Levenson takes readers on a highly-detailed tour of Judeo-Christian history and interpretation in The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son. The book explores the similarity between biblical stories and several ancient near eastern rituals in which “the father’s choicest son receives his life anew, and the man who, one way or another, gave him up or should have done so, gets back the offspring who had been marked for death.” Inquiring into this largely overlooked connection, Levenson leads a charge in biblical studies for the reevaluation of child sacrifice—an institution whose practical and thematic influence on scripture has been long underappreciated. Ultimately, Levenson’s reconsideration of the practice illuminates a novel inroad to the “subtle and easily misunderstood theologies of chosenness” that “undergird both Judaism and Christianity.”
Excellently written and extensively detailed, Death and Resurrection is a hearty yet rewarding mental workout. Levenson’s rightful preeminence in a saturated field is nowhere better demonstrated than in the generous use of expertise that composes this fascinating discourse on religious history and interpretation. Despite the book’s admirable composition and morbid appeal, however, buyers are on notice that Death and Resurrection is no beach-read. While understanding and natural appeal are within reach for an intelligent reader, there is no doubt that the book’s key demo is a professional one. It is all but invariable that such painstaking and learned scholarship as Levenson delivers will nod into moments of obscurity. But while there may be no getting around his essentially technical project, no determined reader will walk away from this book without their effort repaid in large portion.
The book is structured in three parts, each broken down into chapters. Part 1: A Father’s Gift considers the highly-controversial commandment of Exodus 22: “The first-born of thy sons shalt thou give unto Me” (v. 28). Interpreters of this troublesome passage have historically taken great pains to avoid literal readings—understandably so, given the longstanding perception of human sacrifice as barbaric. Such interpretations are not totally without warrant: later passages do support a distance between the Bible and child sacrifice, as in Jeremiah which goes so far as to claim the God never would have called for this practice. For Levenson, however, that counter evidence is few and far between. The preponderance sponsors a more moderate view: Child sacrifice was once favored by the Israelites and their God, then not. That said, Levenson asks us to temper this discomfiting inference with a more period-accurate jurisprudence: ancient near eastern laws often don’t reflect a hardline prescription so much as an ideal whose frequent unrealizability is well understood. Accordingly, Levenson can both read literally YWHW’s claim in Exodus 22 on the first-born son, while qualifying that demand: YHWH has a proprietary entitlement, but the manner and frequency of performance on that claim is unclear.
The remainder of the book’s first and weightiest section finds Levenson reading his historicization of child sacrifice out of the text. Most centrally, he makes a new and controversial argument that Genesis 22, in which Abraham sacrifices a ram in place of his son Isaac, does not inaugurate the institution of a new sacrificial mode (as often been theorized). Both literary and archaeological evidence, according to Levenson, run counter to this evolutionary view on which animals replaced children as objects of sacrifice. The only conclusion we are qualified to make is that animals sometimes substituted for, but did not in one fell swoop supplant the offering of one’s own child.
Having demonstrated the apparent permissibility of child sacrifice in biblical times, Levenson goes on to argue that numerous rites of the Hebrew Bible (including circumcision, the paschal lamb, Levitical service, monetary ransom, and Naziritehood) are best understood as sublimations of child sacrifice. Taken together, this evidence forces scholars to confront the indelible influence of child sacrifice on the ritualistic narratives and self-conceptions of the Ancient Hebrews. Simply put, “the impulse to sacrifice the first-born son remained potent long after the literal practice” had fallen from favor. The first section thereby essays a paradigm shift in our understanding of the origins of Judaism and of the pre-Biblical, folkloric traditions to which the Bible is linked through the uncanny resilience of the story of the death and resurrection of the beloved son.
In Part 2: The Beloved Sons of Genesis, Levenson painstakingly analogizes the plight of the biblical Israelites to the Jacob and Joseph stories in Genesis, which “adumbrate the great national epic in which the people of God, ‘Israel… My first-born son’ (Exod 4:22), leaves the promised land in extremis, endures enslavement and attempted genocide in Egypt, and yet, because of the mysterious grace of God, marches out triumphantly.” The formalist arguments in this chapter showcase Levenson’s masterful grasp of language and literature. One can’t help but delight in the depth he draws out of the shortest passages, bringing to bear a linguist’s eye for nuance, a historian’s frame of reference, and a quintessentially literary heart at home among academics and midrashists alike. Despite these strengths, the conversational flow and conjectural elements of this section in particular hamper the force of its arguments, which come to feel too peripatetic. His consideration of so many points and counterpoints in a less-than-optimally sign posted style will frustrate readers unfamiliar to the many camps of biblical scholarship.
In Part 3: The Beloved Son Between Zion and Golgotha, Levenson chronicles the historical reception of the binding of Isaac, explaining its canonicity as a function of Second Temple rabbinic approaches to the Torah. Rabbis of the era extolled the priority—both in time and in value—of the Pentateuch over the succeeding biblical material. It is only in this context that the Aqedah (‘Binding’ of Isaac), never mentioned directly in the remainder of the Hebrew Bible, could become “a supreme moment in the life of Abraham.” And quite relatedly, it is in this interpretive period that Isaac’s role becomes increasingly active—the voluntarism of a martyr who willingly redeemed the many. Making a very foreseeable jump, Levenson then reads Paul’s account of the crucifixion as underwritten by the conceptual vocabulary of the Torah and its commentators: “Much early Christology is thus best understood as a midrashic recombination of biblical verses associated with Isaac.” For Levenson, Pauline theology thus reveals an inestimable indebtedness to the Torah and to the methods of rabbinic exegesis. Both Judaism and Christianity are therefore viewable as two “midrashic systems whose scriptural basis is the Hebrew Bible.” This fascinating conclusion has gained popularity in recent years, with exponents such as Daniel Boyarin (The Jewish Gospels: The Story of the Jewish Christ, 2012) echoing Levenson’s appraisal. Like Levenson, Boyarin contends that the New Testament is deeply embedded within a Second Temple Judaic zeitgeist, but unlike Levenson, his conclusion derives from the view that Jesus’ disputes with the Pharisees over kosher laws and other theological matters were not radical rejections of Jewish tradition, but midrashic engagements in keeping with the era’s rabbinic discourse.
The blow Levenson delivers to Christian supersessionism (the notion that Christianity fulfills and replaces a dead-letter Judaism) is substantial. At the same time, however, one has to wonder whether the book’s discussion of less objectionable Christian doctrine is just uncharitable, as when Levenson writes: “As always in the Hebrew Bible, we have here a theology too subtle to be done justice by the familiar Christian dichotomy of Grace versus works.” That said, anyone who notes that the dedication is dated in both Gregorian and Hebrew calendars won’t be surprised to find Levenson harboring disproportionate sympathies. And on the whole, the book does far more right than it does wrong. Yes, the absence of a synoptic introduction (only a short, high-quality preface) doesn’t help. And yes, that absence is accentuated by the at times unclear connection between a chapter’s conclusion and the architecture of the book’s argumentative whole. But these shortcomings don’t undo the pathbreaking contributions made by Death and Resurrection—nor do they undo the fact that each of its conclusions is earned by scholarship that is nothing short of masterful. In point of fact, Levenson deserves especial praise for his unusual talent of pointing out not just presences but absences, the latter of which can be as vital as they are easy to miss: a name not invoked, a logical conclusion unstated—the meaning of a hundred pages can turn on such findings, as Levenson amply demonstrates. And this attribute speaks volumes of Levenson’s devotion to his craft. It is only the most dedicated mind, one which has attended the same passages for scores of years, that beholds, as Wallace Stevens so wonderfully put it, “Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.”
What’s more, Levenson fortunately belongs to that class of academics who care as much about style as they do about soundness. Case in point: “and in the calculus of the supernatural God, governance is better entrusted to a humble shepherd-boy than to those to whom nature seems to have awarded a prior claim upon it.” Such sentences abound and make the book a surprising delight to read—with pleasures ranging from half-forgotten words, yet highly-useful (majordomo, conspectus, and desuetude, to name a few) to irreverent quips that revive the tired mind with an infusion of levity (apparently Isaac “does not strike one as an intellectual giant”).
My biggest criticism of the book is simply that I wish Levenson had kept going. The brutal candor of his historical-critical scholarship forces us to contend with the manifest presence in our scripture of a sacrificial tradition that the majority of history’s Jews and Christians would look on with revulsion and moral outrage. And yet, Levenson doesn’t quite do enough to make us consider how that historical fact should reshape our understanding of either religious tradition—other than to encourage us to acknowledge more common roots. In a book of many worthy provocations, this one is left unplumbed. Then again, this is perhaps not an oversight so much as it is an invitation…
Excellently written and extensively detailed, Death and Resurrection is a hearty yet rewarding mental workout. Levenson’s rightful preeminence in a saturated field is nowhere better demonstrated than in the generous use of expertise that composes this fascinating discourse on religious history and interpretation. Despite the book’s admirable composition and morbid appeal, however, buyers are on notice that Death and Resurrection is no beach-read. While understanding and natural appeal are within reach for an intelligent reader, there is no doubt that the book’s key demo is a professional one. It is all but invariable that such painstaking and learned scholarship as Levenson delivers will nod into moments of obscurity. But while there may be no getting around his essentially technical project, no determined reader will walk away from this book without their effort repaid in large portion.
The book is structured in three parts, each broken down into chapters. Part 1: A Father’s Gift considers the highly-controversial commandment of Exodus 22: “The first-born of thy sons shalt thou give unto Me” (v. 28). Interpreters of this troublesome passage have historically taken great pains to avoid literal readings—understandably so, given the longstanding perception of human sacrifice as barbaric. Such interpretations are not totally without warrant: later passages do support a distance between the Bible and child sacrifice, as in Jeremiah which goes so far as to claim the God never would have called for this practice. For Levenson, however, that counter evidence is few and far between. The preponderance sponsors a more moderate view: Child sacrifice was once favored by the Israelites and their God, then not. That said, Levenson asks us to temper this discomfiting inference with a more period-accurate jurisprudence: ancient near eastern laws often don’t reflect a hardline prescription so much as an ideal whose frequent unrealizability is well understood. Accordingly, Levenson can both read literally YWHW’s claim in Exodus 22 on the first-born son, while qualifying that demand: YHWH has a proprietary entitlement, but the manner and frequency of performance on that claim is unclear.
The remainder of the book’s first and weightiest section finds Levenson reading his historicization of child sacrifice out of the text. Most centrally, he makes a new and controversial argument that Genesis 22, in which Abraham sacrifices a ram in place of his son Isaac, does not inaugurate the institution of a new sacrificial mode (as often been theorized). Both literary and archaeological evidence, according to Levenson, run counter to this evolutionary view on which animals replaced children as objects of sacrifice. The only conclusion we are qualified to make is that animals sometimes substituted for, but did not in one fell swoop supplant the offering of one’s own child.
Having demonstrated the apparent permissibility of child sacrifice in biblical times, Levenson goes on to argue that numerous rites of the Hebrew Bible (including circumcision, the paschal lamb, Levitical service, monetary ransom, and Naziritehood) are best understood as sublimations of child sacrifice. Taken together, this evidence forces scholars to confront the indelible influence of child sacrifice on the ritualistic narratives and self-conceptions of the Ancient Hebrews. Simply put, “the impulse to sacrifice the first-born son remained potent long after the literal practice” had fallen from favor. The first section thereby essays a paradigm shift in our understanding of the origins of Judaism and of the pre-Biblical, folkloric traditions to which the Bible is linked through the uncanny resilience of the story of the death and resurrection of the beloved son.
In Part 2: The Beloved Sons of Genesis, Levenson painstakingly analogizes the plight of the biblical Israelites to the Jacob and Joseph stories in Genesis, which “adumbrate the great national epic in which the people of God, ‘Israel… My first-born son’ (Exod 4:22), leaves the promised land in extremis, endures enslavement and attempted genocide in Egypt, and yet, because of the mysterious grace of God, marches out triumphantly.” The formalist arguments in this chapter showcase Levenson’s masterful grasp of language and literature. One can’t help but delight in the depth he draws out of the shortest passages, bringing to bear a linguist’s eye for nuance, a historian’s frame of reference, and a quintessentially literary heart at home among academics and midrashists alike. Despite these strengths, the conversational flow and conjectural elements of this section in particular hamper the force of its arguments, which come to feel too peripatetic. His consideration of so many points and counterpoints in a less-than-optimally sign posted style will frustrate readers unfamiliar to the many camps of biblical scholarship.
In Part 3: The Beloved Son Between Zion and Golgotha, Levenson chronicles the historical reception of the binding of Isaac, explaining its canonicity as a function of Second Temple rabbinic approaches to the Torah. Rabbis of the era extolled the priority—both in time and in value—of the Pentateuch over the succeeding biblical material. It is only in this context that the Aqedah (‘Binding’ of Isaac), never mentioned directly in the remainder of the Hebrew Bible, could become “a supreme moment in the life of Abraham.” And quite relatedly, it is in this interpretive period that Isaac’s role becomes increasingly active—the voluntarism of a martyr who willingly redeemed the many. Making a very foreseeable jump, Levenson then reads Paul’s account of the crucifixion as underwritten by the conceptual vocabulary of the Torah and its commentators: “Much early Christology is thus best understood as a midrashic recombination of biblical verses associated with Isaac.” For Levenson, Pauline theology thus reveals an inestimable indebtedness to the Torah and to the methods of rabbinic exegesis. Both Judaism and Christianity are therefore viewable as two “midrashic systems whose scriptural basis is the Hebrew Bible.” This fascinating conclusion has gained popularity in recent years, with exponents such as Daniel Boyarin (The Jewish Gospels: The Story of the Jewish Christ, 2012) echoing Levenson’s appraisal. Like Levenson, Boyarin contends that the New Testament is deeply embedded within a Second Temple Judaic zeitgeist, but unlike Levenson, his conclusion derives from the view that Jesus’ disputes with the Pharisees over kosher laws and other theological matters were not radical rejections of Jewish tradition, but midrashic engagements in keeping with the era’s rabbinic discourse.
The blow Levenson delivers to Christian supersessionism (the notion that Christianity fulfills and replaces a dead-letter Judaism) is substantial. At the same time, however, one has to wonder whether the book’s discussion of less objectionable Christian doctrine is just uncharitable, as when Levenson writes: “As always in the Hebrew Bible, we have here a theology too subtle to be done justice by the familiar Christian dichotomy of Grace versus works.” That said, anyone who notes that the dedication is dated in both Gregorian and Hebrew calendars won’t be surprised to find Levenson harboring disproportionate sympathies. And on the whole, the book does far more right than it does wrong. Yes, the absence of a synoptic introduction (only a short, high-quality preface) doesn’t help. And yes, that absence is accentuated by the at times unclear connection between a chapter’s conclusion and the architecture of the book’s argumentative whole. But these shortcomings don’t undo the pathbreaking contributions made by Death and Resurrection—nor do they undo the fact that each of its conclusions is earned by scholarship that is nothing short of masterful. In point of fact, Levenson deserves especial praise for his unusual talent of pointing out not just presences but absences, the latter of which can be as vital as they are easy to miss: a name not invoked, a logical conclusion unstated—the meaning of a hundred pages can turn on such findings, as Levenson amply demonstrates. And this attribute speaks volumes of Levenson’s devotion to his craft. It is only the most dedicated mind, one which has attended the same passages for scores of years, that beholds, as Wallace Stevens so wonderfully put it, “Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.”
What’s more, Levenson fortunately belongs to that class of academics who care as much about style as they do about soundness. Case in point: “and in the calculus of the supernatural God, governance is better entrusted to a humble shepherd-boy than to those to whom nature seems to have awarded a prior claim upon it.” Such sentences abound and make the book a surprising delight to read—with pleasures ranging from half-forgotten words, yet highly-useful (majordomo, conspectus, and desuetude, to name a few) to irreverent quips that revive the tired mind with an infusion of levity (apparently Isaac “does not strike one as an intellectual giant”).
My biggest criticism of the book is simply that I wish Levenson had kept going. The brutal candor of his historical-critical scholarship forces us to contend with the manifest presence in our scripture of a sacrificial tradition that the majority of history’s Jews and Christians would look on with revulsion and moral outrage. And yet, Levenson doesn’t quite do enough to make us consider how that historical fact should reshape our understanding of either religious tradition—other than to encourage us to acknowledge more common roots. In a book of many worthy provocations, this one is left unplumbed. Then again, this is perhaps not an oversight so much as it is an invitation…
March 7, 2021
... interesting.
Mostly valid, but not as revolutionary/shocking as Levenson thinks.
I'll keep puzzling over this one.
Mostly valid, but not as revolutionary/shocking as Levenson thinks.
I'll keep puzzling over this one.
September 12, 2014
Magnificent. Manages to navigate the world behind the text (historical criticism), the world of the text (literary criticism), and the world in front of the text (reception history, modern readership, theological concerns) with tremendous ease. Levenson engages in deep analysis of several key narratives in Genesis, in dialogue with the rest of the Hebrew Bible, the Rabbinic tradition, early Christianity, Ancient Near Eastern literature, modern commentators, and post-modern commentators, all with his particular fastidious care and sharp wit.
In brief, the text posits an ancient practice of child sacrifice (specifically of the eldest, or "beloved," son) throughout the Ancient Near East and portions of the Mediterranean. Attested to within the Hebrew Bible (in part through the protestations of later prophets like Jeremiah and Ezekiel, as well as within the Mosaic Law in Exodus), the practice itself was successfully eradicated but was retained in its basic theology: the most precious thing one possesses (one's eldest son, the chosen heir and continuation of one's family and line) belongs first to God.
Without shying away from the morally gruesome implications of the child sacrifice cult, Levenson points out how that underlying theology informed several key narratives in Genesis and beyond - especially (and most obviously) the near-sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham. Linguistic keys (e.g. puns, allusions, etc.) and thematic keys (the giving up of a son) links the Isaac narrative to as far reaching stories as Cain-and-Abel, the expulsion of Ishamel, the fleeing of Jacob from Esau, the Joseph Narrative (including the interpolated story of Judah and Tamar), the Exodus narrative, the whole Deuteronomic History, and the narrative of Christ.
Needless to say, with that many conjoined narratives, Levenson's book is full of insightful gems for interpreting just about the entirety of the Judeo-Christian scriptures. Well worth reading, and re-reading. This one will be a favorite of mine for years.
In brief, the text posits an ancient practice of child sacrifice (specifically of the eldest, or "beloved," son) throughout the Ancient Near East and portions of the Mediterranean. Attested to within the Hebrew Bible (in part through the protestations of later prophets like Jeremiah and Ezekiel, as well as within the Mosaic Law in Exodus), the practice itself was successfully eradicated but was retained in its basic theology: the most precious thing one possesses (one's eldest son, the chosen heir and continuation of one's family and line) belongs first to God.
Without shying away from the morally gruesome implications of the child sacrifice cult, Levenson points out how that underlying theology informed several key narratives in Genesis and beyond - especially (and most obviously) the near-sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham. Linguistic keys (e.g. puns, allusions, etc.) and thematic keys (the giving up of a son) links the Isaac narrative to as far reaching stories as Cain-and-Abel, the expulsion of Ishamel, the fleeing of Jacob from Esau, the Joseph Narrative (including the interpolated story of Judah and Tamar), the Exodus narrative, the whole Deuteronomic History, and the narrative of Christ.
Needless to say, with that many conjoined narratives, Levenson's book is full of insightful gems for interpreting just about the entirety of the Judeo-Christian scriptures. Well worth reading, and re-reading. This one will be a favorite of mine for years.
Want to read
September 22, 2011Recommended by a rabbi during a discussion of the sacrifice of Isaac (I had never noticed the parallels between the stories of Isaac and Jesus!) Sounds interesting.
February 17, 2018
Not really a favorite, but insightful in places, especially the last chapters where he gives an exposition of some second temple Judaism and some intriguing readings of the Gospels (he highlights for instance, the influence of Elijah and Elisha on Mark).
This book is not at all recommended for the average reader: he spends the first few chapters offering a tendentious argument that "Yahwist religion" originally involved child sacrifice that was later "cleaned up" by the prophets. For this, he relies on textual criticism to argue that certain passages were "harmonized" when in fact they are not in tension unless you deconstruct them. These irritations continue throughout the book and as with Fishbane anyone familiar with typology will not have their mind blown by it.
That said he is correct, I think in identifying the theme of "son sacrifice" or as Doug Wilson would put it "death and resurrection" throughout Genesis. Abraham gives up Isaac (after he displaces Ishmael). Jacob takes Esau's place and goes through a "death-like" experience. Joseph is similarly "marked" by his father and goes through a series of deaths. This has profitably been expanded to a typology of Israel itself, which goes through national deaths and resurrections, and Levenson both alludes to that without really diving into David or the prophets (apparently, the earliest Jewish exegetes devoted most of their attention to the Pentateuch as well).
One thing I actually realized as he analyzed the Abraham narrative that it is tightly ambiguous: we do not know what Abraham or even Isaac are truly feeling on Moriah; there is an extra hint that Isaac is naive, unlike in later Jewish exegesis, where he willingly offers himself and is "in the know." I also loved how he highlighted that "Hineni" is used by Abraham before the binding, Isaac on the walk up the mountain, Isaac and Esau in the blessing-steal, and finally by Joseph before his own commission to visit his brothers. I knew about that, but it was interesting to think it through carefully again.
I also liked the way he jabs at modern liberalism (though of course not without a few jabs at Paul for being "proto-Gnostic"). Sacrifice is in the Bible and it's bloody and unmodern, and in one case, God was interested in child sacrifice. I still am in the dark about the number and sequence of Jesus types, but this illuminated that even secular Jewish scholars can see them and see how the New Testament "hijacked" them. Also, he points out that Paul did not replace the exclusivism of Judaism with the inclusivism of the Church (again, note the anti-liberalism), but that God had to cut out the Jewish olive branch, leaving an antithesis between those in and outside the church (though I'd prefer to speak of the quality of faith to be the unique marker).
In short, probably too slow and convoluted and ultimately confused to be of help to 90% of people, but somewhat edifying to those looking for a mix of Jewish exegesis, Old Testament exegesis, and Christian typology that doesn't go all over the place.
This book is not at all recommended for the average reader: he spends the first few chapters offering a tendentious argument that "Yahwist religion" originally involved child sacrifice that was later "cleaned up" by the prophets. For this, he relies on textual criticism to argue that certain passages were "harmonized" when in fact they are not in tension unless you deconstruct them. These irritations continue throughout the book and as with Fishbane anyone familiar with typology will not have their mind blown by it.
That said he is correct, I think in identifying the theme of "son sacrifice" or as Doug Wilson would put it "death and resurrection" throughout Genesis. Abraham gives up Isaac (after he displaces Ishmael). Jacob takes Esau's place and goes through a "death-like" experience. Joseph is similarly "marked" by his father and goes through a series of deaths. This has profitably been expanded to a typology of Israel itself, which goes through national deaths and resurrections, and Levenson both alludes to that without really diving into David or the prophets (apparently, the earliest Jewish exegetes devoted most of their attention to the Pentateuch as well).
One thing I actually realized as he analyzed the Abraham narrative that it is tightly ambiguous: we do not know what Abraham or even Isaac are truly feeling on Moriah; there is an extra hint that Isaac is naive, unlike in later Jewish exegesis, where he willingly offers himself and is "in the know." I also loved how he highlighted that "Hineni" is used by Abraham before the binding, Isaac on the walk up the mountain, Isaac and Esau in the blessing-steal, and finally by Joseph before his own commission to visit his brothers. I knew about that, but it was interesting to think it through carefully again.
I also liked the way he jabs at modern liberalism (though of course not without a few jabs at Paul for being "proto-Gnostic"). Sacrifice is in the Bible and it's bloody and unmodern, and in one case, God was interested in child sacrifice. I still am in the dark about the number and sequence of Jesus types, but this illuminated that even secular Jewish scholars can see them and see how the New Testament "hijacked" them. Also, he points out that Paul did not replace the exclusivism of Judaism with the inclusivism of the Church (again, note the anti-liberalism), but that God had to cut out the Jewish olive branch, leaving an antithesis between those in and outside the church (though I'd prefer to speak of the quality of faith to be the unique marker).
In short, probably too slow and convoluted and ultimately confused to be of help to 90% of people, but somewhat edifying to those looking for a mix of Jewish exegesis, Old Testament exegesis, and Christian typology that doesn't go all over the place.
December 6, 2024
One of the most compelling pieces of scholarship that I've read to date. Levenson traces the motif of child sacrifice from its earliest attestations through the Aqedah, the Passover, the Second Temple Period, and finally the New Testament. His prose is superbly clear yet written in an enjoyable and sophisticated style which really lends weight to his arguments. His in-depth narrative analysis, eye for allusion, and careful attention to the history of interpretation creates a flowing, dynamic tracing of a theme so pivotal to Judaism and Christianity. This one was a pleasure to read.
Highest recommendation to anyone interested in a critical analysis of this theme.
Highest recommendation to anyone interested in a critical analysis of this theme.
January 6, 2020
Packed with insights on the theme of the dedication of the first-born son, developing this through Abraham and Isaac, Moloch worship and then the death and resurrection of the first-born one, Christ.
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September 21, 2022A compelling read. Levenson is an excellent writer (something sometimes lacking in biblical studies). Although I didn't agree with every argument Levenson makes, the book is very good, and is very good to think with.
November 5, 2025
Great book recommendations in here.
A great overview and really eye opening concerning this viewpoint. Information that I just never knew existed, which I'll be checking out now.
Second half of the book lost the plot a little bit and the ending- while I understand why it was there- didn't fit the theme of the book apart from "we are anti-Christian views" which should, honestly, go without saying. I would have enjoyed if he'd gone into a little more detail on things in the second half.
Saved a lot of quotes. Look at the books he used as references as a reclist when you start your OT Biblical study reading list.
Book was incredibly easy to read. Finished in four days.
A great overview and really eye opening concerning this viewpoint. Information that I just never knew existed, which I'll be checking out now.
Second half of the book lost the plot a little bit and the ending- while I understand why it was there- didn't fit the theme of the book apart from "we are anti-Christian views" which should, honestly, go without saying. I would have enjoyed if he'd gone into a little more detail on things in the second half.
Saved a lot of quotes. Look at the books he used as references as a reclist when you start your OT Biblical study reading list.
Book was incredibly easy to read. Finished in four days.
June 27, 2019
A challenging and perspective-widening experience. Levenson’s book has greatly expanded my ideas about how the narratives of the patriarchs could be connected and given me new categories of narrative features to consider as I read Hebrew Bible and Christian New Testament.
March 3, 2010
Fascinating, flawed, and thought-provoking. Traces a biblical motif and explores its relationship to the alleged practice of child-sacrifice in the ancient world.
June 11, 2012
A powerful amazing book that really gets you to think about how stories affect our way of viewing reality and why this particular story has so much force for our civilization.
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