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Jephthah was cold, and his body ached. Whatever strength and resilience had flowed into him during the vision was gone now, and he felt every bruise and cut that Zephon laid on him the previous day. He’d spent the night outside of the village, eaten nothing and slept little. After his conversation with his father, Jephthah wasn’t sure that he ever wanted to go home again.

We called them Judges, these men who rose to power and fought back Israel’s enemies. What a righteous sounding word: Judges. The songs around the campfire and the gossip in the market have already rewritten their stories. The Judges were barely in their graves before every fault was forgiven and every skirmish hailed as a great victory for the nation. As though they were above it all, as though their campaigns weren’t just another war of domination. Maybe they were. I don’t k