Dinah. Her name seemed to bellow up at me from the page below. I felt swallowed into the narrative, beckoned to come see. Dinah…the daughter of Leah. My throat closed tightly, imprisoning emotions within as I continued to stare down at that short 5 letter name. How had I missed that before? Growing up I had always remembered her as Dinah, the daughter who had went out to see the daughters of the land. The rebellious child who had walked in sin. The daughter who must have brought strife to her family. But the day I came across this feeble child of Scripture, I saw something unique. Something that brought exceeding comfort in sorrowful circumstances. This daughter of Leah, this sister of mine, her name began to course through my veins as I tried to feel what she must have felt; see what she had seen; imagine her imaginings. Her name ran deep as I attempted to taste that bitter taste her own sin must have brought as she pondered on those who had also sinned so deeply against her. Dinah…another name. Another time. Another story. Another woman who has shown me more of my sacrificial Savior.
But before Dinah came her father- the self-sufficient Jacob. Genesis 32 records him sitting alone at what would become known as Penial. The story is well known. There he met a man who wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. There this “man” had touched the hallow of Jacob’s thigh, causing Jacob to realize just Whom he was grappling with. His hold became one of complete desperation as he cried out to the LORD, “I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.” And God, in His always perfect timing, then put forth a thought-provoking question to Jacob, much in the same way He had once done with Hagar (Genesis 16:8). “And he said unto him, What is thy name? ”(Gen. 32:27a) Admit who you are Jacob. This is a common theme in your life. Always leaning on yourself; trying to take matters into your own hands. Who are you? See who you are… “And he said Jacob.” (vs27b) I know LORD! I am supplanter. I think too highly of my own arm of strength. But how weak I am. I wrestle all the night long. I wrestle with wanting my own way. But you are my strength…I know Lord. I am just Jacob. Immediately after Jacob says his name to the already all-knowing God, the Wrestler says, “Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed.” Of yourself you are Jacob, but in Me you are Israel. An undeserving Jacob is blessed by an ever-deserving Father. There at Penial, Jacob had seen God face to face. He had hobbled away with his life preserved. Limping with a wound that would supply abiding reminder to his frailty.
God continued to be gracious to Jacob, providing him protection from his brother Esau. And then we come across the words of Genesis 33:17, “And Jacob journeyed to Succoth, and built him an house…”. A house. At Succoth. He had just wrestled with the Lord; had been humbled; had grown. Jacob had been commanded to make way for Canaan. Yet again, but one chapter after his encounter with the LORD that had left him with a fresh injury, Jacob once again relies on his own strength and ingenuity, leading to devastating consequences. He erects a house for his family where he should have pitched a tent. He stops in Succoth where he should have headed to Bethel. He builds an altar in Succoth to the LORD where he should have consecrated a sacrifice at Bethel. He buys a piece of land from the hand of the children of Hamor, where he should have been going to the land God had freely given Him. He delays where he should have made haste. He disobeys where he ought to have heeded. He was self-focused where he should have been God-focused. Precisely when his maturing children needed their father’s guidance, Jacob failed to follow the direction of his heavenly Father. Where he should have been nurturing his sons and daughters, he neglects.
And then comes Genesis 34:1a, “And Dinah, the daughter of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob…” Dinah, meaning, “vindication.” Her name was just one of many names given to the children of Leah and Rachel that show cased their bitter rivalry for Jacob’s affection. Dinah is referenced no less than fourteen times in this chapter of Scripture. And here, the first time her name meets the eye, we read, “Dinah, the daughter of Leah.” Leah, the unloved wife. The wife whose womb God had opened because she was hated. Literally despised. Unwanted, unloved, unworthy Leah. Dinah herself wouldn’t have been the apple of her father’s eye. She was no Joseph, son of beloved Rachel. No, she was but Dinah, the daughter of Leah.
“[Dinah] went out to see the daughters of the land.” (vs 1b) Dinah sits at a vulnerable age. An age that many parents tend to dread. That age where our kids are physically mature, yet spiritual maturity can sometimes lag behind. An age that our children must seemingly fall into their own sinful mistakes to learn more of the path of holiness. Here Dinah makes one of those life changing choices. One of those choices that leads her down a path she would never have imagined. She was naïve in her sin, as we so often are. Sins slippery slope can look appealing to our unseeing eye. We justify it with our “after alls.” After all, how big of a deal could it be to visit the wicked Canaanite girls? Besides, we have a house nearby. And our tents are pitched towards their city anyways. Why look into the city, when I can step in? So, step in Dinah does.
“And when Shechem, the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the country, saw her, he took her, and lay with her, and defiled her.” (vs 2) He beheld and he lusted. He forced. He literally “humiliated her.” And following her rape, taken over by lust masked as love, “he spake kindly unto the damsel.” (vs 3) Then acting out as the spoiled child he was, he demanded his father to, “get me this damsel to wife.” (vs 4) No name…just this damsel. No soul…just an object for his gratification. No love…just lust. No respect…just contempt.
“And Jacob heard that he had defiled his daughter: now his sons were with his cattle in the field: and Jacob held his peace until they were come.” (vs 5) Nothing. He does absolutely nothing. His daughter has just been sexually assaulted, and he holds his tongue. Silence. Shattering silence.
What follows is perhaps the well-known deceitful plan of Jacob’s sons to have Shechem and his people circumcised in return for Shechem’s marriage to Dinah. Strikingly, Shechem was more honorable than all the house of his father. This man who had just raped Dinah was the most esteemed out of his entire family. So, he does just what the sons of Jacob ask. And then, while the men of the city were still sore, the blood brothers of Dinah slaughter the men of Shechem. They then take Dinah from the house of Shechem where she was being held captive. They make their return home after their sinful spoiling of the city and the first words uttered by Jacob are given in the last verse of the chapter, “And Jacob said to Simeon and Levi, Ye have troubled me to make me to stink among the inhabitants of the land, among the Canaanites and the Perizzites: and I being few in number, they shall gather themselves together against me, and slay me; and I shall be destroyed, I and my house.” (vs 31) Me…what have you done to me? What will happen to me? The name of his daughter never falls from his lips.
It’s true; we don’t know the exact emotions that Dinah felt. We aren’t told all that “in between” stuff. But I think it’s safe to imagine. To try and feel what she must have felt. Can you try? Try and ponder on a girl. A girl hardly able to be called a woman. A girl by the name of Dinah. A girl no different than the daughter you tuck snug into bed each night, ready to be given over to sweet sleep. A girl no different than the shy blue-eyed beauty that sits across from you in the church pew each Sunday morning, gently mouthing her praises to the Lord. No different than her outspoken peer that seems to have stunning confidence. A girl no different than you. Remember this girl the way Scripture does. Ponder not only on the sin she was held accountable for. But remember also the devastating sin that was committed against her. The sin that was in no way her fault. Sin that left mark on her for the rest of her life. Sin that broke pieces of her, reshaping the life of what she thought would once be.
She had a story. Feelings that were felt. A voice that needed to be nurtured and heard. Where God’s plan is perfect, and we know we wouldn’t change a second of it, I think if left to myself, I could wish much of this story were different. That it held a different beginning and end. That Jacob would have swept his daughter up in loving embrace as she entered the house he never should have built. I could wish he would have taken a coat of many colors and laid it heavy over her weary, bedraggled frame, somehow causing her to her feel light. Maybe a lifting of his daughter’s chin, a look into her eyes, and a firm, “This isn’t your fault,” before Dinah broke down into the protection of his arms. I could wish he had kept watch over her as the nightmares came, and that he would have reminded her, always reminded her, of her worth. That he would have taken her by the hand as he led the family out of the foreign land and said, “I am sorry Dinah. I shouldn’t have delayed. I neglected to care for you. Will you please forgive me? We must make our way for Bethel. I will not leave you. The Lord, He will be our guide. He has you sweet child. There is no shame in Him. Rid yourself of shame. It’s not yours to bear. I love you, my daughter. Dinah, daughter of Jacob. Dinah, daughter of Father on High. I suppose these things could have happened, yet we read nothing of it. Saved child though he was, we do however, read of Jacob’s neglect.
See her as the child that she was. A child longing for love and affection in the midst of a broken family governed by bitterness and contention. Feel her terror as she lay molested and used. Imagine the words lodged in her throat as she wanted it to stop, but she didn’t know how to make it cease. Imagine the confusion she must have felt as she was laid hold of against her will, treated like a piece of property, and when it was finally over, was spoken kindly to. Enter into her fear as she lay bondage in the house of her captor and rapist. Waiting, still waiting, but her father doesn’t come. Experience the grief and anguish that could have overtaken her as she knew…she knew she had sinned in stepping foot into that land. Blame heaping upon blame; preaching to herself what she already felt to be true…I am unloved, unworthy…and now used. It’s all my fault. This is what I deserve. This is what I am worth. And when it was all said and done, when she was taken back to the house of her father, imagine the devastation she must have felt as her father made himself the victim, not addressing the crimes that were committed against her. Ask…what was more devastating to her already splintering being? Stolen innocence, or the abandonment of her father? See her name inked into the Scriptures. Cross it out. And fourteen times over place your name over top hers. Do you see? Can you feel some of the crushing effects placed on the soul?
See her; because whether you realize it or not, there are others just like her that sit across from you in church. Those that pass you in grocery stores whose souls are ripe with affliction as you glance at the bananas, looking for just the right yellow. Others who walk beside you whose pain you are not privy to. You may think that the Dinah’s of this world are far and few between, especially in your safe community. Perhaps you believe that the effects of their different abuses whether physical, sexual, emotional, verbal, or spiritual, can’t be as ruinous as some portray them to be. But in conviction, I assuredly tell you that the spectrum of abuse in each of these categories is devastating…all effecting the very personhood…marking the soul. As it was recently put by a professor, although in reference to how manipulative abusers can be, it applies here as well. “You might say I’m exaggerating, and I would say you’re ignorant.”
I would ask you to look intensely. To bore into the eyes of that girl (or boy). To look at her deep and long until the blood pumping through her becomes the red that flows through you. To peer into the eyes of the used who doesn’t understand the pain of “what has happened to me?” Pain that is looking for a hand to lead them to comprehension that it wasn’t their fault. Pain that needs the nourishing grace to aid in ridding them of the disgrace they undeservedly feel. They are here. The Dinah’s of today are in the midst of us, hiding in scarred memories, trapped in silence, not understanding that “something isn’t right.” They fade into the background, wondering who and if others are safe. But they are looking. Waiting for the pure love of their Father to be portrayed. For that fierce protecting love that understands that it is better for a man that a millstone be hung around his neck and he be cast into the depths of the sea than that he offend one of God’s little ones (Matthew 18:6). They look perhaps unknowingly for others to help them piece together the story they call “mine.” For others to give and not be expected to give back in return. Longing to be rid of excuses for their perpetrator, or pressured to quick forgive. They are looking for you to speak the atrocities they cannot. To succor their souls, causing them to realize no matter how "small" the abuse seems, it is heavy indeed. So, what are we to do? Jacob held silent. Much in the same way David did when his daughter Tamar was raped by her half-brother Amnon. Silence. Wickedness is enabled through silence. We must let that trouble us.
Little girl hiding in her room. Little girl with memories crawling under skin. The one who has the touches, the scents, the words etched right in. No touch or pressure seems little, it weighs heavy upon you. The fear is creeping in, but you don’t understand. Little girl who keeps the light burning in the hall…afraid to sleep at all. Little girl grown all woman who’s tired and afraid. Little girl grown woman…a Dinah of today. You have sorrowed, struggled, wondered about your God in heaven. Labored ceaselessly in thought, believing, just maybe…perhaps He could hold your bleeding soul gushing forth down here. Little girl, I see you meet my eye. What are you hiding there? It’s okay to cry. No pain you feel is nothing, it all is not “ok.” Rest weary child. God is on your side. He sees you, holds you, always consoles you. Safe in Him, you always abide. You feel your own sin as Dinah felt hers? Think on it no more. Micah (7:19) says it well-He will turn again, have compassion, conquer your iniquities to cast them way deep down. Into the sea forever, as a forgotten memory. All that has happened against you? It is not yours to bear. See the scar crossed hands of Jesus, child. Yes, I sent Him for you daughter, because truly, I do care. Take this coat of many colors, cast on you by Me. Wear it proudly, boldly, as one deserving…for you are becoming all I am shaping you to be.
Hey little girl, sweet Dinah of today, you may not believe it, but I hope you come to know…you are one of God’s great blessings to me…used to teach me here below.
My own daughters play. Innocent. Princesses. It’s always princesses. And that’s ok. They ought to know, ought to feel like they are one in a million. Priceless. Dinah…she too was a daughter. Daughter of the King. Dance my wee ones; to the tune of, “Daughters’ of the King.” Dinah…her name still flows deeply through me as sister of my heart. As one who has been wrapped in white robes by her faithful Savior.
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