Burn, Baby, Burn!
Let's talk about Sodom and Gomorrah
Do you know the story of Sodom? You probably know at least a little bit. But I bet you don’t know the whole thing, and I sure do, so today I’m going to tell you it. The story’s not nearly as long as The Book of Esther but it does have a few twists—you won’t be sad to know it, even if you yourself are a heathen, sinner in the eyes of the Lord. Not to judge.
Abraham is going about his business—supervising underlings as they tend his flocks or whatever—when he is interrupted by somebody who wants to talk to him, someone who Abraham always has time for.
"Are you there, Abraham?" God says. "It's me, God."
God gets right to the point: the town of Sodom is going to be destroyed, utterly, and soon.
Why give Abraham this piece of advance intel? It's a courtesy call, as Abraham's stupid nephew Lot lives in Sodom. How he ended up there is an interesting story all its own.
A classic nepo baby, Lot followed his uncle into the family business. That’s fine, except Lot's shepherds kept grazing in Abraham’s territory, causing strife. Before long, it was shepherd against shepherd, sheep versus sheep—an intolerable situation.
Abraham takes his stupid nephew on a walk. He says, basically, what if you moved somewhere where your shepherds wouldn't...where you have more...where you could build your own thing? Why don't you just pick literally anywhere and I'll be...somewhere else.
Lot says, terrific, I was thinking of moving to Sodom anyway.
Now, God’s talking about wiping Sodom and Gomorroh off the map.
Abraham says, well hold on now, God. Not so fast.
He does a quick bit of mental math. A few thousand residents, if even 1% of them weren't awful…
There must be at least fifty good people in these cities, Abraham says. Surely you wouldn't destroy fifty innocent victims?
God grins. This is why I like you so much, Abraham. No, there are not fifty good people in Sodom. Not even close.
Abraham didn’t become the wealthiest shepherd in Canaan without learning to haggle. He says to God, let's make it forty-five.
There are not forty-five righteous people in these cities, God says.
Can you do forty? Thirty? Final offer, twenty?
No, no, and again, no.
Ten, Abraham says. There must be ten—Lot, Lot's family, and like one righteous friend. Would you not spare these cities for the sake of these ten?
God frowns. No, Abraham, I'm telling you there are not even ten non-shitty people living in Sodom and Gomorrah. They are the Twin Shitties, which is why real estate was cheap enough for Lot to move there.
Youdammit, Abraham says. Well, can you at least save my nephew?
Two travelers arrive in Sodom. There is something about them. They are messengers. Messengers of whom? You know whom. But today, they’re messengers of destruction. They pass directly in front of Lot, who is loitering at the city gates.
Lot may be stupid, but he lived with Abraham long enough to know that when mysterious travelers show up, you help them. More often than not, there’s something in it for you. Those are the rules of the game, and those rules don't change even in a city that is famously opposed to guests, hateful of outsiders, malicious to strangers.
Come in, Lot says. You must be exhausted. Stay the night. I insist!
The travelers relent. Lot quickly ushers them in. His wife and daughters prepare a feast for the two strangers. He wines them, dines them, and is perhaps hoping to learn what message they have to convey when, outside the home, he hears shouting. Lot, get out here! If Lot was in denial about the consequences of harboring guests in Sodom, he’s about to remember right quick.
Good evening gentlemen, says Lot. Town councilors, it is an honor to see you. Ah, brave militiamen, glad you could make it. And so many neighbors—how delightful! What can I do for the good citizens of Sodom on this lovely evening?
Cut the shit, Lot. We know you have guests.
Yes, and perhaps you’d like to meet the travelers? They are such wonderful company.
Lot, the mayor says, you're new here. Here’s how this works: Give us the guests, and we'll do what we do. We'd like to know them, if you see what I mean.
The assembled crowd takes a collective step towards Lot. Lot has a decision to make. This is where we learn who Lot really is.
Wait, says Lot to the crowd! Don't touch the guests—leave them alone! But, look, you know I have two daughters who are...unknown to men. Perhaps? In place of the travelers? I can interest the rabble in an alternative? A bit of time with my daughters?
Lot, they say, that's fucked up. Even for Sodom.
The crowd pushes Lot aside and presses against his door. They are heaving at the threshold, about to break through. Lot is being crushed by the horde.
Suddenly, the door swings open. A strong hand pulls Lot inside. One of the travelers steps forward. He does...a thing. It’s hard to describe but is almost like the dropping of a mask. A brilliant light shoots forth and the entire mob is left blind on the precipice of Lot's home.
Inside, the messengers speak to Lot with urgency. Lot, they say, for extremely obvious reasons we are going to destroy this town. Grab your people. We have orders to save you.
Lot grabs his wife and daughters, and they follow the messengers out of the city.
The messengers tell Lot and his clan to keep going and never look back. We've got some unfinished destroying to do back in town, they say. Just run, and, really, truly, don't look back.
How should we imagine what happens next? We know so little about Lot's wife. I imagine it went like this: as they run away from Sodom, they hear the screams of their neighbors, they see the flames reflect off the desert landscape, they feel the heat at their backs.
You know, Lot says, this could be good for us. A fresh start, you know? No friends, no distractions. Plenty of time for us to be a family, just the four of us…for who knows how long.
Thinking this over, Lot's wife considers her alternatives. She turns back to Sodom and is immediately reduced to a human-shaped pillar of sulfuric salt, while Lot and his daughters, horrified, continue on.
So now it's just Lot and his daughters, hiding from the carnage in a cave. Sodom and Gomorrah have been destroyed, but was that all? Strangely, the messengers were never clear about the scope of destruction. Was it just their towns—or was it worldwide?
As Lot snoozes, the daughters confer. This is worldwide, they decide. And, as they watch their father stir in his sleep, they make a series of decisive inferences from this fact.
To wit: we are likely humanity’s only survivors. Certain difficult decisions therefore have to be made, no matter how distasteful. In his sleep, their father lets forth a fart.
The next night, they ply their father with wine. And—hold on, where did they get that wine? OK, let's say their genius dad had the mental wherewithal to pack a few bottles as they were running from home. That’s the first and only thing he thought of taking.
So, the daughters, they ply him with wine. They get him good and drunk. The older goes first. Lot doesn't even know what happens, he’s so drunk. The next night they do the same thing, this time the younger one sleeps with him. Again, he wakes up clueless—that's some good wine.
A few weeks later, both daughters are pregnant. Lot doesn't care who the father is, he's just happy for them.
It's perhaps a few weeks later that they realize they most definitely are NOT the only three people remaining on the planet.
And months later, the daughters give birth to two beautiful boys. They name the kids Moav and Amon. In time, Moav and Amon themselves sire not just great nations, but the neighbors and warring rivals of the Israelites. And the story ends with this as its punchline: the Hebrew Bible declaring that Moav and Amon, regional rivals and foreigners, are nothing but inbred bastards born of idiotic stock from a morally inadequate line—but still, at the end of the day, they’re family.
You...you're good.
I know the story well, and this an excellent version. Please do more.