Defining All-Israel in Chronicles: Multi-levelled Identity Negotiation in Late Persian-Period Yehud (Forschungen Zum Alten Testament) 9783161545955, 3161545958

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Forschungen zum Alten Testament Herausgegeben von Konrad Schmid (Zürich) · Mark S. Smith (New York) Hermann Spieckermann (Göttingen)

106

Louis C. Jonker

Defining All-Israel in Chronicles Multi-levelled Identity Negotiation in Late Persian-Period Yehud

Mohr Siebeck

Louis C. Jonker, born 1962; Studied Semitic Languages and Theology from 1980–1987 at Stellenbosch University, South Africa; Obtained DTh in Old Testament in 1993; Since 2003 full-time appointment in Faculty of Theology, Stellenbosch University; Full professor of Old Testament since 2010; Fellow of the Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung (Bonn).

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-154596-- -2 ISBN 978-3-16-154595-5 ISSN 0940-4155 (Forschungen zum Alten Testament) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2016 by Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by Martin Fischer in Tübingen using Times typeface, printed by Gulde­Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Dedication This book is dedicated to the memory of two of my former teachers, the late Hannes Olivier and Ferdinand Deist. They were both not only role models in scholarship, but also friends and mentors. They were also the first to raise the ideal of inviting IOSOT to South Africa, an ideal that will come to fruition in September 2016 in Stellenbosch. Both these colleagues died too young!

Preface My journey with Chronicles started in 2000 when I was a fellow of the Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung in Greifswald, Germany. There I met Thomas Willi for the first time and he introduced me to the fascinating world of Chronicles and the Persian period. Over time, my fascination with this biblical book and historical period grew, and this led me to write numerous papers, articles and essays over the next decade and a half. Instrumental in my further journey with Chronicles was the inspiration (and mentorship) I found in colleagues and friends Gary Knoppers and Ehud Ben Zvi. By involving me in some of their deliberations at the Canadian Society for Biblical Studies (CSBS), I was exposed to a great variety of excellent scholarship and to opportunities to test some of my own ideas about and interpretations of Chronicles. Input from outside of biblical scholarship was also invaluable in my own development as Chronicles scholar: Josef Wiesehöfer (as expert on Achaemenid history) and Oded Lipschits (as historian and archaeologist) helped me to develop broader perspectives (than those viewed through the lenses of exclusively biblical literature) on the Achaemenids and their influence in Yehud. I remain indebted to these colleagues! In my various studies on different parts of Chronicles I became increasingly aware of the complexity of the literature under review. No linear and / ​or one-dimensional models delivered satisfactory results. I therefore ventured into various different methodological directions in order to find models that could bring greater clarity to understanding this literature. Influenced by my own socio-historical context of post-apartheid South Africa, I also started working with theories of social identity negotiation, which explore the close relationship between processes of identity negotiation, the socio-historical context and literature formation. Over time the insight dawned on me (particularly through my exposure to postcolonial studies of the Bible) that one should not imagine a single-level socio-historical context during the post-exilic era, but rather that an array of power relations probably constituted a multi-levelled socio-historical existence during this period. Such a model of reading, informed also by social memory and utopian studies, delivered more satisfactory results on the complex literature in Chronicles. The present book is therefore an attempt to bring together those different fields of study and developments in my own Chronicles scholarship, in order to (hopefully!) offer a further development in the history of research on this fascinating biblical book.

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The bulk of this book was written in Germany and the United States during a semester-long sabbatical in 2014 and a shorter research break during 2015. I hereby acknowledge the scholarships I received in 2014 which made the sabbatical possible: firstly, a scholarship from the Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung (Bonn) for the period in Germany (Heidelberg and Kiel), and secondly, an HB Thom scholarship (granted by Stellenbosch University) and a Competitive Programme for Rated Researchers (granted by the South African National Research Foundation) for the period in the United States (Princeton). I am also thankful for permission by my University to access research subsidy and incentive funding for my return to Germany (Munich) in 2015, as well as for research leave granted. All opinions, findings and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this book remain those of the author, however, and none of the above institutions accepts any liability whatsoever in this regard. My sojourns in Germany and the United States also depended heavily on gracious hosts at the various universities. I thank Manfred Oeming in Heidelberg, and Josef Wiesehöfer in Kiel, for their support and friendship, not only with regard to my research, but also during a difficult time when I unexpectedly had to return to South Africa because of the illness of my youngest son. Thank you also to Choon Leong Seow, who received me at the Princeton Theological Seminary, and who facilitated my stay there as visiting scholar. My Munich colleagues Hermann-Josef Stipp and Christoph Levin received me at their university during the South African winter break and provided the library infrastructure for my further writing endeavours. During almost a month in Munich I was privileged to stay with good friends, Heinrich and Debbie Bedford-Strohm, to whom I remain grateful. My dear family, Anita, Johannes and Cornelius, were and are a great inspiration! Not only do they allow me time to indulge in my scholarship, but always remain enthusiastic about and interested in what I am doing. Since I am not a mother-tongue speaker (and writer!) of English, I always rely heavily on professional editing by Edwin Hees. A few years ago he also assisted me with the editing of a Chronicles commentary, and he was a logical choice for the next book. Whenever I was getting nervous about the time schedules for the present book, he constantly assured me that we will be able to say “Habemus Librum” soon! My assistant, Ruan Nieuwenhuizen, also was a great help in the proofreading and final checking of the manuscript. I also thank the editors of FAT (Konrad Schmid, Mark Smith and Hermann Spieckermann) for the peer-reviewing of the manuscript and for accepting my volume in this prestigious series. Furthermore, it is always a pleasure to work with Mohr Siebeck. Thank you to Henning Ziebritzki, who encouraged me over the years to submit this manuscript and who remained enthusiastic about it, and to his professional team for guiding me through the process.

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The year of publication of this book (2016) will be a great year for Old Testament / ​Hebrew Bible scholarship in South Africa, and for the African continent. It will be the first time in history that the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament (IOSOT) will convene on African soil, and only the second time that it will convene outside of Europe. My wish is that the present book will not only make some contribution to Chronicles research, but will also contribute towards marking this historic occasion in Stellenbosch. Louis Jonker

Stellenbosch, September 2015

Table of Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VII Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XVIII Chapter 1

Introduction 1.1 From Cinderella to Blossoming Field . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.1.1 Paraleipomena and Early Studies on Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 1.1.2 Historical Reliability of Chronicles? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 1.1.3 Composition History of Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 1.1.4 The Nature of Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 1.1.5 Ideology and Rhetorical Aim(s) of Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

1.2 From Re-interpretation, via “Reforming History”, to Identity Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 1.2.1 Chronicles as Re-interpretation of Older Historiographical Traditions . . 11 1.2.2 Chronicles as “Reforming History” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 1.2.3 Chronicles as Identity Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

1.3 “Identity” as Heuristic Category . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 1.3.1 Studies on Identity in Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 1.3.2 Studies on Identity in Other Textual Corpora . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 1.3.3 Problematising “Identity” as Heuristic Category in Biblical Studies . . . . 23

1.4 Aim and Structure of This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Chapter 2

Approaching “Identity” in Persian-Period Literature 2.1 Methods Matter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 2.2 An Overview of Approaches Dealing with “Identity”in PersianPeriod Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 2.2.1 Postcolonial Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29

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2.2.2 Utopian Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 2.2.3 Social Memory Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 2.2.4 Social-psychological Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54

2.3 Methodological Synthesis: Approach Followed in this Study . . . . . 61 Chapter 3

The Persian Period in Yehud: A Multi-Levelled Socio-Historical Existence 3.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 3.2 Chronicles: A Persian-Period Book? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 3.3 Chronicles: A Book Written by Literati in Jerusalem? . . . . . . . . . . . 68 3.4 A Multi-Levelled Socio-Historical Existence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 3.4.1 Under Persian Rule: The Imperial Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 3.4.1.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 3.4.1.2 Royal Ideology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 3.4.1.3 Economy and Administration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 3.4.1.4 Religious Conditions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 3.4.2 Surrounded by Nations and Provinces: The Provincial Context . . . . . . . . 95 3.4.2.1 Samaria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 3.4.2.2 Other Surrounding Provinces / ​Regions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 3.4.3 Brothers of Old: Judah and Benjamin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 3.4.4 Levites and Priests: The Inner-Yehudite Cultic Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106

3.5 Synthesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 Chapter 4

Speaking in the Imperium 4.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 4.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 4.2.1 A Universalist Frame (1:1–27) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 4.2.2 The History of Humanity and Israel Continued in the Reorganised Temple Community in Jerusalem (9:1–34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121

4.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122 4.3.1 “Satan stood up against Israel” (1 Chron. 21:1) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122 4.3.2 The “Man of Rest” Builds the “House of Rest” (22:7–10; 28:2–3) . . . . . 127

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4.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 4.4.1 The Jerusalem Temple Reflecting Persian Palace Ideology (2–7) . . . . . . 131 4.4.2 Yahweh Loves His People (2:10 and 9:8) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 4.4.3 Solomon Ruling from the Euphrates to Egypt (9:26) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

4.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) . . . . . . . . . . 138 4.5.1 Subtle Mockery of the Persians in Egypt through Asa’s History? (13:23b–16:14) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 4.5.2 Jehoshaphat’s Legal Reform (19:4–11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 4.5.3 Cyrus the Great, Messenger of Yahweh (36:22–23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146

4.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in the Persian Empire . . . . . . . . . . . 148 Chapter 5

Not Alone in this Provincial World 5.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 5.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 5.2.1 The Sons of Esau: Edom’s Position (1:34–54) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 5.2.2 An All-Inclusive All-Israel (with a focus on 2:1–2 || 9:1a; 4:24–5:26; 7:1–40) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154

5.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 5.3.1 All-Israel Supports David as King (11:1–12:41) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 5.3.2 Philistines, Moab, Aram, Edom, Ammon (14:8–17; 18:1–13; 19:1–19; 20:4–8) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159

5.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 5.4.1 No Northerners Building the Temple (1:18–2:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 5.4.2 Mount Moriah as Location for the Temple (3:1) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162

5.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) . . . . . . . . . . 164 5.5.1 A Story about Judah (and not Israel) (10–36) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 5.5.2 (Ambiguous) Strife between South and North (13:1–20; 15:8–9; 21:2–22:1; 28:5b–15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167 5.5.3 (Ambiguous) Relations with Peoples Around Judah (17:10–11; 20:1–30; 21:8–11, 16–17; 25:5–10, 13–16; 26:6–8; 27:5; 28:17–19) . . . . . . . . . . . 177 5.5.4 Celebrating the Passover Together (30:1–27; 35:17–19) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186

5.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in the Provincial Context . . . . . . . . 190

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Chapter 6

Tribal Rivalries of Old 6.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 6.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194 6.2.1 Judah and Benjamin, the Pillars of All-Israel (2:3–4:23 and 8:1–40) . . . . 194 6.2.2 Saul Remembered Genealogically (1 Chron. 9:35–44) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197

6.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198 6.3.1 Saul’s Death and the Start of David’s Reign (1 Chron. 10:1–14) . . . . . . . 198 6.3.2 Further References to Saul (11:2; 12:1, 2, 20, 24, 30; 13:3; 15:29; 17:13; 26:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 6.3.3 A High Place at Gibeon (16:37–43) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 6.3.4 Jebus as City of David and Site of the Temple (11:4–9; 21:15–22:1) . . . 208

6.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 6.4.1 Solomon Sacrifices and Receives Wisdom from Yahweh at Gibeon (1:2–13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

6.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) . . . . . . . . . . 215 6.5.1 “Judah and Benjamin” in Judahite History (11:1, 3, 10, 12, 23; 15:2, 8, 9; 25:5; 31:1; 34:9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 6.5.2 Rehoboam’s Reign and Judah-Benjamin (11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219

6.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in Relation to Benjamin . . . . . . . . . . 223 Chapter 7

Defining the Jerusalem Cult 7.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 7.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228 7.2.1 Levi, the Centre of Attention and Beneficiary of Land (5:27–6:66) . . . . . 228 7.2.2 The Aaronide, Zadok the Priest (5:34; 6:38) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233 7.2.3 The Restored Cultic Community in Jerusalem (9:1–34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 7.2.4 In Continuity with Different Traditions of the Past (Priestly Material) . . 236

7.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237 7.3.1 The Ark of the Covenant Comes to Jerusalem (13–16) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237 7.3.2 Again, Zadok the Priest (12:29; 15:11; 16:39; 29:22) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244 7.3.3 Jerusalem, Yahweh’s Abode Forever (23:25–26) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246

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7.3.4 Division and Duties of Levites and Priests (23–27) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246 7.3.5 David’s Abundant Freewill Offerings for the Temple (29:1–9) . . . . . . . . 252

7.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252 7.4.1 Priests and Levites Celebrate the Bringing of the Ark to the Temple (5:2–14) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252 7.4.2 The Levites Assist the Priests in the Offerings (7:6) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255

7.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) . . . . . . . . . . 256 7.5.1 Priests and Levites from the North Support Rehoboam (11:13–17) . . . . . 256 7.5.2 Abijah’s Claim about the Priesthood in Judah (13:10–11) . . . . . . . . . . . . 257 7.5.3 Levites (and Priests) Teaching the Torah (17:7–9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258 7.5.4 Priests and Levites Involved in Jehoshaphat’s Judiciary (19:4–11) . . . . . 259 7.5.5 A Levite as Prophet (20:14–17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260 7.5.6 Uzziah not Allowed to Act as Priest (26:16–21) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 7.5.7 Hezekiah Appoints Levites for Temple Duties (29:3–36) . . . . . . . . . . . . 263 7.5.8 Priests and Levites Celebrate Passover (30:1–27; 35:1–19) . . . . . . . . . . . 267 7.5.9 Priests and Levites Collect and Distribute Temple Income (31:2–19) . . . 271 7.5.10 Levites Involved in Temple Restoration (34:8–13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272

7.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in the Jerusalem Cult . . . . . . . . . . . . 273 Chapter 8

Synthesis and Methodological Possibilities 8.1 Summary of Results . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277 8.2 Multi-levelled Identity Negotiation in Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281 8.3 Potential of Approach for Other Textual Corpora . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284 8.3.1 Torah Scholarship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284 8.3.2 Nebi’im Scholarship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 8.3.3 Ketubim Scholarship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 292

8.4 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297 Text Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 325 Author Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331 Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 335

Abbreviations ADPV AnBib ANEM AOAT AOTC BKAT BWANT BZAW FAT IVBS JSOTS LHBOTS LSTS OBO OTL SBL SBLABS SBLDS VTS WBC WMANT

Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Analecta Biblica Ancient Near East Monographs Alter Orient und Altes Testament Abingdon Old Testament Commentary Biblischer Kommentar Altes Testament Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Forschungen zum Alten Testament International Voices in Biblical Studies Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies Library of Second Temple Studies Orbis biblicus et orientalis Old Testament Library Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Archaeology and Biblical Studies Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Vetus Testamentum Supplementum Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament

Chapter 1

Introduction 1.1 From Cinderella to Blossoming Field John Kleinig starts his 1994 overview of Chronicles research with the following words: That Cinderella of the Hebrew Bible, Chronicles, has at last emerged from years of obscurity and scorn. Early last century she was all the rage among scholars who used her quite shamelessly in their battles over the reconstruction of Israelite history. But then, when the conflict was over, Wellhausen turned on her in favour of her Deuteronomistic stepsister and sent her packing for her unfashionable love of ritual and family ties, and for allegedly playing fast and loose with the facts. How things have changed over the last decade! She may not yet be the belle of the academic hall, but she has, at least, been noticed in her own right once again and has received long overdue attention from the scholarly community.1

Since then Kleinig’s poignant image of Chronicles having been the Cinderella of biblical scholarship had become a very popular opening line for those who want to highlight the remarkable developments in this section of Hebrew Bible scholarship over the past decades. The last quarter of the twentieth century saw the advent of many studies in the form of books, commentaries and scholarly articles. In the past decade and a half, particularly, a new wave of Chronicles commentaries (more than 30 since 2000!) has emerged, ranging from the technical and scholarly to more popular presentations aimed at laypeople and preachers.2  John W. Kleinig, “Recent Research on Chronicles,” Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 2 (1994): 43–76 (here 43). 2 In the technical-scholarly category, the following are the best in my estimation: Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2003); Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2004); Pieter B. Dirksen, 1 Chronicles (Leuven: Peeters, 2005); Ralph W. Klein, 1 Chronicles: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006); Thomas Willi, Chronik (1 Chr 1,1–10, 14), BKAT XXIV/1 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2009); Ralph W. Klein, 2 Chronicles: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012). Although also with solid scholarly foundations, the following selection of commentaries presents more accessible studies of Chronicles: John M. Hicks, 1 & 2 Chronicles (Joplin: College Press, 2001); Steven S. Tuell, First and Second Chronicles, Interpretation (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001); Steven L. McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, AOTC (Nashville: Abingdon, 2004); Mark J. Boda, 1–2 Chronicles, Cornerstone Biblical Commentary (Carol Stream: Tyndale House, 2010); Louis C. Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, Understanding the Bible Commentary Series (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2013); John W. Wright, 1

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Without the pretension of being as exhaustive in my discussion as the previous overviews of Chronicles research have been,3 and without suggesting that I am updating those earlier descriptions here, selected stages in the study of this remarkable Old Testament book are highlighted below.4

1.1.1 Paraleipomena and Early Studies on Chronicles It is common knowledge that the book is referred to as ‫( דברי הימים‬literally, “the words of the days”) in the Hebrew and Rabbinic tradition. The same convention is followed in the Peshitta.5 However, the Septuagint translators referred to the book as Ta Paraleipomena (“the remaining / ​omitted things”). Knoppers and Harvey Jr., who made a study of the names given to this book in antiquity, see the name Ta Paraleipomena as “a reflection of the LXX translators’ conception of this work.”6 The understanding of this designation was that Chronicles formed a parallel tradition to Genesis through Kings, and that Chronicles simply supplied what was omitted in the former tradition. In this way the LXX translators and other traditions following this designation reflected a stance which failed to do justice to the Chronicler’s attempt at rewriting earlier biblical works. They also failed to acknowledge the independent contribution made by this book compared to the earlier traditions.7 1 & 2 Chronicles: A Commentary in the Wesleyan Tradition, New Beacon Bible Commentary (Kansas City: Beacon Hill, 2014). 3 Kleinig, “Recent Research on Chronicles”; Thomas Willi, “Zwei Jahrzehnte Forschung an Chronik und Esra-Nehemia,” Theologische Rundschau 67/1 (2002): 61–104; Rodney K. Duke, “Recent Research in Chronicles,” Currents in Biblical Research 8/1 (2009): 10–50. 4 The discussion does not follow a strict chronological description of the history of research on Chronicles, but rather highlights certain important themes that have been the focus of Chronicles studies in the past. 5  The name “Chronicles” stems from Jerome’s reference in the fourth century A. D. to the book as “the chronicon of all divine history.” For a discussion of how this designation differed from other known chronicles and annals, see Gary N. Knoppers and Paul B. Harvey, “Omitted and Remaining Matters: On the Names given to the Book of Chronicles in Antiquity,” Journal of Biblical Literature 121/2 (2002): 227–43. 6 Ibid., 233. 7 It seems that the fourth-century church father, Jerome, valued the book nevertheless. In his Christian allegorical interpretations of the book he assumed that the book could give valuable information for the understanding of the Gospel. The following quote from Jerome is quite famous: “The book of Paralipomenon is an epitome of the Old Testament and is of such scope and quality that anyone wishing to claim knowledge of the scriptures without it should laugh at himself. For, because of the individual names mentioned and the composition of words, both historical events omitted in the books of Kings are touched on and innumerable questions pertinent to the Gospel are explained” (quoted in Ibid., 232). It is clear that Jerome also saw Chronicles as a necessary supplement to Kings in order to fill in those historical events that were omitted by the latter.

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3

This fairly negative appraisal of Chronicles continued into modern critical studies of the book. With the emergence of historical-critical scholarship in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, this tendency continued.8 According to Julius Wellhausen, who wrote in the second half of the nineteenth century, Chronicles should be considered as a midrash of earlier and more reliable historical sources (particularly Kings), and can therefore not be used for the reconstruction of Israel’s religious history. He situated Chronicles in the period of the scribes, and sees this midrash as an attempt to blend old and new in a new literary work.9 At the end of the nineteenth century C. C. Torrey followed Wellhausen’s line. His very negative appraisal of Chronicles epitomises the scholarship on this book during that era: No fact of Old Testament criticism is more firmly established than this; that the Chronicler as a historian is thoroughly untrustworthy. He distorts facts deliberately and habitually; invents chapter after chapter with the greatest freedom, and what is most dangerous of all, his history is not written for its own sake, but in the interest of an extremely one-sided theory.10

Although in more nuanced ways, later twentieth-century critical scholars, such as Martin Noth, also followed Wellhausen in a fairly negative assessment of the historical value of Chronicles.11 The influence of these great German scholars probably contributed to the neglect of serious study of Chronicles for quite a long time, not least in Germany. Whereas other Hebrew Bible corpora, such as the Pentateuch and prophetic corpus, were meticulously studied in this part of the scholarly world, not many studies on Chronicles appeared. The main impetus for renewed research on this book came from other parts of the world, mainly from Israel (in the person of Sara Japhet) and the United Kingdom (in the person of Hugh Williamson). It was only in the 1970s that Thomas Willi, a Swiss-German scholar, opened the way for re-evaluating this book in the German-speaking  For a discussion of some early scholars’ work on Chronicles (including those of De Wette, Graf and Wellhausen), see Sara Japhet, “The Historical Reliability of Chronicles: The History of the Problem and Its Place in Biblical Research,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 33 (1985): 83–88.  9 See Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels, 2. Ausg. (Berlin: Reimer, 1883); Julius Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 2. Druck mit Nachträgen (Berlin: Reimer, 1889). 10 Quoted in Japhet, “The Historical Reliability of Chronicles,” 88. 11 See Martin Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch, 2. Aufl., Unveränd. photomechan. Nachdr. d. 1. Aufl. 1948 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1960). It is interesting that the late twentieth-century debate about the value of biblical writings (compared to epigraphical and archaeological sources) for the writing of a history of Ancient Israel also followed the tendency to devalue Chronicles as potential source for this endeavour. Chronicles is even considered to be a tertiary source, i. e. an interpretation of interpretative biblical writings, which do in any event not have value for historical reconstruction because of their ideological bias.  8

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Chapter 1: Introduction

world.12 Since then numerous scholars in mainly the United States and Canada have followed suit.

1.1.2 Historical Reliability of Chronicles? We have seen above that the historical reliability of Chronicles was the main factor which was used to judge the value of this book in early critical studies. Sara Japhet therefore dedicated a study in 1985 to a survey of this contentious issue.13 She describes how Chronicles scholarship during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries compared the two versions of Israelite history, the Deuteronomistic History and Chronicles, in order to judge their relative historical value. The question asked was: which of these two blocks of history writing offered the most reliable account of past events? Inevitably this early heuristic angle on the analysis of Chronicles revealed more about the conventions of interpretation of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries than about the time, or the nature, of the book of Chronicles. Under the influence of positivism and historicism, biblical scholars regarded these texts as reflections of past events, resulting in Chronicles being judged as an inadequate version of those events. However, after archaeological evidence (both material and epigraphic) increasingly became available from the beginning of the twentieth century, other scholars started emphasising the historical superiority of Chronicles over the Deuteronomistic History. Certain details mentioned in Chronicles but not in Samuel-Kings were confirmed by archaeological excavations (such as the reference to the Siloam tunnel in 2 Chron. 32:30). Together with the increasing archaeological evidence, scholars also started gaining more knowledge about historical geography. This newfound knowledge confirmed data in Chronicles in many instances. These developments in scholarship turned the tide of argumentation in favour of the historical reliability of Chronicles. However, although the argument was the opposite, the quest in this phase (or part) of Chronicles scholarship remained the same, namely to determine the historical authenticity of the book’s account. Japhet indicates, however, that the interest in the historical value of Chronicles started flowing in different directions in the wake of the collapse of historicism during the first part of the twentieth century. As in general historiography, bib12 See references below where the contributions of Japhet, Williamson and Willi are discussed. More recently, during the 1990s two further German studies paved the way for renewed attention to this book in the German-speaking world, namely Manfred Oeming, Das wahre Israel: Die “genealogische Vorhalle” 1 Chronik 1–9 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1990); Georg Steins, Die Chronik als kanonisches Abschlussphänomen: Studien zur Entstehung und Theologie von 1/2 Chronik (Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum, 1995). 13 Japhet, “The Historical Reliability of Chronicles.”

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5

lical scholars started realising that there is no way of establishing with absolute certainty and objective reliability what happened in the past. All history writing is influenced by the values and ideologies of the time of its origin. This also applies to biblical historiography, such as Chronicles. This shift of perspective can, according to Japhet, already be seen in Gerhard von Rad’s appraisal of Chronicles.14 His interest was in investigating the historical picture that the Chronicler painted and not so much the historical facts that can be gleaned from the book. This turning towards the ideology influencing the Chronicler’s reconstruction of history signifies an important watershed in Chronicles scholarship, a shift which will be discussed in a separate section below.

1.1.3 Composition History of Chronicles Another focal point in Chronicles research in past decades is the composition history of the book.15 It is obvious for any reader of Chronicles that the writer(s) had some form of Samuel-Kings available that was used as a major source. This has been the consensus since nineteenth-century scholarship, and to this day most comparative studies proceed from this presupposition. In the past two decades this consensus view has come under scrutiny, particularly sparked off by an alternative view expressed by Graeme Auld.16 Auld concedes that Chronicles does follow Samuel-Kings in content, but both these works used a common non-Deuteronomistic source text. Auld calls this presumed source text “The Book of Two Houses” (referring to the House of Yahweh and the House of David), and he claims that the common material in Samuel-Kings and Chronicles can be traced back to this book. Both these traditions made use of this common source, each according to its own ideological presuppositions. Auld illustrates this by showing how Samuel-Kings and Chronicles made different use of the Moses and David traditions included in their common Vorlage. Although Auld found some support for his thesis17 – most recently in an adapted form in the work of Raymond Person18 – the majority of Chronicles scholars rather stay with

14 See

Ibid., 96–97. also my discussion in Louis C. Jonker, “Within Hearing Distance? Recent Developments in Pentateuch and Chronicles Research,” Old Testament Essays 27/1 (2014): 123–46. 16 See his seminal formulation in A. Graeme Auld, Kings Without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1994). 17 See e. g. Craig Y. S. Ho, “Conjectures and Refutations: Is 1 Samuel XXXI 1–13 Really the Source of 1 Chronicles X 1–12?,” Vetus Testamentum 45/1 (1995): 82–106; Craig Y. S. Ho, “The Stories of the Family Troubles of Judah and David: A Study of Their Literary Links,” Vetus Testamentum 49/4 (1999): 514–31. 18 See e. g. Raymond F. Person, The Deuteronomic History and the Books of Chronicles: Scribal Works in an Oral World (Atlanta: SBL, 2010). 15 See

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Chapter 1: Introduction

the traditional view that the Chronicler made direct use of Samuel-Kings and in doing so adapted, omitted and added to create his own text.19 However, since the discovery of the Qumran texts we have been cautioned not to over-interpret differences between Samuel-Kings and Chronicles. Particularly in the case of 4QSama scholars have noticed that it often agrees with the material in MT 1 Chronicles and LXX Samuel, against MT Samuel. Chronicles scholars are therefore, particularly with reference to the Chronicler’s use of Samuel, alert to the fact that different textual traditions might lurk behind Samuel and Chronicles respectively, and that textual criticism should form an important part of our methodological approach to Chronicles.20 Whereas much research energy had been dedicated in recent years to the differences between Chronicles and Samuel-Kings, the latest trend is to reflect on the similarities between these literary traditions again.21 However, the interest in these newer studies is not, as in earlier phases, to determine the relative historical value of this literature. The interest is rather to determine whether and how the Deuteronomistic tradition persisted in later literature, such as Chronicles.22 The emphasis in this trend of scholarly enquiry is therefore again focused on which ideologies determined the Chronicler’s reformulation of older historiographical traditions.

1.1.4 The Nature of Chronicles After scholarship of the early part of the twentieth century had shown – under the influence of the disillusionment with “objective history” – that Chronicles is not history in the positivist sense, scholars started deliberating on the nature of the book in subsequent research. Increasingly, it was acknowledged that this book contains tendentious history, that is, history-with-a-purpose. That Chroni See Steven L. McKenzie, “The Chronicler as Redactor,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture, ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 70–90 for a systematic criticism of Auld’s position. See also Auld’s response in: A. Graeme Auld, “What Was the Main Source of the Books of Chronicles?,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture, ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 91–99. For good discussions on this issue, also consult the introductions to the following two recent commentaries: Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 66–71; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 30–44; Klein, 2 Chronicles, 1–2. 20 See particularly the plea by Knoppers in this regard: Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 52–56. 21 See e. g. Ehud Ben Zvi, “Are There Any Bridges Out There? How Wide Was the Conceptual Gap between the Deuteronomistic History and Chronicles?,” in Community Identity in Judean Historiography, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Kenneth A. Ristau (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 59–86. 22 See particularly Gary N. Knoppers, “The Relationship of the Deuteronomistic History to Chronicles: Was the Chronicler a Deuteronomist?,” in Congress Volume Helsinki 2010, ed. Martti Nissinen (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 307–41. 19

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7

cles narrates the history of Judah (and Israel) does not necessarily mean that the writer(s) had a historical interest. History can (as we know from many examples in our own age and context) be utilised for different purposes.23 One prominent theory in this regard comes from scholars who regard Chronicles as theology.24 According to this view (in all its variety), the writer(s) of Chronicles wanted to convey a particular theology that shows continuity with the past (embodied in the fact that history forms the basis of the book) to an audience whose changed circumstances required innovation and adaptation. The main focus in the interpretation of Chronicles from this heuristic angle was the differences between Chronicles and the Deuteronomistic History. Differences and changes, so scholars interpreting from this perspective argued, are indications of the unique theology of Chronicles. Other scholars attempted different answers to the question about the nature of Chronicles. Some advanced the opinion that Chronicles presents a very early form of commentary or exegesis.25 According to this view, the writer(s) of Chronicles presented to his audience an exposition of earlier influential, or even authoritative, sources.26 Still others emphasise the literary character of Chronicles, categorising the genre of Chronicles as historiography.27 According to this view, the main em23 See e. g. how history is functioning in societies of transition, such as in my own South African context. In these circumstances history writing is not merely done for the sake of reconstructing events of the past, but rather to create some self-awareness in new socio-historical circumstances. For one modern-day example of such an exercise, consult Hermann B. Giliomee and Bernard Mbenga, New History of South Africa, 1st ed. (Cape Town: Tafelberg, 2007). 24 See the volume M. Patrick Graham, ed., The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein, JSOTS 371 (London: T & T Clark International, 2003). 25 See Thomas Willi, Die Chronik als Auslegung: Untersuchungen zur literarischen Gestaltung der historischen Überlieferung Israels (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972). 26 The notion of a “rewritten Bible” is applied to Chronicles by some commentators. See e. g. the discussion in Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 129–134. Although some argue that this category, which has been identified in a number of Qumran materials, is suitable to describe the Chronicler’s usage of earlier sources, the designation does not cover all the distinctive characteristics of Chronicles. 27  See Kenneth Hoglund, “The Chronicler as Historian: A Comparitivist Perspective,” in The Chronicler as Historian, ed. M. Patrick Graham, Kenneth G. Hoglund, and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Continuum International, 1997), 19–29; Isaac Kalimi, “Was the Chronicler a Historian?,” in The Chronicler as Historian, ed. M. Patrick Graham, Kenneth G. Hoglund, and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Continuum International, 1997), 73–89; Isaac Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian: Studies in the Chronicler, His Time, Place and Writing (Assen: Royal van Gorcum, 2005); Erhard Blum, “Historiographie oder Dichtung? Zur Eigenart alttestamentlicher Geschichtsüberlieferung,” in Das Alte Testament – ein Geschichtsbuch? Beiträge des Symposiums “Das Alte Testament und die Kultur der Moderne” anlässlich des 100. Geburtstags Gerhard von Rads (1901–1971) Heidelberg 18.–21. Oktober 2001, ed. Erhard Blum, Christof Hardmeier, and Christoph Markschies (Münster: LIT, 2005), 65–86; Ehud Ben Zvi, “Shifting the Gaze: Historiographic Constraints in Chronicles and Their Implications,” in History, Literature And Theology in the Book of Chronicles, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi (London: Equinox, 2006), 78–99; Ehud Ben Zvi, “The Chronicler as a Historian: Building Texts,” in

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phasis in Chronicles interpretation should be to analyse the literary make-up and quality of the book in order to establish how the past is utilised in a new narrative construction (and not so much for its intrinsic historical value). All these studies enquiring about the nature of Chronicles again point in the direction of identifying what ideological framework drove the writer(s) to construct this literature, and what the intended purpose of this new construction of Israel’s past was.

1.1.5 Ideology and Rhetorical Aim(s) of Chronicles We have seen that numerous developments in Chronicles studies during the twentieth century tended increasingly towards the analysis of the Chronicler’s ideology. Two prominent scholars contributed to this aspect of Chronicles research and, in so doing, introduced a new phase in which the Cinderella of biblical scholarship could at last emerge as a blossoming bud. Two publications in 1977, the one in English and the other in Hebrew, paved the way for renewed interest in the book. The first is the published dissertation (completed at Cambridge University in 1975) by Hugh Williamson entitled Israel in the Books of Chronicles.28 Williamson starts his discussion of the theme with the following comments: The author of the books of Chronicles lived during a period in which one of the major issues for the Jewish people was the precise definition of the extent of its own community. Before the exile to Babylon, this was less of a problem, because the community was co-extensive for the most part with the nations of Israel and Judah. The loss of sovereignty, however, combined with the divisions caused by the transportation of many of the leaders to Babylon and the later return to the land, created a quite new situation in which the ‘terms of membership’ had to be redefined.29

Williamson is convinced that the Chronicler wanted to make a contribution to this redefinition of the “terms of membership” of Israel within the exilic and post-exilic circumstances. He qualifies this by adding: This is not by any means to imply that the Chronicler had only one purpose in writing his history; it is evident, however, that in the circumstances of his day he could hardly avoid giving some attention to this question, and furthermore it will emerge that in fact he does present a distinctive point of view which is of value in the attempt to unravel the lines of thought in a period for which we have notoriously few sources.30 History, Literature And Theology in the Book of Chronicles, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi (London: Equinox, 2006), 100–116. 28 Hugh G. M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977). 29 Ibid., 1. 30 Ibid.

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9

The second part of his study is then spent on the question of how Israel is portrayed in Chronicles.31 After examining inter alia the occurrence of the term “Israel” in Chronicles in conjunction with the narrative structure of the book, he comes to the conclusion that the Chronicler reacted against some of his contemporaries, who held fairly exclusivist understandings of “Israel”. Williamson indicates that the Chronicler is attempting a new definition of “All Israel” in terms of Jerusalem’s position as well as the temple’s role. Sara Japhet’s dissertation (completed in 1973 at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, and first published in Hebrew in 1977) argued along the same lines.32 Also proceeding from the presupposition that Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah were written by different authors, and that the former originated in the late Persian-era Yehud, Japhet identifies five themes that characterise the ideology (or theology) of the Book of Chronicles. The first is the view on “YHWH, the God of Israel”, the second “the worship of YHWH”, the third the Chronicler’s portrayal of “the people of Israel”, the fourth his portrayal of “Kingship”, and the last the book’s understanding of “The Hope of Redemption.” In the third part on the Chronicler’s portrayal of “the people of Israel” she investigates how the Chronicler uses the term “All Israel”. After that the tribal system as reflected in the Chronicler’s genealogies (1 Chron. 1–9), the David and Solomon narratives (1 Chron. 10 to 2 Chron. 9) and the stories about the kings of Judah (2 Chron. 10–36) are scrutinised. Japhet remarks at the end of her discussion on the tribal system that the book of Chronicles is not bound by a schematic view of the people and it therefore provides a freer, more diverse expression of Israel’s ethnic reality [than Samuel-Kings – LCJ]. At least some of its evidence on the subject reflects the political reality of the First Commonwealth and preserves sources dating from the period. Nevertheless, it must be said that both aspects of the tribal idea [i. e. the ongoing existence of two distinct entities, Israel and Judah, while at the same time describing each of the two sides as a unified body with no internal groupings or conflicts – LCJ] provide the Chronicler with an excellent means of expressing his own views. An emphasis on the people’s abiding unity and completeness is central to the book’s concept of Israel. … At the same time, the tribal idea 31 In the first part he interacts with other scholars such as Sara Japhet and Thomas Willi on the scope of the book of Chronicles, as well as on its authorship. Whereas earlier scholars saw Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles as two parts of the same literary work, and with a common authorship, Williamson agreed with Japhet that Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles should rather be viewed as an independent literary work with separate authorship from Ezra-Nehemiah. This point of departure, which has become generally accepted in Chronicles scholarship in recent years, forms the basis for Williamson’s investigation into the Chronicler’s portrayal of Israel. 32 The first English translation of the Hebrew publication appeared in 1989 as Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought, 1st ed. (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1989). It was reprinted several times and a new edition appeared in 2009 as Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009). For my review of the latter, see Louis C. Jonker, “Review of Sara Japhet’s The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought,” Review of Biblical Literature 05 (2010), http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/7303_7952.pdf (accessed 18/04/2014).

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expressed the view that a number of different elements – the tribes themselves – were represented in the people of Israel.33

Japhet closes her book by asking “the most basic question of all: … Why did the Chronicler feel a need to retell the story of a period in the distant past, a period that had already been described at great length? What impelled him to write his book?”34 Japhet’s answer to this basic question is worth quoting at length (as I have already done in several previous publications of my own): The past was increasingly sanctified by later generations; yet, at the same time, there developed a gap, which steadily increased, between their own complex reality and the reality they found described in the Bible (sic!). A gap of this sort, the inevitable result of historical development, undermines the stability of both realities: first, early history becomes incomprehensible to the present generation and the norms of a so-called formative period are in fact no longer appropriate to contemporary needs and aspirations; second, present-day institutions, religious tenets, and ritual observance are severed from their origins and lose their authoritative source of legitimation. The book of Chronicles represents a powerful effort to bridge this gap. By reformulating Israel’s history in its formative period, the Chronicler gives new significance to the two components of Israelite life: the past is explained so that its institutions and religious principles become relevant to the present, and the ways of the present are legitimized anew by being connected to the prime source of authority – the formative period in the people’s past. Thus, Chronicles is a comprehensive expression of the perpetual need to renew and revitalize the religion of Israel. It makes an extremely important attempt to affirm the meaningfulness of contemporary life without severing ties between the present and the sources of the past; in fact, it strengthens the bond between past and present and proclaims the continuity of Israel’s faith and history.35

Williamson and Japhet have exercised an immense influence in recent research on Chronicles, and their views have been taken up in the majority of subsequent studies on the book. Many influential commentaries on Chronicles that appeared since 2000 also build upon these scholars’ views, such as those of Gary Knoppers and Ralph Klein.36 The wave of scholarship introduced by Williamson’s and Japhet’s views on Chronicles also played a determining role in my own engagement with the book. The following section situates my own approach in this development.

The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, 2009, 241. 403. 35 Ibid., 403–404. 36 Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9; Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29; Klein, 1 Chronicles; Klein, 2 Chronicles. See also further studies on the ideology of Chronicles, such as Jonathan E. Dyck, “The Ideology of Identity in Chronicles,” ed. Mark G. Brett (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 89–116; Jonathan E. Dyck, The Theocratic Ideology of the Chronicler (Leiden: Brill, 1998). 33 Japhet, 34 Ibid.,

1.2 From Re-interpretation, via “Reforming History”, to Identity Negotiation

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1.2 From Re-interpretation, via “Reforming History”, to Identity Negotiation My own interest in Chronicles actually stems from a broader hermeneutical interest. Having experienced the transition from apartheid South Africa to a country with a democratically elected government – a transition which started with the release of Nelson Mandela in February 1990 – I was particularly intrigued by how such a situation of changing socio-political circumstances impacted on the understanding of the Bible. A renewed interest in Bible interpretation among church members, particularly those who were part of the Dutch Reformed Church, which had provided the apartheid regime with a theological basis during the 1970s and 1980s, brought an intense awareness of how socio-historical circumstances influence the interpretation of authoritative (literary) traditions. The very interesting hermeneutical dynamics of the transitional period in my country prompted me to do some research in this regard.37 During this period it struck me how my context also shaped my own reading of biblical literature stemming from the post-exilic period of reconstruction in Ancient Israel. Although worlds (and centuries) apart, I realised how analogous the hermeneutical dynamics of re-interpretation of authoritative traditions of the past were in the post-exilic era and in my own time. Although my methodologies of studying Chronicles stand firmly in the Western (mainly German) tradition of scholarship, the impetus for studying this literature was strongly contextual.

1.2.1 Chronicles as Re-interpretation of Older Historiographical Traditions A first phase in my scholarship on Chronicles was therefore aimed at determining and describing the hermeneutical dynamics of re-interpretation of older historiographical traditions that can be witnessed in this book. Since modern scholars are in the very fortunate position of having at their disposal the majority of the literary sources used as Vorlage by the Chronicler, comparative studies of Chronicles texts and related passages in the Deuteronomistic History and the Pentateuch formed the basis for these studies. A concentration on the Josiah narrative formed an important part of this phase in my studies.38 I showed how the Chronicler, with his changes, omissions and 37 See e. g. the following studies: Louis C. Jonker, “The Influence of Social Transformation on the Interpretation of the Bible: A Methodological Reflection,” Scriptura 72 (2000): 1–14; Louis C. Jonker, “Social Transformation and Biblical Interpretation: A Comparative Study,” Scriptura 77 (2001): 259–70; Louis C. Jonker, “The Biblical Legitimization of Ethnic Diversity in Apartheid Theology,” Scriptura 77 (2001): 165–83. 38 See particularly Louis C. Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles: Late Stages of the Josiah Reception in II Chr. 34f (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003).

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Chapter 1: Introduction

additions to the Deuteronomistic version of the narrative (in 2 Kgs. 22–23) not only provided a different set of information, but altered the plotline of the narrative to the extent that its focus – and therefore also its rhetorical effect – was changed completely from an idealisation of King Josiah in the Kings version to an instrumentalisation of the king in the service of emphasising the cultic parameters of temple, priesthood and Passover. The changing of the order of events, as well as the disproportion of information given on the cultic purification measures and Passover celebrations, contributed to the creation of a different rhetorical effect in Chronicles which could be closely related to the changed and changing socio-historical circumstances after the exile. The focus in these studies was therefore much more on the literary forms through which the Chronicler re-interpreted older traditions, as well as on adequate methodological treatment of these literary forms. A stronger emphasis on the rhetorical effect of this textual communication, as well as on its relationship with the socio-historical context, came only in a next phase of my scholarship.

1.2.2 Chronicles as “Reforming History” Following particularly Sara Japhet and Gary Knoppers, I proposed the category of “reforming history” as expression of the type of literature that we find in Chronicles, as well as of its function within its specific socio-historical context.39 The phrase is thus an attempt to simultaneously emphasise that the rhetorical function of Chronicles and its contextuality are closely related issues. The ambiguity of the designation “reforming history” is intentional. It indicates that the book of Chronicles is simultaneously an attempt to reformulate and sanitise the older traditions about the past, as well as an attempt to reformulate the identity of God’s people in the changed socio-historical circumstances of the late Persian era.40 The designation is therefore not primarily a genre indication, but rather an attempt to describe the intention or purpose of this work, and to characterise its hermeneutical dynamics. It is therefore also not an alternative to other designations of the Chronicler being a historian, exegete, theologian and the like (as discussed above), but rather draws on different aspects of all those depictions that are more genre-oriented. In line with Japhet’s view as quoted at length above, the designation of Chronicles as “reforming history” indicates that it was intended to form a unique bridge between the past and the present. Knoppers similarly indicates that Chronicles had a twofold effect: on the one hand, people would have read their 39 See Louis C. Jonker, “Reforming History: The Hermeneutical Significance of the Books of Chronicles,” Vetus Testamentum 57/1 (2007): 21–44. 40 On this dating of Chronicles, see the discussion in Chapter 3.

1.2 From Re-interpretation, via “Reforming History”, to Identity Negotiation

13

older traditions with new eyes after they read Chronicles; but on the other hand, the new literary work that was created by the Chronicler suited the writer’s own time and interests. Knoppers therefore suggests that … there is something to be said for viewing Chronicles as a second national epic. Chronicles was composed not necessarily as a replacement of, but as an alternative to the primary history. … Indeed, the Chronicler’s work may have had an effect on how these older works were interpreted by some readers. After reading the Chronicler’s composition and its selective incorporation of earlier writings, ancient readers may have understood those earlier writings differently. By the same token, the author’s skilful reuse, reinterpretation, rearrangement, and major supplementation of sections within the primary history all conspire to create a very different work. … The new traditions incorporated within the body of the text, coupled with the reworking of selections from older biblical texts, contribute to the creation of a new literary work that is designed to suit the writer’s own times and interests in the Second Commonwealth.41

Chronicles as “reforming history” was therefore a bold attempt towards formulating a new identity in the late-Persian province of Yehud. This identity construction took place in continuity with past traditions, but also in terms of the present of the Chronicler. Not only was the past “reformed” by means of this literature, but the present (as well as the future) was also transformed through its rhetorical effect.

1.2.3 Chronicles as Identity Negotiation Within the context described above, sociological models become important for understanding the dynamic of identity negotiation processes,42 and particularly the role of literature in those processes. These models also provide valuable insight into the rhetorical dynamic of the book of Chronicles (as will be discussed further below). The use of these models forms another important phase in my own scholarly reflection on Chronicles.

I Chronicles 1–9, 133–134. prefer the term “identity negotiation” instead of other options such as “identity formation” or “identity construction”, because of its multidirectional and non-linear connotation. The alternative terms mentioned here could potentially prompt the misunderstanding that identity is formed ex nihilo and that such a process would develop in a linear way from point A to B, in order to come to completion at a certain point. Such an understanding would underpin an essentialist definition of identity. The term “identity negotiation” rather connotes a constructivist understanding of identity, which indicates that identities (in the plural) are always in various processes of interaction with other agents in the environment, are flexible and adaptable in terms of changing circumstances, and tend to have a hybrid nature. Identity negotiation is therefore an ongoing process which does not culminate in some essentials, whether ethnic, cultural, religious or the like. These preliminary remarks about terminology will be elaborated upon in Chapter 2, which will focus on methodological matters. 41 Knoppers, 42 I

14

Chapter 1: Introduction

Scholars have started using categories of identity in their interpretations of Chronicles.43 One of the main reasons for this is the presence of such a prominent block of genealogical material at the beginning of the book (1 Chron. 1–9). Scholars agree that this “genealogische Vorhalle” has the purpose of positioning the w h o l e historiographical work within the framework of the identity of ‫כל־ישראל‬, that is, “All Israel.”44 The Chronicler quoted genealogies from earlier traditions – and constructed some of his own45 – and arranged those in a very specific order to emphasise the position of the Levites (who occupy the central structural position in the “genealogische Vorhalle”), but also of Judah and Benjamin (who form the outer circle of the ring construction in the genealogies).46 The very opening of the book of Chronicles therefore already invites reflection on Israel’s self-understanding.47 However, there are also archaeological reasons why the issue of identity becomes important for the understanding of literature from the late Persian period, particularly Chronicles. Thomas Willi has influenced my understanding of Chronicles significantly in this regard through my personal exposure to his work in Greifswald. With reference to the changes in the material culture that can be witnessed in the archaeological record of the late Persian period (presumably after the proclamation of the province of Yehud),48 Willi has indicated that the 43 See e. g. various essays in the following volumes: Gary N. Knoppers and Kenneth A. Ristau, eds., Community Identity in Judean Historiography (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009); Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Manfred Oeming, eds., Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011). 44 See the following studies that are focused on these initial chapters of Chronicles: Magnar Kartveit, Motive und Schichten der Landtheologie in I Chronik 1–9, Neu bearb. Ausg., Coniectanea Biblica / ​Old Testament Series 28 (Stockholm: Almquist och Wiksell, 1989); Oeming, Das wahre Israel; James T. Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9 (Atlanta: SBL, 2008). See also discussions of this part of the book in the following scholarly commentaries: Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9; Dirksen, 1 Chronicles; Klein, 1 Chronicles; Willi, Chronik (1 Chr 1,1–10, 14). 45  Although we cannot be certain that “the Chronicler” was an individual, we may assume on account of social and scribal conventions of the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods that the author(s) of Chronicles was (were) male. When using singular and male designations in this work to refer to the Chronicler, it is done for the sake of conciseness. 46 See my discussion in Louis C. Jonker, “Reading the Pentateuch’s Genealogies after the Exile: The Chronicler’s Usage of Genesis 1–11 in Negotiating an All-Israelite Identity,” Old Testament Essays 25/2 (2012): 316–33. 47 See also the more detailed studies on the Judahite genealogies: Gary N. Knoppers, “Intermarriage, Social Complexity, and Ethnic Diversity in the Genealogy of Judah,” Journal of Biblical Literature 120/1 (2001): 15–30; Gary N. Knoppers, “‘Married into Moab’: The Exogamy Practiced by Judah and His Descendants in the Judahite Lineages,” in Mixed Marriages. Intermarriage and Group Identity in the Second Temple Period, ed. Christian Frevel (London: T & T Clark International, 2011), 170–91. 48 Willi particularly refers to changes in the Siegelkultur. See also the archaeological witnesses to this transition as published in the work of Oded Lipschits, particularly Oded Lipschits, “Demographic Changes in Judah Between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries B. C. E.,” ed.

1.2 From Re-interpretation, via “Reforming History”, to Identity Negotiation

15

later Persian period witnesses a time of new identity formation.49 This stands in contrast to the earlier post-exilic phase, which was characterised by a continuity with the thought patterns of the pre-exilic phase. After the proclamation of the province of Yehud, the quest for a new national identity started developing.50 Willi states: Die Literatur der zweiten Hälfte der Perserzeit ist nicht mehr vom Bewustsein der Fortsetzung bestimmt. … Nach der definitiven Etablierung einer eigenständigen Provinz Jehud folgt nun die Phase der Identität des jüdischen Volkes in‑ und ausserhalb Jehuds. Diese neue Phase ist durch zweierlei bestimmt: a) durch Abgrenzung und Auseinandersetzung mit den überlieferten Zeugnissen der eigenen Vergangenheit in Form von Auslegung, und in Zusammenhang damit b) durch bewuste Integration ins Achämenidenreich, durch Entwicklung eines nationalen Selbstverständnisses im Rahmen der vielen anderen Ethnien und durch Beschreibung der eigenen Rolle im Blick auf eine einheitlich gesehene Menschheit.51

It is particularly these two factors, namely the textual evidence from Chronicles itself as well as archaeological evidence of a change in material culture as emphasised by Thomas Willi and others, that motivate my own employment of the category of identity negotiation in the analysis of Chronicles. Having situated my own studies on Chronicles within the broader development of the field, in the next subsection (§ 1.3) I will look more closely at Oded Lipschits and Joseph Blenkinsopp (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 323–76; Oded Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah under Babylonian Rule (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2005); Oded Lipschits and David Vanderhooft, “Yehud Stamp Impressions in the Fourth Century B. C. E.: A Time of Administrative Consolidation?,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 75–94., as well as the evidence from Ramat Rahel, which increased in prominence during the late Persian phase, and that became the major manufacturing location of Yehud-stamped jars. 49 Charles Carter made a fairly strict distinction between Persian period I (538–450 B. C. E.) and Persian period II (450–332 B. C. E.) in his work. See Charles E. Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period: A Social and Demographic Study (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 1999). Although scholars are still adhering to the insight that there were different conditions during the early and late post-exilic phases, this distinction is now made in more nuanced ways. Oded Lipschits and others have, e. g., shown through numerous studies that one should also make a distinction between Jerusalem and the rural areas of Yehud that were less affected by the exile than its urban centre. See e. g. Oded Lipschits and Oren Tal, “The Settlement Archaeology of the Province of Judah: A Case Study,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 33–52; Lipschits and Vanderhooft, “Yehud Stamp Impressions in the Fourth Century B. C. E.” 50 See also Dyck, “The Ideology of Identity in Chronicles”; Dyck, The Theocratic Ideology of the Chronicler; Jon L. Berquist, “Constructions of Identity in Postcolonial Yehud,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 53–66. 51 Thomas Willi, Juda, Jehud, Israel: Studien zum Selbstverständnis des Judentums in persischer Zeit (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 36.

16

Chapter 1: Introduction

“identity” as heuristic category for the analysis of Chronicles in particular, but also of other textual corpora of the same period.

1.3 “Identity” as Heuristic Category One should, of course, acknowledge that the turn towards “identity” as heuristic category in reading biblical texts is also a reflection of our own times, and of the global changes we experienced and have been experiencing since the 1990s. The world order that characterised the greater part of the twentieth century crumbled together with the Berlin Wall,52 and a new world order has been in the making since then. These developments not only prompted new political and economic configurations, but also opened the way for new waves of migration in different parts of the world. These developments, which coincided with the turn from one millennium to another, created the experience of transition within which new self-understandings became unavoidable. A decade and a half into the new millennium, these experiences still persist. Taking the above into account, one should avoid at least the following two dangers: on the one hand, ignoring these contextual changes and pretending that they are not affecting our biblical scholarship; and on the other hand, uncritically using categories prompted by the changing context (such as the importance of “identity” as heuristic category) without subjecting them to responsible scientific scrutiny.53 It will become clear in a subsection below (§ 1.3.3) that this book intends to contribute towards avoiding the second danger, namely the uncritical use of categories prompted by our context. However, I will first give a very brief overview of studies on Chronicles (§ 1.3.1) and other Hebrew Bible corpora (§ 1.3.2) that use “identity” as heuristic category. 52 The end of apartheid as institutionalised political system in my own South African context followed in the wake of these global developments. 53 In my published dissertation I tried to steer away from irresponsible and unaccountable biblical scholarship (a distinction taken over from Daniel Patte’s Ethics of Biblical Interpretation). See Louis C. Jonker, Exclusivity and Variety: Perspectives on Multidimensional Exegesis, Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996). See also further publications in this regard: Louis C. Jonker, “‘Contextuality’ in (South) African Exegesis: Reflections on the Communality of Our Exegetical Methodologies,” Old Testament Essays 18/3 (2005): 637–50; Louis C. Jonker, “Living in Different Worlds Simultaneously or: A Plea for Contextual Integrity,” in African and European Readers of the Bible in Dialogue, ed. Hans De Wit and Gerald O. West (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 107–19; Louis C. Jonker, “The Global Context and Its Consequences for Old Testament Interpretation,” in Global Hermeneutics? Reflections and Consequences, ed. Knut Holter and Louis C. Jonker, International Voices in Biblical Studies 1 (Atlanta: SBL, 2010), 47–56, http://ivbs.sbl-site.org/uploads/JONKER~1. PDF; Louis C. Jonker, “Why History Matters: The Place of Historical Consciousness in a Multidimensional Approach towards Biblical Interpretation,” Verbum et Ecclesia 33/1 (2013): Art. #714, doi:http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/ ve.v33i1.714.

1.3 “Identity” as Heuristic Category

17

1.3.1 Studies on Identity in Chronicles One of the first scholars to start using “identity” as heuristic category for the study of Chronicles was Jonathan Dyck. First in an essay in a volume edited by Mark Brett,54 but also later in a monograph,55 Dyck explained his understanding of how identity functions in Chronicles. In an introductory essay to the volume,56 Brett indicates that we can observe a strange irony in the developments of the twentieth century. Although social theorists of the middle of the twentieth century expected that the politics of homogeneity would flow from post-colonial states, ethnic identity is still a pressing feature of contemporary politics the world over and is often violently re-asserted.57 He therefore argues that biblical critics have the ethical responsibility to address this complex web of issues. He states: There can be no denying that the Bible has had, and continues to have, an influence on many cultures, and a specialist knowledge of this ancient library is something which carries moral and political implications. … Whether we like it or not, we are implicated in contemporary ethnic issues in a variety of ways.58

It is against this background that Jonathan Dyck makes his contribution on Chronicles. Since the focus of his volume is specifically on how the construction of ethnic identity can be observed in the biblical writings, Dyck indicates that his intention in his essay is to examine whether Chronicles also reflects such an exclusivist view as that reflected in texts contemporaneous with it such as Ezra 10 and Nehemiah 13: The question of the Chronicler’s concept of the identity of his people, the people he calls “Israel,” is thus a comparative one: What is the Chronicler’s concept of Israel as compared to that found in Ezra-Nehemiah?59

However, Dyck continues to explain that his study also has a methodological aim: My aim in this paper is not only to answer these particular questions but to ask new questions that emerge from a closer examination of the concept of ethnic identity itself. The concept of identity is, as I hope to demonstrate in the following, a complex sociological notion which requires sociological terms and categories that do it justice.60 54 Dyck,

“The Ideology of Identity in Chronicles.” The Theocratic Ideology of the Chronicler. 56 Mark G. Brett, “Interpreting Ethnicity: Methods, Hermeneutics, Ethics,” in Ethnicity and the Bible, ed. Mark G. Brett (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 3–22. 57 See also his interaction with some prominent archaeologists on Israel’s origins: Mark G. Brett, “Israel’s Indigenous Origins: Cultural Hybridity and the Formation of Israelite Ethnicity,” Biblical Interpretation 11/3–4 (2003): 400–412. 58 Brett, “Interpreting Ethnicity: Methods, Hermeneutics, Ethics,” 5. 59 Dyck, “The Ideology of Identity in Chronicles,” 89. 60 Ibid., 90 [his emphasis]. 55 Dyck,

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Chapter 1: Introduction

As part of his methodological contribution he therefore emphasises that ethnic identity should not be understood in essentialist categories, but should rather be described in dynamic and constructivist terms. A constructivist understanding implies, however, that “[e]thnic identity is thus vulnerable to ideological distortion in the context of the struggle for political power” and “that humans are bounded by multiple identities.”61 Armin Siedlecki also tackled the issue of Judahite identity in a volume of essays on The Chronicler as Author.62 He indicates that “[o]ne way of thinking about communal identity is to define oneself negatively over against other groups.”63 He therefore hypothesises that Judah’s self-understanding is partly reflected in Chronicles in how non-Judahite groups are portrayed. In his investigation of the battle accounts in Chronicles, and the way in which foreigners are portrayed in them, he comes to the conclusion that Judah is defining itself, so to speak, at its geographical margins. In a volume of essays which deliberates on Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period Jon Berquist problematised the title of the volume by asking who those Judeans are? He does this by indicating that not all studies on identity formation in Chronicles proceed from the same presuppositions about identity. Berquist therefore registers a theoretical shortcoming in our present and past studies on this issue: Studies in ancient Judaism have rarely addressed this question [i. e. theoretical reflection on the issue of identity – LCJ] …, even though the larger field of cultural studies has concentrated on identity as a major problem for scholarship.64

In order to identify the different and diverging assumptions underlying our present scholarship on identity formation in Achaemenid Yehud, Berquist discusses five modes of scholarship on this issue, namely (i) identity as ethnicity; (ii) identity as a matter of nationality or of some connection to a political organisation; (iii) identity as religion; (iv) identity from the perspective of role play; and (v) identity from the perspective of postmodernism and the mathematics of chaos. Whereas the first three modes are fairly static and top-down, according to Berquist, the remaining two give better expression to the dynamic aspect of interaction within a community. Berquist indicates that the fourth model also does not escape the dangers of essentialism and functionalism, and he therefore opts for the last model. From that perspective he states: Simply put, the categorizing of identity as religious, national, or ethnic is a response to the wrong question. Identity refers to the pattern that multiple forces produce. Each point 61 Ibid.,

97. Siedlecki, “Foreigners, Warfare and Judahite Identity in Chronicles,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture, ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 229–66. 63 Ibid., 230. 64 Berquist, “Constructions of Identity in Postcolonial Yehud,” 54. 62 Armin

1.3 “Identity” as Heuristic Category

19

is fluid and changing … This approach transforms the previous questions about ethnicity, nationality, and religion as defining identity. No longer are such identities seen as fixed and static categories, but as continuing processes. We must speak not of identity but of identity formation.65

In my own studies on identity in Chronicles I tried to take seriously Berquist’s methodological and meta-theoretical challenge.66 In studies on the topic I consider it important to work from a constructivist understanding of identity as identity negotiation, as well as to emphasise the intricate interaction between socio-historical circumstances, social processes of identity negotiation, and literature production that contribute to this process of identity negotiation.67 These views will be explained in full in Chapter 2 of the present study. To summarize this subsection:68 The heuristic category of “identity” has been very prominent in Chronicles studies, particularly since the middle of the 1990s. A prominent feature of this scholarship is a conscious meta-theoretical reflection on the understanding of “identity” when used in the analysis of this book.

1.3.2 Studies on Identity in Other Textual Corpora It is particularly the book of Ezra-Nehemiah that has attracted, and is attracting, extensive research from the perspective of identity negotiation.69 Everybody 65 Ibid.,

63 [his emphasis]. particularly my discussion of Berquist’s work in Louis C. Jonker, “Textual Identities in the Books of Chronicles: The Case of Jehoram’s History,” in Community Identity in Judean Historiography, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Kenneth A. Ristau (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 197–217. 67 See particularly the following: Louis C. Jonker, “The Rhetorics of Finding a New Identity in a Multi-Cultural and Multi-Religious Society,” Verbum et Ecclesia 24/2 (2003): 396–416; Louis C. Jonker, “Refocusing the battle accounts of the kings: Identity formation in the Books of Chronicles,” in Behutsames Lesen: Alttestamentliche Exegese im interdisziplinären Methodendiskurs; Christof Hardmeier zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Sylke Lubs et al. (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2007), 245–74; Louis C. Jonker, “Who Constitutes Society? Yehud’s Self-Understanding in the Late Persian Era as Reflected in the Books of Chronicles,” Journal of Biblical Literature 127/4 (2008): 703–24; Jonker, “Textual Identities in the Books of Chronicles: The Case of Jehoram’s History”; Louis C. Jonker, “David’s Officials according to the Chronicler (1 Chronicles 23–27): A Reflection of Second Temple Self-Categorization?,” in Historiography and Identity (re)formulation in Second Temple Historiographical Literature, ed. Louis C. Jonker (New York: T&T Clark International, 2010), 65–91; Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles. 68 The discussion in this subsection makes a selection of scholarly work in order to show some tendencies. There are also further studies which use “identity” as heuristic perspective for their investigations of Chronicles. See again various essays in the following volumes: Knoppers and Ristau, Community Identity in Judean Historiography; Lipschits, Knoppers, and Oeming, Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period; Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana V. Edelman, eds., Imagining the Other and Constructing Israelite Identity in the Early Second Temple Period, LHBOTS (London: Bloomsbury, 2014). 69 A selection of works that appeared since 2000 includes the following: Knoppers, “Intermarriage, Social Complexity, and Ethnic Diversity in the Genealogy of Judah”; Peter R. Bed66 See

20

Chapter 1: Introduction

reading the book becomes aware of the very prominent examples of defining the post-exilic community contained in the book. Not only do the extensive genealogies of returnees in Ezra 2, 8 and Nehemiah 7, 10, 11, 12 point in that direction, but particularly the narratives about the expulsion of foreign wives in Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 13 make this issue very explicit. These sections have therefore been studied intensively in recent scholarship.70 Another Hebrew Bible corpus, or parts thereof, which is often discussed in terms of identity issues is the Pentateuch. It is particularly the Exodus narrative,71 ford, “Diaspora: Homeland Relations in Ezra-Nehemiah,” Vetus Testamentum 52/2 (2002): 147–65; Jeremiah W. Cataldo, “Persian Policy and the Yehud Community During Nehemiah,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 28/2 (2003): 240–52; Philip F. Esler, “Ezra-Nehemiah as a Narrative of (Re-invented) Israelite Identity,” Biblical Interpretation 11/3–4 (2003): 413–26; Harold C. Washington, “Israel’s Holy Seed and the Foreign Women of Ezra-Nehemiah: A Kristevan Reading,” Biblical Interpretation 11/3–4 (2003): 427–37; Melody D. Knowles, “Pilgrimage Imagery in the Returns in Ezra,” Journal of Biblical Literature 123/1 (2004): 57–74; Jacob L. Wright, Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah-Memoir and Its Earliest Readers, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 348 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2004); Rainer Albertz, “Purity Strategies and Political Interests in the Policy of Nehemiah,” in Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever, ed. Seymour Gitin, J. Edward Wright, and J. P. Dessel (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 199–206; Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, “Nehemiah 9–10: Structure and Significance,” in Perspectives on Biblical Hebrew: Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Volumes 1–4, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi (Piscataway: Gorgias, 2006), 356–78; Gerrie F. Snyman, “Collective Memory and Coloniality of Being as a Hermeneutical Framework: A Partialised Reading of Ezra-Nehemiah,” Old Testament Essays 20/1 (2007): 53–83; Matthew Thiessen, “The Function of a Conjunction: Inclusivist or Exclusivist Strategies in Ezra 6.19–21 and Nehemiah 10.29–30?,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 34/1 (2009): 63–79; Katherine E. Southwood, “‘And They Could Not Understand Jewish Speech’: Language, Ethnicity, and Nehemiah’s Intermarriage Crisis,” The Journal of Theological Studies 62/1 (2011): 1–19; Donald P. Moffat, Ezra’s Social Drama: Identity Formation, Marriage and Social Conflict in Ezra 9 and 10 (London / ​New York: Bloomsbury, 2013). See also the various essays on Ezra-Nehemiah contained in the following volumes: Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming, eds., Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006); Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz, eds., Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E. (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007); Knoppers and Ristau, Community Identity in Judean Historiography; Lipschits, Knoppers, and Oeming, Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period. 70 See particularly the following studies: Bob Becking, Ezra, Nehemiah, and the Construction of Early Jewish Identity, FAT 80 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011); Christian Frevel, ed., Mixed Marriages. Intermarriage and Group Identity in the Second Temple Period (London: T & T Clark International, 2011). 71 It is particularly in the African context where the role of Exodus as narrative concerning identity and origin is investigated, often in comparative studies of African traditional societies. See e. g. Hendrik L. Bosman, “Origin and Identity: Rereading Exodus as a Polemical Narrative Then (Palestine) and Now (Africa): Appropriating Exodus in Africa,” Scriptura 90 (2005): 869–77; Funlola O. Olojede, “The Exodus and Identity Formation in View of the Origin and Migration Narratives of the Yoruba” (Thesis, Stellenbosch University, 2008), http://scholar. sun.ac.za/handle/10019.1/2588; Hendrik L. Bosman, “A Nama ‘Exodus’? A Postcolonial Reading of the Diaries of Hendrik Witbooi: Exodus as Narrative Concerning Origin and Migration Negotiating Identity in Africa,” Scriptura 108 (2011): 329–41; Jonathan Weor,

1.3 “Identity” as Heuristic Category

21

as well as the legal materials (purity laws; priestly organisation; Sabbath and festival regulations, etc.)72 that receive attention from this perspective. In this brief introductory overview, however, I will focus on an interesting development in Pentateuch studies over recent years. In redaction-historical debates on how and why the Pentateuch became the Torah during the Persian period,73 some scholars (such as Peter Frei and Erhard Blum)74 suggested that a process of Persian imperial authorisation should be seen behind the promulgation of the Pentateuch as Torah. After a phase of criticism against this theory,75 “The Theological Interpretation of the Book of Exodus as Narratives Concerning Origin and Migration as an Ongoing Negotiation of Identity by the Tiv People of Nigeria: Exodus as Narrative Concerning Origin and Migration Negotiating Identity in Africa,” Scriptura 108 (2011): 357–64; Edwin M. Zulu, “Interpreting the Exodus among the Ngoni People: Exodus as Narrative Concerning Origin and Migration Negotiating Identity in Africa,” Scriptura 108 (2011): 365–80; Kenneth Ngwa, “Ethnicity, Adoption, and Exodus: A Socio-Rhetorical Reading of Exodus 2.1–10,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 38/2 (2013): 163–87. See further Kåre Berge, “National Identity and Popular Sentiment in Genesis and Exodus,” Coniectanea Biblica. Old Testament Series 58 (2011): 37–52; Federico Alfredo Roth, “Hyphenating Moses: A Postcolonial Exegesis of Identity Construction, Destruction, and Reconstruction in Exodus 1:1—3:15” (Fuller Theological Seminary, 2013), http://gradworks.umi. com/35/68/3568071.html. 72  The following is a selection of recent studies in this regard: Gershon Hepner, Legal Friction: Law, Narrative, and Identity Politics in Biblical Israel (Peter Lang, 2010); Esias E. Meyer, “Divide and Be Different: Priestly Identity in the Persian Period,” Hervormde Theological Studies 68/1 (2012): 54–60; Esias E. Meyer, “From Cult to Community: The Two Halves of Leviticus,” Verbum et Ecclesia 34/2 (2013): 1–7; Eckart Otto, “Torah and Prophecy: A Debate of Changing Identities,” Verbum et Ecclesia 34/2 (2013): 1–5; Thomas Römer, “Conflicting Models of Identity and the Publication of Torah in the Persian Period,” in Between Cooperation and Hostility: Multiple Identities in Ancient Judaism and the Interaction with Foreign Powers, ed. Rainer Albertz and Jakob Wöhrle (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 33–52. 73 See particularly the following volumes of essays which document this debate well: James W. Watts, Persia and Torah: The Theory of Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch (Atlanta: SBL, 2001); Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson, eds., The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007); Thomas B. Dozeman, The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research, FAT 78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). 74 See particularly Frei’s original formulation of the theory in Peter Frei and Klaus Koch, Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich, OBO 55 (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1984), and republished in Peter Frei, “Zentralgewalt und Lokalautonomie im achämenidischen Kleinasien,” Transeuphratène 3 (1990): 157–71. An English summary appeared in Peter Frei, “Persian Imperial Authorization: A Summary,” ed. James W. Watts (Atlanta: SBL, 2001), 5–40. Although with a different line of argumentation, Erhard Blum came to similar conclusions to those of Frei. See Erhard Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1990), 333–360, as well as Erhard Blum, “Esra, die Mosethora und die Persische Politik,” in Religion und Religionskontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden, ed. Reinhard G. Kratz (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2001), 231–55. 75 The main opposition  – particularly represented by the Iranologist Josef Wiesehöfer  – centred on the fact that there is no evidence that local legal codes were centrally registered and codified as imperial law in the Persian Empire. See Josef Wiesehöfer, “‘Reichsgesetz’ oder ‘Einzelfallgerechtigkeit’: Bemerkungen zu Peter Freis These von der Achaimenidischen

22

Chapter 1: Introduction

recent voices have called for a more nuanced view. In a review of the Knoppers-Levinson volume Rainer Albertz presented a good summary of the wider nuances of this debate: First, the process of the edition and promulgation of the Pentateuch seems to have come to an end already in the Persian period; since the early Hellenistic period the authority of the Torah was widely accepted. … Second, the authorization of the Torah cannot sufficiently be explained by an ongoing internal scribal discussion. … It must have included a public or even an institutional aspect, as the biblical tradition and Greek parallels show. … Third, the promulgation of the Pentateuch probably was a process, in which three different parties were involved. It can no longer be explained as an internal Judean activity, at least, the proto–Samaritans have to be included. … Moreover, … there must have been an external political force, which insisted on an agreement between the Judeans and the proto-Samaritans. Even if one questions the specific model of a Persian imperial authorization in this connection, one should perhaps think of a specific interest of the Persians in limiting the rivalries between their provinces Judah and Samaria, after these had become the south-western borderline to independent Egypt.76

The point in Albertz’s appraisal that I would like to highlight is that one should be looking for more complex models to explain how the Pentateuch became the Torah in which different social locations – internal AND external – were involved. Jean-Louis Ska argues along the same lines, and specifically relates this process to the issue of identity negotiation in the dispensation of reconstruction. He says: The primary purpose of the Pentateuch, for whoever reads it as a whole, is not to regulate life within a province of the Persian Empire but to define the conditions of membership in a specific community called “Israel.” … The internal justifications are therefore dominant. … Instead of letting itself be assimilated or become just another province in the vast Empire, Post-exilic Israel wanted to safeguard its identity. Persian politics gave it the opportunity to do this.77

This development in Pentateuchal studies, which will be revisited in a later chapter (Chapter 8), is indicative of how “identity” is increasingly being used as heuristic lens for an understanding of the literature of the Persian period. The same applies to the prophetic canon. Although not with the same frequency compared to studies on Ezra-Nehemiah and the Pentateuch, recent studies on the prophetic books as well as on the formation of the Book of the Twelve, start venturing in the direction of seeing “identity” as a helpful heuristic tool for the understanding of this literature. One example is the recent study by Dalit ‘Reichsautorisation,’” Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte 1 (1995): 36–46. 76 Rainer Albertz, “The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance,” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 40/3 (2009): 424. 77 Jean-Louis Ska, Introduction to Reading the Pentateuch (Winona Lake, Ind: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 226.

1.3 “Identity” as Heuristic Category

23

Rom-Shiloni.78 In her book she studies the development of communal identity boundaries in (mainly) prophetic literature of the sixth and fifth centuries B. C. E. to uncover what strategies are used to define the ‘in group’, namely Yahweh’s people. She modifies a social-psychological model suggested by Daniel Bar-Tal to show the techniques the authors used to identify Israel as the true people of Yahweh. The three techniques suggested by her theoretical model are (i) the indication of continuity with earlier groups; (ii) the assertion of entirety by a subset of a larger community; and (iii) the annexation of traditions to eliminate or subsume others. Rom-Shiloni indicates how these techniques were used by the prophetic writers to argue that those who remained in the land during the exile were not Yahweh’s people, because they were either foreigners (as argued in Ezra-Nehemiah and Ezekiel), or the land had been left empty (as argued in the other prophetic texts of the period discussed). The above examples suffice at this stage to argue that “identity” has become an important heuristic lens in biblical studies. It is time now to evaluate this development in our scholarship.

1.3.3 Problematising “Identity” as Heuristic Category in Biblical Studies We have seen above that the post-colonial phase in global history, but also the socio-political developments of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, inevitably led to a turn towards “identity” as heuristic tool in biblical studies. This turn should be welcomed and appreciated. However, we have also seen (particularly in Chronicles studies) that some critical voices are emerging that warn against the uncritical use of sociological categories of identity. It is particularly the use of essentialist understandings of identity which are criticised, and a call is made in favour of more dynamic models of describing and understanding identity. There are numerous studies in our field which work with concepts such as “identity”, “ethnicity”, “nationalism”, and the like without interrogating their understanding in any way. As indicated above, there is one hiatus in particular in our present biblical scholarship on identity that should be addressed explicitly: The “identity” of Yahweh’s people, as reflected in the literature of the Hebrew Bible, is often discussed without any socio-historical contextualisation, and without any awareness of the very influential, interactive relationship between “identity”, socio-historic context and literature formation. Without an understanding of this complex interaction, biblical studies using the heuristic lens of “identity” are in danger of remaining one-dimensional and superficial. 78 Dalit Rom-Shiloni, Exclusive Inclusivity: Identity Conflicts Between the Exiles and the People Who Remained (6th-5th Centuries B. C. E.) (New York: Bloomsbury, 2013).

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Chapter 1: Introduction

It is exactly this desideratum in our scholarship which prompted the writing of the present work.

1.4 Aim and Structure of This Book The aim of this book is therefore to consider more sophisticated and more nuanced models for applying the heuristic lens of “identity” in our interpretations of Hebrew Bible literature. Not only will the potential and limitations of different sociological models be considered, but a more nuanced analysis of the socio-historical context of origin of the biblical literature will also be provided. The focus in this book will be on the book of Chronicles. It has been shown above that many studies on identity negotiation in Chronicles (including my own) have already started moving in the direction of bringing greater methodological nuances to our interpretative endeavours. However, the potential of the chosen methodological models for the analysis of Chronicles will then also be tested in other Hebrew Bible corpora. The argument will therefore be structured in the following way: Chapter 2 will consider different sociological models for approaching the issue of identity in biblical literature. Chapter 3 will then look at the socio-historical contexts that influenced the formation of Chronicles. The chapter will start with the presentation of arguments for dating Chronicles in the late Persian period, after which four different levels of socio-historical existence in this period will be discussed. In the next part of the book, Chapters 4–7, four readings through Chronicles according to the identified four levels of socio-historical existence will be undertaken, illustrating how each of these levels contributed to a multifaceted process of identity negotiation. Chapter 8 will provide a synthesis of the argument and will give some prospects of what the implications of this multifaceted understanding of identity negotiation in the late Persian period might be for the interpretation of other textual corpora from the same period.

Chapter 2

Approaching “Identity” in Persian-Period Literature 2.1 Methods Matter I have already indicated in the introductory chapter that a focus on “identity” in rece n t interpretations of Persian‑ and early Hellenistic-period literature is at least co-determined by our contemporary contexts. Although I will argue that there is strong evidence in the texts under discussion that they have an interest in negotiating some new self-understanding (inter alia through the prominence of the genealogies and the concept of ‫“ כל־ישראל‬All Israel”), I will do so well aware of my own context in which I conduct this study. The same applies to our exegetical methods. Exegetical methods are not neutral literary tools that we apply “from outside” onto the biblical texts we read and interpret.1 Our exegetical methods are co-determined by the nature of the texts we read (e. g. their genre),2 but also by the epistemological frameworks we adopt in our analysis of ancient texts. The interpreter’s view on the status of the biblical literature, on its origin and reception – all these play an influential role in the interpretation of biblical texts. Careful scientific analysis according to well-defined methods does not rule out the fact that these epistemological frameworks have an influence on the exegetical endeavour. My point of departure is that biblical texts, as well as processes of biblical interpretation, are too complex to be approached from exclusive methodological angles.3 Of necessity, different methodological approaches should be utilised to 1 For a broader discussion of this point, see Louis C. Jonker and Douglas G. Lawrie, Fishing for Jonah (anew): Various Approaches to Biblical Interpretation (African Sun Media, 2005), 229–244. 2 See e. g. Steven McKenzie’s strong plea that the genre of biblical texts should be identified correctly in order to facilitate sound exegesis: Steven L. McKenzie, How to Read the Bible: History, Prophecy, Literature – Why Modern Readers Need to Know the Difference, and What It Means for Faith Today (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). 3 See my plea for multidimensional exegesis in my published dissertation: Jonker, Exclusivity and Variety. See also Louis C. Jonker, “Winds of Change? Recent Developments in Exegetical Methodology in Germany,” Nederduitse Gereformeerde Teologiese Tydskrif 45/3 (2004): 599–608; Louis C. Jonker, “Reading the Pentateuch with Both Eyes Open: On Reading Biblical Texts Multidimensionally,” in South African Perspectives on the Pentateuch between Synchrony and Diachrony, ed. Jurie Le Roux and Eckart Otto (London: T & T Clark, 2007), 90–107; Helmut Utzschneider and Erhard Blum, eds., Lesarten der Bibel: Untersuchungen zu einer Theorie der Exegese des Alten Testaments (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 2006); W. Randolph Tate, Bibli-

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Chapter 2: Approaching “Identity” in Persian-Period Literature

grasp something of the polyphonic communication of the ancient biblical texts. However, in doing so, exegetes should guard against a “supermarket” style of using exegetical methods, that is, to see what is available and popular, and then pick one or more for application. John Barton’s insight remains important in this regard: Exegetical methods are not preconceived tools for the analysis of texts, but are rather those formulated approaches exegetes come up with after having been confronted with the complexities of the texts, in order to form theories about the texts’ interpretation(s). He formulates this well: [M]uch harm has been done in biblical studies by insisting that there is, somewhere, a ‘correct’ method which, if only we could find it, would unlock the mysteries of the text. From the quest for this method flow many evils … I try to argue … that all of the methods being examined have something in them, but none of them is the ‘correct’ method which scholars are seeking. … I believe that the quest for a correct method is, not just in practice but inherently, incapable of succeeding. The pursuit of method assimilates reading a text to the procedures of technology: it tries to process the text, rather than to read it. Instead, I propose that we should see each of our ‘methods’ as a codification of intuitions about the text which may occur to intelligent readers. Such intuitions can well arrive at truth; but it will not be the kind of truth familiar in the natural sciences. Reading the Old Testament, with whatever aim in view, belongs to the humanities and cannot operate with an idea of a watertight, correct method.4

This view on exegetical methods will form the basis of our overview of approaches that have already been employed in studying the issue of identity negotiation in Chronicles. We understand these approaches as “codifications of intuitions about the text” which were formulated in interaction with the texts themselves, but also with the scientific culture within which they function. Furthermore, the epistemological value of bringing these approaches into conversation with one another is also acknowledged here. The overview is therefore not to determine which one of these approaches is the-best-for-the-task, but rather to investigate the potential contribution of each approach to our understanding of identity negotiation in Chronicles. All the approaches discussed here stand in the wake of the recent trend (as explained in § 1.1.5 above) to focus on the rhetorical dynamic of Chronicles and the ideology (or ideologies) that influenced its formation. One should therefore clarify at this point an important difference between these approaches and rhetorical criticism (or, some applications thereof).5 Rhetorical criticism proceeds cal Interpretation: An Integrated Approach (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2008); Gerd Theißen, Polyphones Verstehen: Entwürfe zur Bibelhermeneutik (Berlin: LIT, 2014). 4 John Barton, Reading the Old Testament: Method in Biblical Study (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 5. 5 Although the turn to rhetorical criticism in the latter part of the twentieth century has mainly had its influence in New Testament studies, there were also prominent figures in Hebrew Bible studies experimenting with this approach. The strong influence of this approach at a certain stage of South African New Testament scholarship is documented in Stanley E. Porter

2.1 Methods Matter

27

from the presupposition that all literature, also biblical literature, is not merely an art form, but stands in the service of persuasion. Many studies proceed from the classical understanding of rhetoric in Aristotle’s Ars Rhetorica, which identifies those aspects of literary communication that potentially contribute to successful persuasion. Scholars using this approach therefore see an intimate relationship between the literary form of texts and their meaning in terms of persuasion. However, in doing so, some applications of rhetorical criticism strongly focus on the final form of the text. The following illustrates this tendency: [T]he primary focus … is the final form of the Biblical text. The received text is not viewed, that is, as a barrier beyond which one must – in order to do Biblical scholarship – necessarily press, nor an end product that should most probably be analysed for evidences of its origins. True though it is that its literary history may at times encompass many centuries, several strata of tradition, and a variety of editorial influences, it is itself – the final text – susceptible of study as a system of meaningful and artistic wholes.6

The strong focus on the final form of the text can be understood against the background of these studies developing as a response against overly-analytical historical biblical studies which dominated a good part of the twentieth century. However, persuasion never functions in a vacuum. The art of persuasion is exactly to move an audience through literary (or oral) means towards a desired response in very specific circumstances. Any rhetorical analysis which ignores the contextuality of persuasive speech, whether contemporary or ancient, should be dismissed. Furthermore, in our reading of Chronicles – as a re-interpretation of earlier historiographical traditions  – it becomes clear that this re-interpretation was prompted by the circumstances within which the new work was written. Our observations in Chronicles of the complexity of communicating between the times, so to speak, lead us to look for more complex explanatory models as well. Approaches focusing exclusively on the final form of the text and its literary structures might be in danger of presenting a fairly reductionist view on this literature and its communication. The present study, which is done in the wake of those Chronicles studies that have gone beyond questions of historicity and have turned to determining the ideology or ideologies behind the book, necessarily involves rhetorical analysis in which Chronicles is not seen merely as a literary artefact of the past, but rather as a communicative entity through which its author(s) wanted to persuade its audience toward certain self-understandings in concrete socio-historical circumstances. The rhetorical analysis done in this book therefore necessarily implies and Thomas H. Olbricht, Rhetoric, Scripture and Theology: Essays from the 1994 Pretoria Conference (London: Bloomsbury, 1996). For its influence in Old Testament / ​Hebrew Bible studies, see e. g. Alan J. Hauser, David J. A. Clines, and David M. Gunn, eds., Art and Meaning: Rhetoric in Biblical Literature (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 1982). 6 Hauser, Clines, and Gunn, Art and Meaning, n.p.

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historical enquiry into the context(s) of origin of the work.7 The importance of this argument will become clear particularly in Chapter 3 below. These initial remarks bring us then to an overview of some approaches which deal with “identity” in Chronicles, or which have the potential of interacting with discussions on this notion in Chronicles. In each case a representative example of scholarly work from the particular perspective will be introduced, after which the approach will be evaluated critically and its potential for contributing methodologically to the present study will be explored. This overview will eventually serve as background against which we will clarify the approach that will be followed in our further study in this book, as well as the logic behind our presentation of materials in the next chapters. I see providing this background as an important step in my argumentation, but scholars who are less methodologically-minded might wish to skip directly to section § 2.3 to read the synthesis of this overview.8

2.2 An Overview of Approaches Dealing with “Identity”in Persian-Period Literature Four approaches will be discussed in the following subsections. The discussion starts with a more general hermeneutical trend in biblical scholarship since the 1960s, namely postcolonial criticism, and its application to Persian-period biblical literature. After that the discussion will move to another broader approach in literary studies, namely utopian studies, in order to explore how this approach has been used in the interpretation of Chronicles in particular. The third approach that will be discussed is how social memory studies impact on the study of Persian-period literature, while the fourth methodological perspective that will 7 Rodney Duke has focused specifically on Chronicles in his rhetorical analysis. See Rodney K. Duke, The Persuasive Appeal of the Chronicler: A Rhetorical Analysis, JSOTS 88 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990). Duke explains what he means by “rhetoric”: “Perhaps some think of rhetoric in neutral terms as skilful and artistic speech. Others, who are familiar with the plethora of ‘rhetorical’ analyses of biblical texts that have been carried out in recent years, will tend to identify it with a ‘close reading’ of a text. For many the term will have the pejorative connotation of excessively flowery speech, which contains much fluff and little content. For purposes of this study, the first and second concepts are inadequate and the third totally misleading. ‘Rhetoric’ will be employed in this work in its classical sense, particularly as defined by Aristotle, to denote the art of persuasive communication” (Ibid., 29–30. By dismissing the first (rhetoric as skilful and artistic speech) and second (rhetorical analysis as close reading of a text) understandings of “rhetoric”, Duke also indicates that it would be reductionist to view persuasive literature exclusively from a literary perspective. 8 This lengthy overview also has the aim of taking stock of approaches that have become popular in recent years, within a methodological context where historical-critical studies still dominate the field. The four approaches discussed here do not purport to replace historical-criticism in biblical studies, but rather argue that the insights they offer can potentially complement and enrich historical-critical studies.

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29

receive our attention will be social-psychological approaches. The common denominator among these approaches, and the motivation for their selection, is that the sociological functioning of ancient texts, in their past contexts or in the present, is acknowledged and studied. The order of discussion is no indication of preference, but rather chronological in terms of their emergence in biblical studies.

2.2.1 Postcolonial Studies Once the process of decolonisation from imperial domination started in different parts of the world during the middle of the twentieth century, postcolonial studies started emerging.9 In the wake of these global developments theorists such as Edward Said, Gayatri Spivak and Homi Bhabha started reflecting on the dynamics of imperialism and colonialism, and particularly on what effects they have on processes of viewing and interpreting the world.10 In their work they developed a broad collection of theoretical concepts by means of which the ways in which colonial powers have constructed and controlled the identities of subjugated peoples could be exposed. They also showed how these configurations of domination shape the postcolonial experience.11 These theoretical reflections on postcolonialism have influenced literary studies significantly. A distinction is often made between postcolonial theory which “arose out of specific critiques of the effects of colonial practices on the people subjected to imperial rule,”12 and postcolonial criticism. The latter has come (“Postcolonial Biblical Criticism,” in Methods for Exodus, ed. Thomas B. Doze­ man, Methods in Biblical Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 194 n. 3.) explains the distinction which is made between the terms “post-colonial” and “postcolonial” as follows: “Nowadays, scholars prefer the unhyphenated form of ‘postcolonial’ rather than the hyphenated ‘post-colonial,’ which suggests a temporal or ideological discontinuity from colonial times. The beliefs, practices, and structures of oppressive colonial systems do not completely disappear when the colonizers leave a country.” See also Bradley L. Crowell, “Postcolonial Studies and the Hebrew Bible,” Currents in Biblical Research 7/2 (2009): 218., who explains the distinction similarly. The term “postcolonial” is employed in our discussion in order to give expression to the fact that this approach is seen as a heuristic method that can assist us to describe the effects of colonialism and its aftermath in any given context on social processes and literature formation. 10 These three theorists have even been called the “Holy Trinity” of this movement. See Yee, “Postcolonial Biblical Criticism,” 194. The present study does not primarily aim at studying the works of these theorists, but rather wants to show how their views, and those expressed in postcolonial studies, have influenced biblical studies, particularly those focusing on post-exilic literature. 11 See a broader summary of these and other theorists’ contributions to the development of the field in Rasiah S. Sugirtharajah, Exploring Postcolonial Biblical Criticism. History, Method, Practice (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), chap. 1. 12 Crowell, “Postcolonial Studies and the Hebrew Bible,” 218.  9 Gale Yee

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to be defined as “a group of reading strategies examining economic, cultural, and political relations of domination and subordination between nations, races, and cultures with histories of colonial and neocolonial rule.”13 Crowell remarks about this approach: While there is no agreement on a precise definition of postcolonialism, the unifying element for all postcolonial studies is its penetrating critique of colonial expansion and domination, and the lasting effects on the people and institutions subjected to its rule. Since postcolonial analyses explore issues as diverse as nationalism, ethnicity, gender, colonial relations and political asymmetry, any single definition of the theory is necessarily reductive. … Postcolonial criticism as a practice attempts to shift the focus of literary and cultural analysis, in order to expose the conditions of colonial experience, and the methods that colonial subjects have used to construct their identities and expressions within their literature and cultural products.14

This description, which will be revisited in the formulation of an approach for the present study (in § 2.3), emphasises the sensitivity of postcolonial criticism to the close interrelationship between socio-political experience, identity negotiation and the formation of literature (and other cultural products). Within this context it is important to point out that, although postcolonial criticism is a fairly modern (or postmodern) approach, it studies the effects of the phenomenon of imperialism, which is not something new. The configuration of socio-political behaviour that is known today as imperialism is something that had already occurred in ancient societies. Imperialism is defined today as that hegemonic power that a political ruler (or government) exercises which encompasses all spheres of life of the colonial subjects. With reference to the effect of the British Empire and the role of the King James Bible, Nehring and Tielesch defines “empire” as follows: An diesem kleinen Beispiel zeigt sich bereits die allumfassende Macht, die damit dem Empire eingeräumt wird und wie sie sich für das alltägliche Leben in kolonialen Kontexten entwickelt und ausbreitet. Die genannte Kontrolle beschränkt sich nicht auf einen Teilbereich, sondern das Imperium zielt auf geographische, politische, ökonomische, intellektuelle, emotionale und spirituelle, also das ganze Leben unfassend Kontrolle. Alternativen zu der hegemoniale Macht des Imperiums werden dabei an den Rand gedrängt und klein gemacht.15

This and similar definitions of “empire” make it obvious why many of the influential empires of biblical times, from the Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian 13 Yee, “Postcolonial Biblical Criticism,” 194. Yee defines “neocolonialism” as follows: “Neocolonialism refers to the replication of colonial rule and exploitation by an indigenous elite brought to power in a newly independent nation that has thrown off its Western colonizer” (Ibid. n. 4). 14 Crowell, “Postcolonial Studies and the Hebrew Bible,” 219 [my emphasis]. 15 Andreas Nehring and Simon Tielesch, “Theologie und Postkolonialismus. Zur Einführung,” in Postkoloniale Theologien. Bibelhermeneutische und kulturwissenschaftliche Beiträge, ed. Andreas Nehring and Simon Tielesch (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2013), 35.

2.2 An Overview of Approaches Dealing with “Identity”

31

empires, to the Greek and Roman hegemonies, are characterised in this way. The phenomenon of “imperialism” is therefore much older than the theoretical reflection on it in postcolonial studies. It will be argued later (in § 2.3) that insights from this modern / ​postmodern approach can therefore be applied legitimately and fruitfully to the situation of ancient imperial rule. Apart from the fact that literary studies in general have benefited from postcolonial reflections on the phenomenon of “imperialism” and its effects, a further set of concepts stemming from Homi Bhabha have also become influential. The interrelated concepts of “stereotyping,” “mimicry” and “hybridity” provide the terminology through which the question of agency among the colonised can be addressed. It is often characteristic of colonial relations that racial stereotyping of the colonised by their colonisers takes place. The colonised are often depicted as the inferior Other by their imperial masters. The process of stereotyping allows the imperial coloniser to distance itself significantly from the colonised in order to justify the process of colonisation, but simultaneously to familiarise itself with the colonised in order to control them. Gale Yee explains this two-sided effect of stereotyping as follows: On the one hand, stereotypes make the Other familiar and knowable: “Africans are all cannibals.” “The Indians are lazy and shiftless.” “The Chinese are dishonest.” On the other hand, stereotypes are meant to distance the colonizer from the colonized as different, since to acknowledge any similarity with the peoples they rule would challenge the colonial order. In order to maintain that distance, their colonizers must in all their dealings with their subjects continually repeat and sustain the fiction of these racist stereotypes, producing an anxiety that their dominance is not as stable as it seems. … It is this ambivalence and anxiety on the part of the colonizers that opens a space for agency which can be exploited by the colonized.16

In the ambivalent process of stereotyping it often happens that the colonisers expect of the colonised to become like them, that is, that the colonised should rid themselves of their inferior cultural habits in order to be elevated to the culture of the colonisers. This was particularly obvious in the work of European missionary movements on the African continent in previous centuries. The local peoples as missionary objects were encouraged and taught how to assume the “higher” cultural values of the Europeans, and these values were then explicitly associated with Christianity. The result of such a process is what Bhabha called “mimicry,” in which the colonised increasingly start assuming the identity of the colonisers, but use this assumed identity to start undermining the colonial power. The missionary history in Africa is again a good example. By teaching local people the Bible and the values of Christianity in order to “civilise” them, and by translating these Scriptures into vernacular languages, the colonised could start assuming

16 Yee,

“Postcolonial Biblical Criticism,” 198.

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agency to criticise the imperial power. The same Bible which functioned as a symbol of oppression becomes an instrument of liberation through mimicry. The move towards mimicry then often develops into a condition of “hybridity”. Whereas the borders between the hegemonic imperial centre and the subjugated colonial margins had been clear before, a “third space” (Bhabha’s term) develops where the identities of both colonisers and colonised are not completely pure. Gale Yee explains this as follows: For Bhabha, the identities of both colonizer and colonized are never completely “pure,” even though colonial discourse devotes considerable energy to generating ideologies and institutions that prescribe essential differences between the two. Both cultures react and interact in a continual interdependent process of mixing in what Bhabha calls a “third space.” Here in this liminal interstice, the identities of both systems become fluid, partaking of each other in ways that undermine and destabilize former beliefs and practices that determine colonial status and orders of precedence. It is through these in-between spaces, … that the colonized can disrupt, challenge, and intimidate the colonizer’s efforts to construct a national script dictating their subordinate place within it.17

Before turning to an overview of how these insights have informed biblical studies, there is still one important theoretical insight from postcolonial studies which should be considered. In a 2008 publication entitled Still at the margins: Biblical scholarship fifteen years after Voices from the Margin various scholars investigated the influence of postcolonial studies in biblical studies.18 The original impetus for considering postcolonial theory in biblical studies came from an essay volume, also edited by Rasiah Sugirtharajah, in 1991 entitled Voices from the Margin: Interpreting the Bible in the Third World.19 Apart from all the other evaluations and considerations of postcolonial biblical studies in the 2008 volume, Mayra Rivera Rivera presented an important insight into the functioning of power in postcolonial contexts.20 Because of the insights into the hybrid nature of postcolonial situations, scholars have started realising that concepts such as “imperial centre” and “colonised margins” are problematic. Since the functioning of power – be it by means of control of the margins or undermining the centre  – flows through the whole system, a clear-cut distinction between centre and periphery no longer holds value. Rivera describes this as follows: Instead of territorially organized structures, power is perceived as travelling at high speed through infinitely branching networks that compromise all levels of relations, erecting and 17 Ibid.,

200. S. Sugirtharajah, ed., Still at the Margins: Biblical Scholarship Fifteen Years after Voices from the Margin (London: T & T Clark, 2008). 19 Rasiah S. Sugirtharajah, ed., Voices from the Margin: Interpreting the Bible in the Third World (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1991). 20 Mayra Rivera Rivera, “Margins and the Changing Spatiality of Power,” in Still at the Margins: Biblical Scholarship Fifteen Years after Voices from the Margin, ed. Rasiah S. Sugirtharajah (London: T & T Clark, 2008), 114–27. 18 Rasiah

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transgressing boundaries and hierarchies throughout. … Power is both everywhere and nowhere. The margins, one could say, are everywhere.21

This observation then leads Rivera to speak about “the topography of power,” or “the multidimensionality of power.”22 These concepts help one realise that the description of imperial relations should not ignore the fact that power relations manifest in different ways in different parts of the system. Chapter 3 of the present study will show that this insight is particularly important when considering the socio-historical situation of the post-exilic Persian period. One should be aware of the fact that power relations between, for example, the Persian imperial centre, the governors appointed by the Persian Empire, the elite scribes in Jerusalem, the rural population, are never linear. Those who are subjugated in one instance may be the colonisers in another socio-historical configuration. We will return to the application of this insight in the last subsection of this chapter (§ 2.3) and in the next chapter. This brings us then to a consideration of how postcolonial studies have impacted on biblical studies. Although some Hebrew Bible studies have started emerging from this perspective (as will be shown below), postcolonial studies have not impacted so strongly on studies in this testament, unlike in New Testament studies, where the influence has been widespread. This is probably because two of the main voices advocating postcolonial studies in bible criticism, namely Raisah Sugirtharajah and Fernando Segovia, are both New Testament scholars. There are numerous works to consult on the history of development in this regard, both internationally and in my own South African context,23 that there is no need to 21 Ibid.,

119. 120–125. 23 The following is a selection of the most important works (edited) by Sugirtharajah and Segovia: Sugirtharajah, Voices from the Margin; Rasiah S. Sugirtharajah, ed., The Postcolonial Bible, vol. 1 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998); Rasiah S. Sugirtharajah, The Bible and Empire: Postcolonial Explorations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005); Rasiah S. Sugirtharajah, ed., The Postcolonial Biblical Reader (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006); Sugirtharajah, Still at the Margins; Sugirtharajah, Exploring Postcolonial Biblical Criticism; Fernando F. Segovia, Decolonizing Biblical Studies: A View from the Margins (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2000); Stephen D. Moore and Fernando F. Segovia, eds., Postcolonial Biblical Criticism: Interdisciplinary Intersections (New York: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2005). Jeremy Punt summarises the (South) African scene quite well. See Jeremy Punt, “Postcolonial Biblical Criticism in South Africa: Some Mind and Road Mapping,” Neotestamentica 37/1 (2003): 59–85; Jeremy Punt, “Current Debates on Biblical Hermeneutics in South Africa and the Postcolonial Matrix,” Religion and Theology 11/2 (2004): 139–60; Jeremy Punt, “Why Not Postcolonial Biblical Criticism in (South) Africa: Stating the Obvious or Looking for the Impossible?,” Scriptura 91 (2006): 63–82; Jeremy Punt, Postcolonial Biblical Interpretation: Reframing Paul (Leiden: Brill, 2015). See also the following works (edited) by another influential South African biblical scholar, Gerald West: Gerald O. West and Musa W. Dube Shomanah, eds., The Bible in Africa: Transactions, Trajectories, and Trends (Leiden: Brill, 2000); Gerald O. West, “Interpreting ‘The Exile’ In African Biblical Scholarship: An Ideo-Theological Dilemma In Post-Colonial South Africa,” in Exile and Suffering. A Selection of Papers Read at the 50th Anni22 Ibid.,

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repeat it here.24 However, the distinction made by Sugirtharajah and Segovia on how postcolonial studies could be integrated with biblical studies is very helpful. Crowell summarises these three methods of engagement as follows: First, postcolonial biblical criticism interrogates the interpretations and uses of the Bible produced by modern empires of the fifteenth through the twentieth centuries. … Archives, newspapers, personal accounts, biblical commentaries, and sermons are searched to identify and expose how imperial powers and biblical interpreters were complicit in reading the biblical text for colonial purposes. Second, previously colonized groups produce their own readings of the Bible within their cultural, postcolonial environment. … These readings explore how the Bible can be read within this postcolonial context, and they attempt to disrupt conventional hegemonic interpretations. Finally, postcolonial biblical criticism scrutinizes the biblical text for its own colonial entanglements. … This is typically understood as a historical-critical enterprise that takes the social and cultural environment of empires seriously, and exposes colonial forces at work within the biblical compositions themselves.25

It is particularly the last strategy which offers valuable perspectives for the present study, where our focus will be on the relationship between Israel’s identity negotiation processes during the period of Persian imperial rule, as expressed in the literature formation of the time. Crowell motivates why this strategy can be expected to deliver valuable results in our analyses of Hebrew Bible literature: versary Meeting of the Old Testament Society of South Africa OTWSA, OTSSA Pretoria, August 2007, ed. Bob Becking and Dirk J. Human, Oudtestamentische Studien 50 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 247–68; Gerald O. West, “African Culture as Praeparatio Evangelica: The Old Testament as Preparation of the African Post-Colonial,” in Postcolonialism and the Hebrew Bible: The next Step, ed. Roland Boer, Semeia Studies (Atlanta: SBL, 2013), 193–220. Further references to works by other African scholars can be found in West’s bibliographies. 24 The popularity of postcolonial studies is, of course, different in different parts of the world, depending on whether a context had been subjugated to some imperial power in the past or not. Most prominent are those countries in the global South that had been colonised in previous centuries by imperial powers from the North, mainly Europe. Yee explains this as follows: “The postcolonial analysis of the Bible emerged particularly with the insertion and challenge of voices from the so-called Third World in the academic guild, many of whom interpreted the biblical text from out of their postcolonial or neocolonial contexts. With their shared concern for the preferential option for the poor, postcolonial biblical criticism is sympathetic to the liberation hermeneutics which influenced much of these contextual interpretations …” (“Postcolonial Biblical Criticism,” 205). It is understandable that postcolonial studies did not impact strongly on German biblical studies, partly because of the strong dominance of a paradigm of historical-critical exegesis in this context. However, the recent publication Postkoloniale Theologien introduces this approach to German scholarship and offers German translations of the major influential essays that shaped the field in the past. See Andreas Nehring and Simon Tielesch, eds., Postkoloniale Theologien. Bibelhermeneutische und kulturwissenschaftliche Beiträge (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2013). The fact that this book, together with Sugirtharajah’s The Bible and Empire, stand in the “Missionswissenschaft und Religionswissenschaft” section of the theological library at Heidelberg University is probably an indication that this approach is not considered to be part of biblical studies. Other books by Sugirtharajah and Roland Boer, however, are stored on the Old Testament studies shelves. 25 Crowell, “Postcolonial Studies and the Hebrew Bible,” 220.

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Most biblical literature was composed in the context of imperial rule; yet, the effects of that situation are rarely explored by biblical scholars. Each of the empires – Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome – had different strategies of domination, but they all had aspirations to control much of the Near Eastern world, including Israel and Judah. Until recently, very little work has been done on the strategies and mechanisms of imperial control, although scholars have recognized the importance of these empires for historical-critical research.26

Turning to studies of post-exilic biblical literature now, we have seen some new developments in this regard in recent years. Apart from new literature which has appeared on various sections in the Hebrew Bible,27 it is particularly Jon Berquist who has focused on the effect of the Persian Empire on Yehud and its literary formations.28 In his social and historical investigation of Judaism in the shadow of the Persian Empire, he starts with the observation that – although the chronological outlines of “the post-exilic period” is clearly drawn in biblical scholarship – “the exact nature of the community’s life and faith during these two centuries [still] requires careful analysis.”29 He continues by asking some pertinent questions about the influences during this time on Yehud’s community and literary formation: The essential question concerns the important influence upon the literature and community of Yehud. Should we search for such explanatory influences within Israel’s history of development or among other issues, such as the effects of Persian rule? Are internal or external factors the chief cause of Yehud’s experience?30

Berquist is well aware that the answer to these questions will determine the direction that his study will take. He therefore first responds carefully: 26 Ibid.,

233. particularly the recent compilation with contributions on different Hebrew Bible sections: Roland Boer, ed., Postcolonialism and the Hebrew Bible: The next Step, Semeia Studies (Atlanta: SBL, 2013). Probably through its association with liberation hermeneutics, the book of Exodus has received significant attention from the perspective of postcolonial studies (of different angles) in recent years. See e. g. Yee, “Postcolonial Biblical Criticism”; Bosman, “A Nama ‘Exodus’? A Postcolonial Reading of the Diaries of Hendrik Witbooi: Exodus as Narrative Concerning Origin and Migration Negotiating Identity in Africa.” Furthermore, Mark Brett focused on the book of Genesis (see Genesis: Procreation and the Politics of Identity (New York: Routledge, 2000), while the following collection focuses on the book of Isaiah: Andrew T. Abernethy et al., eds., Isaiah and Imperial Context: The Book of Isaiah in the Times of Empire (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2013). 28 See particularly the following: Jon L. Berquist, Judaism in Persia’s Shadow: A Social and Historical Approach (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Berquist, “Constructions of Identity in Postcolonial Yehud.” See also his views on the Deuteronomistic History: Jon L. Berquist, “Identities and Empire: Historiographic Questions for the Deuteronomistic History in the Persian Empire,” in Historiography and Identity (re)formulation in Second Temple Historiographical Literature, ed. Louis C. Jonker, Library of Hebrew Bible / ​Old Testament Studies 534 (New York: T & T Clark, 2010), 29–40. 29 Berquist, Judaism in Persia’s Shadow: A Social and Historical Approach, 3. 30 Ibid. 27 See

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Our initial answer to that thorny question will shape the rest of this study, and yet such answers do not come easily. Certainly Yehud experienced both internal and external influences at different times within its development, and these influences varied in strength and direction.31

But he then continues: Yehud was a Persian colony. In political arenas, its greatest influences were external. Persia’s size and power could overwhelm the tiny province of Yehud, and so it was possible for the external causes to be completely determinative of Yehud’s life. Yet Yehud also was heir to traditions that shaped its character. Although Persia controlled Yehud, Yehud was still only a colony, with some degree of political self-determination, even if Persia limited its options severely. Yehud formed its own society, complete with internally determined goals, activities, norms, and values, as well as its struggles and conflicts. The community formed this society out of the building blocks of its own traditions and customs, struggling to create itself out of the various opinions and actions of many constituents. Yehud experienced its political establishment through the activity of Persia’s imperial expansion and administration, but the community maintained and transformed itself through the dynamics of internal social formation. … Imperial political goals shaped Yehud in an attempt to create a new sense of identity suitable for a colony, but these external pressures combined with internal factors of continuity and opposition.32

Berquist then organises his study in two parts, namely “The influence of imperial politics,” and “The dialectics of colonial society.” Although Berquist’s work is not particularly focused on the book of Chronicles, it is nevertheless valuable for the present study through its deliberate importing of sociological and postcolonial categories to describe the socio-historic context of Yehud during the Persian period. Before moving to the next methodological perspective, we should shortly consider the value of postcolonial studies in general for our quest in the present monograph. Postcolonial studies provide a valuable theoretical and conceptual framework within which the originating imperial contexts of the biblical writings can be investigated. The sophistication of its models to describe the complexity of particularly the power relations that influenced the identity negotiation processes of the past is also very useful.

2.2.2 Utopian Studies Although Roland Boer33 had conducted some earlier studies on Chronicles from the perspective of utopian literary theory it was particularly the monograph by 31 Ibid.,

9–10. 10. 33 Roland T. Boer, “Decentered and Utopian Politics: 3 Reigns 11–14 and 2 Chronicles 10–13,” in Jameson and Jeroboam, ed. Roland T. Boer, Semeia Studies (Atlanta: Scholars, 1996), 198–285; Roland T. Boer, Novel Histories: The Fiction of Biblical Criticism (Sheffield: 32 Ibid.,

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Steven Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, that prompted a series of scholarly discussions on whether utopianism is an appropriate methodological angle to take on this biblical book.34 Together with some other literary theorists working from this perspective, he takes as his point of departure Thomas More’s novel Utopia, in which a fictional remote island with the same name functions as an alternative reality which is better in comparison with the author’s present reality.35 It has become customary in utopian studies to make a distinction between the terms ‘utopia’ (as literary genre), ‘utopian’ (as an ideology through which the world is viewed) and ‘utopianism’ (as a sociological movement within which utopias are produced). The same distinction is made for the inverse terms ‘dystopia’, ‘dystopian’ and ‘dystopianism’. The ambiguity of “utopia” forms an important element in Schweitzer’s understanding. He notes: [T]he literal meaning of “Utopia” is not obvious. It is first “no place” (ou topia), but also the “good-place” (eutopia), especially as More himself presents its society. This ambiguity has provided the basis for subsequent studies of utopias. The imagined place is both idealized and does not exist in reality. Thus, “utopian” has come to mean “fanciful,” “fantastic,” “impossible,” and “unrealizable.” Yet, it can also mean “visionary,” “ideal,” “better-than-the-present,” and “an alternative reality.” The tension between these understandings of the adjective is essential to interpreting utopian literature and should not be readily dismissed in favor of one of the other connotations. Thus, its spatial existence is constantly a point of tension in a utopian text. Utopia exists in space, if only in the ideological space of the text. In terms of its temporal location, however, it is clear that utopia is not necessarily a future place. That utopia does not have to be a future place, but can exist in the present (just Sheffield Academic Press, 1997); Roland T. Boer, “Utopian Politics in 2 Chronicles 10–13,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture, ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie, JSOTS (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 360–94. See also Ehud Ben Zvi, ed., Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature, vol. 92, Publications of the Finnish ­Exegetical Society (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006). Ben Zvi also makes important general theoretical remarks in Ehud Ben Zvi, “Reading and Constructing Utopias: Utopia / ​s And / ​in the Collection of Authoritative Texts / ​Textual Readings of Late Persian Period Yehud,” Studies in Religion / ​Sciences Religieuses 42/4 (2013): 463–76. 34 Steven J. Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, Library of Hebrew Bible / ​Old Testament Studies 442 (London: T & T Clark, 2007). In this book he builds upon some views which were published earlier in: Steven J. Schweitzer, “Utopia and Utopian Literary Theory: Some Preliminary Observations,” in Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 13–26. Various review sessions at inter alia the SBL meetings have been held since the publication of the book. Some of these are documented; e. g. see the various contributions in Mark J. Boda, ed., “In Conversation with Steven Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles (LHBOTS, 442; London: T. & T. Clark International, 2007),” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2009), https://ejournals.library.ualberta.ca/index.php/ jhs/article/view/6240, as well as Roland Boer, “Review of Steven Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles,” The Bible and Critical Theory 4/2 (2011): 30.1–30.3. 35 The theoretical background of this approach is not discussed here because of the focus of the present work. Schweitzer’s work, as well as other literature referenced in this section, can be consulted for that.

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as More’s island of Utopia does) eliminates an automatic equivalence between eschatology and utopia. Something or some place can be utopian without being eschatological.36

These views also emphasise the critical function of utopian literature. In opposition to the tension in Marxism between ideology and utopia, Schweitzer indicates that utopia does function as ideology which can provide a strong social critique and can question the present historical situation.37 He formulates this understanding as follows: [U]topias depict the world “as it should be” not “why it is the way it is.” In other words, utopias are not works of legitimation (providing a grounding for the present reality), but works of innovation (suggesting a reality that could be, it its parameters were accepted). This reassessment of utopian literature produces a significant by-product: the utopian construct does not necessarily reflect the historical situation of the author, that is, the author does not legitimize his present, but criticizes it by depicting the literary reality in terms not to be found in the author’s society. This makes historical reconstruction derived primarily from a utopian text extremely difficult. The utopian text does not reflect historical reality, but future possibility.38

Schweitzer then applies this view to Chronicles when he argues that “if Chronicles is utopian in character, then its cultic practices and systems may reflect desired (but not necessarily implemented) changes, and therefore not historical realities.”39 Schweitzer therefore suggests that Chronicles stands in tension with the historical reality of its time of origin and offers an alternative reality to its audience: Thus, rather than sift through Chronicles for what it may say about the Second Temple period, utopian literary theory would suggest that its depiction of society is in tension with historical reality. From this perspective, Chronicles provides an excellent source for looking once more at the problems and ideological struggles of the late Persian or early Hellenistic period, rather than at a text produced by those elite who are advocating a continuation of the status quo. … Chronicles presents its utopian future as an idealized portrayal set in Israel’s historical past.40

In his reading of Chronicles Schweitzer focuses on three major themes, namely the genealogical utopia which opens the book, the political utopia which is portrayed in many of the royal narratives, and the cultic utopia which is visible in the portrayal of the temple, the priesthood and cultic regulations. All three these themes contribute, according to Schweitzer, to the construction of an

Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 15–16. criticizes Schweitzer’s understanding of Marxism at this point, however. See Roland Boer, “Utopia, Dystopia and Uchronia in Chronicles,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2009): 12. 38 Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 18 [his emphasis]. 39 Ibid., 29 [his emphasis]. 40 Ibid., 30 [his emphasis]. 36 Schweitzer, 37 Boer

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alternative reality as a social critique on the present imperial circumstances of the Chronicler.41 It is particularly in his treatment of the genealogies in Chronicles where he also addresses the issue of identity.42 He states that the insights developed in his analysis of 1 Chronicles 1–9 “clearly demonstrate that one of the major purposes of the genealogical material in Chronicles is to provide the identity of the entity known as ‘Israel’.”43 He therefore employs utopian literary theory to argue that these genealogies were not used as a means of documentation or legitimisation of the status quo during the Chronicler’s time. Rather, he says, this analysis proceeds from the … interpretive option … that lineages may be constructed to challenge the current status quo by presenting a radically different picture of the world as if it were reality. Thus, implicitly for the readers, the historical situation at the time of the Chronicler should be adjusted to conform to the reality expressed by the genealogical utopia as articulated in Chronicles.44

From this perspective Schweitzer then investigates the Chronicler’s utopian use of sources in the genealogies, what the Chronicler’s twelve-tribe utopian Israel looks like, how Judah and Levi function within this utopian vision, and how particularism and universalism function in the Chronicler’s construction. The details of his results are not under discussion in this methodological section (they will be discussed in the chapters where I will offer my own readings). However, two evaluative comments should be made before asking how this methodological approach can benefit our study of identity negotiation in Chronicles. A first critical remark should be made about the strong discontinuity (even opposition) Schweitzer sees (together with utopian literary theorists) between the reality of the author(s), and the reality constructed in the text. Insisting that 41 Also see the following further studies where Schweitzer follows this approach in his reading of Chronicles: Steven J. Schweitzer, “Visions of the Future as Critique of the Present: Utopian and Dystopian Images of the Future in Second Zechariah,” in Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 249–67; Steven J. Schweitzer, “Exploring the Utopian Space of Chronicles: Some Spatial Anomalies,” in Constructions of Space I: Theory, Geography, and Narrative, ed. Claudia V. Camp and Jon L. Berquist, Library of Hebrew Bible / ​Old Testament Studies 481 (New York: T & T Clark, 2007), 141–56; Steven J. Schweitzer, “Judging a Book by Its Citations: Sources and Authority in Chronicles,” in What Was Authoritative for the Chronicler?, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 37–65; Steven J. Schweitzer, “The Genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9: Purposes, Forms, and the Utopian Identity of Israel,” in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul Evans and Tyler Williams (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 9–27; Steven J. Schweitzer, “After Exile, Under Empire: Utopian Concerns in Chronicles” (ISBL, Vienna, 2014), 201. 42 See his discussion in Chapter 2 of Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, as well as Schweitzer, “The Genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9.” 43 Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 40. 44 Ibid., 47 [his emphasis].

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the utopian construction in the text suggests an alternative reality which is significantly better than the present of the author(s) might create the impression that there are no continuities with the present. The same applies to the relation with the past. Mark Boda and Matthew Lowe have also addressed this point in their review of Schweitzer’s book. They put it as follows: So if utopian literary theory is adopted for a text such as Chronicles, how does one assess historical information in Chronicles in its wake? Could not a utopian text provide an alternative reality that leverages elements in both past and present for its construction? Is it necessary to assume an either / ​or relationship between the alternative and present reality? Do Utopias at times affirm some elements within the present social context that can be leveraged for the alternative reality? Must it be all discontinuity?45

Boda and Lowe, in their criticism on this point, furthermore ask how Schweitzer would know that the reality reflected in Chronicles is an alternative reality if he does not consider the text’s information as any indication of the Persian or early Hellenistic reality of the author(s). In his response Schweitzer says the following: Boda and Lowe rightfully ask about evidence for accurate historical information in Chronicles and how to know the difference between reflecting historical realities and critiquing them. I repeatedly question scholars who have asserted that Chronicles contains accurate historical data, whether for the pre-exilic or post-exilic periods. I agree that I have not disproved their position by pointing out some pile of counter-evidence. However, I do believe that I have demonstrated the degree to which Chronicles scholarship has been based on presuppositions and assumptions without actual evidence – scholars asserting something to be true rather than citing evidence. In other words, previous scholarship has been imaginative and creative in its interpretation of Chronicles, but that has been disguised as historical criticism.46

I am less concerned than Boda and Lowe to determine the historical value of Chronicles, and I agree with Schweitzer that the historical enquiry cannot be the primary question posed to these texts. My concern is therefore not so much whether Schweitzer has some historical measuring rod to determine whether Chronicles reflects a reality of some kind, or rather a utopian alternative reality. However, Schweitzer’s response does leave the impression that his approach proceeds from a fairly positivist understanding which does not give adequate expression to the very complex relationship between past, present and future, or to the relationship between reality and fictionality, in ancient historiographical literature. The assumption that some utopian reality is constructed through literature (which Schweitzer has highlighted for Chronicles scholarship in a valuable way) does not exclude that the fact that processes of historical continuity AND 45 Mark J. Boda and Matthew F. Lowe, “Encountering an Alternative Reality: Schweitzer and the Utopian Turn,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2009): 7. 46 Steven J. Schweitzer, “A Response,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2009): 17.

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discontinuity occur simultaneously in this literature. This point will be taken up later in our discussion. A second point of criticism which was raised by Roland Boer in his review of Schweitzer’s book,47 and which was fully admitted by Schweitzer,48 is that his description of how utopian literature functions seems to be neglecting the role of context. As Boer puts it: “One person’s utopia is another’s dystopia.” One therefore has to ask “Utopia for whom? Dystopia for whom?” when discussing this literature. With reference to Chronicles, this implies that one cannot simply evaluate the utopian character of this literature without contextualising it in the social environments within which it functioned. In his response Schweitzer concedes that this is an important perspective, and highlights his understanding of Chronicles in the light of it: I believe that Chronicles is a utopian construct more appealing for Levites than for many others within the community around Jerusalem. Chronicles does not present a “utopia for everyone” (as if something like this could be possible anyway). However, it also creates a utopian model that would be troublesome to others within the Second Temple Period, such as Ezra and Nehemiah or the authors of 1 Enoch, for example. The question of “whose utopia, whose dystopia?” should be a normal question to ask of specific biblical texts or of the Bible as whole or of those (whether ancient or contemporary interpreters) who use them / ​it to construct their own utopian models for living in the present.49

On this point Joseph Blenkinsopp has made a valuable contribution when he wrote on “Ideology and Utopia in 1–2 Chronicles.”50 His analysis latches on to Karl Mannheim’s understanding of utopia “as the creation of an ideal counterreality in reaction to incongruent current reality, a creation that is located in the distant past or future.”51 However, Blenkinsopp does not analyse this only on a literary level, but immediately indicates: “My point of departure is therefore the situation in the international sphere and in the cultic world that the author inhabited and against which he reacted by constructed [sic!] his utopian vision of the past.”52 A discussion of the date of Chronicles, as well as of the political situation of the time, therefore forms his starting point when analysing how holy war functions in the book, how the Priests and Levites are portrayed, and how the Chronicler uses (and is emancipated from) tradition. Blenkinsopp’s analysis 47 Boer,

“Utopia, Dystopia and Uchronia in Chronicles.” See also Boer, “Review of Steven Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles.” 48 Schweitzer, “A Response,” 19. He emphasised the same point in his (still unpublished) presentation entitled: “After Exile, Under Empire: Utopian Concerns in Chronicles” at the SBL International Meeting in Vienna (2014). 49 Ibid. 50 Joseph Blenkinsopp, “Ideology and Utopia in 1–2 Chronicles,” in What Was Authoritative for the Chronicler?, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 89–103. 51 Ibid., 89. 52 Ibid.

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therefore serves as a good example of how the relationship between utopian literature and its context(s) can be recognised in our studies of Chronicles. This brings us to the concluding question in this subsection: Can this methodological approach be of any benefit for our study of identity negotiation in Chronicles? Or, as Boda and Lowe put it critically: “Of course, the question that must be raised and the elephant in the room is whether Schweitzer is justified in applying utopian literary theory to the book of Chronicles at all.”53 To be sure, there is no evidence to claim that Chronicles was written as a Utopia in the technical sense of the word. In fact, Schweitzer also does not claim that. We may agree with him when he states: I would conclude that Chronicles is utopian rather than a Utopia, but that it creates multiple Utopias within its narrative world, all of which manifest themselves and then dissolve only to reappear in other related forms. If we have in mind particular generic categories, then we will not see Chronicles as a Utopia, but if we are looking for ideology, then Chronicles is definitely utopian in its outlook.54

It seems then that the main value of this approach is not so much to strictly work from the methodological perspective of utopian literary theory, but rather to identify the rhetorical effects of those ideologies that lie behind the literature, and which can be detected in the literature. With reference to Chronicles, it means that utopian theory can potentially help us to be more specific in our interpretations of the book to indicate how the Chronicler made use of traditions about the past in order to urge an audience (or various audiences) towards a specific vision for the future that functions in the specific present (of the Chronicler). I will argue below that the vision for the future formulated in the book was driven towards identity issues because of the multi-levelled socio-historical context of the Chronicler’s time – an important focus which is not prominent in Schweitzer’s work.

2.2.3 Social Memory Studies Social memory studies flourished in the second half of the twentieth century, although their origins can be traced much earlier (as will be seen below). Such studies impacted on research in a whole array of social and natural sciences, from sociology and psychology, through literary criticism, anthropology, art 53 Boda

and Lowe, “Encountering an Alternative Reality,” 7. “A Response,” 16. In an unpublished paper (delivered at the ISBL in Vienna, 2014) he adds further nuances to this point: “Many scholars have observed that Chronicles is not an eschatological text, but one with deep concerns for the future of the community. I contend that this future orientation of the book provides the reader with an alternative reality, one couched in the literary past, but calling out possibilities for new structures, systems, and perspectives on how the community should respond to the challenges of its day.” 54 Schweitzer,

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history and political science, to the cognitive and neurosciences. Olick and Robbins remark on this situation in a 1998 article: “Social memory studies is nevertheless, or perhaps as a result, a nonparadigmatic, transdisciplinary, centerless enterprise.”55 They add: While this relative disorganization has been productive, it now seems possible to draw together some of these dispersed insights. Our goal in this essay is therefore to (re‑)construct out of the diversity of work addressing social memory a useful tradition, range of working definitions, and basis for future work in a field that ironically has little organized memory of its own.

The rest of their article, to which we will turn in a moment, therefore contains an overview of the development of the field, and also some very useful conceptual distinctions. It seems, however, that their attempt in 1998 did not bring about the desired outcome of finally organising the field. Ten years later another collection of essays (within which the earlier views of Olick and Robbins were repeated) set itself more or less the same goal.56 Astrid Erll starts the introduction of this collection with the following words: Over the past two decades, the relationship between culture and memory has emerged in many parts of the world as a key issue of interdisciplinary research, involving fields as 55 Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, “Social Memory Studies: From ‘Collective Memory’ to the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices,” Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998): 106. The field does also not remain free from criticism. See e. g. the discussion in Wolf Kansteiner, “Finding Meaning in Memory: A Methodological Critique of Collective Memory Studies,” History and Theory 41/2 (2002): 179–97. Kansteiner remarks: “The rare combination of social relevance and intellectual challenge explains the popularity of the field. But while memory has clearly become a central concept in the humanities and the social sciences, it remains unclear to what extent this convergence reflects actual common intellectual and methodological interests. … This exploration of a complex interdisciplinary space forms the basis of three conclusions: 1) Collective memory studies have not yet sufficiently conceptualized collective memories as distinct from individual memory. As a result, the nature and dynamics of collective memories are frequently misrepresented through facile use of psychoanalytical and psychological methods. 2) Collective memory studies have also not yet paid enough attention to the problem of reception both in terms of methods and sources. Therefore, works on specific collective memories often cannot illuminate the sociological base of historical representations. 3) Some of these problems can be addressed by adopting and further developing the methods of media and communication studies, especially regarding questions of reception. For this purpose we should conceptualize collective memory as the result of the interaction among three types of historical factors: the intellectual and cultural traditions that frame all our representations of the past, the memory makers who selectively adopt and manipulate these traditions, and the memory consumers who use, ignore, or transform such artifacts according to their own interests” (Ibid., 180). It is not our task in the present volume to engage in this critical discussion, but it is important in our applications of social memory studies to take these criticisms into account. 56 Astrid Erll and Ansgar Nünning, eds., Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2008). See also the later publications Astrid Erll, Ansgar Nünning, and Sara B. Young, eds., A Companion to Cultural Memory Studies (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010); Astrid Erll, Memory in Culture, trans. Sara B. Young (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011).

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diverse as history, sociology, art, literary and media studies, philosophy, theology, psychology, and the neurosciences, and thus bringing together the humanities, social sciences and the natural sciences in a unique way. The importance of the notion of cultural memory is not only documented by the rapid growth, since the late 1980s, of publications on specific national, social, religious, or family memories, but also by a more recent trend, namely attempts to provide overviews of the state of the art in this emerging field and to synthesize different research traditions. … The present handbook represents the shared effort of forty-one authors, all of whom have contributed over the past years, from a variety of disciplinary perspectives, to the development of this nascent field, and it is part of the efforts to consolidate memory studies into a more coherent discipline. It is a first step on the road towards a conceptual foundation for the kind of memory studies which assumes a decidedly cultural and social perspective.57

Since this emerging field also had, and is still having, a significant impact on studies of Persian-period biblical literature (as will be seen below), it is worthwhile to consider some theoretical assumptions of this approach, without any pretension that our discussion is exhaustive here. But first, it is important to explain the choice of our heading in this subsection, since different terminology is used to refer to this field, including social memory, collective memory and cultural memory. We follow Olick and Robbins, who use the term “social memory studies” as an overarching, generic term. They explain: Critics who charge that “collective memory” over-totalizes prefer a proliferation of more specific terms to capture the ongoing contest over images of the past: official memory, vernacular memory, public memory, popular memory, local memory, family memory, historical memory, cultural memory, etc. Still others argue that a collective memory concept has nothing to add to older formulations like myth, tradition, custom, and historical consciousness. … In this review, we refer to “social memory studies” as a general rubric for inquiry into the varieties of forms through which we are shaped by the past, conscious and unconscious, public and private, material and communicative, consensual and challenged. We refer to distinct sets of mnemonic practices in various social sites, rather than to collective memory as a thing. This approach, we argue, enables us to identify ways in which past and present are intertwined without reifying a mystical group mind and without including absolutely everything in the enterprise.58

It is now important to look at the development of the field. Olick and Robbins indicate that “[m]emory, of course, has been a major preoccupation for social Erll, “Cultural Memory Studies: An Introduction,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook, ed. Astrid Erll and Ansgar Nünning (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2008), 1. 58 Olick and Robbins, “Social Memory Studies,” 112 [my emphasis]. Erll and Nünning choose the term “cultural memory” for their book, however. Erll motivates this as follows in the introduction to their book: “Our choice of ‘cultural memory’ for the title of this handbook is due, in the first place, to the highly controversial nature of Halbwachs’s term [“collective memory” – LCJ] and the many wrong associations it seems to trigger in those who are new to the field. Secondly, according to the definition given above, the term ‘cultural memory’ accentuates the connection of memory on the one hand and socio-cultural contexts on the other” (Erll, “Cultural Memory Studies: An Introduction,” 3–4. 57 Astrid

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thinkers since the Greeks. Yet it was not until the late nineteenth and the earlier twentieth centuries that a distinctively social perspective on memory became prominent.”59 They indicate that the first mention of the term “collective memory” was already in 1902, when Hugo von Hofmannsthal referred very negatively to “the damned up force of our ancestors in us” and the “piled up layers of accumulated collective memory” that humans have to bear.60 However, contemporary usages of the term is normally traced to the work of Maurice Halbwachs, a student of Émile Durkheim, who published a seminal work on the social frameworks of memory in 1925.61 Halbwachs’s primary thesis was that human memory can only function within a collective, social context. Memory is a matter of how minds work together in society, and how their operations are not simply mediated but are structured by social arrangements. Collective memory, Halbwachs asserted, is always selective; various groups of people have different collective memories, which in turn give rise to different modes of behaviour. His main contribution was therefore to move away from an individualistic and essentialist understanding of memory to assuming the social and collective functioning of memory. This view therefore opened vast areas of research into the interaction between social processes and selective remembering and forgetting.62 One particular further development in this field – which also impacted strongly on biblical interpretation – is the work of Jan Assmann, particularly through his publication Das kulturelle Gedächtnis of 1992.63 Assmann built on the work of Halbwachs on the social aspects of memory, but made a further distinction between “communicative memory” and “cultural memory.” This distinction is made on account of what he calls two different “Gedächtnis-Rahmen”, or frames of memory. The first, communicative memory, he defines as follows: Das kommunikative Gedächtnis umfaßt Erinnerungen, die sich auf die rezente Vergangenheit beziehen. Es sind diese Erinnerungen, die der Mensch mit seinen Zeitgenossen teilt. Der typische Fall ist das Generationen-Gedächtnis. Dieses Gedächtnis wächst der Gruppe  Olick and Robbins, “Social Memory Studies,” 106. in Ibid. 61 See also Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory. Edited, Translated, and with an Introduction by Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992) which contains English translations of his most important work. 62 See e. g. the seminal publication on collective forgetting: Barry Schwartz, “Collective Forgetting and the Symbolic Power of Oneness: The Strange Apotheosis of Rosa Parks,” Social Psychology Quarterly 72/2 (2009): 123–42. 63 Jan Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis. Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen, C. H. Beck Kulturwissenschaft (München: Beck, 1992). The sixth edition of this book was published in 2007, and quotations will be from this later edition. See also Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian. The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997); Jan Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory: Ten Studies. Translated by Rodney Livingstone (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006). Jens Bruun Kofoed provides a useful summary of Assmann’s view in: Jens B. Kofoed, Text and History: Historiography and the Study of the Biblical Text (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 125–126. 59

60 Quoted

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historisch zu; es entsteht in der Zeit und vergeht mit ihr, genauer: mit seinen Trägern. Wenn die Träger, die es verkörperten, gestorben sind, weicht es einem neuen Gedächtnis.64

Assmann indicates that this memory is formed in an unstructured way: individuals share with their contemporaries and everyone can join the personal interaction. By doing so, they shape the communicative memory. The shared memory resulting from this interaction has the character of a private interpretation of the past; it is a group’s unofficial, “everyday memory.” Cultural memory is different, however. Assmann explains this as follows: Das kulturelle Gedächtnis richte sich auf Fixpunkte in der Vergangenheit. Auch in ihm vermag sich Vergangenheit nicht als solche zu erhalten. Vergangenheit gerinnt hier vielmehr zu symbolischen Figuren, an die sich die Erinnerung heftet. … Auch Mythen sind Erinnerungsfiguren: Der Unterschied zwischen Mythos und Geschichte wird hier hinfällig. Für das kulturelle Gedächtnis zählt nicht faktische, sondern nur erinnerte Geschichte. Man könnte auch sagen, daß im kulturellen Gedächtnis faktische Geschichte in erinnerte und damit in Mythos transformiert wird. Mythos ist eine fundierende Geschichte, eine Geschichte, die erzählt wird, um eine Gegenwart vom Ursprung her zu erhellen.65

Participation in and contribution to this type of memory is different from the unstructured participation in communicative memory. In cultural memory there are certain official “Träger”, or carriers, of memory. These persons are normally defined in the socio-cultural environment and derive their legitimacy from it. Not all members of a given memory community can therefore influence the memory to the same extent, because the power to interpret and define the past is unevenly spread within the collective, and is particularly situated in the official “carrier” groups. Cultural memory is therefore a group’s official memory and is intrinsically related to power and tradition. Cultural memory is also not limited to contemporaries in any generation, but it rather covers a much longer period of time spanning generations. As a result, cultural memory over time becomes a “memory reservoir,” containing several collective memories and identities of the past, as mediated through the official carriers of tradition. It is obvious that these views would find fruitful application in the interpretation of biblical literature, as will be shown below. Related to the above, another conceptual distinction which is important for our discussion is Pierre Nora’s use of the concept les lieux de mémoire (which is often translated into English as “sites / ​realms of memory”). The term goes back to Nora’s monumental seven-volume work, Les Lieux de mémoire, on French history and identity, which was published from 1984 to 1992.66 Nora defines a “site of memory” as “any significant entity, whether material or non-material in 64 Jan Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen, 6th edition (München: Beck, 2007), 50. 65 Ibid., 52. 66 This work by Nora has been translated into English, with the first volume appearing in 1996. See Pierre Nora and Lawrence D. Kritzman, eds., Realms of Memory: The Construction

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nature, which by dint of human will or the work of time has become a symbolic element of the memorial heritage of any community.”67 These entities can be places (such as archives, museums, cathedrals, palaces, cemeteries and monuments), concepts and practices (such as commemorations, mottos and all ritual), or objects (such as inherited property, commemorative monuments, manuals, emblems, basic texts and symbols). As will be seen below, this concept plays an important role in some studies on the biblical literature of the Persian and Hellenistic periods. Related to these views is Eviatar Zerubavel’s use of the concepts “mnemonic communities” and “social mindscapes.”68 Approaching the matter from the perspective of what he calls “cognitive sociology”, Zerubavel first discusses the process of “mnemonic socialization.” He explains: “[O]ur social environment affects the way we remember the past. Like the present, the past is also part of a social reality that, while far from being absolutely objective, nonetheless transcends our subjectivity and is commonly shared by others as well.”69 He argues against an individualistic understanding of remembering the past, and notes that: [t]he extent to which our social environment affects the way we remember the past becomes even clearer when we realize that much of what we “remember” is actually filtered (and therefore inevitably distorted) through a process of interpretation that usually takes place within particular social surroundings. Such distortion affects the actual facts we recall as well as the particular “tone” in which we recall them.70

This process of “mnemonic socialization” normally starts in the family when we are still children, but goes beyond that social context when we enter further mnemonic communities during our lives. Zerubavel states: “In fact, much of what we remember we did not experience personally. We do so as members of particular families, organisations, nations, and other mnemonic communities.”71 It is clear that these mnemonic communities within which the past is remembered collectively play a constitutive role in the self-understanding of those communities and the individuals who form part of that community. Inversely, the self-understanding of such a mnemonic community determines selectively how the past is remembered. Olick and Robbins put it as follows (with reference to Schwartz): “Collective memory does not merely reflect past experiences (accurately or not); it has an orientational function. … [C]ollective memory is both a mirror of the French Past (Volume 1), trans. A. Goldhammer (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996). 67 Ibid., xvii. 68 See e. g. Eviatar Zerubavel, “Social Memories: Steps to a Sociology of the Past,” Qualitative Sociology 19/3 (1996): 283–99; Eviatar Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 1997); Eviatar Zerubavel, Time Maps: Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003). 69 Zerubavel, “Social Memories,” 283. 70 Ibid., 285. 71 Ibid., 289.

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and a lamp – a model of and a model for society.”72 This distinction obviously has strong implications for identity negotiation in any given community. However, it is also indicated in the literature that remembering the past in mnemonic communities in service of identity negotiation often results in contestation and counter-memories. There are numerous examples in recent history, particularly where national identities are concerned, where this contestation can be observed. This leads Olick and Robbins to remark: “Memory sites and memory practices are central loci for ongoing struggles over identity. … Contestation is clearly at the center of both memory and identity.”73 Zerubavel also employed the concept of “social mindscape” in his work.74 Although he has taken the concept over from Magoroh Maruyama,75 Zerubavel has particularly used it in the realm of memory studies. All the different sites of memory that are actively functioning in any particular mnemonic community contribute to the formation of a social memory landscape, or mindscape.76 Inversely, remembering and forgetting in this particular community is deeply influenced by this social mindscape, which forms the contexts within which sites of memory are functioning. Zerubavel therefore applied Maruyama’s definition, which is used epistemologically – namely “a structure of reasoning, cognition, perception, conceptualisation, design, planning, and decision making that may vary from one individual, profession, culture, or social group to another” – with72 Olick

and Robbins, “Social Memory Studies,” 124. 126. 74 See Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes. 75 Magoroh Maruyama, whose field of specialisation is cultural epistemology, indicates the following: “Having described some causal metatypes in science theories, I want to go on to examine the epistemological types that correspond to them. Epistemological types have been variously labeled ‘models,’ ‘logics,’ ‘paradigms,’ and ‘epistemologies.’ I have spoken of ‘psychotopology’ in this connection … None of these labels seems satisfactory. Recently I have been using the term ‘mindscapes,’ which seems to me to suggest something richly varied. In this article I use the term ‘mindscape’ to mean a structure of reasoning, cognition, perception, conceptualization, design, planning, and decision making that may vary from one individual, profession, culture, or social group to another” (“Mindscapes and Science Theories,” Current Anthropology 21/5 (1980): 591.). See also Magoroh Maruyama, Michael T. Caley, and Daiyo Sawada, Mindscapes: The Epistemology of Magoroh Maruyama (New York: Routledge, 1994). 76 However, one should remember his qualification: “Such ‘mindscapes,’ however, are by no means universal. What we cognitively share in common we do not only as human beings but also as social beings … As we try to avoid the strictly personal, we need to be careful not to equate the impersonal with the universal. In other words, when rejecting cognitive individualism, we need not go all the way to the other extreme and replace it by cognitive universalism. While some aspects of our thinking are indeed either purely personal or absolutely universal, many others are neither. … Approaching cognition from an intermediate perspective that complements yet avoids the extremist stances offered by cognitive individualism and universalism, cognitive sociology keeps reminding us that while we certainly think both as individuals and as human beings, what goes on inside our heads is also affected by the particular thought communities to which we happen to belong. Such communities … are clearly larger than the individual yet considerably smaller than the entire human race” (Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes, 8–9. 73 Ibid.,

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in the realm of memory studies. We will see below that this concept is particularly used in biblical interpretation by Ehud Ben Zvi, whose interpretative efforts are focused on describing the social mindscapes behind biblical literature. After the introduction to social memory studies and the conceptual clarification above, our discussion can now continue to what could be seen as the most direct impact of social memory studies on biblical interpretation, namely the relationship between memory and history.77 The impact of social memory studies has been felt particularly within the field of the historiography of the Hebrew Bible. However, this is the result of a more general discussion in social memory studies on their relationship to historiography (described by Olick and Robbins as “the most contested boundary”).78 Olick and Robbins indicate that a devaluation of history in favour of memory is already found in Halbwachs’s work: Halbwachs was very decisive about his solution [to the problem of the relation between history and memory – LCJ]: History is dead memory, a way of preserving pasts to which we no longer have an “organic” experiential relation. On the surface, this understanding of the distinction negates the self-image of historiography as the more important or appropriate attitude toward the past: History’s epistemological claim is devalued in favor of memory’s meaningfulness.79

Olick and Robbins call attention in this context to a distinction made by Halbwachs, namely between history as “the remembered past to which we no longer have an ‘organic’ relation – the past that is no longer an important part of our lives”, and collective memory as “the active past that forms our identities.” In a sense “[m]emory inevitably gives way to history as we lose touch with our pasts.”80 From this description it seems then that as a result of a communicative problem (losing touch with the past) history emerges. However, collective memory as “the active past” (that is, the past with which we still have an organic relation) holds primacy and directly influences the formation of identity. Hans Barstad indicates that it is very difficult to determine Jan Assmann’s stance in this debate on the relation between memory and history. Assmann claims to build upon Halbwachs’s work, but in Barstad’s estimation this is very difficult to see in Assmann’s work: Assmann claims to be influenced by Maurice Halbwachs, but this is not so easily seen from what he writes. Whereas Halbwachs is strongly anti-positivistic in his views on history, Assmann must be regarded as quite the opposite. … Assmann also claims that the dichotomy between memory and history that Halbwachs pointed out is not valid today. 77 However, also see Alan K. Kirk and Tom Thatcher, Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity (Atlanta: SBL, 2005); Tom Thatcher, ed., Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz, Semeia Studies 78 (Atlanta: SBL, 2014). 78 Olick and Robbins, “Social Memory Studies,” 110. 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid., 111.

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Again, he appears to miss the point that these issues have been at the heart of the recent history debate, in which it is frequently asked: “What can we know about the past, and in what ways, if in any, do we have access to it?”81

Barstad refers here to the ongoing debate in general historiography about the possibility and validity of the history project.82 Within a postmodern framework the past is seen in this debate as forever past, and therefore impossible to reconstruct. History can therefore be no more than subjective constructions of an irretrievable past. No objectivity is possible in this endeavour. These developments in general historiography, as well as in social memory studies, have impacted heavily on the field of historiography of Ancient Israel – as the debate between so-called ‘maximalists’ and ‘minimalists’ has epitomised. Within this debate the biblical writings have been re-evaluated for reconstructing the past, in the light of the fact that have we now – in the wake of the historiography debate – lost our positivist innocence, realising that these writings reflect the tainted memories of past communities. Barstad puts it as follows: On the whole, there can be little doubt that a weakening of the notion of “event” has taken place. This, however, is not a bad thing. The question is how we can best compensate for the loss of our positivistic innocence, and learn to live with our frustrations. The future belongs to true interdisciplinary approaches … It is my strong conviction that to give up the history project altogether represents a kind of reductionism that is dangerous to the quality of our scholarly work. History and memory belong together and cannot be sepa-

81 Hans M. Barstad, “History and Memory: Some Reflections on the ‘Memory Debate’ in Relation to the Hebrew Bible,” in The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe, ed. Philip R. Davies and Diana V. Edelman (London: Continuum, 2010), 3–4. 82 Robert Vosloo grapples with the same problem in his discussion of Paul Ricoeur’s reflections on historiography in “The Writing of History as Remedy or Poison? Some Remarks on Paul Ricoeur’s Reflections on Memory, Identity and ‘The Historiographical Operation,’” in Texts, Contexts and Readings in Post-exilic Literature: Explorations into Historiography and Identity Negotiation in Hebrew Bible and Related Texts, ed. Louis C. Jonker, FAT II 53 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 11–26. With reference to Ricoeur’s book Memory, History, Forgetting Vosloo particularly explores this philosopher’s exposition on the epistemology of historical knowledge. He grapples with Ricoeur’s understanding of how the past can be represented, as well as of how to deal with the vulnerability and instability inherent in attempts to represent the past. Vosloo places Ricoeur’s discussion on “the historiographical operation” (consisting of a documentary phase, a phase of explanation and understanding, and a representative phase) within the context of the broader argument of Memory, History, Forgetting, and asks whether the writing of history is a remedy or a poison in the light of the vulnerability of memory. In the final section of his contribution, Vosloo points to the need for what he calls a responsible historical hermeneutic. He identifies three contours for such a hermeneutic. First, a responsible historical hermeneutic ought to be critical of the idea that the historian is value-free and dispassionate in her or his account of the past. Therefore over-confident claims to historical objectivity that disregard the role of the subject should be deflated. Secondly, one should acknowledge that a responsible historical hermeneutic is both vulnerable and realistic. And lastly, a responsible hermeneutic will acknowledge the need for an ethics of memory and of history.

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rated. It is the task of each and every scholar who wants to engage in memory studies to attempt to work out possible relations between the two.83

Neither do all theorists in memory studies find the contrast between history and memory helpful. Astrid Erll, for example, says: I would suggest dissolving the useless opposition of history vs. memory in favor of a notion of different modes of remembering in culture. This approach proceeds from the basic insight that the past is not given, but must instead continually be re-constructed and re-presented. Thus, our memories (individual and collective) of past events can vary to a great degree. This holds true not only for what is remembered (facts, data), but also for how it is remembered, that is, for the quality and meaning the past assumes. As a result, there are different modes of remembering identical past events. … Myth, religious memory, political history, trauma, family remembrance, or generational memory are different modes of referring to the past. Seen in this way, history is but yet another mode of cultural memory, and historiography its specific medium.84

One person who has used social memory studies explicitly in his introduction to biblical history is Philip Davies.85 He prefers to speak of “cultural memory,” since “this seems the name that is being mostly adopted in biblical scholarship” and “it does not include only collective memory but also personal.”86 He relies heavily, although not uncritically, on Jan Assmann’s work, particularly because Assmann has caught the attention of biblical scholars for this approach in his study on Moses the Egyptian.87 Davies comes to the following conclusion about this approach: Cultural memory provides a better conceptual tool than history, myth, or tradition for classifying the biblical narratives about the past because it better reflects the ways in which the past was understood and utilised in ancient societies. Regarding the biblical narratives as a Judean collection of cultural memories, integrated into continuous accounts, enables the historian to understand better the problems that they raise for conventional historical reconstruction but also sheds more light on the history behind these memories and their literary production. In particular, accepting that cultural memory – like personal memory – not only recalls the past but also forgets and invents it severs the notion of a necessary link between historical event and narrative account. Finally, focusing on the purpose for which the past is recalled, forgotten, or created rather than on its historical

83 Barstad,

“History and Memory,” 8. “Cultural Memory Studies: An Introduction,” 7. 85 Philip R. Davies, Memories of Ancient Israel: An Introduction to Biblical History – Ancient and Modern (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008). Also see Philip R. Davies, “The Origin of Biblical Israel,” in Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman, ed. Yairah Amit et al. (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 141–48. Another biblical scholars who has followed a similar approach is Mark S. Smith, The Memoirs of God: History, Memory, and the Experience of the Divine in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004). 86 Davies, Memories of Ancient Israel, 107. 87 Assmann, Moses the Egyptian. 84 Erll,

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reliability provides a means whereby these memories can be treated as an important part of the cultural history of ancient Israel and Judah.88

Another scholar who is working very explicitly from the perspective of social memory studies is Ehud Ben Zvi.89 On his own, but also together with Diana Edelman,90 he has published widely in this field and serves as one of the main catalysts for getting biblical scholars to consider the usefulness of this approach. His project is different from that of Philip Davies, however. Whereas Davies is mainly concerned about the possibility (or not) of a history of Ancient Israel, Ben Zvi rather wants to contribute to the description of the mindscapes (a concept he takes from Zerubavel) behind the biblical literature. He explains this as follows: [I]t seems that there is another layer of analysis that demands much attention as well, namely the one dealing with the array of underlying generative structures and systemic preferences that led to the construction of, and to partiality for, particular memories in Yehud. This type of analysis would attempt to identify these structures and systemic preferences, discuss their historical significance and the ways in which they reflected what the community assumed itself to be, and particularly so when it did not engage in an intentional or self-aware process of identity formation … Thus one has to deal not only with how and why social memory was organised in a particular way, or how and why it played its central role in questions of self-understanding, but also with matters of social memory and group identity in terms of a general discourse that seemed at least to the literati “natural” and thus was “transparent” to them. To approach this discourse, and particularly the generative elements in it, requires an examination of some elements of their social mindscape, which in itself provides much information about their group identity and the social “mental fences” that they develop to maintain it.91

He motivates his approach from the fact that “the majority of books within the authoritative repertoire of the literati in Yehud were, among many other things, past-construing works.”92 However, with this observation Ben Zvi does not 88 Davies, Memories of Ancient Israel, 122. A point of critique that Hans Barstad has raised against Davies’s approach is exactly the point which has been discussed above, namely the relationship between memory and history. Barstad thinks that Davies is replacing history with memory. See his discussion in Barstad, “History and Memory,” 1–2. 89 For references to the literature of this prolific author on the topic, see his fn. 1 in Ehud Ben Zvi, “Remembering the Prophets through the Reading and Rereading of a Collection of Prophetic Books in Yehud: Methodological Considerations and Explorations,” in Remembering and Forgetting in Early Second Temple Judah, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin, FAT 85 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 17–18. 90 See e. g. the following volume, which is the result of a series of conference sessions that were organised on the topic by the two editors: Diana V. Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi, eds., Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). 91 Ehud Ben Zvi, “On Social Memory and Identity Formation in Late Persian Yehud. A Historian’s Viewpoint with a Focus on Prophetic Literature, Chronicles and the Deuteronomistic Historical Collection,” in Texts, Contexts and Readings in Post-exilic Literature: Explorations into Historiography and Identity Negotiation in Hebrew Bible and Related Texts, ed. Louis C. Jonker, FAT II 53 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 98–99. 92 Ben Zvi, “Remembering the Prophets,” 18–19.

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return to more traditional formulations of seeing the Hebrew Bible as a kind of history book. He explains: The reformulation here, however, carries important heuristic and hermeneutical implications. For the present purposes, it suffices to state that it directly and explicitly raises the issue of social memory, and thus, the question of whether contemporary studies on social memory and some of the concepts used in this kind of research may be heuristically helpful for historical studies that focus on the construed / ​imagined past that was brought to the present of the literati (and those who were influenced by them) in Yehud through their reading and rereading of their authoritative literature. Certainly, it is this socially shared past that constantly shaped the way in which they understood the world, their deity and they themselves, i. e., “Israel” as they conceived it.93

Whether Ben Zvi replaces history with memory, or then with social mindscape, is debatable.94 However, he explicitly indicates that he would rather write about “social memory” and “identity” instead of about “historiography” and “identity”.95 He motivates this choice by referring to the fact that “[p]rophetic literature, Chronicles and the Deuteronomistic historical collection all had an impact on the formation of communal identity in later Persian Yehud,” but “they did so not as historiographical or prophetic literature directly, but through their contribution to the shaping of the community’s social memory, or at least that of the literati who read and reread these books.”96 This remark makes clear that Ben Zvi sees the shaping of the community’s social memory by this literature as the mechanism through which identity negotiation is facilitated. This view will be revisited in our synthesis of the methodological discussion in § 2.3 below. From the above discussion it has emerged already that the so-called historical books of the Hebrew Bible, but also the prophetic literature, have received considerable attention from this perspective. However, various textual corpora – whether as corpora, or with a specific focus on certain sites of memory in them – have been studied from social memory perspectives in the last decade.97 More Ibid.

93 

 But see his: Ehud Ben Zvi, “Clio Today and Ancient Israelite History: Some Thoughts and Observations at the Closing Session of The European Seminar for Historical Methodology” (SBL International Meeting, Amsterdam, 2012). (publication forthcoming). 95 See his comments in fns. 1 and 2 in Ben Zvi, “On Social Memory and Identity Formation,” 95. 96 Ibid. 97 The collections compiled by Ehud Ben Zvi together with Diana Edelman and other scholars offer a whole array of studies. See Diana V. Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi, eds., The Production of Prophecy. Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud (London: Equinox, 2011); Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin, eds., Remembering and Forgetting in Early Second Temple Judah, FAT 85 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012); Edelman and Ben Zvi, Remembering Biblical Figures. See also Ehud Ben Zvi, “Chronicles and Samuel-Kings: Two Interacting Aspects of One Memory System in the Late Persian / ​Early Hellenistic Period,” in Rereading the Relecture? The Question of (Post)chronistic Influence in the Latest Redactions of the Books of Samuel, ed. Uwe Becker and Hannes Bezzel (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 41–56. Ehud Ben Zvi, “The ‘Successful, Wise, Worthy Wife’ of Prov 31:10–31 as a Source for Reconstructing Aspects of 94

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specific studies are those of Philip Davies on Ezra and Nehemiah (as illustration of “cultural memory in practice”98) and Jens Bruun Kofoed on the representation of King Saul in Kings and Chronicles.99 This brings us to a preliminary assessment of the value of social memory studies for our endeavour in this book to study the identity negotiation processes in Persian-period biblical literature (in Chronicles, in particular). This approach rightly calls attention to the fact that social memory construction serves as an important mechanism and dynamic through which biblical literature contributed to the construction of certain mindscapes, and thereby to processes of identity negotiation. It cautions that we should not be too quick in our scholarly endeavours to jump from the literary constructions of Persian-period Yehud to conclusions about identity negotiation that took place in that context. In this regard, social memory studies provide useful concepts through which the dynamic process of social remembering in mnemonic communities, embedded in specific social mindscapes, can be envisaged and described. However, criticism against some proponents of this approach has highlighted that the relationship between memory and historiography remains somewhat vague.100 Furthermore, discussions in these circles on how Hebrew Bible texts participated in social memory construction often remain unclear as to how specific texts, through their specific narrative constructions (or otherwise), contributed to this process. In my estimation, biblical texts are treated too generally in this approach, and there remains the need to show more adequately how textual features and social memory construction in the service of identity negotiation relate to one another. This discussion brings us to the fourth (and last) of the methodological perspectives that will be treated here.

2.2.4 Social-psychological Studies We now come to the last of the four approaches that have been selected for discussion in this section. The use of socially informed approaches in biblical studies is nothing new. The study of the social background of the biblical texts has been part of historical-critical studies since the advent of these methods in Thought and Economy in the Late Persian / ​early Hellenistic Period,” in The Economy of Ancient Judah in Its Historical Context, ed. Marvin Miller, Ehud Ben Zvi, and Gary N. Knoppers (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2015). 98 Davies, Memories of Ancient Israel, 115–122. 99 Jens B. Kofoed, “Saul and Cultural Memory,” Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 25/1 (2011): 124–50. 100 I prefer to speak about “memory and historiography” instead of “memory and history” in order to give expression to the fact that my understanding of historiography includes the perspectival nature of this literature, and should not be confused with some positivistic attempts at reconstructing past events (as is often associated in modernist circles with the term “history”).

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the nineteenth century. The latter part of the twentieth century has also seen the flourishing of many biblical studies with some social or anthropological inclination. In the late 1970s, particularly through the work of Paul Hanson and others, scholars have deliberately started using categories from the social sciences for their investigations of biblical texts and the societies that lay behind them.101 The relationship of the social sciences to the Hebrew Bible / ​Old Testament became a topic of focused discussion.102 This movement did not go uncriticised in biblical studies. Whereas sociological studies are normally based on field work and empirical observation of living societies in action, biblical texts were written long ago in ancient societies that no longer exist. Furthermore, these ancient texts themselves often reflect societies in retrospect, since the world of origin of the texts were mostly different from the worlds of the past constructed in the texts. Biblical scholars, and scholars of Ancient Israelite history, have nevertheless found value in sociological studies, not least for the description of the dynamics of ancient Israelite societies. Lester Grabbe, for example, did a socio-historical study of religious specialists in Ancient Israel, indicating that “even though historians can use some of the techniques developed by sociologists and anthropologists, these have to be adapted to take account of the nature of the available data and to recognise the limits imposed by historical work.”103 He summarises the value of anthropology and sociology for biblical and historical studies as follows: 1. They show new possibilities and approaches to the familiar texts. … 2. They allow us to interrogate the texts and attempt to derive answers from them about questions which were not the primary concerns of the authors and editors. … 3. They provide models which can be tested against the biblical data. … 4. They may provide cross-cultural comparisons which help to fill gaps in the biblical data. The OT text tells little about many aspects of society. It may be possible to reconstruct a more coherent picture by appeal to analogy from similarly functioning cultures.104 101 See e. g. Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic. The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology, Rev. ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979). 102 See e. g. John W. Rogerson, Anthropology and the Old Testament, Growing Points in Theology (Oxford: Blackwell, 1978); Robert R. Wilson, Sociological Approaches to the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984); Andrew D. H. Mayes, The Old Testament in Sociological Perspective (London: Marshall Pickering, 1989); Charles E. Carter and Carol L. Meyers, eds., Community, Identity, and Ideology: Social Science Approaches to the Hebrew Bible (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1996). 103 Lester L. Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel (Valley Forge: Trinity, 1995), 14. 104 Ibid., 15. See also Lester L. Grabbe, “Sup-Urbs or Only Hyp-Urbs? Prophets and Population in Ancient Israel and Socio-Historical Method,” in “Every City Shall Be Forsaken”: Urbanism and Prophecy in Ancient Israel and the Near East, ed. Lester L. Grabbe and Robert D. Haak (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 95–123.: “Social theories are simply analogies based on one or more cultures. They are not ‘facts’ that can then be taken as givens by biblical scholars. They are interpretations and, like the usual suspects, to be rounded up and given the third degree – to be subjected to a bit of the rubber hose just to test their metal.

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Grabbe furthermore admits that there is a negative side to these studies as well. A real danger exists that theories and models derived from sociological study might be imposed on the data rather than tested against them and then modified or discarded where necessary. A similar danger is to over-interpret – to find a lot more data in a passage than is warranted. And, finally, the texts themselves may be read uncritically, as if they provided immediate access to the ancient society.105

These initial observations through Grabbe’s work lead us then to look at the value and pitfalls of specifically social-psychological studies for our present endeavour of studying the processes of identity negotiation in Persian period biblical literature. Numerous handbooks of and introductions to social psychology have been published in the past two decades.106 It is disputed, however, whether social psychology should be seen as a subfield of psychology or of sociology. It is probably part of both, depending on the focus taken in the specific brand of social psychology. DeLamater and Ward explain the difference as follows in the preface to their introduction: Psychologists often emphasize processes that occur inside the individual, including perception, cognition, motivation, and emotion, and the antecedents and consequences of these processes. In analyzing interaction, their focus is often on how aspects of self, attitudes, and interpersonal perception influence behavior. Sociologists have traditionally been more concerned with social collectivities, including families, organizations, communities, and social institutions.107

Since the present study focuses on the processes of self-understanding of the communities behind the Persian-period biblical literature, our interest is particularly in sociological understandings in this field and not so much psychological. Two general developments in social psychology studies of identity are considered to be important for our methodological consideration in this section. The first is the movement away from essentialist understandings of identity to constructivist understandings. Essentialism understands identity as something which consists of certain fixed, given characteristics of a person or a group.108 They are, in short, simply ways of interrogating the textual or other data. They are templates of interpretation, not tablets from Sinai” (here 121). 105 Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel, 1995, 15. 106 See, e. g., the following selection of publications since 2000: C. Fraser and B. Burchell, Introducing Social Psychology (Oxford: Polity, 2001); Catherine A. Sanderson, Social Psychology (John Wiley & Sons, 2009); Thomas Gilovich, Dacher Keltner, and Richard E. Nisbett, Social Psychology, 2. ed., international student edition (New York: Norton, 2011); Miles Hewstone, ed., An Introduction to Social Psychology, 5. ed., BPS Textbooks in Psychology (Chichester: BPS Blackwell, 2012); John DeLamater and Amanda Ward, Handbook of Social Psychology, 2nd edition (Berlin: Springer Science & Business Media, 2013). 107 DeLamater and Ward, Handbook of Social Psychology, vi. 108 In theories on ethnic identity essentialism is often associated with primordialism.

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It proceeds from the assumption that for any entity to have an identity, it should consist of a determined set of attributes. When the set of attributes changes, the identity changes. In terms of racial identity essentialist understandings would, for example, define race in biological terms in which skin colour, facial and other bodily features, etcetera make up the set of attributes. With regard to cultural identity essentialist definitions would, as another example, refer to “discourses and practices which label and relate to particular groups of people in ways which suppress difference and homogenise and fix them, not merely stereotyping but either pathologising or wrongly idealising them.”109 It is obvious that these essentialist understandings of identity, whether racial, cultural, or otherwise, can very easily lead to negative stereotyping, oppression and even the elimination of “the Other.”110 A so-called “anti-essentialist” movement has therefore started not only in the social and psychological study of identity, but generally in scientific studies. A move towards constructivist understandings has taken place in which individuals and groups are no longer seen as determined and fixed entities, but rather as the results of constant interaction and construction. Sayer summarises the common denominator in all the critiques against essentialism: If there is anything common to all the critiques of essentialism in social science, it is a concern to counter characterisations of people, practices, institutions and other social phenomena as having fixed identities which deterministically produce fixed, uniform outcomes. Whether they are talking about cultural identity, economic behaviour or gender and sexuality, anti-essentialists have argued that people are not creatures of determinism, whether natural or cultural, but are socially constructed and constructing. In contrast to homogenising, deterministic and repressive discourses, anti-essentialism appears to be emancipatory.111

According to constructivist understandings of social identity our expectation in our investigations can therefore not be to identify some fixed description of a social group which remains constant over time. In fact, it becomes impossible then 109 Andrew Sayer, “Essentialism, Social Constructionism, and beyond,” The Sociological Review 45/3 (1997): 454. 110 The treatment of Jews in Nazi Germany in the first half of the twentieth century and the genocide in Rwanda in the second half of the century are probably two of the most prominent recent examples of how essentialist understandings of the identity of groups of people can have disastrous consequences. 111 Sayer, “Essentialism, Social Constructionism, and beyond,” 454. Sayer continues in his article to nuance this anti-essentialist critique, however. He summarises his argument in this abstract: “Some social phenomena, like identities, clearly do not have essences, but it does not follow from this that other phenomena we study do not have essences or something like them. While a strong, or deterministic essentialism is always wrong and often dangerously misleading, a moderate, non-deterministic essentialism is necessary for explanation and for a social science that claims to be critical and have emancipatory potential. The concept of essence is problematic, but not for some of the epistemological and ontological reasons put forward by anti-essentialism. Strong variants of social constructionism are liable to invert rather than resolve the problems of strong essentialism, including those of its biological reductionist guises” (Ibid., 453).

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to speak of “identity” – we can only observe and describe processes of identity negotiation which take place dynamically in interaction with other groups and circumstances, and which change and develop over time. Different socio-historic configurations in interaction with the group dynamics of one specific, or various groups, therefore lead to dynamic and evolving processes of self-understanding in those groups. De Fina et al. summarise constructivist understandings of identity as follows: [T]he assumption [is] that identity is neither a given nor a product. Rather, identity is a process that (1) takes place in concrete and specific interactional occasions, (2) yields constellations of identities instead of individual, monolithic constructs, (3) does not simply emanate from the individual, but results from processes of negotiation and entextualization … that are eminently social, and (4) entails discursive work.112

This move in social psychology studies will be revisited in the formulation of an approach for the present study below (in § 2.3). The second development that I would like to highlight is the emphasis on the discursive and textual dimension of processes of identity negotiation (as mentioned also in the last point of the quote above). De Fina et al. mention that “[r]esearch on language and identity has experienced an unprecedented growth in the last ten years. The time when scholars in the field needed to advocate for the centrality of language in the study of identity … seems far away indeed.”113 They mention the following: [I]dentity is a process that is always embedded in social practices … within which discourse practices … have a central role. Both social and discourse practices frame, and in many ways define, the way individuals and groups present themselves to others, negotiate roles, and conceptualize themselves.114

The turn to textuality (in the postmodern sense of the word) is clear here. Stainton Rogers et al. also discuss this turn under the rubric “textual identities.” They refer to the groundbreaking work of Harré in this regard, who “discusses how we craft out understandings of who we are … from out of the socially available pool of textual resources that are available in a given culture at a given time.”115 Shotter and Gergen expressed this notion as follows: “The primary medium within which identities are created and have their currency is not just linguistic, but textual: persons are largely ascribed identities according to the manner of their embedding within a discourse – in their own or in the discourse of oth-

De Fina, Deborah Schiffrin, and Michael Bamberg, eds., Discourse and Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 2. 113 Ibid., 1. 114 Ibid., 2. 115 Rex Stainton Rogers, Paul Stenner, and Kate Gleeson, eds., Social Psychology: A Critical Agenda (Oxford: Wiley, 1995), 60. 112 Anna

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ers.”116 De Fina et al. agree with this when they say “identities are seen not as merely represented in discourse, but rather as performed, enacted and embodied through a variety of linguistic and non-linguistic means.”117 Since we are working exclusively with texts stemming from ancient biblical societies in our quest to grasp the identity negotiation processes behind these texts, this understanding of the discursive nature of identities and of “textual identities” is very important to take note of. After having focused above on two important developments in social psychology in the past decades, we should give a short summary of some of the most important distinctions that are made in this field. Two sub-areas of social psychology that are of particular interest for our discussions are social identity theory (SIT) and self-categorisation theory (SCT).118 The social identity theory that was developed by Henri Tajfel and colleagues at the University of Bristol in the 1970s and 1980s “offers an explanation for minimal intergroup bias, and also a broader statement of how relationships between real-world groups relate to social identity.”119 Social identity “is the individual’s knowledge that he or she belongs to certain social groups together with the emotional and value significance of the group memberships. Social identity affects and is affected by intergroup relationships. The theory aims to explain the uniformity and coherence of group and intergroup behavior as mediated by social identity.”120 Categorisation plays an important role in social identity theory. Group membership is often based on certain principles of belief according to which group members

116 John Shotter and Kenneth J. Gergen, Texts of Identity (London: Sage, 1989), ix. See also John Shotter, Conversational Realities: Constructing Life Through Language (London: Sage, 1993). 117 De Fina, Schiffrin, and Bamberg, Discourse and Identity, 3. 118 The following works also provide summaries of these theories: Dominic Abrams, “Psychology of Social Identity,” in International Encyclopedia of Social and Behavioral Sciences, ed. Neil J. Smelser and Paul B. Baltes, vol. 21 (Amsterdam: Elsevier Science Ltd, 2001), 14306–9; Dominic Abrams and Michael A. Hogg, “Social Identity and Social Cognition: Historical Background and Current Trends,” in Social Identity and Social Cognition, ed. Dominic Abrams and Michael A. Hogg (Oxford: Wiley, 1999), 1–25. Daniel Bar-Tal, “Group Beliefs as an Expression of Social Identity,” in Social Identity: International Perspectives, ed. Stephen Worchel et al. (London: Sage, 1998), 93–113.Michael A. Hogg, “Social Identity Theory,” in The Blackwell Encyclopedia of Social Psychology, ed. Anthony S. R. Mansted and Miles Hewstone (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 555–60. Michael A. Hogg, “Intragroup Processes, Group Structure and Social Identity,” in Social Groups and Identities: Developing the Legacy of Henri Tajfel, ed. William P. Robinson (Oxford: Butterworth-Heineman, 1996), 65–90. Michael A. Hogg and Dominic Abrams, “Intergroup Behavior and Social Identity,” in The Sage Handbook of Social Psychology, ed. Michael A. Hogg and Joel Cooper (London: Sage, 2003), 407–31; John C. Turner, ed., “Henri Tajfel: An Introduction,” in Social Groups and Identities: Developing the Legacy of Henri Tajfel (Oxford: Butterworth-Heineman, 1996), 1–23. 119 Abrams, “Psychology of Social Identity,” 14306. 120 Ibid.

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act.121 Self-categorisation theory (developed by Turner) therefore extends social identity theory by describing the way that social identity regulates behaviour. Hogg summarises this as follows: When we categorize others as in-group or out-group members we accentuate their similarity to the relevant prototype – thus perceiving them stereotypically and ethnocentrically. When we categorize ourselves, we define, perceive, and evaluate ourselves in terms of our in-group prototype, and behave in accordance with that prototype. Self-categorization produces in-group normative behavior and self-stereotyping, and is thus the process underlying group behaviour.122

The above implies that groups tend (often unconsciously, but it can also be consciously) to construct some identity prototype in their interaction with others and their particular circumstances, and this prototype then influences their self-understanding and their categorisation of others. In terms of the motivation behind these processes of categorisation, different possibilities are mentioned in the literature (not all of them without criticism). Among other things, Brewer discusses the following theories: (1) common fate (in which perceived interdependence among individual members of a collective is seen as the defining characteristic of a social group); (2) self-esteem (in which individual members maintain a positive self-esteem by means of the group’s successes and achievements); (3) self-verification (in which people are motivated to belong to a group in order to reduce uncertainty; clarification of group membership, adherence to group norms, and associating positive group features with the self are ways to achieve this); and (4) optimal distinctiveness (in which two powerful social motives are held in balance: the need for inclusion, which is satisfied by assimilation of the self into larger collectives, and the opposing need for differentiation, which is satisfied by distinguishing the self from others).123 Coupled with the dynamic understanding of constructionism, one could assume that changing configurations of circumstances and interactions can result in different categorisations of the same set of data through dynamic application of processes of assimilation and differentiation. Or, to explain this practically, one group may side with another group in specific circumstances through assimilation, but in different circumstances may choose to turn against that same group through differentiation. The relevance of this point will become clear when we explain the multi-levelled socio-historical circumstances of the Persian period in Chapter 3 of this study.

121 See Bar-Tal’s discussion of group beliefs as an expression of social identity. He defines group beliefs “as convictions that group members (a) are aware that they share, and (b) consider as defining their ‘groupness’” (Bar-Tal, “Group Beliefs as an Expression of Social Identity,” 94.) 122 Hogg, “Social Identity Theory,” 559. 123 See Michael A. Hogg, “Intergroup Relations” (New York: Plenum Publishers, 2003), 479–501.

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It is only very recently that the insights from social psychology, and specifically from social identity theory and social categorisation theory, have been having an impact on biblical interpretation. Apart from some Qumran and New Testament studies that take this theoretical angle,124 some studies have also started appearing on different Hebrew Bible corpora.125 Following some insights from Jan Bosman’s study on Nahum,126 I started developing this methodological angle in my research on the book of Chronicles. It was particularly the dynamic view of this theory on societies in transitional socio-historic circumstances that caught my attention. I therefore started investigating its potential as a heuristic model for our reading of post-exilic biblical literature.127 More will be said about this in the next subsection (§ 2.3).

2.3 Methodological Synthesis: Approach Followed in this Study Where does this leave us for our own study? And how should we choose among this array of methodological insights? In the introduction to this chapter (§ 2.1) we indicated that we share John Barton’s view that exegetical methodologies are not external, objective tools that can be chosen and applied at will. Exegetical methods are rather those “codification[s] of intuitions about the texts which may occur to intelligent readers.”128 We therefore need a variety of methods, and their application should be determined by the inner dynamics of the texts. However, we also indicated in the introduction above that exegetical methods and the choice of methods are at least co-determined by the epistemological framework within which the exegete operates. Although I remain convinced of the value of Barton’s point of view that it is necessary not to instrumentalise or objectify our exegetical methods (the danger of exclusive exegetical methodism and instrumentalism), I also admit that this is an idealist perspective. The “intu124 Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement (Leiden: Brill, 2012); J. Brian Tucker, ed., T&T Clark Handbook to Social Identity in the New Testament (London: Bloomsbury, 2014). 125 Jan P. Bosman, Social Identity in Nahum: A Theological-Ethical Enquiry (Piscataway: Gorgias, 2008); Peter H. W. Lau, Identity and Ethics in the Book of Ruth: A Social Identity Approach, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 416 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010).Ben Zvi and Edelman, Imagining the Other and Constructing Israelite Identity in the Early Second Temple Period. 126 Jan P. Bosman’s study was originally submitted as a doctoral dissertation at my home institution, Stellenbosch University. 127 See particularly Jonker, “The Rhetorics of Finding a New Identity in a Multi-Cultural and Multi-Religious Society”; Jonker, “Reforming History: The Hermeneutical Significance of the Books of Chronicles”; Jonker, “Refocusing the battle accounts of the kings: Identity formation in the Books of Chronicles”; Jonker, “Who Constitutes Society?”; Jonker, “Textual Identities in the Books of Chronicles: The Case of Jehoram’s History”; Jonker, “David’s Officials according to the Chronicler (1 Chronicles 23–27): A Reflection of Second Temple Self-Categorization?” 128 Barton, Reading the Old Testament, 5.

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itions about the texts which may occur to intelligent readers” do not occur in a vacuum. Exegetes are not only in conversation with the biblical texts, but also with their own socio-historical contexts, but more so, with the epistemological tradition(s) within which they do their exegetical work. The four approaches which have been discussed in the previous four subsections all bear witness to these conversations with contemporary socio-historical circumstances and epistemological traditions. Postcolonial studies show sensitivity to the dynamics, particularly of asymmetrical power distribution, that occur in contemporary imperially dominated and colonial societies, and suggest that – deduced from their intuitions about the biblical texts – the same dynamics might have played a role in biblical literature that originated in imperial circumstances. Utopian studies highlight the fact that contemporary literature – particularly in contexts of dissatisfaction with the present order – can function rhetorically in order to create an alternative, utopian, reality. Based on their intuitions about the biblical texts, scholars working from this perspective suspect that the same might be true of some biblical literature. Social memory studies emphasise that remembering the past always takes place in collective, social contexts (or mnemonic communities), and that social memory is embedded in, and inversely, contributes to the formation of, social mindscapes. Through the intuition that most of the biblical writings are past-construing forms of literature, scholars pursuing this approach indicate that this might be a useful perspective to take on that literature. Social psychology studies focus particularly on how social identity negotiation and social categorisation take place in contemporary societies, and on the role that literature formation plays in those processes. Exegetes taking this angle  – on the basis of the intuition that some biblical literature deliberately engages in processes of identity negotiation  – suggest that some distinctions that are made in social identity theory and social categorisation theory might be helpful for the analysis of these ancient texts as well. What these four approaches have in common – and that is the explicit reason why they were considered for this study, apart from the fact that all of them have been used in the past to interpret Persian-period biblical literature – is their interest in the issue of identity. Although in different ways, all four of these approaches have suggested valuable perspectives on how processes of identity negotiation function in societies. These approaches are modern scientific procedures, based on epistemological assumptions that developed in the modern world. However, the phenomenon of identity negotiation precedes the formulation of our scientific methods, and it is therefore not a modern one. In order to study that phenomenon in pre-modern texts, such as biblical literature, scholars simply have no other means than their modern methods to do so. However, they should take heed of Lester Grabbe’s warning (in the field of historiography, which is

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confronted with the same dilemma) that “even though historians can use some of the techniques developed by sociologists and anthropologists, these have to be adapted to take account of the nature of the available data and to recognise the limits imposed by historical work.”129 The same applies to our attempts to study the phenomenon of identity negotiation through (biblical) textual formation in the ancient Persian context.130 I therefore contend that perspectives from all four of these approaches can be used in our pursuit of understanding how identity negotiation functioned in biblical literature, particularly in the book of Chronicles. This point of view can easily be labelled as an eclecticism that chooses the “good” points of each method in order to create some “super” method for our exegetical task. However, that would amount to a misunderstanding of the methodological reflections at the beginning of this study. A multidimensional approach does not have any intention to create some “super” method, and particularly also not to revert to some new exclusivist and exclusive method-bound position. This approach rather wants to give expression to (i) the fact that the biblical texts are too complex to be analysed from only one or two exegetical angles; and (ii) that we therefore need some interdisciplinary approaches which are practised in a discursive mode. Intersubjectivity in our exegetical endeavours could ensure the scientific quality of our work in approaching the complexity of the biblical literature we study. Taking into account the above synthesis, I will therefore follow the interdisciplinary “road markers” outlined below in the present study.131 First, the study of the Chronicles texts will take into account that the greatest part of the book consists of narrative literature, with genealogies and lists also occupying a prominent part at the beginning of the book, while other minor genre types (such as prayers, psalms and a letter) are furthermore dispersed throughout the book. The literary conventions for analysing these genre types will therefore be followed, particularly the narrative features (such as narrative plot structure, characterisation, the role of direct speech and participant constellations, etc.), in comparison with parallel material in the canonical text (where 129 Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel, 1995, 14. See again the discussion at the beginning of § 2.4 above. 130 The attentive reader would have noticed by now that I prefer the term “identity negotiation” above alternatives such as “identity,” “identity formation,” “identification,” and the like. By using “identity negotiation” I would like to give expression to the following: (i) a constructivist understanding of identity which highlights its ongoing and procedural aspect; (ii) a non-linear understanding of identity which emphasises the multi-directional character of these processes; and (iii) the textual character (whether oral or written) of these processes. 131 In order to steer away from exegetical methodism I choose the term “road markers” here to give expression to the fact that the insights described in the following paragraphs do not constitute some ABC of exegesis for biblical texts that bear witness to identity negotiation. It rather indicates those significant dimensions of interpretation that are identified in my reading of the texts, in discourse with the epistemological framework(s) within which I operate. These “road markers” therefore provide the non-linear parameters for our exegetical study.

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applicable). These literary analyses will form the basis for our further investigations on identity negotiation in this literature. Second, taking into account that Chronicles is “past-construing” literature, we will deal with the historical dimension on different levels. We will look at the images of the past that are constructed in the book, again in comparison with other available traditions, such as the Deuteronomistic history. We will do so acknowledging that these literary images of the past are reflections of memories in the service of identity negotiation and not necessarily a documentation of past events. We will furthermore investigate the context(s) within which this literature originated, through all phases of its formation. In doing so we will acknowledge that this / ​these context(s) form(s) the mindscape within which processes of social remembering and identity negotiation took place. We will start intentionally in the next chapter with this description of the socio-historical context(s) of origin of Chronicles. We will do so in order to avoid the pitfall of circular argumentation in which the contexts are “reconstructed” from the texts, and subsequently the texts are read against the background of those “reconstructed” contexts. In our description of those contexts we will rely mainly on studies that work from archaeological and epigraphic evidence, as well as from historiographical work in related fields (such as Ancient Persian studies). Third, in pursuing the descriptions of the literary and historical dimensions of the texts we will remain in constant discursive contact with other disciplinary approaches in order to focus upon the rhetorical dynamics of identity negotiation in the texts. The approaches discussed in this chapter will form our primary interdisciplinary discussion partners, particularly those studies which have also focused on Persian-period biblical literature. They will help us to identify indications of asymmetrical power constellations in Persian-period Yehud; to notice any utopian qualities that might be embedded in the texts; to be sensitive to the mindscapes and mnemonic communities that were behind these texts; and to see whether there are any indications of social categorisations in these texts. While trying to avoid the pitfalls of reductionism, we could say that postcolonial and social memory studies can help us to understand the contexts of Persian-period identity negotiation better, while social memory studies, social identity and categorisation studies, as well as our literary analyses, help us to gain a better insight into the mechanisms that were driving these processes of identity negotiation. Utopian studies can provide an insight into the rhetorical intentions that might have played a role in these identity-negotiation processes.

Chapter 3

The Persian Period in Yehud: A Multi-Levelled Socio-Historical Existence 3.1 Introduction We indicated in the previous chapter (in § 2.1) that the rhetorical effect of texts cannot be realised in a contextual vacuum. Texts speak to audiences who exist in concrete, dynamic circumstances, and want to persuade them in those circumstances towards adopting a particular point of view. Determining the rhetorical working of ancient texts  – also biblical texts  – should therefore of necessity include a historical dimension in which the circumstances of origin of those texts are studied. We therefore begin this chapter with a discussion of the time of origin of the Book of Chronicles (§ 3.2). Why do we consider this book to be a product of the Persian period? This will be followed by a section concentrating on the authors who were responsible for compiling and writing this book (§ 3.3). Who were they and what do we know of their affiliations? The majority of this chapter (in § 3.4) will, however, be devoted to a description of multi-levelled socio-historical existence in the province of Yehud in the late Persian period. Since we are not writing a full-fledged history of Persian-period Yehud here,1 our discussion will be cursory. The intention will rather be to show how at least four different levels of socio-historical existence coincided in this era. We will hypothesise that these four levels of existence prompted different power relations, and therefore different processes of identity negotiation. The discussion in this chapter will be concluded (§ 3.5) with a synthesis that will provide support for this basic hypothesis of the present study.

such as the following can be consulted in this regard: Lester L. Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah (London: T & T Clark, 2004); Lipschits and Oeming, Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period; Lipschits, Knoppers, and Albertz, Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C.E; Lipschits, Knoppers, and Oeming, Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period. 1 Works

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3.2 Chronicles: A Persian-Period Book? In his overview of recent research in Chronicles Rodney Duke remarks: Although there is still a diversity of positions on dating Chronicles within the broadest possible range of dates, from Cyrus’ decree in 538 bce to Eupolemus’ use of Chronicles about 150 bce, there is a growing majority who place Chronicles around the fourth century bce.2

The terminus post quem is fairly easy to establish. The ending of the book of Chronicles with a reference to the release from exile under King Cyrus of Persia is an indication that the book could not have been concluded before 538 B. C. E. Furthermore, if the genealogies in the first part of Chronicles are assumed to be part of the original work (as is generally accepted in recent scholarship), the list of inhabitants of post-exilic Jerusalem in 1 Chronicles 9 provides another clear indication that the book originated after the release from exile and the resettlement in Yehud. The terminus ad quo is harder to establish, however. Scholars normally refer to Ben Sira 47:8–10 (190–175 B. C. E.), that relies on the Chronicler’s description of David, as well as to the work of the Jewish historian Eupolemus (ca. 150 B. C. E.), who seems to have made use of a Greek translation of Chronicles, to argue that the book must have been available in its Hebrew form by at least the beginning of the second century B. C. E. Within these approximately three and a half centuries the book of Chronicles was written and finalised. But can one be more precise in terms of the book’s dating? These three and a half centuries stretched over different historical epochs, with the Persian Empire being dominant in more or less the first two hundred years, and the Hellenistic influence of Alexander the Great and his successors spanning the remainder of the period. It is not our task to provide an elaborate discussion of all the arguments for the different dating possibilities here.3 However, it is important to indicate that a convergence of views has started taking place in the last two or three decades. Peltonen observes: Between the extremes, there are a great number of scholars who have rejected attempts to date Chronicles either to the early Persian era or deep into the Hellenistic period and sought a middle course instead. The view supported by the majority of them is that Chron2 Duke,

“Recent Research in Chronicles,” 16. provides a very good discussion of all the various arguments. See Kai Peltonen, “A Jigsaw without a Model?: The Date of Chronicles,” in Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period, ed. Lester L. Grabbe (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 225–71. See also I. Kalimi, “The Date of the Book of Chronicles,” in God’s Word for Our World: Volume 1, Biblical Studies in Honor of Simon John De Vries, ed. J. Harold Ellens et al., JSOTS 388 (London: T & T Clark, 2004), 347–71. 3 Peltonen

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icles had been composed some time in the fourth century bce, be it before or shortly after the fall of the Persian Empire to Alexander the Great in 333 bce. One may recognize behind this mediating position, first, a willingness to avoid certain methodological, especially literary-critical, procedures necessitated by the early Persian date of Chronicles and, secondly, a serious appraisal of the observation that there are no obvious signs of Hellenistic influence in Chronicles.4

In line with the above observation, the major exegetical commentators of the last decade, such as Gary Knoppers, Steven McKenzie and Ralph Klein, all support a date for Chronicles at the end of the Persian period or the beginning of the Hellenistic era.5 The significance of the late Persian era lies particularly in the fact that the geographical area of Judah (including Jerusalem) formed the Persian province of Yehud. Views diverge on when exactly the province of Yehud was proclaimed. From the time of Cyrus (who released the exiles in 538 B. C. E.) Judah probably constituted a so-called medinah (or province) for the purposes of tax collection and tribute payments. The province might have been subject to another province to the north, namely, Samaria. However, this cannot be confirmed. We do not have information on the early organisation of this province until the time of Artaxerxes I of Persia (465 B. C. E.). It seems from material evidence (e. g. the appearance of the name Yehud on coins and changes in the appearance of seals that were used on official documents) that the province Yehud was granted a more formal status sometime in the second half of the fifth century B. C. E. Some scholars hold that the phase in Judah before the more formal proclamation of the province was characterised by a drive toward continuity with the exilic, and even pre-exilic, past. The new phase, however, reveals more evidence that a greater self-consciousness, or even new identity, was emerging.6 Although I do not deny that the final touches to the book could have been made in the Hellenistic era, it is clear that Chronicles is suffused with the atmosphere of the late Persian era.7 It is therefore appropriate to investigate the socio-historical background of the late Persian era in the present work. The socio-historical dynamics of the late fifth and the first half of the fourth centuries B. C. E. form the background to the Chronicler’s communication. This will be investigated in more depth later in this chapter, after focusing on the authorship of Chronicles in the next section.

4 Peltonen,

“A Jigsaw without a Model?,” 227–228. I Chronicles 1–9, 101–117; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 32; Klein, 1 Chron-

5 Knoppers,

icles, 13–16. 6 See e. g. Willi, Juda, Jehud, Israel. 7 In previous publications I indicated that a date around the middle of the fourth century B. C. E. might be in order. See Jonker, “Who Constitutes Society?” fn. 5; Louis C. Jonker, “The Chronicler’s Portrayal of Solomon as the King of Peace within the Context of the International Peace Discourses of the Persian Era,” Old Testament Essays 21/3 (2008): 653–69.

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3.3 Chronicles: A Book Written by Literati in Jerusalem? Who wrote Chronicles? And what do we know about those who were responsible for the origin of the book? According to an old Jewish rabbinic tradition, Ezra wrote the majority of Chronicles and Nehemiah finished it.8 This view indicated, on the one hand, that the book was regarded as very late and that it probably formed the closing phase of the Hebrew Bible’s origin. On the other hand, this view confirmed the authority of the book by associating a prominent person from the past with it and thus arguing in favour of its canonicity. Many variations on this view have occurred through the ages: some argued for an earlier date for Chronicles, making Ezra one of the final editors of the book; others turned the argument around and made the writer(s) of Chronicles also the author(s) of Ezra-Nehemiah. Presently the majority of Chronicles scholars agree that the writer(s) of Chronicles remain(s) anonymous. The textual evidence (both biblical and extra-biblical) does not allow us to be more specific. We may, however, assume that the Chronicler (as a single author, or a collective) belonged to the literate elite in Jerusalem, with a close association to the second temple personnel and a good knowledge of past historiographical traditions of Israel and Judah. In connection with this last issue, some further studies have emerged in recent years which have broadened our knowledge of these literati. These studies provide some avenues for being more specific about the Chronicler’s affiliation.9 Although our further discussion in this chapter will provide more details on, and archaeological evidence for, the conditions in post-exilic Yehud and Jerusalem, it is important to point out here already that Jerusalem was most probably a very sparsely populated place during Persian times. Estimates by archaeologists and historiographers range from a relatively high 1,500–3,000 (Carter’s view)10   8 Babylonian Talmud, tractate Baba Bathra 15a. Interestingly enough, a few twentieth-century scholars, such as W. F. Albright and J. Bright, returned to this traditional view on the authorship of Chronicles. However, the majority of Chronicles scholars no longer accept this position.  9 See particularly the following contributions by Ehud Ben Zvi: Ehud Ben Zvi, “The Urban Center of Jerusalem and the Development of the Literature of the Hebrew Bible,” in Urbanism in Antiquity: From Mesopotamia to Crete, ed. Walter E. Aufrecht, Neil A. Mirau, and Steven W. Gauley, JSOTS 244 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 194–209; Ehud Ben Zvi, “Observations on Prophetic Characters, Prophetic Texts, Priests of Old, Persian Period Priests and Literati,” in The Priests in the Prophets: The Portrayal of Priests, Prophets, and Other Religious Specialists in the Latter Prophets, ed. Lester L. Grabbe and Alice Ogden Bellis (London: Bloomsbury, 2004), 19–30; Ehud Ben Zvi, “The Concept of Prophetic Books and Its Historical Setting,” in The Production of Prophecy. Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud, ed. Diana Vikander Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi, Repr. (London [u. a.]: Equinox, 2011), 73–95. These contributions focus on the emergence of prophetic books, but they also reflect the recent scholarship on literacy in ancient Yehud. 10 Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period.

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inhabitants in Jerusalem to the very low 400–500 (Finkelstein’s view).11 The province of Yehud probably had an estimated 12,000 to 30,000 inhabitants in total. The situation in Jerusalem changed markedly during the middle to the end of the fifth century B. C. E. – probably coinciding with its proclamation as capital of an independent Persian province – when it gained political and administrative influence again.12 It is certainly very difficult to determine the extent of the social layer that enjoyed high literacy in Yehud during this time. Ben Zvi refers to studies that researched this phenomenon in Near Eastern societies when he indicates that one should assume that no more than approximately 0.25–0.3 % of the society in Persian-period Yehud would have possessed the kind of literacy that was needed to write the sophisticated literature we witness in the Hebrew Bible, and to read and re-read these documents.13 With the increase of population, but particularly as a result of the increased functions and higher reputation of Jerusalem in the later Persian period (formerly referred to as Persian II period),14 one may assume that the likelihood of literature emerging during these years also increased. Ehud Ben Zvi rightly indicates that the presence of a group of literati, which is evident from the biblical writings we possess, presupposes “(1) the availability of the resources necessary for educating and continuously supporting their activities …, and (2) a need for such activity in society.”15 With regard to the first point, Ben Zvi indicates: The availability of resources in itself presupposes the existence of a center of power in Jerusalem able to control the resources of Judah efficiently and channel them according to its priorities. Therefore, it is reasonable to associate most of the biblical literary activity usually assigned to the Persian Period (and, of course, its outcome, the bulk of biblical literature) with a period that follows rather then (sic) precedes: (1) the establishment of an efficient urban center controlling Judah’s resources, (2) the establishment of the Jerusalemite temple … and, (3) the beginning of the major increase in population and settlements in Judah that separates the Persian I and II Periods … In other words, the historical circumstances of the Persian II Period were more conducive to this literary activity than those of the Persian I Period.16

11 Israel Finkelstein, “Persian Period Jerusalem and Yehud: A Rejoinder,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2010). See also Oded Lipschits, “Achaemenid Imperial Policy, Settlement Processes in Palestine, and the Status of Jerusalem in the Middle of the Fifth Century B. C. E.,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 19–52; David Ussishkin, “The Borders and De Facto Size of Jerusalem in the Persian Period,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 147–66. 12 Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem. 13 Ben Zvi, “The Urban Center of Jerusalem,” 195. 14 See Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period. 15 Ben Zvi, “The Urban Center of Jerusalem,” 196. 16 Ibid., 196–197.

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The community in Jerusalem relied on both internal and external resources to – inter alia – support the literati. The ability to draw resources from internal sources depended fully on “a theology (or ideology) that legitimised the role of Jerusalem and its temple.”17 External resources and policies also played an important role in the development of the province and its capital. According to Ben Zvi, “the re-establishment of an efficient regional center in Jerusalem and of its temple were not only allowed by the Achaemenid center of power, but it actually provided the conditions necessary for, and allocated resources to, these endeavors”.18 In these circumstances it becomes clear what the specific function was of the type of literature that we encounter in, for example, the books of Chronicles. Ben Zvi puts it as follows: Since Jerusalemite control of the resources of Judah was a sine qua non for the literati, it is easily understandable why a Jerusalemo-centric tendency permeates the Hebrew Bible … The fact that the province of Judah could not have existed without a theological basis legitimizing its social and political structures, nor could the temple have held any of its (systemic) roles without an accepted theological basis explains, at least in part, the need for such a literature from the perspective of the center and of those who had vested interest in its stability. Furthermore, this Jerusalemo-centrism was not only necessary for the existence of Judah and Jerusalem with the temple at their center, but also provided the literati who inscribed this theology, as well as all who accepted this Jerusalemo-centered approach, with a sense of self-identity as part of ‘Israel’. At the same time, the work of these literati strongly contributed to the particular shaping of the socio-theological concept of ‘Israel’ conveyed by biblical literature. Thus, these literati shaped the theology of their center and were, along with other elite and non-elite Judahite groups, shaped by it.19

This view therefore makes it highly likely that the literati behind literature such as Chronicles were most probably closely associated with the Temple clergy. If they were advocates of the centrality of the temple and their endeavours were meant to legitimise the community in Jerusalem from a theological point of view, one may assume that there was a close association, if not identification, with the priestly guilds in the second temple. Further detail about the dynamics of the priestly groups in Jerusalem during the late Persian period will follow in the next section. However, we may concur with Ben Zvi on this point already when he indicates: The entire population of Jerusalem was small at that time, and the total number of bearers of high literacy in Persian Yehud or Jerusalem was most likely very small. In such a society it is unlikely that simultaneous and compartmentalized elites of minimal numbers have existed. It is most likely that the literati closely interacted with the contemporary priests. Moreover, although not every literati (sic) was a priest (or Levite), priests of standing 17 Ibid.,

197. 198. 19 Ibid., 199. See also Ben Zvi, “Observations on Prophetic Characters, Prophetic Texts, Priests of Old, Persian Period Priests and Literati,” 25–26. 18 Ibid.,

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could have, and most likely were, a substantial contingent among the literati. In other words, there was a partial social overlap between priests and the literati.20

Having specified the time period in which Chronicles originated (in § 3.2), and having reached greater clarity on the authorship of the book and the writers’ likely affiliation in the present section (§ 3.3), we can now move to the main part of this chapter, namely the description of the multi-levelled socio-historical existence during the late Persian period.

3.4 A Multi-Levelled Socio-Historical Existence When discussing the Persian period in biblical scholarship, the following two problematic tendencies are often observed. First, the Persian period is often “reconstructed” fully from the biblical writings (mainly Ezra-Nehemia and Chronicles, but also from prophetic books such as Haggai). Persian history is then described through biblical eyes, so to speak.21 Although the biblical literature from this period certainly remains an important witness to the intellectual and religious mindscapes in Yehud during this time, these writings did not have the intention of providing an objective account of the past, or their own time for that matter. Rather, they were subjective and biased accounts of the circumstances of the time, participating in the broader societal and religious discourses of their day, and contributing to processes of self-understanding. To “read off” the history of the Persian era from the biblical writings is not only a dubious practice in terms of its historiographical methodology, but it also leads to circular argumentation. If the Persian era is “reconstructed” from the biblical writings, and these writings are afterwards interpreted against the backdrop of the “reconstructed” Persian context, circularity invalidates the argument. In order to avoid this situation biblical scholars should rather make use of information made available by historical research on Ancient Persia and by archaeology. Historians of Ancient Persia weigh the information coming from various textual sources, including Persian inscriptions and Greek historiographies, in order to come to a responsible understanding of these sources and to an impression of the past. Although the sources available to historians of Ancient Persia are 20 Ben Zvi, “Observations on Prophetic Characters, Prophetic Texts, Priests of Old, Persian Period Priests and Literati,” 26–27. 21 This does not apply, however, to all biblical scholars writing about the Persian period. Scholars such as Lester Grabbe and Erhard Gerstenberger applied sound methodology in their works without committing to this error. See Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1; Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Israel in der Perserzeit: 5. und 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2005).

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equally biased and ideologically-informed,22 the involvement of source material from various backgrounds (including those texts which emerged from Yehud) enables historians to work comparatively and inter-subjectively.23 Archaeology contributes towards reconstructing the intellectual and religious mindscapes of Persian-period Yehud – or of any context for that matter – through further written material (inscriptions, seals, iconography) which is discovered, but it particularly produces valuable information about the physical environment, including settlement patterns and changes. This information enables biblical scholars to form a better picture of life during the Persian era. The second problematic tendency observed in biblical scholarship on Persian-period literature is the tendency to view and describe the Persian-period circumstances very generally, even indiscriminately, regardless of the various levels of socio-historical existence. To speak of “the Persian-period context” in Yehud is an oversimplification of a very complex society. Yehud in the late Persian era functioned on different levels which can, and should, be distinguished, and cannot be isolated or separated. At least four modes of socio-historical existence can be identified in this time and context. Firstly, Yehud formed part of the Persian imperial context as a presumably independent province. Secondly, Yehud stood in close relation to the province Samaria to the north (the former northern kingdom of Israel), as well as to other surrounding provinces. Thirdly, Yehud more or less comprised the former tribal areas of Judah and Benjamin, and the relationship between these areas contributed to the social dynamics of the time. Fourthly, the cultic community in Yehud’s centre, Jerusalem, was made up of clergy from different origins and of varying affiliations, including those who had previously been exiled and had returned, as well as those who remained in the land. These four levels of socio-historical existence occurred simultaneously and concurrently, and therefore produced a multi-levelled, complex society with different ideological tendencies and power hierarchies intersecting constantly. 22 A case in point is, e. g., the classical Greek writers’ description of the Persians. Most written sources about the ancient Persian Empire hail from Greek authors, resulting in a biased portrayal of the archenemy of the time. Scholars of ancient Persian historiography are well aware of this phenomenon, but are also aware of the fact that the Persian written sources are no less ideologically loaded. Historians of ancient Persia, or of any historical period for that matter, should remain aware of the status of their sources. In the field of Ancient Persian historiography there are heated debates on methodology and the value of the ancient sources. See e. g. Marc Van de Mieroop, “On Writing a History of the Ancient Near East,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 54/3–4 (1997): 286–306.Robert Rollinger, “Thinking and Writing about History in Teispid and Achaemenid Persia,” in Thinking, Recording, and Writing History in the Ancient World, ed. Kurt A. Raaflaub (Oxford: John Wiley & Sons, 2014), 187–212; Thomas Harrison, Writing Ancient Persia, Classical Essays (London: Bristol Classical, 2011). 23 See Lester Grabbe for a good discussion on method in the historiography of Yehud: Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1, chapter 1.

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The following discussion will therefore take these four levels of existence as its point of departure, and will avoid the pitfalls of oversimplified historiography by taking into account the research of historians of Ancient Persia, as well as the results from recent archaeological discoveries.24 The discussion will proceed from the widest, imperial context to the local situation in the Jerusalem cult. Our intention is clearly not to provide full-fledged historiographies of these four levels of existence, but rather to focus on those aspects of each level that were relevant for the processes of identity negotiation, and to give an impression of the power hierarchies involved in the different relations.

3.4.1 Under Persian Rule: The Imperial Context 3.4.1.1 Introduction The historiography of Ancient Persia has for a long time suffered from the perception that we do not have sufficient objective sources from this context to engage in responsible history writing. As described above, historians were very much aware of the ideologically biased nature of the Greek sources, and since only a handful of texts originating from Ancient Persia itself were available, not many had an interest in writing this history.25 However, during the last quarter 24 In

an earlier publication I presented a basic draft of the idea of taking the differentiation in the Persian context as the point of departure for a richer and more nuanced discussion of the identity negotiation processes witnessed in Chronicles. See Louis C. Jonker, “Engaging with Different Contexts. A Survey of the Various Levels of Identity Negotiation in Chronicles,” in Texts, Contexts and Readings in Post-exilic Literature: Explorations into Historiography and Identity Negotiation in Hebrew Bible and Related Texts, ed. Louis C. Jonker, FAT II 53 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 63–93. After offering this idea for discussion at further conferences (inter alia in a main paper at the triennial conference of the International Organisation for the Study of the Old Testament in Munich in August 2013) I decided to work this out in the present full monograph. 25  This debate about the value of the sources still continues in scholarship today. Josef Wiesehöfer describes this conflict as follows (with reference to the value of Herodot’s history): “Die jüngste Forschung zum achaimenidischen Perserreich ist  – was Herodot und die griechische Überlieferung angeht – durch einen grundlegenden Konflikt bestimmt. Er betrifft die Frage, ob diese Überlieferung einen eigenständigen Beitrag zum Verständnis von Geschichte und Strukturen des Imperiums zu leisten imstande ist und, wenn ja, welchen. Dabei sind zwei Extrempositionen zu beobachten: Die eine richtet, wegen des Orientalismus der griechischen Quellen, ihr Augenmerk inzwischen fast ausschließlich auf die indigene Überlieferung und versucht, mit ihrer Hilfe die westliche Überlieferung zu dekonstruieren. Die andere betont demgegenüber affirmativ den Quellenwert der griechischen Überlieferung für die Realgeschichte und für ein Verständnis der Mechanismen des Reiches. Allerdings ist sie weit davon entfernt, einem generellen horror vacui zu erliegen, Herodot, wie früher oft geschehen, als Autor einer Art persischen Feldzugstagebuchs oder als umtriebigen Reiseschriftsteller aufzufassen oder gar mit unpassenden begrifflich-methodischen Alternativen wie „Wahrheit“ oder „Lüge“ zu arbeiten. Kolleginnen und Kollegen dieser zweiten Gruppe sind durchaus auch in starkem Maße an den wieder höchst aktuellen Diskussionen darüber beteiligt, welche Bedeutung den

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of the twentieth century a new interest in Ancient Persian historiography, particularly in the Achaemenid period, developed. This was partly due to the fact that the field of historical studies was able to loosen itself from the positivistic shackles of earlier times and started facing the reality of having to deal with the fact that all sources are biased, and that objective history-writing is simply not possible. The new interest in Ancient Persia, however, was also sparked off by a series of conferences that were held in the Netherlands (Groningen) over a period of almost a decade, organised by the late Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, bringing together some of the most prominent historians specialising in Achaemenid history. This series of conferences from 1983–1990 stimulated a new interest in Ancient Persian history and generated a new energy and resources for the study of it.26 zeitgenössischen politischen Kontexten des herodoteischen Werkes zuzumessen ist, welchen Vorbildern und welchen Präsentationsstrategien das Werk des Halikarnassiers folgt und in welche politischen und weltanschaulichen Diskurse es eingebettet ist. Allerdings ist zugleich eben das Bemühen bemerkbar, Herodot als wichtigen Übermittler von Fakten zur achaimenidischen Geschichte zu retten und diesbezüglich deutliche Kritik an der skeptischeren Gegenposition zu üben” (Josef Wiesehöfer, “Herodot, Xerxes und der Alte Orient” [Jena: Unpublished paper, 2014], 1). (I thank Professor Wiesehöfer for making available this unpublished paper and for giving permission to quote from it.) Wiesehöfer himself takes a nuanced position in which he argues that both the Greek and Persian sources have value, as long as they are interpreted against the background of their own circumstances and biases. He therefore pleads for a constant interaction between scholarship on the Greek and Persian sources. 26 The outcomes of the conferences were documented in the following volumes, which appeared in a series on Achaemenid history: Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenberg, ed., Sources, Structures and Synthesis. Proceedings of the Groningen 1983 Achaemenid History Workshop, Achaemenid History 1 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1987); Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Amélie Kuhrt, eds., The Greek Sources. Proceedings of the Groningen 1984 Achaemenid History Workshop, Achaemenid History 2 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1987); Amélie Kuhrt and Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, eds., Method and Theory. Proceedings of the London 1985 Achaemenid History Workshop, Achaemenid History 3 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1988); Amélie Kuhrt and Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, eds., Centre and Periphery. Proceedings of the Groningen 1986 Achaemenid History Workshop, Achaemenid History 4 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1990); Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Jan Willem Drijvers, eds., The Roots of the European Tradition. Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop, Achaemenid History 5 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1990); Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Amélie Kuhrt, eds., Asia Minor and Egypt: Old Cultures in a New Empire. Proceedings of the Groningen 1988 Achaemenid History Workshop, Achaemenid History 6 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1991); Jan Willem Drijvers and Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, eds., Through Travellers’ Eyes. European Travellers on the Iranian Monuments, Achaemenid History 7 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1991); Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, Amélie Kuhrt, and Margaret Cool Root, eds., Continuity and Change. Proceedings of the Last Achaemenid Workshop, April 6–8, 1990, Ann Arbor, Michigan, Achaemenid History 8 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1994). See also the volume which was compiled in memory of Sancisi-Weerdenburg after her unexpected death: Wouter Henkelman and Amélie Kuhrt, eds., A Persian Perspective. Essays in Memory of Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, Achaemenid History 13 (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 2003).

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This is not the appropriate place to describe in detail all recent developments in Ancient Persian historiography. However, one general issue that should be highlighted here – and which is of particular importance for our endeavour to develop a richer understanding of the historiography in Chronicles – is summarised by Robert Rollinger: It is often assumed that with Cyrus’s conquest of Babylon in 539 Mesopotamian history came to an end and a new “Persian” epoch began … Yet this opinion causes difficulties because continuity and change appear side-by-side during this time … Since the Persian Empire was a multiethnic and multicultural conglomerate …, it is hard to define what may be regarded as genuinely “Persian”; any ethnic interpretation of the extant data seems problematic and anachronistic.27

In this comment Rollinger captures the present state of insight into the Persian Empire. Although the Persian Empire had numerous unique features, one should not ignore the continuities with customs and peoples of former imperial regimes, as well as its incorporation of a diversity of ethnic and cultural identities.28 These insights warn against an “over-interpretation” of the uniqueness of the Persian period, a tendency which often emerges in biblical scholarship. It is understandable, however, that biblical scholars tend to overemphasise the novelty of the Persian period and see a dramatic break with past conditions in this transfer of imperial power. Biblical writings such as Deutero-Isaiah, Haggai, Ezra-Nehemia, as well as the ending of Chronicles indicate how dramatic an experience the transfer to the Persian period must have been for those who had been exiled in earlier times by the Neo-Babylonians, as well as for those who had remained in the land.29 What seemed to be in continuity with the past when 27 Rollinger, “Thinking and Writing about History in Teispid and Achaemenid Persia,” 187. In another contribution Robert Rollinger discusses the question of whether the Persian Empire does indeed fit the category “empire”? See Robert Rollinger, “Das Teispidisch-Achaimenidische Großreich. Ein ‘Imperium’ avant la lettre?,” in Imperien und Reiche in der Weltgeschichte. Epochenübergreifende und globalhistorische Vergleiche, ed. Robert Rollinger and Michael Gehler (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014), 149–92. Although he answers the question in the affirmative after considering different characteristics of empire, he concludes that one should rather see the Persian Empire within the context of a Mesopotamian imperial continuity that stretched from the neo-Assyrian empire, through Neo-Babylonian and Persian domination, to the Hellenistic Empire under Alexander the Great and its successors. 28 See e. g. the discussion in Jennifer Gates-Foster, “Achaemenids, Royal Power, and Persian Ethnicity,” in A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean, ed. Jeremy McInerney (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), 175–93. See also Robartus J. Van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations,” in Extraction & Control. Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper, ed. Michael Kozuh et al., Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 68 (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2014), 233–64. 29 See the discussion of Josef Wiesehöfer, “Persien,” in Wörterbuch alttestamentlicher Motive, ed. Michael Fieger, Jutta Krispenz, and Jörg Lanckau, (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2013).

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viewed from the imperial centre signified dramatic discontinuity from the perspective of those on the periphery who were uprooted by the imperial forces.30 The biblical writings associate this dramatic turn of international events mainly with Cyrus the Great (King Cyrus II). Cyrus’s conquest of Babylon in 539 B. C. E. introduced a new era in Mesopotamia,31 which also had its impact on those areas that were under the Babylonian yoke.32 The Judahite return from exile in the next year was probably also initiated by an edict of Cyrus, of which some reflections may be observed in the final verses of Chronicles and the first chapter of Ezra. The very positive appraisal of the Persian Empire, and particularly of Cyrus the Great, is understandable within this biblical context.33 When investigating the rhetoric on identity negotiation in Chronicles, however, one should bear in mind that it was not the time of Cyrus the Great that formed the context of origin of this literature. As we indicated above, the book probably originated in a time period towards the end of the Persian Empire, that is, in the first half of the fourth century B. C. E. The “Persian context” which should therefore be considered here is the latter part of Persian rule, before the collapse caused by Alexander the Great of Macedonia in 332 B. C. E. It is particularly the era of “turmoil” from Artaxerxes I (465–405/5 B. C. E.) until Darius III (336–330 B. C. E.) which forms the international political background during which the book of Chronicles was written.34 What affected the Levant 30 For in-depth presentations, as well as general overviews of the Achaemenid period in Ancient Persia, the following books may be consulted: Muhammed A. Dandamaev, A Political History of the Achaemenid Empire (Leiden: Brill, 1989); Josef Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien: Geschichte eines antiken Weltreichs (C. H. Beck, 1999); Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander. A History of the Persian Empire. (Translated into English by P. T. Daniels) (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002); Josef Wiesehöfer, Das antike Persien (Düsseldorf: Albatros, 2005); Maria Brosius, The Persians: An Introduction, Peoples of the Ancient World (London: Routledge, 2006); Matt W. Waters, Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014). 31 For discussions on this period in Persian history, see Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, chap. 1; Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1; Gerstenberger, Israel in der Perserzeit; Brosius, The Persians, 8–14; Waters, Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., chap. 3. 32  The text of the Cyrus cylinder (on display in the British Museum in London) bears witness to this transfer in imperial power to Cyrus II, the king of Anshan (as he is called in the inscription). See the discussion of this cuneiform document from 539 B. C. E. in Amélie Kuhrt, The Persian Empire: A Corpus of Sources from the Achaemenid Period (London: Routledge, 2013), 70–74. See also Amélie Kuhrt, “The Cyrus Cylinder and Achaemenid Imperial Policy,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 25 (1983): 83–97. 33 See Wiesehöfer, “Persien.” 34 Pierre Briant describes this period as “An Empire in Turmoil” From Cyrus to Alexander, Part 4. See also Josef Wiesehöfer, “The Achaemenid Empire in the Fourth Century B. C. E.: A Period of Decline?,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 11–30. Briant includes the reign of Xerxes (486–465 B. C. E.) in this part. But see our description of the religious conditions below. The interpretation of Xerxes’s reign remains a point of contention in Ancient Persian historiography. See Wiesehöfer, “Herodot, Xerxes und der Alte Orient.”

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most was Persia’s troublesome relationship with Egypt during the latter part of the empire. During the reign of Artaxerxes I the Persian king had to cope with revolt in Egypt. This was, however, successfully contained and further areas were secured. Wiesehöfer summarises this as follows: Not only was he [i. e. Artaxerxes I – LCJ] able to suppress the Egyptian revolt of Inarus, a Libyan rebel who had been supported by the Delian League under the leadership of Athens, and to beat back the same city’s attacks on Cyprus, he also secured the Levantine coast and Palestine for the Persians. An agreement with Athens (449) established the status quo at the empire’s north-western border and enlarged the king’s scope for action.35

After Artaxerxes’s death a turbulent time followed, however. His successor, Xerxes II, was murdered a few months later by a half-brother, Sogdianus. Another son of Artaxerxes I, Ochus, managed to overcome Sogdianus and ascended the Persian throne as King Darius II (424–404 B. C. E.). He was succeeded by his son, Arses, who became king under the throne name Artaxerxes II. Wiesehöfer summarises the events under his reign as follows: Although the succession to the throne from Darius to his eldest son Arses (throne name: Artaxerxes II) proceeded smoothly, the new king soon had to tackle a two-front crisis. Egypt was lost between 401 and 399 B. C. E.; and at exactly that time, the younger brother Cyrus made a futile attempt to replace his brother on the throne with the help of Spartan and Greek mercenaries. As in the battle for the throne, Artaxerxes II was similarly successful in securing Syria and Palestine and in fending off Spartan interventions in Asia Minor. The king not only became the negotiator and guarantor of the Greek general peace of 387/6 B. C. E. (“The King’s Peace”), which confirmed his right of rule over the cities of Asia Minor and Cyprus; he was also able to thwart the plans of the Salaminian king Euagoras to make himself lord of Cyprus, and he succeeded in putting an end to the socalled Great Satraps Revolt in the 360s.36

Egypt was regained only much later under Artaxerxes III in 343 B. C. E. For a period of roughly sixty years Yehud and Idumea formed the frontier with Egypt. Wiesehöfer therefore indicates that the strategic importance of these Levantine areas should not be underestimated: Although Judah’s importance for the development of a Jewish consciousness and community in the early Second Temple period may seduce biblical scholars into overestimating the region’s relevance for Persian imperial policy, one should not forget that Palestine was a major land-bridge and that its route network must have been highly responsible for the demographic expansion and economic growth of Persian-period Palestine. Besides, Persian fortified places in Yehud and Idumea must have served to police communications with Egypt.37 Wiesehöfer, “Iranian Empires,” in The Oxford Handbook of the State in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean, ed. Peter F. Bang and Walter Scheidel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 202. 36 Ibid. 37 Josef Wiesehöfer, “Achaemenid Rule and Its Impact on Yehud,” in Texts, Contexts and Readings in Post-exilic Literature: Explorations into Historiography and Identity Negotiation 35 Josef

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It is against the background of these specific events that the Chronicler’s work most-probably originated and contributed to public discourse and identity negotiation. However, although these latter years of Persian rule were much more turbulent than the earlier years under the great kings Cyrus, Darius and Xerxes, there were certain general traits of Persian imperial rule that were also influential in forming the mindscapes in the midst of which the Chronicler’s work communicated. Many of these mindscapes had been shaped by previous imperial regimes (as indicated above), but others were unique to the royal ideology that was established over a period of almost two centuries. Our further discussion will therefore deal in more detail with three important issues that should be taken into account when interpreting biblical literature from the Persian era. First, we will focus on the royal ideology of the Persian Empire and its impact on Yehud; then we will give an overview of the economic administration of the Persian Empire and its consequences for its power relations with Yehud; and lastly we will deal with the religious conditions during the time of Persian domination of Yehud and its influence on the province. 3.4.1.2 Royal Ideology Rollinger indicates that there are definite continuities between Persian royal ideology and its predecessor kingdoms, but also some distinctly different features. He says: Das persische Reich ist als altorientalische Monarchie beschreibbar. Dies zeigt sich sowohl in der Organisation des Reichs als auch in dessen ideologischer Fundamentierung. Allerdings sind in beiden Bereichen auch deutliche Unterschiede gegenüber den Vorgängerreichen erkennbar, denen durchaus Relevanz zukommt.38

As with the predecessor empires, the Achaemenid king was also seen as the absolute ruler of the empire, and he therefore acted as head of the political, judicial and military power. Different to what was customary in some other Ancient Near Eastern contexts, however, the king was not seen as a deity.39 The king was rather seen as ruling by the favour of the deity Ahuramazda. This claim seems to have become more prominent from the time of Darius I, when this Iranian deity’s cult was elevated to a royal cult (see the description in subsection 3.4.1.4 below). It is particularly prominent in the royal inscriptions of this king, such as in Hebrew Bible and Related Texts, ed. Louis C. Jonker, FAT II 53 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 182. 38 Rollinger, “Das teispidisch-achaimenidische Großreich. Ein ‘Imperium’ avant la lettre?,” 153. 39 In order to respect local customs and beliefs in conquered areas, the king was also willing to assume divine kingship, however. We know, for example, that Cambyses II and Darius I adopted divine kingship in Egypt where the pharaoh, by the authority of his office, was considered a god. See e. g. Brosius, The Persians, 33.

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the Bisitun inscription (DB) and the tomb inscriptions at Naqsh-i-Rustam (DNa and DNb). The following quotations from these inscriptions are exemplary: Proclaims Darius the king: Auramazdā bestowed this kingdom upon me; Auramazdā brought me aid, until I had held together this kingdom. By the favour of Auramazdā I hold this kingdom (DB I 24–27).40 A great god (is) Auramazdā, who created this earth, who created yonder heaven, who created man, who created blissful happiness for man, who made Darius king, the one king of many, the one master of many (DNa 1–8).41 A great god (is) Auramazdā, who created this marvellous (creation) that is seen, who created blissful happiness for man, who bestowed wisdom and ability upon Darius, the king (DNb 1–5).42

The king was thus seen as the representative of the deity Ahuramazda on earth. This connection enabled the king to maintain order in the kingdom and to act correctly in moral terms. The king was seen as representing the Good and the Truth (arta in Old Persian) against the Evil and the Lie (drauga in Old Persian). This view is poignantly expressed in one of the Darius tomb inscriptions at Naqsh-i-Rustam: Proclaims Darius, the king: By the favour of Auramazdā I am of such a kind that I am friendly to right, (but) I am not friendly to wrong. (It is) not my desire that the weak one might be treated wrongly for the strong one’s sake, (and) that (is) not my desire that the strong one might be treated wrongly for the weak one’s sake. What (is) right, that (is) my desire. To the man following Falsehood I am not friendly. I am not hot-tempered. Whatever occurs to me in a quarrel, I firmly hold back in my thinking; I am firmly in control of myself. The man who co-operates, for him, according to the co-operation, thus I care for him; who does harm, according to the harm done, thus I punish him. (It is) not my desire that a man should do harm; moreover that (is) not my desire: If he should do harm, he should not be punished (DNb 5–21).43  Translation of Rüdiger Schmitt, The Old Persian Inscriptions of Naqsh-I Rustam and Persepolis, vol. 2, Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum 1 (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 2000), 50. See the elaborate discussion of the Bisitun inscription in Gard Granerød, “By the Favour of Ahuramazda I Am King: On the Promulgation of a Persian Propaganda Text among Babylonians and Judaeans,” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 44/4–5 (2013): 455–80. Granerød argues that the inscription’s function can be explained on three levels: de jure, Darius established a link between his kingship and the reign of the house of Cyrus the Great, and thereby legitimized his kingship of Persia; de facto, the inscription reminded all of his successful campaigns and subjugation of nations, and thereby creating an environment in which his kingship could dominate; and de gratia, the inscription indicated that Darius’ kingship was by the favour of the deity Ahuramazda, thereby giving moral legitimacy to his kingship. 41 Translation of Schmitt, The Old Persian Inscriptions of Naqsh-I Rustam and Persepolis, 2:30. 42 Translation of Ibid., 2:40. 43 Translation of Ibid. 40

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Wiesehöfer remarks about the views expressed in this inscription: The Great King who bears the responsibility for law and justice, who searches for a balance between strength and weakness, is … an integral component of Achaemenid Persian ruling ideology as well as a requirement for the representation of a universal pax Achaemenidica, as conveyed by the king’s inscriptions and the palace reliefs, that benefits both ruler and subject. … First of all, this quote makes clear precisely who defines that which is to be understood as law and justice, and who ensures the success of the law thus defined: the Great King himself (with the help of the gods …). To act lawfully on the part of the subjects is to support the ruler in his efforts to provide for the stability of the reign and the kingdom, while it is unlawful to position oneself against the ruler, to be disloyal, to follow a ‘lie’ (Old Persian [OP] drauga) and to cause damage. Lawful behaviour on the side of the ruler is to maintain proper order and to act against those who disturb the peace.44

This description makes clear that it would not only be anachronistic, but would also be inaccurate to describe the Achaemenid royal ideology by means of the modern concept of “tolerance”. Although there was certainly a greater openness in religious aspects than before (see discussion below), one should not underestimate the extent to which the Achaemenid royal power which was exercised against those who opposed the law of the king. The way in which rebellious satraps or contenders for the throne were handled confirms this point.45 It is often said that this royal ideology found its best expression in the architectural and artistic features of the royal cities, particularly in Persepolis.46 This city, which was founded by Darius I in 515 B. C. E. and built by him and his successors in the following years, not only contains many reliefs in which the close relationship between the king and the deity is given expression, but the Apadana 44 Josef Wiesehöfer, “Law and Religion in Achaemenid Iran,” in Law and Religion in the Eastern Mediterranean: From Antiquity to Early Islam, ed. Anselm C. Hagedorn and Reinhard G. Kratz (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 41–43. See also Wiesehöfer, “The Achaemenid Empire in the Fourth Century B. C. E.: A Period of Decline?”; Josef Wiesehöfer, “From Achaemenid Imperial Order to Sasanian Diplomacy: War, Peace, and Reconciliation in Pre-Islamic Iran,” in War and Peace in the Ancient World, ed. Kurt A. Raaflaub (London: Blackwell, 2007), 124–27; Josef Wiesehöfer, “The Achaemenid Empire,” in The Dynamics of Ancient Empires: State Power from Assyria to Byzantium, ed. Ian Morris and Walter Scheidel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 66–98. Matt Waters interprets the DNb inscription as follows: “The King must respect the interests of all his subjects, strong and weak; he must protect what is right and thus strive actively against the Lie (drauga). The King controls his impulses and his temper, because he models intelligence, good thought, and calm in the face of threats. He is a paragon of order; he must reward good behavior and faithful service as well as punish disloyalty and wickedness  – those things that are a threat to order. Beyond these attributes of good character and intelligence, the King himself is also effective in combat; this involved being an accomplished warrior on horse and on foot, with both bow and with spear” (Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., 150–151. See also the discussion in Granerød, “By the Favour of Ahuramazda I Am King.” 45 See particularly the detailed discussions of Rollinger, “Das teispidisch-achaimenidische Großreich. Ein ‘Imperium’ avant la lettre?” 46 See the discussion in Waters, Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., chap. 8.

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staircase reliefs also give strong expression to this ideology. The relief scenes depicting numerous nations bringing all kinds of gifts to the royal city are well known. However, lesser known is the fact that on the inside of these staircases are clear depictions of armoured Persian soldiers. Battle scenes and scenes of subjugation are also shown on some inner walls of palaces.47 Those having an audience with the Persian kings would have been reminded of the fact that order, peace and the benevolence of all subjugated peoples can also be enforced with Persian military power, if necessary.48 The royal ideology of Pax Achaemenidica is closely related to what Wiesehöfer calls a “Persian national identity.”49 This was not limited to Persians only, but was also imposed on subjugated peoples. Wiesehöfer indicates that a Persian national identity can be seen in the inscriptions and ideology which can be associated with the imperial rule. These inscriptions give an impression of how the elites of the provinces were integrated into an empire-wide ruling-class culture, and how subjugated peoples were integrated into a sort of imperial symbolic universe. Inhabitants of the empire were not forced to deny their local identities, but rejection of the Persian national identity was regarded as rebellion. Gates-Foster is in agreement with this view when she indicates that one can barely speak of “a Persian ethnic identity”, but that a Persian national identity in which a diversity of nations was incorporated is reflected in many Persian texts, particularly in the Persepolis fortification texts.50 She points out that it was only in the reign of Darius I that the concern with designating the predecessor Cyrus II as an Achaemenid emerged. In the monumental inscriptions in Cyrus’s capital city, Pasargadae, Cyrus is explicitly called an Achaemenid, although this claim is not made in the Cyrus cylinder text (an inscription commissioned by Cyrus himself). We know, however, that the inscriptions in Pasargadae (CMa, CMb, CMc) were the work of Darius I, who retrojected an Achaemenid identity onto Cyrus in order to claim this great king as an ancestor for his own royal line. Gates-Foster 47 See also the discussion of Wiesehöfer, “From Achaemenid Imperial Order to Sasanian Diplomacy: War, Peace, and Reconciliation in Pre-Islamic Iran,” 126. 48 A very prominent example is the expression of this ideology of peace in the so-called King’s Peace (or, Peace of Antalcidas) of 386 B. C. E. After a period of disagreement among the Greek city states about whether Persia’s claim on the Asiatic Greeks should be accepted, Antalcidas of Sparta made an alliance with Tiribazus (who was reinstated as Persian satrap in Sardis), and together they defeated the Athenians and recovered control of the Hellespont. After these successes Antalcidas felt he could depend on the support of the other Greek city states and accordingly negotiated a peace treaty with the Persian satrap, Tiribazus, which was proclaimed in 386 B. C. E. I have discussed elsewhere that these circumstances probably contributed to the Peace of Callias becoming so important. See Jonker, “Engaging with Different Contexts,” 67–68. I make the point there that, although one cannot state for certain that a peace treaty between Athens and Persia was concluded in 449 B. C. E., one can be confident in stating that the idea of such a treaty, as a projection into the past, was a reality in the first half of the 4th century B. C. E. (which is also the most likely time when the Chronicler constructed his history). 49 Wiesehöfer, “The Achaemenid Empire,” 89–90. 50 Gates-Foster, “Achaemenids, Royal Power, and Persian Ethnicity.”

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associates this claim with the precarious situation under which Darius I became king and his need to legitimise his own royal position.51 However, all further evidence points in the direction of an identity which incorporated the diversity of nations and subjugated identities into an inclusive imperial understanding. Gates-Foster formulates this as follows: Persian kings deployed ethnic or cultural categories as a means for articulating a vision of an inclusive empire, while at the same time emphasizing the variety of subject peoples, and the wide sweep of Persian dominance … The use of essentialized ethnic categories in the depiction of subject communities as well as the incorporation of artistic traditions and styles associated with conquered peoples were powerful components of Achaemenid imperial ideology. These categories were emphasized in the programmatic representation of the empire through the visual presentation of the diversity of subject peoples, lists of conquered and subdued lands, and an emphasis on multilingualism in royal inscriptions.52

From the above discussion it is clear that there was a prominent articulation of this self-understanding in the Persian imperial centres through inscriptions, art and architecture. However, could one assume that this royal ideology was also taken note of in the outlying subjugated areas? Rollinger refers to the following paragraphs from the Bisitun inscription in order to argue that we may assume with a fair amount of confidence that the intention of the inscriptions was exactly that they be disseminated throughout the empire: Proclaims Darius, the king: Now let what (has been) done by me convince you! Thus make (it) known to the people, do not conceal (it)! If you shall not conceal this record, (but) make (it) known to the people, may Auramazdā be friendly to you, and may offspring be to you in great number, and may you live long! Proclaims Darius, the king: If you shall conceal this record, (and) not make (it) known to the people, may Auramazdā be your destroyer, and may offspring not be to you! (DB IV 52–59)53

There is evidence that the “making known to the people” of this inscription was taken literally, since copies of the inscription were also discovered in Babylon and on the island of Elephantine in Egypt.54 Rollinger comments on this: The content has to be proclaimed to the people, and they have to be convinced by the king’s report. This effort is mirrored by the fact that the Bisitun inscription, like many other Achaemenid royal inscriptions, was translated into other languages. As Bisitun itself shows, Old Persian, Elamite, and Babylonian were the most important ones, but a version in Aramaic, the lingua franca of the Achaemenid Empire, survived in Egypt, dating to 51 Ibid.,

180. 182. 53 Translation of Rüdiger Schmitt, The Bisitun Inscriptions of Darius the Great: Old Persian Text, Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1991), 70. 54 For a discussion of the different versions of the Bisitun inscription, see Granerød, “By the Favour of Ahuramazda I Am King.” 52 Ibid.,

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around 400 … Versions of the text were thus in circulation for a very long time, and its impact lasted even longer … The same Aramaic manuscript also included one of Darius’s tomb inscriptions from Naqsh·i Rustam … Hence, in being translated and disseminated all over the multilingual empire, the Bisitun texts were no exception … [A]lthough §§ 60–61 [= DB IV 52–59 – LCJ] focus on the people of the empire, evidently the most important addressees of Darius’s report were the ruling classes, the officeholders in the provinces and cities, high and low, on whose support any ruler depended. This was hardly much different in the preceding empires … These learned men, educated and literate, were running the royal chanceries in the core areas of the empire.55

We may therefore safely assume that the ideological tenets of Persian imperial rule were also well known among the literati in Jerusalem. With the excellent communication system employed by the Persian Empire,56 as well as with the deliberate dissemination of royal inscriptions throughout the empire, it is logical that the literate community in Jerusalem would have been included in the promotion of the Persian imperial self-understanding. Granerød motivates this point as follows: To be sure, no Judaean version of DB has ever been found. Nevertheless, in the light of the positive evidence it is, I believe, likely that the kind of propaganda texts that DB repr e s e nts was also known in the Persian province of Yehud. Although it cannot be proved, it is reasonable that (leading groups among) the Judaeans in the Persian period were exposed to similar royal Achaemenid influence. The impact of the Persian empire on Yehud is evident in various ways. As for the material culture, a number of military strongholds for garrisons of Persian mercenaries were built in Ramat-Rahel, Beit-Zur, Lachish and other places, and Persian weapons were found (arrowheads, chariot accessories). Administratively, many local seals, both anepigraphic and inscribed, with Persian motifs have been found. Culturally, the gradual transfer to Aramaic as vernacular, the predominant lingua franca of the Persian empire, is but another example. The first Persian administrative centre of Yehud was Mizpah. Later on, during the reign of Artaxerxes I (464–424 B. C. E.), the status of Jerusalem changed as it became the capital of the province, ‫“( בִיְרתָא‬the fortress”), and thus the city of residence of the Persian governor. As a Persian bîrâ, the city must have had a Persian presence in one way or another. The officials in the service of the Achaemenid regime, for instance the scribes, must have had a curriculum similar to that of other Aramaic-writing scribes elsewhere in the empire … In short, the Achaemenid empire must have had several “windows” in Yehud through which it mediated its ideology. It is likely that also textual expressions of royal Achaemenid ideology (analogue to the DB Aram found in Elephantine and the DB Bab found in Babylon and in accordance with DB § 70) were present – and promulgated – in the Persian province of Yehud.57

This point brings us then to the economic and administrative aspects of the Persian Empire, and the measure in which they impacted on Yehud. 55 Rollinger,

“Thinking and Writing about History in Teispid and Achaemenid Persia,” 204. Waters, Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., 111–113. 57 Granerød, “By the Favour of Ahuramazda I Am King,” 479–480. 56 See

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3.4.1.3 Economy and Administration We have used the expression “the Persian province of Yehud” on numerous occasions in the discussions above. What does this expression refer to, and how does it fit into the Persian imperial administration? Although we will elaborate on the extent of the province of Yehud in further subsections of this chapter, the present discussion will already make some preliminary remarks, mainly from the perspective of the imperial centre. Various royal Old Persian inscriptions contain so-called dahyāva lists in which the names of subjugated entities are mentioned.58 Apart from the fact that these lists differ from one another, it is also not clear in every case whether the reference is to a geographical area, or to a specific people, or to both.59 Furthermore, Yehud is never mentioned in any of these lists, probably because it formed part of the vast satrap Beyond-the-River (or Transeuphratène), indicating its insignificance from an imperial perspective. Many scholars point out that the Persians did not invent the system of satrapal or provincial organisation, but that they took it over from their imperial predecessors, particularly from the Neo-Babylonians, and adapted the system to their imperial and political needs.60 Although it not certain whether it happened during the reign of Darius I or Xerxes, the satrapy “Babylonia” (the former Neo-Babylonian Empire) was divided into two, with the part on the south-western side of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers called Ebir-Nari, or Beyond-the-River (Transeuphratène).61 The area of the former Kingdom of Judah formed a very small part of this satrapy. Each satrapy was administered by a satrap who was normally a very high official and one level below the king. These officials were typically part of the Persian elite, or even part of the royal family.62 Matt Waters indicates that the creation of a satrapy normally involved the replacement of a former ruler with a Persian satrap who was appointed by the Persian king, but that the local administration was kept intact. This means that the Persian king and the appointed satrap were superimposed as an additional level of administration onto local 58 The following inscriptions contain these lists: DB (§ 6); DPe (§ 2); DSe (§ 3); DNa (§ 3); and XPh (§ 3). 59 Waters, Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., 96–98. 60 See Waters: “The formal creation of the Achaemenid satrapy system has been attributed to Darius I, but it has become increasingly clear that Cyrus and Cambyses initiated the system through adoption and adaptation of preexisting structures. The resulting administrative units were occasionally modified in the light of political circumstances but remained relatively intact throughout the Achaemenid period. It is not possible to demarcate fixed boundaries of satrapies, especially on modern maps, but they frequently coincided with natural ones such as major rivers” (Ibid., 101). 61 Wiesehöfer is of the opinion that this division probably took place “in the first years of Xerxes I”; see “Achaemenid Rule and Its Impact on Yehud,” 181. 62 Waters, Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., 100–101.

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administrations. Local officials were therefore also retained in the dependent provinces of the satrapy, but they were then subordinated to the satrap.63 It is known from the ancient written sources that the satrapies were expected to pay tribute (in money or in kind) to the Persian imperial centre.64 Each satrapy had its own system of administration which was embedded in the network of imperial administration, and the satraps were responsible for maintaining this system. Herodotus (3.89–95), for example, provided a list of the Persian satrapies with indications of the amounts that they had to pay as their respective tributes. The amounts mentioned are unrealistically high, however, and not much insight can be gained into the detail of the economic system. However, through the discovery of literally thousands of administrative clay tablets in the Persepolis Treasury and Fortification collections, modern scholars can gain a better insight into the highly sophisticated system that was in operation in the Persian Empire to keep record of tributes and taxation. From these tablets it becomes clear that, although the imposing of tribute burdens on subjugated peoples was general practice, there was great differentiation in terms of type and size of tributes. Although the study of this huge collection of administrative texts from Persepolis is still ongoing, no references to Yehud have been identified as yet. However, it is also unlikely that this very small and remote part of the Beyond-the-River satrap would have been mentioned by name, for the same reason that it is also not listed in the dahyāva lists. The tribute and taxes from Yehud were probably delivered to the satrapal centre, from where they were transported to the imperial centre. Scholars are not exactly sure when Yehud became an independent province. It is highly probable that it formed part of the province of Samaria to the north for the greatest part of the Persian period. Archaeological finds, particularly the discovery of an abundance of Yehud stamp impressions mainly in Ramat-Raḥel near Jerusalem, indicate that this probably happened at the end of the fifth, or early in the fourth century B. C. E. In their categorisation of Yehud seal impressions, Oded Lipschits and David Vanderhooft state: A fundamental change occurs between th[e] early group and the second, or middle group of YSIs. Differences include form, style, paleography and, importantly, the orthography of the province name, now in three letters, including Paleo-Hebrew letter forms … The 63 Ibid.,

101. indicates that “The introduction of monetary taxes throughout the empire by Darius seems to be widely accepted, even though there is uncertainty about the level of the system at which produce in kind was converted into silver: recent studies suppose that in general tax payments were made in kind; a conversion into silver or gold is assumed to have occurred only on the higher levels of administration”; Michael Jursa, “Taxation and Service Obligations in Babylonia from Nebuchadnezzar to Darius and the Evidence for Darius’ Tax Reform,” in Herodot und das Persische Weltreich – Herodotus and the Persian Empire, ed. Robert Rollinger, Brigitte Truschnegg, and Reinhold Bichler, Classica et Orientalia 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 431. 64 Jursa

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second group, from the fourth and third centuries B. C. E., points to a much more consolidated system. The provincial administration moved in the direction of unification and consolidation.65

Lipschits and Vanderhooft associate this “consolidation” of the administrative system in Yehud with the political circumstances at the end of the fifth century B. C. E., when Egypt revolted against its Persian yoke. They describe the historical situation as follows: We suggest that the administrative consolidation in Yehud during the fourth and third centuries was one of numerous changes in the administration of Palestine in the Persian period, especially in its southern part, that occurred around the beginning of the fourth century B. C. E. Scholars have already linked other social, economic, and military changes during this period to the more robust Persian interest in the area after 404 B. C. E., when the Egyptians sought to free themselves from the Persian yoke … For the military expeditions … the Persian army had to requisition ships in Phoenicia and control logistic bases along the coast. They also needed a sufficient agricultural supply and at least a basic administration to organise all of this. Palestine, especially the southern Shephelah, served as an important station in the Persian network on the way to and from Egypt until Persia lost its hold in Egypt. … After the loss of its hold in Egypt, Palestine became and especially important border area of the Persian Empire, particularly its southern parts … Palestine no doubt underwent a transformation in its administrative and probably also its political organisation, possibly as a result of direct imperial involvement.66

Scholars do have access to information on the administrative and economic organisation in Yehud through some biblical writings (such as Ezra-Nehemiah).67 65 Lipschits and Vanderhooft, “Yehud Stamp Impressions in the Fourth Century B. C. E.,” 84, 86. See also David Vanderhooft and Oded Lipschits, “A New Typology of the Yehud Stamp Impressions,” Tel Aviv: Journal of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 2007/1 (2007): 12–37; Oded Lipschits and David S. Vanderhooft, The Yehud Stamp Impressions: A Corpus of Inscribed Impressions from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Judah (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011); Oded Lipschits, “Persian-Period Judah: A New Perspective,” in Texts, Contexts and Readings in Post-exilic Literature: Explorations into Historiography and Identity Negotiation in Hebrew Bible and Related Texts, ed. Louis C. Jonker, FAT II 53 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 187–211. 66 Lipschits and Vanderhooft, “Yehud Stamp Impressions in the Fourth Century B. C. E.,” 86–88. 67 Lisbeth Fried interprets the occurrence of the expression ‘am hā’āreṣ in Ezra 4:4 against the background of the satrapal administrative organisation. She concludes: “The people who wrote accusing letters against the Judeans, whom the redactors label ‘am hā’āreṣ, were the satrapal officials who administered the government of Beyond the River. They included the chancellor, the satrapal scribe, the judges, the investigators, and the rest of their colleagues, the Persian officials from Susa in Elam and from Uruk in Babylon – all who ate the salt of the palace. These satrapal officials held the real political power in the Empire, and as such they formed the landed aristocracy of the satrapy. The meaning of the term did not change, but the people who had previously been designated by the phrase were no longer designated by it. The Judean ‘am hā’āreṣ, the Judean aristocracy who had controlled Judah before the exile, were not in charge of Judah anymore. The land was now in the control of strangers. The Persian and Babylonian officials of the satrapy Beyond the River were the new ‘am hā’āreṣ. They were the ones who administered Judah, and they were foreign” (“The ‘Am Ha’ares in Ezra 4:4 and Persian

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However, new epigraphic and numismatic information from the period also provides valuable resources. In the light of these sources André Lemaire provides a detailed description of the administration in fourth-century B. C. E. Judah.68 Wiesehöfer summarises his main points as follows: Apart from the “governors of Yehud” and the “(High) Priests” in Jerusalem, we know of at least two other high civil officials of the province, a “prefect” (sgn) and a “judge” (dyn). Persian-period sources distinguish between “judges of the king” (with Persian names), probably with life tenure, and “judges of the province”, most probably local judges with a special expertise in local judicial affairs. The segans are mostly thought of as the highest-ranking officials under the governor, being in charge of the economic administration of the province and superior to the “treasurers” (gnzbr’), who were possibly collecting taxes in coins / ​metals, and the “tax collectors” (GBY’), who were perhaps collecting taxes in kind.69

It is thus clear that the sophisticated Persian economic and judicial administrative system formed part of the mindscape against which the Chronicler’s communication should be understood. The extent to which the Jerusalem second temple was also involved in this system, however, remains a point of contention. Earlier, Joachim Schaper advanced the theory that the Jerusalem temple was an instrument of the Achaemenid fiscal administration.70 He studied the role of Babylonian temples in the Achaemenid period and argued that the Jerusalem temple must have had the same functions. According to him, these temples were agencies for the administration of the imperial system of taxation. The temples acted as repositories for the imperial taxes that were gathered from the local communities, and their staff were charged with the responsibility for collecting these taxes, for overseeing their payment to the imperial centre, and for record-keeping. Schaper suggested (on the basis of Ezra 8:33–34 and Neh. 13:13) that a committee consisting of two priests and two Levites oversaw the temple treasury.71 Later the temple probably also had the function of minting coins. André Lemaire accepts this view in his

Imperial Administration,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 141. See also Lisbeth S. Fried, The Priest and the Great King: Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, Ind: Eisenbrauns, 2004), chap. 5. 68 André Lemaire, “Administration in Fourth-Century B. C. E. Judah in Light of Epigraphy and Numismatics,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 53–74. 69 Wiesehöfer, “Achaemenid Rule and Its Impact on Yehud,” 182. 70 Joachim Schaper, “The Jerusalem Temple as an Instrument of the Achaemenid Fiscal Administration,” Vetus Testamentum 45/4 (1995): 528–39. 71 Joachim Schaper, “The Temple Treasury Committee in the Times of Nehemiah and Ezra,” Vetus Testamentum 47/2 (1997): 200–206.

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own description of the institution of a poll tax of a didrachm in fourth-century B. C. E. Judah.72 He indicates that this move had two important consequences: 1. It developed the use of coins, and Judah adopted a monetary system connected with the drachma system … 2. This poll tax was collected at the temple of Jerusalem, and thus Jerusalem was at once a kind of “public treasury,” “national bank,” and “monetary workshop.”73

Peter Bedford does not agree with this view, however.74 In his criticism of Schaper’s views, he argues that the situation was not the same at the Babylonian temples and the Jerusalem temple: The question is whether the Jerusalem Temple served as the local Judean imperial taxation agency and repository. I have argued … that it is unlikely that Babylonian temples offer much useful information in respect to relations between the Jerusalem Temple and the Achaemenid Persian administration. They were too different in scale, range of activities and economic importance. Babylonian temples were large land-owning institutions of long standing with close, albeit fluctuating, relationships with the crown. They were central to economic activity in Babylonia, and were exploited by the administration in the management of the agriculture and government work projects. It is indisputable that the Jerusalem Temple collected offerings from the Judean population, although it was argued … that these should have been viewed as self-imposed contributions rather than taxes per se instituted by any political authority, either local or imperial.75

This criticism indicates that Schaper probably was too quick to draw parallels between the situation at Babylonian temples and the temple in Jerusalem.76 However, that Jerusalem had some sort of economic function during the Achaemenid period is indisputable.77 Whether the second temple and its staff were directly involved is less clear. It is furthermore also not yet clear what the relationship between the Temple in Jerusalem and the administrative centre in Ramat-Raḥel was. The latter site is never mentioned in biblical writings, although we know 72 Lemaire, “Administration in Fourth-Century B. C. E. Judah in Light of Epigraphy and Numismatics.” 73  Ibid., 60. 74 Peter R. Bedford, “The Economic Role of the Jerusalem Temple in Achaemenid Judah: Comparative Perspectives,” in Shai Le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its Exegesis and Its Language, ed. Moshe Bar-Asher et al. (Jerusalem: The Bialik Institute, 2007), 3–20. 75 Ibid., 15–16. 76 See also the discussion in Jursa, “Taxation and Service Obligations in Babylonia from Nebuchadnezzar to Darius and the Evidence for Darius’ Tax Reform.” 77 Some scholars have suggested that some Marxist models can be used to describe the tributary mode of production in the Persian period. Roland Boer, for example, speaks of “a sacred economy” in the temple of Jerusalem. See Roland Boer, “The Sacred Economy of Ancient ‘Israel,’” Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 21/1 (2007): 29–48. See also Gerald O. West, “Tracking an Ancient Near Eastern Economic System: The Tributary Mode of Production and the Temple-State,” Old Testament Essays 24/2 (2011): 511–32; Louis C. Jonker, “Agrarian Economy through City Elite Eyes: Reflections of Late Persian Period Yehud Economy in the Genealogies of Chronicles” (Canadian Society of Biblical Studies Annual Meeting, Victoria BC, 2013).

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from the archaeological finds that this must have been a very prominent centre, particularly in the latter part of the Persian period.78 Leaving our discussion of the economic and administrative conditions during the Persian period, we now move to a description of religious conditions. 3.4.1.4 Religious Conditions Biblical scholars often refer to the Persian period introduced by Cyrus the Great as a time of religious diversity and tolerance. Not only do the biblical writings (mainly Ezra-Nehemiah) hint that the sanctuary in Jerusalem was restored after the exile with the financial assistance of the Persian king, but the Cyrus Cylinder also presents a fairly positive picture of the role played by Cyrus in acknowledging different sanctuaries and religions in the empire.79 This text which probably functioned as building foundation inscription in Babylon, includes the following passage: I am Cyrus, king of the universe, the great king, the powerful king, king of Babylon, king of Sumer and Akkad, king of the four quarters of the world, son of Cambyses, the great king, king of the city of Anshan, grandson of Cyrus, the great king, ki[ng of the ci]ty of Anshan, descendant of Teispes, the great king, king of the city of Anshan, the perpetual seed of kingship, whose reign Bel (Marduk)and Nabu love, and with whose kingship, to their joy, they concern themselves. When I went as harbinger of peace i[nt] o Babylon I founded my sovereign residence within the palace amid celebration and rejoicing. Marduk, the great lord, bestowed on me as my destiny the great magnanimity of one who loves Babylon, and I every day sought him out in awe. My vast troops were marching peaceably in Babylon, and the whole of [Sumer] and Akkad had nothing to fear. I sought the safety of the city of Babylon and all its sanctuaries. As for the population of Babylon […, w]ho as if without div[ine intention] had endured a yoke not decreed for them,

78 See

e. g. Oded Lipschits et al., “Palace and Village, Paradise and Oblivion: Unraveling the Riddles of Ramat Raḥel,” Near Eastern Archaeology 74/1 (2011): 1–49; Oded Lipschits, Yuval Gadot, and Dafna Langgut, “The Riddle of Ramat Raḥel: The Archaeology of a Royal Persian Period Edifice,” Transeuphratène 41 (2012): 57–79.Dafna Langgut et al., “Fossil Pollen Reveals the Secrets of the Royal Persian Garden at Ramat Rahel, Jerusalem,” Palynology 37/1 (2013): 115–29. 79 See the good discussion in Van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations.” Erich Gruen argues, however, that some biblical passages may be interpreted as subtle critique of the Persian Empire. See Erich S. Gruen, “Persia through the Jewish Looking-Glass,” in Jewish Perspectives on Hellenistic Rulers, ed. Tessa Rajak et al. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 53–75.

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I soothed their weariness; I freed them from their bonds(?). Marduk, the great lord, rejoiced at [my good] deeds, and he pronounced a sweet blessing over me, Cyrus, the king who fears him, and over Cambyses, the son [my] issue, [and over] my all my troops, that we might live happily in his presence, in well-being. At his exalted command, all kings who sit on thrones, from every quarter, from the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea, those who inhabit [remote distric]ts (and) the kings of the land of Amurru who live in tents, all of them, brought their weighty tribute into Shuanna, and kissed my feet. From [Shuanna] I sent back to their places to the city of Ashur and Susa, Akkad, the land of Eshnunna, the city of Zamban, the city of Meturnu, Der, as far as the border of the land of Guti – the sanctuaries across the river Tigris – whose shrines had earlier become dilapidated, the gods who lived therein, and made permanent sanctuaries for them. I collected together all of their people and returned them to their settlements, and the gods of the land of Sumer and Akkad which Nabonidus – to the fury of the lord of the gods – had brought into Shuanna, at the command of Marduk, the great lord, I returned them unharmed to their cells, in the sanctuaries that make them happy. May all the gods that I returned to their sanctuaries, every day before Bel and Nabu, ask for a long life for me, and mention my good deeds, and say to Marduk, my lord, this: “Cyrus, the king who fears you, and Cambyses his son, may they be the provisioners of our shrines until distant (?) days, and the population of Babylon call blessings on my kingship. I have enabled all the lands to live in peace.” (CB, lines 20–36)80

The content of this text relates well to textual and archaeological evidence of restoration work that was done at certain sanctuaries, including the temple in Jerusalem. However, one should remember that this religious policy had a political function. Brosius puts it as follows: The early Persian kings as well as the Achaemenids were careful to accept the gods of other religions as well, recognising their importance for the subject peoples, and the political value the acceptance of other religions had for their own rule. Thus, the early Persian kings worshipped their own god(s), while also respecting Median, Lydian and Ionian 80 Translation of Irving Finkel, “Translation of the Text on the Cyrus Cylinder,” accessed October 7, 2014, http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/highlights/articles/c/cyrus_cylinder_-_t​ r​a​n​s​l​a​t​i​o​n​.aspx. Further reliable translations of the Cyrus Cylinder are available in Kuhrt, The Persian Empire: A Corpus of Sources from the Achaemenid Period, 70–74; Van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations,” 261–263. It is well known that the Cyrus cylinder emerged to prominence again as part of the political ideology of 20th century leaders in Iran (including the last Shah of the Pahlevi dynasty, as well as the former president of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad). It is also well known that some fake translations, such as the one on display in the House of Iran in San Diego, California, exist. See the discussion in Ibid., 234 fn. 4.

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gods, as well as the gods of Babylonia and of the conquered territories in the eastern part of the empire.81

Van der Spek also indicates that “[t]he idea of Cyrus as the champion of religious tolerance rests on three fundamentally erroneous assumptions.”82 He summarises these as follows: In the first place, it rests on an anachronistic perception of ancient political discourse. In antiquity, no discourse on religious tolerance existed. Religion was deeply embedded in society, in political structures, in daily life … Secondly, it is too facile to characterize Cyrus’ rule as one that had “tolerance” as its starting point. Although it is indeed possible to describe his policy as positively pragmatic or even mild in some respects, it is also clear that Cyrus was a normal conqueror with the usual policy of brutal warfare and harsh measures. The will of the Persian king was law, and no principal right of participation in government was allowed. Thirdly, the comparison with Assyrian policy is mistaken in its portrayal of that policy as principally different from Cyrus’.83

There is no evidence that the early Persian kings, including Cyrus II, were already celebrating the cult of Ahuramazda.84 They rather shared the belief with some of the other Iranian peoples that the natural elements, earth and sky, water and fire, as well as rivers and mountains, were sacred. As indicated in our discussion of the royal ideology above, it is only during the time of Darius I that a royal cult of Ahuramazda rose to prominence, with this king claiming in numerous of his royal inscriptions that he reigned by the favour of Ahuramazda. Further developments occurred from the time of Artaxerxes II, when two further Iranian deities were elevated to the royal cult alongside Ahuramazda, namely the sungod Mithra and Anahita, the goddess of water and fertility.85 Unfortunately, we know very little about these deities and how they were worshipped in the cult. Brosius remarks, however: The worship of a sun-god and a goddess of water comes as no surprise in a country where both elements are held in high regard, as they dominate agricultural life and determine the well-being of its people. Water and water supply were crucial in the hot and dry regions of Persis, and indeed in the whole empire. The establishment and development of water channels, drainage systems and irrigation channels was essential for the preservation of The Persians, 33. der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations,” 235. 83 Ibid. See also the discussion in Harrison, Writing Ancient Persia, chap. 4. 84 Matt Waters discusses the question of whether the Achaemenid religion was similar to or associated with Zoroastrianism, the religion called after Zoroaster, whose date is difficult to determine, but who is seen as the originator of the Gathas which form the core of the Avesta. Waters concludes: “The Achamenids (sic) are often described as Zoroastrians. This is perhaps an apt characterization on the surface – especially if one focuses only on the ideology as expressed in the royal inscriptions – but one that does not do justice to the variety of evidence” (Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., 151.). 85 Brosius, The Persians, 66. 81 Brosius, 82 Van

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human and animal welfare. The Persians’ creation of extensive gardens was the epitome of their ability to defy nature and to create sources of water even in dry areas, allowing the cultivation of seemingly non-arable land.86

In a writing of Berossus (from the third century B. C. E.) it is mentioned that Artaxerxes II put up statues of the goddess in various cities in the Persian Empire. This reference is problematic, however. It not only does not mention the name of Anahita (but rather the Greek goddess Aphrodite, who was associated in Hellenistic times with the Persian goddess), but up until now excavations have yielded no statues of any Persian deity. The evidence for the religious rituals of the Persians rather points to aniconism, that is, that no images of their gods were made. In this context there is much debate whether the figure in the winged disk featuring so prominently in Achaemenid monumental architecture is indeed a depiction of Ahuramazda, as is hypothesised by many scholars. Brosius summarises the different positions in this debate: [T]he figure in the winged disc featuring so prominently on the reliefs of Achaemenid monumental architecture, including the royal tombs at Naqsh-i Rustam, has been identified as Ahuramazda, but another interpretation suggests that the figure represents Achaemenes, the eponymous founder of the empire. Most likely, however, is the suggestion that the image of the figure in the winged disc represented the ‘good fortune’, khvarrah, which symbolised the special status of the Achaemenid dynasty on which Ahuramazda had bestowed the kingship.87

Although worship of Ahuramazda was so prominent in the royal inscriptions and depictions, it seems that this cult was not imposed on the peoples of the empire. Brosius describes the situation as follows: [I]t is important to note that the god was the god of kings; never, it seems, did his cult become a common cult celebrated by the peoples of the empire, either through imposition from above or through its adaptation from below. The cult of Ahuramazda was a cult celebrated by the kings, and therefore practised in the royal cities, with a group of priests in charge of upholding its rituals. A different question is whether, in addition to the king, the cult was observed by the Persian noble class. This means not only the immediate members of the royal court who travelled in the king’s entourage, but the Persian nobility in the satrapal centres of the empire. Were they bound to uphold the royal cult as part of their duties at their satrapal court? Were they privy to attend, if not conduct, the ritual for the cult of Ahuramazda? Their access to the royal cult would confirm their status as the king’s 86 Ibid., 67. See also Louis C. Jonker, “Manasseh in Paradise, or Not? The Influence of ANE Palace Garden Imagery in LXX 2 Chronicles 33:20,” in Thinking of Water in the Early Second Temple Period, ed. Christoph Levin and Ehud Ben Zvi, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 461 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 339–58. 87 Brosius, The Persians, 67. For a description of how the iconographic image of the winged disc “travelled” from Egypt to Persia along the trade routes of the time, see Izak Cornelius, “‘Trading Religions’ and ‘Visible Religion’ in the Ancient Near East,” in Religions and Trade: Religious Formation, Transformation and Cross-Cultural Exchange between East and West, ed. Peter Wick and Volker Rabens (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 144–155.

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representatives in the satrapy, while at the same time it would signify their closeness to the king, which in turn would enhance their exalted status.88

This description has important implications for the way we view the cult in Jerusalem. We have seen above that local citizens were employed as governors and representatives of the Persian Empire in Jerusalem. Should this description above hold true of the situation in the satrapal and provincial centres, those locals who officiated on behalf of the Persian Empire would have been in an “in-between” situation in that they would have been part of the Yahwistic community, serving in the restored temple in Jerusalem, but simultaneously would also have to show their allegiance to the Empire by honouring Ahuramazda. Some scholars have seen a more hard-line religious approach in the Persian Empire from the time of Xerxes and suggested that this might also have had an influence in Jerusalem. This view arises particularly on account of an interpretation of the so-called Daiva inscription (XPh), which was written by Xerxes in approximately 480 B. C. E.89 The text was discovered as part of the fortification texts in Persepolis. The following paragraphs from this text have been influential in this debate: Proclaims Xerxes, the king: When I became king, there is among those countries which (are) inscribed above (one, which) was in turmoil. Afterwards Auramazdā brought me aid; by the favour of Auramazdā I defeated that country and put it in its proper place. And among those countries there were (some), where formerly the Daivas have been worshipped. Afterwards by the favour of Auramazdā I destroyed that place of the Daivas, and I gave orders: “The Daivas shall not be worshipped any longer!” Wherever formerly the Daivas have been worshipped, there I worshipped Auramazdā at the proper time and in the proper ceremonial style. (XPh, lines 28–41)90

It is difficult to translate the key word in this section, daivas.91 Some would translate it with “demons”, suggesting that Xerxes saw other deities as “demons”, over and against the true god Ahuramazda. This inscription would then be a harsh indication of religious intolerance and the utmost promotion of Ahuramazda as sole deity. The Daiva inscription is often interpreted within the context of the fairly negative image of Xerxes painted in classical Greek literature. There he is portrayed as the destroyer of temples and the one who vandalised the Babylonian 88 Ibid.,

68–69. remarks about this text: “This inscription, which is one of the most important texts by King Xerxes with regard to its content and message, is one of the most-discussed texts, too, chiefly in connection with its date and its implications for the historical geography and the religious history of Ancient Iran” (The Old Persian Inscriptions of Naqsh-I Rustam and Persepolis, 2:93). 90 Translation of Ibid. 91 See Clarisse Herrenschmidt and Jean Kellens, “Daiva,” Encyclopaedia Iranica, VI 6, accessed October 7, 2014, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/daiva-old-iranian-noun. 89 Schmitt

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religious landscape.92 Recent discussions have started re-evaluating this very negative image of Xerxes. Increasingly, scholars have associated this inscription with the rebellions with which Xerxes had to cope during the early years of his reign. Whereas Cyrus the Great could be seen as the initiator of the Empire, and Darius I as the builder, Xerxes had the task of stabilising the Empire during rebellions in Egypt and Babylonia.93 Harrison points out the following about the interpretation of the Daiva inscription within the context of newer scholarship: Recent work … has pointed out the ahistorical nature of the text: that, far from specifying a particular location for the ‘daivas’, or even referring to any specific occasion, the text is making a more general point, warning against rebellion from royal power. It may not quite be the case to say that the worship of daivas ‘describes’ rebellion, but it is at least a reasonable deduction from the fact of rebellion. Moreover, though Xerxes worships Ahuramazda on the site of the demons’ own worship, he does not, it has been pointed out, require others to do the same: he is not proselytising or imposing Persian gods on their subject peoples.94 92 Amélie Kuhrt (“Reassessing the Reign of Xerxes in the Light of New Evidence,” in Extraction & Control. Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper, ed. Michael Kozuh et al., Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 68 [Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2014], 163–69) traces this fairly negative portrayal of Xerxes back to the scholarship of George Cameron and Franz de Liagre Böhl, whose work in the second quarter of the twentieth century indicated that Xerxes destroyed the Marduk sanctuary in Babylon during one of his campaigns, resulting into the New Year’s festival no longer being celebrated. They furthermore claimed that Xerxes was no longer called “King of Babylon” after that campaign, and that his division of Babylonia into two provinces was seen as a further humiliation. Kuhrt indicates that this negative portrayal “was based on a careless reading of Herodotus combined with incomplete Babylonian evidence and an implicit wish to make very disparate types of material harmonize with a presumed ‘knowledge’ of Xerxes’ actions, policies, and character” (Ibid., 166). See also Kuhrt’s earlier publication: Amélie Kuhrt and Susan Sherwin-White, “Xerxes’ Destruction of Babylonian Temples,” ed. Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Amélie Kuhrt (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1987), 67–78. 93 Matt Waters calls Xerxes “the Expander of the Realm” (Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., chap. 7). For more background on the rebellions with which Xerxes had to cope, see his description in the mentioned chapter. 94  Harrison, Writing Ancient Persia, 81. Maria Brosius comes to a similar conclusion: “Here Xerxes refers to a country in rebellion which had worshipped demons. He destroyed their sanctuaries and proudly announced that he now worshipped Ahuramazda in this country instead. This is a difficult inscription to understand, not only because we do not know which country Xerxes is actually referring to, but also because of the difficulty of determining which tense is being used in the inscription. Therefore it is possible that Xerxes speaks only in general terms: if a country follows a religion (which turns the country against the Persian king), then I will eliminate that religion and establish my power (i. e. worship Ahuramazda) in its place. Yet in any case, it is important to note that the cult of Ahuramazda will not be imposed on the people, but that Xerxes will worship Ahuramazda there – a significant distinction” (The Persians, 70). Matt Waters agrees: “In it, Xerxes’ claims are strident but not specific: he restored order by defeating offenders. In those places where the daiva were worshipped – and, by extension, where Ahuramazda was not worshipped – Xerxes made certain that the proper worship of Ahuramazda was (re?)-instituted. What does that mean? Is Xerxes referring to Babylonia, Greece, Egypt, somewhere else? Perhaps the best answer is all of them and none of them – by that it is meant that Xerxes’ expression is an idealized one: a powerful, but generalized, expression of the

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To summarise this discussion: the latest interpretations of the reign of Xerxes and the Daiva inscription indicate that one should not necessarily see a change of direction in terms of religious policy in the later part of the Persian Empire.95 Although one should also not “over-interpret” the inclusive religious stance of the Achaemenids on the basis of an anachronistic understanding of “religious tolerance”, one may safely assume that there was no explicit threat to the religions in the subjugated areas, including the Yahwistic community in Yehud. We have come to the end of our discussion of the first level of socio-historical existence in Yehud in the late Persian era, namely the broad context of the Persian Empire. We can now move to the second and narrower level, namely existence in relation to surrounding nations and provinces.

3.4.2 Surrounded by Nations and Provinces: The Provincial Context We indicated above that Yehud formed part of the Persian satrap Beyond-the-River, which included the vast area to the south-west of the great Mesopotamian rivers as far as Egypt. This satrap included numerous different provinces. We have also seen that it is difficult to tell when exactly the proclamation of Yehud as an independent province took place, but that it probably happened in the last years of the fifth century B. C. E. The provincial constellation of the late Persian period was, as we have seen from other studies discussed above, in many instances a continuation of the provincial organisation which was already in place during the Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian periods. However, one should also remember that some affiliations and relationships with the surrounding peoples existed in earlier times before the different exilic experiences under the Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian regimes. The two kingdoms Judah and Israel are in the background, as well as the sometimes troublesome relationship between them. Furthermore, these two kingdoms also had relations with surrounding nations who shared the geographical area of the Levant. Yehud’s relationship with the surrounding provinces in the late Persian period was therefore nothing new, although the broader socio-historical circumstances, as well as the regional organisation, were totally different than before. Our further discussion will make a distinction between the province of Samaria to the north and the other surrounding provinces, mainly to the east, south and west. The relationship with Samaria was particularly important, because this royal ideology that may not apply to one specific episode or place. We cannot say that Xerxes did not specifically apply these sentiments to one or more of his conquests, but we also cannot find evidence that the compulsory worship of Ahuramazda was instituted anywhere” (Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 B. C. E., 119). 95 See also the balanced description of Xerxes’ reign in Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, chap. 13.

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was the area of the former rival kingdom, Israel. Furthermore, Samaria shared with Yehud not only a people of the same cultural background, but also of the same religion, namely Yahwism.96 In the discussion on the other surrounding provinces, emphasis will be placed on Idumea, who shared the same military fate as Yehud in the transition from the fifth to the fourth centuries B. C. E. 3.4.2.1 Samaria The study of Samaria and the Samarians / ​Samaritans has become a popular topic in present-day research.97 This research is important, not only to trace the history of origin of the Samaritans, who were well known in the early Christian communities and still exist as a group today, but also to gain a better understanding of the “parting of the ways” of Jews and Samaritans in the period between the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.98 It will also provide more insight into the relationship between Samaria and Yehud as two provinces during the late Persian period. Present scholarship, from different disciplinary angles, attests to the fact that the province of Samaria, whose geographical area more or less coincided with that of the former Kingdom of Israel, was far better established than Yehud to its south during the Persian period. Knoppers describes this situation as follows:

96 Gary Knoppers states the following, for example: “Culturally speaking, Samaria and Yehud shared much in common. Indeed, in speaking of two separate provinces of Samaria and Yehud, one has to recognize that such a distinction is inherently an administrative and political one and not so much a cultural one” (“Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period [Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006], 279). 97 See e. g. the two book-length recent publications that were dedicated to this topic: Magnar Kartveit, The Origin of the Samaritans, VTS 128 (Leiden: Brill, 2009); Gary N. Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans: The Origins and History of Their Early Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). See also the essay collections which stemmed from conferences on the topic: Menaḥēm Môr, Friedrich V. Reiterer, and Waltraud Winkler, eds., Samaritans – Past and Present. Current Studies, Studia Samaritana 5 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010); József Zsengellér, ed., Samaria, Samarians, Samaritans, Studia Samaritana 6 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011); Jörg Frey, Ursula Schattner-Rieser, and Konrad Schmid, eds., Die Samaritaner und die Bibel – The Samaritans and the Bible, Studia Samaritana 7 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012). 98 Becking investigates some written evidence from the Mount Gerizim excavations to ascertain whether there were already signs at an early stage of the Samaritan cult going its own way in contrast to the Jerusalem cult. See Bob Becking, “Do the Earliest Samaritan Inscriptions Already Indicate a Parting of the Ways?,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 213–22. Becking concludes: “The written evidence excavated on Mount Gerizim does not allow the conclusion that, from its very beginning, the religion of the Samari(t)ans differed from the religion of the Yehudites … Until new evidence is found, we have to assume that the origins of Samaritanism as a specific religion are still buried under the dust of history and that the parting of the ways most likely was the result of a long process of independent developments on both sides of the divide” (here 220). See also Kartveit, The Origin of the Samaritans.

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The Jerusalem of the Achaemenid era has been described as a village with an administrative center. In contrast, the Samaria of the Achaemenid era has been described as one of ancient Palestine’s larger, urban areas. If so, we are dealing not with a situation of comparability but with a situation of disparity. One regional center was substantially larger and wealthier than the other. The difference between the two provinces and their two capitals cannot but have affected the intelligentsia of Jerusalem. During the Achaemenid era, members of the Judean elite were not dealing with a depopulated outback to the north. Quite the contrary, they were dealing with a province that was larger, better established, and considerably more populous than was Yehud.99

We know this through archaeological evidence, but also through other fields such as epigraphy, iconography and numismatics. Izak Cornelius, for example, compares the iconography of seals and coins from Persian period Yehud and Samaria with one another. He comes to the following conclusion: Different communities were living in the regions of Yehud and Samaria. They were rivals, but had some things in common: both regions were part of the Persian Satrapy “beyond the river,” both used seals, both were allowed to mint coins and both worshipped YHWH. But here the similarity ends – the motifs used on the seals and coins were totally different. It is argued that the motifs in the iconography of the seals and coinage reflect different symbol systems, different identities. The people living in Samaria were more “open” to foreign ideas, as reflected in the rich imagery of the Wadi Daliyeh material. Samaria also had a more mixed population (worshipping different deities, in addition to YHWH, as can be ascertained from the divine names in the Wadi Daliyeh texts) and this is reflected not only by their seals (Wadi Daliyeh), but also in their coinage. The seal and coin imagery discussed provides important sources for researching the Persian period (Second Temple period), including its literature. These sources provide additional historical evidence, perhaps also with regard to identity formation in this period. The imagery of seals and coins from Yehud and Samaria were different; this was indeed “a tale of … two cities”.100

Oren Tal, who did a similar exercise to that of Cornelius of comparing the coinage from Yehud, Samaria, Filistia and Idumea, also hints in the direction of Samaria showing a greater “openness” to outside influence than Yehud. Although several Samarian coins show the geographical name of the province, or have a variety of names of officials on them, Tal reminds scholars of the fact that the majority of Samarian coins do not bear any inscriptions. He indicates that “[t]hey are defined as Samarian on the basis of circulation, fabric, metrology, and especially iconography.”101 He further indicates: “The main artistic influence of the Samarian coinage is categorically Achaemenid … and it can be safely deduced  99 Knoppers,

“Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period,” 272–273. Cornelius, “‘A Tale of Two Cities’. The Visual Imagery of Yehud and Samaria, and Identity / ​Self-Understanding in Persian-Period Palestine,” in Texts, Contexts and Readings in Post-exilic Literature: Explorations into Historiography and Identity Negotiation in Hebrew Bible and Related Texts, ed. Louis C. Jonker, FAT II 53 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 227. 101 Oren Tal, “Negotiating Identity in an International Context under Achaemenid Rule: The Indigenous Coinages of Persian-Period Palestine as an Allegory,” in Judah and the Judeans in 100 Izak

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that more than half the Samarian coin types show Achaemenid motifs and artistic influences.”102 On the basis of this observation he then asks: “Can we understand the Samarian coinage … as a token of Samarian loyalty to the throne based on the fact that most Samarian coins show strong Achaemenid influence?”103 However, although the above-mentioned studies tend to emphasise the differences between Samaria and Yehud, Gary Knoppers warns that they should not distract from the strong continuities that also existed between these provinces. He argues: Culturally speaking, Samaria and Yehud shared much in common. Indeed, in speaking of two separate provinces of Samaria and Yehud, one has to recognize that such a distinction is inherently an administrative and political one and not so much a cultural one. Attempts at self-definition may have been necessary for some of the elite in Jerusalem precisely because of the similarities between the Yahwists living in the two territories.104

The issue of Yahwism in the northern province of Samaria raises the question of whether there was any sanctuary in this province? It has emerged in excavations of the past two decades that it is highly likely that there was some sort of sanctuary or temple on Mount Gerizim already during the Persian period.105 Whereas scholars had theorised before (on the basis of indications in Josephus) that the origin of a sanctuary on Mount Gerizim should be sought at the end of the Persian period, Yitzhak Magen argues that it must already have been constructed in the middle of the fifth century B. C. E.106 Knoppers spells out the implication of this: This means that in addition to whatever Yahwistic shrines existed in the Diaspora, such as the Judean temple at Elephantine … there were at least two Yahwistic shrines within the land itself. A third Yahwistic shrine may have existed in Khirbet el-Qom (4th century B. C. E.), serving the small Judean community that existed in northern Idoumea.107 the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context, ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 451. 102  Ibid. 103 Ibid., 455. 104 Knoppers, “Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period,” 279. 105 See particularly the publications of Magen: Yitzhak Magen, “A Fortified City from the Hellenistic Period on Mount Gerizim,” Qadmoniot 19 (1986): 91–101; Yitzhak Magen, “Mount Gerizim  – A Temple City,” Qadmoniot 23 (92 1991): 70–96; Yitzhak Magen, “Mt. Gerizim – A Temple City,” Qadmoniot 33 (2000): 74–118; Ephraim Stern and Yitzhak Magen, “Archaeological Evidence for the First Stage of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim,” Israel Exploration Journal 52 (2002): 49–57; Yitzhak Magen, “The Dating of the First Phase of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim in Light of the Archaeological Evidence,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 157–211; Yitzhak Magen, Mount Gerizim Excavations. Vol. II: A Temple City, Jerusalem (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2008). 106 Magen, “The Dating of the First Phase of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim in Light of the Archaeological Evidence,” 190–193. 107 Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans, 125.

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If these conclusions about the sanctuary on Mount Gerizim are correct, it means that there was already diversity of sanctuaries during the time when the Chronicler constructed his history. Such a situation would have meant continuity, but also opposition. Both the temple in Jerusalem and the sanctuary on Mount Gerizim were sanctuaries dedicated to Yahweh. However, the old rivalry of the time of the Divided Kingdoms about which version of Yahwism was considered the truthful one must have received new impetus during the Persian era. As was already mentioned in the Knoppers quotation above, these were not the only two Yahweh sanctuaries during the time, however. Our further discussion on other surrounding provinces will return to this issue. 3.4.2.2 Other Surrounding Provinces / ​Regions Two other regions that dominated the provincial scene during the Persian era were Phoenicia (including the coast and the Shephelah), as well as Idumea and Arabia (including the Transjordanian regions).108 The coastal area between Tyre and Ashkelon was controlled by Phoenicia, which was a strategic partner of the Persians in terms of maritime trade routes. Only Gaza seems to have remained independent throughout the Persian era. Grabbe summarises the implications of this regional situation along the coast for Yehud in the following points: (1) [T]he prosperity of the Phoenicians would have been a significant contrast with that of the less-favoured province of Judah; (2) the influence of Phoenician and also Greek material culture would have been great, especially on Samaria but also on Judah; (3) the coastal settlements would no doubt have attracted Jewish settlers and entrepreneurs who hoped to make a fortune but could not do so in their homeland; (4) despite the favours bestowed by the Persian government on the Phoenicians, there is no indication of exemption from taxation or other special measures such as are alleged for the Jews in the book of Ezra.109

To the south and the east there were further regions which most probably functioned as Persian provinces alongside Yehud. The area of Arabia is difficult to define, since the sources are somewhat indefinite. It seems, however, that it included not only the Transjordan, but also a great part of the Arabian peninsula, the Negev and Sinai, and the coastal region south of Gaza. With reference to Knauf, Grabbe indicates that “the most convincing way of describing the administration in Arabia seems to be that it was ‘dimorphic’, that is, with a Persian governor (or governors) alongside a native king or ruler.”110 Although it is difficult to confirm because of a lack of direct evidence, it is likely that Ammon, Moab and Edom in Transjordan also operated as Persian 108 Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1, 159–166. 109 Ibid., 161–162. 110 Ibid., 163.

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provinces during the imperial rule. These areas, together with Arabia and Gaza (which also had its own coin system in this period), accumulated significant wealth as a result of the spice trade with Persian, Greek and Phoenician traders. The origin and role of Edom / ​Idumea during this era form further focal points in present scholarship on the late Persian period.111 Much insight has been gained from studying the Aramaic ostraca from Mareshah and Makkedah (Khirbet elQom).112 André Lemaire draws some interesting conclusions about Idumea on the basis of the information he gained from the vast number of Aramaic ostraca that came from a find “which is probably to be located at Khirbet el-Kôm / ​ Makkedah, about halfway between Hebron and Lachish.”113 First, he indicates that many of these ostraca record taxes in kind. The dating scheme used in these documents increasingly makes it clear “that they are somehow connected with Achaemenid administration.”114 Second, the ostraca include several theophoric elements characteristic of a variety of ethnicities. A minority of the names are formed with the element “Yaho.” On account of his reconstruction of the text on one ostracon Lemaire hypothesises that there could have been a “house of Yaho”, that is, a sanctuary of Yahweh in Makkedah, similar to that found in Elephantine and on Mount Gerizim. Lemaire states: Unfortunately we have no information about the kind of cult that was practiced in the Idumean temple. What we can underline is the fact that it is no longer possible to speak about the Yahwistic cult during the Persian Period by taking into account only the Temple in Jerusalem.115

111 Amos Kloner and Ian Stern, “Idumea in the Late Persian Period (Fourth Century B. C. E.),” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 139–44; Yigal Levin, “The Southern Frontier of Yehud and the Creation of Idumea,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, ed. Yigal Levin (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 239–52; Amos Kloner, “The Identity of the Idumeans Based on the Archaeological Evidence from Maresha,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context, ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 563–73. 112 André Lemaire, “New Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea and Their Historical Interpretation,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 413–56; Esther Eshel, “Two Aramaic Ostraca from Mareshah,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, ed. Yigal Levin (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 171–78; Esther Eshel, “The Onomasticon of Mareshah in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 145–56; Ian Stern, “The Population of Persian-Period Idumea according to the Ostraca: A Study of Ethnic Boundaries and Ethnogenesis,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, ed. Yigal Levin (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 205–38. 113 Lemaire, “New Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea and Their Historical Interpretation,” 413. 114 Ibid., 414. 115 Ibid., 417.

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Third, Lemaire argues that the Aramaic ostraca give us, directly or indirectly, a glimpse of five centuries of the history of southern Palestine.116 He distinguishes nine steps in the historical development of Idumea, of which we highlight three here. In the middle of the sixth century B. C. E. the old Kingdom of Edom was defeated by Nabonidus the Babylonian and it was made part of the Neo-Babylonian province of Arabia. After Cyrus II defeated Babylon in 539 B. C. E. the province of Arabia became part of the allied Kingdom of Kedar. At the beginning of the fourth century B. C. E., however, the Kingdom of Kedar disappeared, probably because it joined Egypt in revolting against their Persian masters. Lemaire indicates that “[a]t this time, southern Palestine was reorganised under firmer control of the Great King. Gaza became a Persian garrison town and the rest of southern Palestine became the Achaemenid province of Idumea.”117 This information correlates with our discussion above, where it was indicated that the Egyptian revolt at the beginning of the fourth century B. C. E. probably focused the attention of the Persian imperial centre anew on Yehud and Idumea as the border zone with the rebelling southern part of the Empire. In summary: This subsection has shown that Samaria to the north of the province of Yehud, but also the provincial areas surrounding Yehud on the west, east and south, were in close interaction with one another and with Yehud. This provincial dynamics, particularly in terms of economy and religion, must have had a shaping influence on the mindscape within which which the writer of Chronicles formulated his history. However, there is another level to explore, namely the relationship between Judah and Benjamin within the province of Yehud.

3.4.3 Brothers of Old: Judah and Benjamin The Joseph novella in the book of Genesis (Gen. 37–50) presents the reader with inter alia a fascinating perspective on the brothers Judah and Benjamin. They were among the twelve sons of Jacob. The narrator indicates Judah as the one who protects his youngest brother, Benjamin, from being taken by the Egyptians during one of their excursions to this Bread Basket during a famine in Canaan. It is not our task here to interpret this narrative, or to argue about its historicity. Scholars are unanimous, however, that this narrative rather expresses some sentiments about tribal relations in a later period. During the Persian period the former tribal areas of both Judah and Benjamin were included in the province of Yehud (as we shall see below). It is difficult 116 Esther Eshel states: “One of the accepted notions is that the Idumeans had migrated from Transjordan to the Negev and from there to the southern parts of Judah and later to the Judean Shephelah” (Eshel, “Two Aramaic Ostraca from Mareshah,” 178). 117 Lemaire, “New Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea and Their Historical Interpretation,” 418–419.

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not only to determine the outer borders of Yehud during this time period, but also where the border between these former tribal areas was situated. There is a consensus among scholars that it must have been very near to Jerusalem. There are some biblical indications (in Josh. 18:28 and Judg. 1:21) that would suggest that Jerusalem was even considered by some, or at some stage, to be part of the Benjaminite territory. This cannot be established with certainty, since archaeological evidence does not allow such detailed conclusions. However, the proximity of this tribal border to Jerusalem and the fact that borders shifted over time most certainly created awareness in Jerusalem of the contiguity of Benjamin and Judah. What is clear, however, is that the relationship between these two areas – on political, economic and cultic level – was always full of tension. The following description gives a short overview of the history of this area, as well as of the relationship between Israel and Benjamin, on the one hand, and Benjamin and Judah, on the other. The early, pre-exilic, history of Benjamin remains a matter of dispute in scholarship.118 The area of Benjamin plays an important role in debates about the emergence of the monarchy in Israel.119 It seems that Benjamin had a long history of being some sort of a buffer zone between the Ephraimite areas of the north, which were associated with Israel, and the Judahite areas to the south, which formed the centre of the Kingdom of Judah. It is not exactly clear whether the tribal area of Benjamin was initially affiliated with the northern kingdom, 118 One of the earliest full-length studies on Benjamin was written by Klaus-Dietrich Schunck. See Klaus-Dietrich Schunck, Benjamin; Untersuchungen zur Entstehung und Geschichte eines israelitischen Stammes, BZAW 86 (Berlin: A. Töpelmann, 1963). See also the later summary of his views in Klaus-Dietrich Schunck, “Benjamin,” Anchor Bible Dictionary, 1 (New York: Doubleday, 1992). Benjamin Giffone rightly indicates that the study of the history of Benjamin is extremely difficult, mainly for three reasons: “First, archaeological reconstructions are always provisional and can only provide certain types of evidence, such as settlement patterns – not necessarily the identities or self-understandings of the inhabitants of the various settlements … Second, the biblical narratives themselves portray the borders of Benjaminite territory as shifting over time. The apparent fluidity of the borders of Benjaminite, Northern / ​Samarian, Judahite, and Philistine territories makes definite, precise statements about the interactions between these groups quite difficult … Third, the written evidence for the history of Benjamin is embedded within the decidedly pro-Judah, pro-Levi biblical texts … [T]he biblical portraits of Benjamin are not always hostile – but some biblical portraits certainly are hostile to Benjamin and should be appropriately discounted” (“Sit at My Right Hand: The Chronicler’s Portrait of the Tribe of Benjamin in the Social Context of Yehud” ([Thesis, Stellenbosch: Stellenbosch University, 2014], 78–79, http://scholar.sun.ac.za/handle/10019.1/86500). 119 See e. g. Avraham Faust, “Settlement Patterns and State Formation in Southern Samaria and the Archaeology of (a) Saul,” in Saul in Story and Tradition, ed. Carl S. Ehrlich and Marsha C. White, FAT 47 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 14–38; Israel Finkelstein, The Forgotten Kingdom: The Archaeology and History of Northern Israel, ANEM 5 (Atlanta: SBL, 2013), Chap. 2.

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Israel, or rather with the southern kingdom, Judah.120 Some even suggest that it was initially affiliated with the north, but at some time switched its allegiance to the south. After examining the different viewpoints, Giffone comes to the following balanced conclusion: Economic activity is dynamic; ethnic and religious identities exhibit fluidity and flexibility. Any reconstruction of the political status of Benjamin during the divided monarchy must take these facts into consideration. Given that the written evidence seems to associate Benjamin with both the North and the South, it is reasonable to suggest that some Benjaminite families, settlements and towns switched their primary allegiances (in one direction or the other) at different times. The ethnic / ​clan association with Ephraim seems to have been stronger, but the geography of Benjamin made economic, political and military ties with Judah a necessity as well.121

What is generally accepted in the scholarship, however, is that after the destruction of Jerusalem in 587/6 B. C. E. by the Neo-Babylonian force, the Benjaminite area gained importance. It is fairly certain that it became the centre of a Babylonian province, and that Mizpah in Benjaminite territory became an important

120  Na’aman argues that Benjamin was a constituent part of the emerging southern monarchy, Judah. He argues: “[T]he stories of Saul and his house are no less Judahite than those of David. The two tribes were part and parcel of the kingdom of Judah in the monarchical period, and the story cycles that describe their history were composed by scribes in the court of Jerusalem. These narratives, long transmitted in the oral tradition, memorialized the intricate and complicated way in which the monarchy in Judah arose as a union of its two main tribal components, Benjamin and Judah. The memories of the close relations and the domination of Saul and David in the Gilead, and the absence of the highlands of Ephraim and Manasseh from the narratives, are important clues for reconstructing the emergence of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah in the 10th century” Nadav Naʼaman, “Saul, Benjamin and the Emergence of ‘Biblical Israel’ (Part 2),” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 121/3 (2009): 347. See also the first part of his argumentation in Nadav Naʼaman, “Saul, Benjamin and the Emergence of ‘Biblical Israel’ (Part 1),” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 121/2 (2009): 211–24. Finkelstein accuses Na’aman of relying too heavily on the biblical literature for his reconstruction and not enough on archaeological evidence. He furthermore says that Na’aman bases his opinion on the state of affairs in late monarchic times, i. e. the 8th and 7th centuries B. C. E., and then retrojects that situation into the earlier Judahite history. Finkelstein represents a position where Benjamin is closely associated with the northern kingdom. See Israel Finkelstein, “The Emergence of the Monarchy in Israel: The Environmental and Socio-Economic Aspects,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 44 (1989): 43–74; Finkelstein, The Forgotten Kingdom, Chap. 2. See also further studies: Yigal Levin, “Joseph, Judah and the ‘Benjamin Conundrum,’” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 116/2 (2004): 223–41; Faust, “Settlement Patterns and State Formation in Southern Samaria and the Archaeology of (a) Saul”; Philip R. Davies, “The Origin of Biblical Israel,” in Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman, ed. Yairah Amit et al. (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 141–48; Philip R. Davies, “The Trouble with Benjamin,” in Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld, ed. Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim, and W. Brian Aucker, Supplements to Vetus Testamentum, v. 113 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 93–112. 121 Giffone, “Sit at My Right Hand,” 84.

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administrative centre for the next approximately 140 years.122 It is known from the biblical writings that the Babylonians appointed Gedaliah as regent in this area, with his seat in Mizpah. Archaeological evidence supports the picture of continuity with the past in this area. Oded Lipschits summarises the archaeological evidence as follows: [N]o evidence emerges of destruction at the beginning of the sixth century, apart from the razing of parts of Tell el-Fûl. At all the excavated sites evidence of continuity of settlement exists between the seventh and sixth centuries, and of their existence throughout the time of Babylonian rule, until the last third of the sixth century. Two major sites existed in the Benjamin region in the period following the destruction of Jerusalem: at Mizpah the administrative centre was apparently located. Finds discovered there attest to a Babylonian presence, together with evidence of the continued existence of local traditions. It remained fortified, and in it were homes of well-to-do people as well as buildings that may be interpreted as storehouses. Gibeon apparently continued to be a wine-producing centre; its activity might even have expanded, and the city integrated into the framework of the provincial administration. The place had great economic importance for the Benjamin region, and it might have served as an industrial centre for the winemaking activity in the region.123

A change came, however, from the end of the sixth and during the fifth and fourth centuries B. C. E. Archaeological excavation and survey data show that the Benjaminite region then went through a period of decline, with Mizpah and other centres such as Bet-el, Gibeon and Gibeah losing inhabitants and influence.124 This decline is generally associated with the resettling and rebuilding of Jerusalem after the return from exile of many of the cultic and political elite who 122 See e. g. Grabbe and Knoppers: “The question of Jerusalem as a cult and political centre arises, because Mizpah had become the capital of the province through much of the Neo-Babylonian period. Some argue that Mizpah continued to serve as the political centre of Judah until the mid-5th century (the arrival of Nehemiah)” (“Introduction,” in Exile and Restoration Revisited: Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd, ed. Gary N. Knoppers, Lester L. Grabbe, and Deirdre N. Fulton, LSTS 73 [London: T & T Clark, 2009], 20). See also Ianir Milevski, “Settlement Patterns in Northern Judah during the Achaemenid Period, According to the Hill Country of Benjamin and Jerusalem Surveys,” Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 15 (1996/1997): 7–29; Joseph Blenkinsopp, “The Judaean Priesthood during the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Periods: A Hypothetical Reconstruction,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 60/1 (1998): 25–43; Oded Lipschits, “Jerusalem between Two Periods of Greatness: The Size and Status of the City in the Babylonian, Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods,” in Judah between East and West: The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (ca. 400–200 B. C. E.), ed. Lester L. Grabbe, LSTS 75 (London: T & T Clark, 2011), 163–74. 123 Oded Lipschits, “The History of the Benjamin Region under Babylonian Rule,” Tel Aviv 26 (1999): 179. See also Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem, chap. 4. 124 Lipschits indicates that survey data show a drop of around 60 % in the number of sites from the Iron Age II to the Persian period (“The History of the Benjamin Region under Babylonian Rule,” 181). He furthermore indicates that “[t]he major conclusion arising from these facts [i. e. the survey data – LCJ] is that in the Persian period the settlements in Benjamin withdrew towards the centre of the region, to the narrow sector on either side of the watershed, while the northern and eastern zones became almost entirely devoid of their settlements” (Ibid., 182).

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had been deported earlier. The early Persian period saw the main administrative centre moved to Jerusalem again, and – as we have seen above – the province of Yehud, consisting of (parts of) both the (former) Judahite and Benjaminite areas, was later proclaimed as an independent Persian province. Giffone is of the opinion that the tension, or even conflict, between the remainees from the exile period (she’erît) and the returnees from Babylon (golah) had its origin in part in the Judah-Benjamin relationship.125 He rightly indicates in his discussion of scholarly viewpoints on this issue (including those of Lester Grabbe and Lisbeth Fried) that one should not oversimplify the situation though. Both distinctions, namely being part of the she’erît or the golah, and being from Benjamin or from Judah, played a role in creating a very complex and tense situation during the Persian period. This discussion will be taken further in the next subsection. Many scholars have suggested that the biblical data on Benjamin reflect the difficult and varying relationship between the Judahite-dominated cult and political centre of Jerusalem and the area of Benjamin, together with its claims.126 The Saul narratives, for example, might reflect an old (or later) rivalry about political domination, with Saul being a Benjaminite and David a Judahite. In the Persian period, and particularly after the proclamation of the province of Yehud, Jerusalem tried to regain its old sphere of influence and had to cope with the fact that Mizpah in Benjaminite territory was much more unaffected by the Neo-Babylonian destruction. Benjaminite affiliation persisted as a topos in literature of much later periods. For example, in the book of Esther, which most probably comes from the Hellenistic period, Mordecai the guardian of Esther is indicated to be from the tribe of Benjamin. According to some scholars, this reference rehabilitates the Saul tradition in the history of Israel, and serves as characterisation of Mordecai and Esther as virtuous.127 Even in the New Testament writings Saul is also indicated in numerous texts as somebody from the tribe of Benjamin. It is not clear why that would be a significant qualification in the early Christian period.

125 Giffone,

“Sit at My Right Hand,” 90. e. g. Yairah Amit, “The Saul Polemic in the Persian Period,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 647–61; Joseph Blenkinsopp, “Benjamin Traditions Read in the Early Persian Period,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 629–45; Louis C. Jonker, “Revisiting the Saul Narrative in Chronicles: Interacting with the Persian Imperial Context?” Old Testament Essays 23/2 (2010): 283–305; Louis C. Jonker, “Of Jebus, Jerusalem, and Benjamin: The Chronicler’s Sondergut in 1 Chronicles 21 against the Background of the Late Persian Era in Yehud,” in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul Evans and Tyler Williams (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 81–102. 127 Amit, “The Saul Polemic in the Persian Period.” 126 See

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In summary: Although many aspects of Benjaminite history remain in the shade, or even the dark, we have good evidence from archaeology that the post-exilic Persian period was a significant period of transition for both the Benjamin region and Yehud / ​Jerusalem. It is particularly important to take into account these circumstances in the late Persian period, when Yehud was proclaimed as a province and Jerusalem was regaining influence as an administrative and cultic centre, to the detriment of Benjamin. This third level of socio-historic existence therefore formed part of the mindscape within which the literature from this period, like Chronicles, should be interpreted. This brings us to the last of the four levels, namely the cultic situation in Jerusalem.

3.4.4 Levites and Priests: The Inner-Yehudite Cultic Context Jerusalem was not a big place during the latter part of the Persian period.128 Archaeological evidence shows that Jerusalem was heavily affected by the Babylonian destruction in the first part of the sixth century B. C. E. There was a tremendous drop in population and populated area in Jerusalem and in the immediate surroundings.129 We have seen in our discussion above that is in contrast to the Benjaminite territory, which did not suffer the same fate. Although there are different interpretations of the available archaeological data, it seems that the Persian-period Yehud had a population between 12,000 and 30,000,130 with Jerusalem having between about 400 and 3,000 inhabitants.131 According to Lipschits, this situation continued until the Hellenistic period: 128 The

implications of this fact for our understanding of a literate class in Jerusalem have already been discussed above (§ 3.3). 129 Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem, 218. 130 Israel Finkelstein is of the opinion, based on calculations from the archaeological survey data, that Yehud could not have had a population of more than 12,000. See Israel Finkelstein, “The Territorial Extent and Demography of Yehud / ​Judea in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods,” Revue Biblique 117/1 (2010): 39–54. See also Finkelstein, “Persian Period Jerusalem and Yehud: A Rejoinder.” He argues against the numbers suggested by Carter and Lipschits, who offer estimates of double this number or more. See Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period, 195–205; Oded Lipschits, “Demographic Changes in Judah Between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries B. C. E.,” ed. Oded Lipschits and Joseph Blenkinsopp (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 323–76; Oded Lipschits, “Persian Period Finds from Jerusalem: Facts and Interpretations,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2010): Article 20. 131 On the basis of his calculation principles and interpretation of the survey data, Israel Finkelstein again has the lower number, compared to Carter and Lipschits. See again Finkelstein, “The Territorial Extent and Demography of Yehud / ​Judea in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods”; Finkelstein, “Persian Period Jerusalem and Yehud: A Rejoinder”; Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period; Lipschits, “Demographic Changes in Judah Between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries B. C. E.”; Lipschits, “Persian Period Finds from Jerusalem: Facts and Interpretations.” See also Ussishkin, “The Borders and De Facto Size of Jerusalem in the Persian Period.”

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In light of th[e] clear archaeological evidence, we should interpret the ‘Return to Zion’ as a slow and gradual process that did not leave its imprint on the archaeological data. Even if a real change in the history of Jerusalem occurred in the middle of the fifth century B. C. E., with the rebuild of the fortifications of Jerusalem, with all its dramatic implication on its status, it did not change the actual demographic situation of the city. Jerusalem did not become a real urban centre until the Hellenistic period.132

The increase in the status of Jerusalem since the middle of the fifth century B. C. E. (with the coming of Nehemiah and the later rebuilding of the temple) should therefore be interpreted against the background of a fairly small community. This does not mean, however, that it was an uncomplicated community! As we will see in this discussion, this relatively small community was characterised by numerous “fault lines” running through it. Many attempts have been made in scholarship to describe the sociological and economic dynamics of the community in Yehud, and particularly the temple and cult in Jerusalem. The classic formulation of Joel Weinberg of a citizen-temple community (Bürger-Tempel Gemeinde) instigated lively discussion on this aspect. However, his theory did not find acceptance in Persian-period scholarship. Weinberg envisioned in Yehud a royally authorised community that was centred around the temple in Jerusalem, but was controlled by the citizenry.133 This theory suggested that the Persian imperial centre wanted to have an economic foothold in this area because of the turmoil in Egypt at that stage. The temple in Jerusalem was particularly employed to administer this local economy for the benefit of the Persians. On their part the Persian government granted the Jerusalem temple some tax exemptions. Lester Grabbe, as one of the critics of Weinberg’s theory, does not see the temple having a separate economic role under royal auspices, apart from the provincial system and the local governor’s function.134 Benjamin Giffone draws the following balanced conclusion from the discussion between Weinberg’s theory and its opponents: Though Grabbe’s model seems more likely given recent models of the settlement patterns of Yehud in the sixth and fifth centuries, both models share the understanding that a temple in Jerusalem provided economic benefit to Yehud that could potentially have come at the expense of the surrounding provinces. In one scenario, the cult enjoyed power through some sort of subsidy or tax benefit parallel to and outside of the power of the provincial government; in the other scenario, the cult was a boon to Yehud’s provincial tax base (administered by the governor) because of wealthy patrons drawn from towns bordering other provinces.135 132 Lipschits, “Jerusalem between Two Periods of Greatness: The Size and Status of the City in the Babylonian, Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods,” 174–175. 133 Joel P. Weinberg, The Citizen-Temple Community, trans. Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, JSOTS 151 (Sheffield: JSOT, 1992). 134 See Grabbe’s evaluation of Weinberg’s theory in Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1. 135 Giffone, “Sit at My Right Hand,” 73. See also the discussions in Joseph Blenkinsopp, “Temple and Society in Achaemenid Judah,” ed. Phillip R. Davies (Sheffield: JSOT, 1991),

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We may assume that the cult in Jerusalem was not solely a religious institution, but also fulfilled an important role in local and imperial economic affairs, although we do not know exactly how. This fact necessarily complicates our understanding of the function of the cult, and particularly of the different power relations that were constituted in this context. The discussion on the different factions in the Jerusalem priesthood is therefore also a complicated one. In the past decades of scholarship numerous fulllength books and shorter contributions have already been written on this thorny issue.136 Already in the 1970s Paul Hanson, in his attempt to trace the roots of Apocalyptic, used a sociological distinction to describe the cultic community of the second temple period. He indicated that “the historical and sociological matrix of apocalyptic is found in an inner-community struggle in the period of the Second Temple between visionary and hierocratic elements.”137 According to Hanson, the visionaries criticised the hierocrats, who were in alliance with the Persian king and his use of the temple cult. Although his identification of the main factions as visionaries and hierocratics has been criticised in subsequent scholarship, the insight from sociological analyses that different factions within the Yehudite community competed to attain dominance has remained valuable for our understanding of this complex community. Richard Horsley is another scholar who has employed sociological categories and postcolonial theory to describe the very complex relationships in the Persian-period Jerusalem community.138 He indicates that it is only in recent years 22–53; Richard A. Horsley, “Empire, Temple and Community – but No Bourgeoisie: A Response to Blenkinsopp and Petersen,” in Second Temple Studies, 1 (Sheffield, England: JSOT, 1991), 163–74; Peter Ross Bedford, “On Models and Texts: A Response to Blenkinsopp and Petersen,” ed. Phillip R. Davies (Sheffield: JSOT, 1991), 154–62; Bedford, “The Economic Role of the Jerusalem Temple in Achaemenid Judah: Comparative Perspectives.” 136  See e. g. Antonius H. J.  Gunneweg, Leviten und Priester: Hauptlinien der Traditionsbildung und Geschichte des israelitisch-jüdischen Kultpersonals (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1965); Aelred Cody, A History of Old Testament Priesthood, AnBib 35 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1969); Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic. The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology, Rev. ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979); Joseph Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual Leadership in Ancient Israel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995); Lester L. Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel (Valley Forge: Trinity, 1995); Risto Nurmela, The Levites: Their Emergence as a Second-Class Priesthood (Atlanta: Scholars, 1998); Gary N. Knoppers, “Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors? The Levites in Chronicles and the History of the Israelite Priesthood,” Journal of Biblical Literature 118/1 (1999): 49–72; Joachim Schaper, Priester und Leviten im achämenidischen Juda: Studien zur Kult‑ und Sozialgeschichte Israels in persisicher Zeit, FAT 31 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); Mark Leuchter and Jeremy M. Hutton, eds., Levites and Priests in Biblical History and Tradition, Ancient Israel and Its Literature 9 (Atlanta: SBL, 2011). 137 Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic. The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology, 29. 138 Richard A. Horsley, Scribes, Visionaries, and the Politics of Second Temple Judea (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007).

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that fuller attention has been given to the ways in which imperial rule impinged on life in second-temple Yehud, “because of Persian military contingencies and strategies, imperial policies of taxation, or imperial concern to control local populations and local conflicts.” According to him, there is now a “greater awareness of how Persian imperial rule was far more intrusive than previously imagined.”139 Since he is convinced that one should “discern the social structure and consider how particular ideas might correspond to particular social locations”,140 he deliberately opts to read the biblical texts against the background of “several interrelated conflicts”: Despite, or perhaps rather because of, the arrangements imposed by the imperial regime, it is difficult to imagine that Yehud ever became a unified society under the Persians. Our sources for the period indicate several interrelated conflicts. The most fundamental, because rooted in the very structure of imperial Yehud, were two conflicts that persisted throughout second-temple history: (1) the division between those who had remained on the land after the Babylonian conquest, and the restored elite who controlled the temple-state, initially as a virtual colony of immigrants in and around Jerusalem; and (2) the division between the peasants living in village communities and the Jerusalem aristocracy centered in the high priesthood. Compounding those overlapping structural conflicts were (3) divisions between various priestly factions, which overlapped the conflict between immigrants and indigenous, and (4) struggles and maneuvering for power both between local magnates and between local magnates and the Persian governors.141

Horsley has been criticised for the fact that his constructions of social factions from the texts are too imaginative.142 His descriptions of economic relationships between village communities, Jerusalem aristocracy and the Persian imperial centre are probably too heavily influenced by his stated methodology. However, the main point of Horsley’s book, namely that different societal “fault lines” crisscrossed the late Persian period cultic community in Jerusalem, seems convincing. Particularly his emphasis on the tension between “those who had 139 Ibid.,

17.  Ibid., 7. 141 Ibid., 22. 142 Brooke criticises Horsley for the “considerable imaginative reconstruction in the social divisions that he finds in the texts” (George J. Brooke, “Review of Richard Horsley’s Scribes, Visionaries, and the Politics of Second Temple Judea,” Journal of Semitic Studies 53/2 [2008]: 380). Grabbe is also critical in his assessment of Horsley’s chapter on the Yehudite community in the Persian period: “I feel that his chapter on the Persian empire is unsatisfactory. The main problem is that he tries to synthesize several recent monographs that, in my view, promote theses that cannot be sustained in the light of our knowledge of the Persian Empire. He / ​they create a Persian Empire that I do not recognize from the sources, which is maintained only by selective reading and overinterpretation of biblical texts” (Lester L. Grabbe, “Review of ‘Scribes, Visionaries, and the Politics of Second Temple Judea,’” Review of Biblical Literature 11 (2008), http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/6119_6533.pdf). Perrin has a more favourable review, however (Andrew B. Perrin, “Review of Scribes, Visionaries, and the Politics of Second Temple Judea – By Richard A. Horsley,” Reviews in Religion & Theology 16/1 [2009]: 16–18, doi:10.1111/j.1467–9418.2008.00409_6.x). 140

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remained on the land after the Babylonian conquest, and the restored elite who controlled the temple-state”, as well as on the “divisions between various priestly factions, which overlapped the conflict between immigrants and indigenous” seems helpful and more solidly grounded. With reference to the tension between “remainees” and “returnees”, Lester Grabbe, in his interpretation of Ezra 1–6, indicates that those who returned from exile wanted to legitimise themselves as the true people of Israel: The text simply refuses to admit that there were Jewish inhabitants of the land after the deportations under Nebuchadnezzar. Probably only a minority of the people were taken away, with the tens of thousands still left. These people continued to live in Judah, work the land, raise families, carry on their daily life. Presumably they would have quietly taken over any land abandoned because the owners had been killed in fighting or deported to Babylonia. There is no suggestion that any foreign peoples were brought in to replace those deported. Where are these people – Jews – in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah? They are absent. Instead we find references to the ‘peoples of the land,’ who are identified as foreigners. One can only conclude that many, if not all, of these ‘peoples of the land’ were the Jewish descendants of those who were not deported. In the eyes of the author of Ezra, these peoples were no longer kin; the only ‘people of Israel’ were those who had gone into captivity.143

Grabbe therefore indicates that the tension between these two parts of Yehudite society was not only on account of property rights and economics, but also on account of the conflict about who was truly representing the people of Israel – thus an issue of identity negotiation.144 It is furthermore important to note that this division in society was complicated by the fact that a shift of influence in the cultic scene took place during the exilic period. Joachim Schaper provided a full-length treatment of the history of the priesthood and Levites in the Achaemenid period.145 In his review of Schaper’s book, Lester Grabbe provides a useful English summary of his historical reconstruction: At the time of Josiah, the Zadokite priesthood was in charge of the Jerusalem temple. Although the Deuteronomic law attempted to reform the system by giving the priests of 143 Lester L. Grabbe, Ezra and Nehemiah (London: Routledge, 1998), 138. See also Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1, 285–288. 144 Although far removed in terms of time and cultural-political environment, it is quite interesting to observe that an analogical situation existed in South Africa after the demise of the apartheid regime in 1990. After the release of Nelson Mandela in February 1990, many exiled supporters of the anti-apartheid struggle started returning from abroad to resettle in South Africa. Many of the returnees took up prominent positions in the ANC government after the first democratic elections in 1994. Since then an undertone of tension between those who remained in the land and fought the struggle from within and those who went into exile to mobilise the outside world against the apartheid regime can be detected in South African politics and within the ANC party. 145 Schaper, Priester und Leviten. See also Antje Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, WMANT 131 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2012).

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the local Yhwh shrines (“the Levites”) equal rights with the Zadokites, it did not succeed, and the Levites acquired only second-class status. When the Zadokites returned from exile at the beginning of the Persian period, they reasserted their traditional rights over the altar but were countered by the country Levites (the main critics) who had set up a cult in the ruins of the temple during the exile, the Abiatharites of Anathoth, and perhaps also the Aaronites of Bethel, who seem to have stepped into the breach during the exile and served as priests to those left in the land. They all argued that the Zadokites’ time out of Judah had made them impure. Zech 3:1–10 is the Zadokite response, attempting to convince the people that the newly defined office of high priest was held by a worthy individual with divine approval. While the Persian government supported the Zadokite priests, the Levites and others cooperated in the rebuilding of the temple because it was in their interests. It was during the time of Nehemiah (who came in 445 B. C. E.) and Ezra (dated to 398 B. C. E.) that the Levites were able to gain status. Nehemiah trusted neither the high priest nor the upper echelon of Zadokites but found the Levites his allies, making them into guards at the city gates. The priests retaliated by not providing the necessary support to the Levites from the temple tithes and offerings, forcing many of them to turn to farming for their livelihood (Neh 13:10–13). However, Nehemiah reversed this on his return, establishing a committee of both Levites and priests to oversee the collection and distribution of the temple dues. Ezra continued to favor the Levites, giving them new status and confidence, and the singers, gatekeepers, and Natinim, who had been separate from the Levites until the time of Ezra, merged with them toward the end of the Achaemenid period.146

This reconstruction shows that the remainee-returnee issue also had a cultic overtone. The fact that the cultic power vacuum in Jerusalem was filled by other (lesser) priestly groupings during the exile complicated the situation for the returning Zadokite priestly elite in the Persian period. The tension lines were therefore defined not only in economic terms (as indicated above), but also in terms of cultic influence and authority.147

146 Lester L. Grabbe, “Review of Priester und Leviten Im Achämenidischen Juda: Studien Zur Kult‑ und Sozialgeschichte Israels in Persischer Zeit by Joachim Schaper,” The Jewish Quarterly Review, New Series, 93/3/4 (2003): 609. 147  Two main problems confront us when studying the witnesses on the priesthood. Firstly, the common view is that the pre-exilic priesthood was Zadokite. The problem, however, is that Zadok seems to be a late-comer in history. The only biblical book where the altar priests are presented as exclusively Zadokite is Ezekiel. In this biblical book the Levites are also clearly lower-level clergy. Zadok has no ancestors indicated in the earlier traditions – it is only in the Chronicler’s genealogies where Zadok is given a prominent place. See e. g. Alice Hunt, Missing Priests: The Zadokites in Tradition and History, Vol. 452 (Continuum International Publishing Group, 2006). She suggests that there was never a Zadokite dynasty before the late second temple Hasmonean era (which is probably an unlikely late date). Schaper also calls Zadok a homo novis in the tradition. See his Priester und Leviten, 270, as well as Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel, 60–62; Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1, 225–230. A second problematic issue is the fact that the Hebrew Bible in general considers the priesthood to be Aaronide. However, statements about Aaron as a priest or as the ancestor of the altar priests are primarily from late texts – mainly from the Priestly tradition and rarely in the Deuteronomistic History.

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From the above discussions it seems that the focus of all of these struggles and rivalries was on the Jerusalem temple as re-established sanctuary in a totally different socio-political environment than its predecessor. Although the biblical writings give almost no evidence of it, there was another important socio-cultic factor that influenced the mindscapes of the time, namely the diversity of Yahwistic sanctuaries in this period. Our discussion of the provincial context above (§ 3.4.2) indicated that it is highly likely that there was already during the late Persian period a Yahwistic sanctuary on Mount Gerizim in Samaria. We have also seen that some suggest that the same was true at the Idumean community at Khirbet el-Qôm. However, we have definite evidence that there were also some Diaspora sanctuaries, such as the one on the island of Elephantine in the Nile River in Egypt.148 This military community, which probably existed from the seventh century B. C. E., was the southern border of the Persian Empire in the fifth century B. C. E. The famous Aramaic papyrus collection that was discovered in the archives of the island community shed valuable light on Judean life in the Diaspora. Particularly important are the documents – dating from the final decade of the fifth century B. C. E. – in which the Jewish colony on Elephantine appealed to the governors of Yehud and Samaria to rebuild the temple in Jeb, as well as the reply from the two governors.149 These documents together with the archaeological evidence from Elephantine not only confirm the existence of a Diaspora Yahweh temple, but they also indicate that the religious community in Elephantine felt themselves associated with their counterparts in the provinces of Samaria and Yehud. Although the biblical writings do not give clear evidence of these other Yahwistic sanctuaries, there must have been a clear awareness of their existence. 148 Bezalel Porten, Archives from Elephantine: The Life of an Ancient Jewish Military Colony (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968); Thomas M. Bolin, “The Temple of ‫ יהו‬at Elephantine and Persian Religious Policy.” In The Triumph of Elohim: From Yahwisms to Judaisms, edited by Diana V. Edelman, 127–42. Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1995; Stephen G. Rosenberg, “The Jewish Temple at Elephantine,” Near Eastern Archaeology 67/1 (2004): 4–13; Bob Becking, “Temple, Marzeah, and Power at Elephantine,” Transeuphratène 29 (2005): 37–47; Reinhard G. Kratz, “The Second Temple of Jeb and of Jerusalem,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 247–64; Bob Becking, “Yehudite Identity in Elephantine,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context, ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 403–19. 149 Reinhard Kratz indicates that “[t]he destruction of the Jewish temple of Elephantine and its reconstruction must be seen within the context of the disputes between the leaders and priests of the Jewish colony on the one hand and the priests of the adjacent Chnum Temple on the other” (“The Second Temple of Jeb and of Jerusalem,” 252). See also Rainer Albertz’s interpretation of this correspondence in “The Controversy about Judean versus Israelite Identity and the Persian Government: A New Interpretation of the Bagoses Story (Jewish Antiquities XI.297–301),” in Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context, ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 499–501.

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Together with the re-establishment of the Zadokite priesthood in Jerusalem after the exile, there were probably also renewed attempts to legitimise the Jerusalem temple as the only true Yahwistic sanctuary, or at least then the most important. With these remarks on the diversity of Yahwistic sanctuaries in the final years of Persian-period Yehud we come to the end of our discussion of the four levels of socio-historical existence. The next section provides a synthesis of our discussions.

3.5 Synthesis In two initial sections of this chapter (§ 3.2 and § 3.3) we indicated that present scholarship situates the creation of the book of Chronicles in the late Persian period, and specifically among the literati in Jerusalem. This led us to investigate the contexts of the late fifth and first half of the fourth centuries B. C. E. in order to come to a better understanding of the multi-levelled socio-historic existence in Yehud and Jerusalem during this time. The information provided in the main section of this chapter (§ 3.4) probably did not add any novelty to the research on any of the four levels. I relied on current specialised scholarship in these fields and attempted to give an indication of the main debates. However, the novelty of the approach advocated here lies in the fact that these four contexts are not treated in isolation. We explained in Chapter 1 above that our hypothesis is that it is exactly the interplay and interrelatedness of these four contexts that form the background for the identity negotiation processes we see witnessed in the literature from this period. These contexts overlapped and did not exist separately from one another. What became particularly clear from our discussion above is that every level of socio-historic existence had its own power dynamics. Different socio-political, socio-economic and socio-religious forces were in operation on the different levels. Yet their interrelatedness created a very complex society in which all these factors were influential. It created a society in which hybrid identities were the order of the day, particularly in the core leadership in Jerusalem. The discussion above also made clear that the widest, imperial context surely had an influence on all other levels, and to a great extent determined the relationships and dynamics on all other levels. We have been reminded by present scholarship that the Persian imperial ideology was promoted even in the remotest parts of the empire.150 The imperial existence, and particularly being a subjugated province in the empire, had a determinative influence on Yehud and Jerusalem. The imperial existence cast even old relationships, such as those 150 See

again Granerød, “By the Favour of Ahuramazda I Am King,” 478–480.

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with the northern brethren in Samaria as well as with the former tribal area of Benjamin, in a new light. In the subsequent chapters the multi-levelled socio-historic existence as described above will be taken as point of departure for a re-reading of the book of Chronicles in order to determine the identity negotiation processes witnessed in the book. We will again start our discussion from the widest (imperial) context (Chapter 4), moving from there to the provincial context (Chapter 5), the tribal context (Chapter 6), and end with the cultic situation in Jerusalem (Chapter 7). Since the Chronicler’s work does not compartmentalise the communications on each level, but rather offers a multi-levelled discussion which often intertwines more than one level in the same literary unit, some passages in Chronicles will be discussed in more than one of the above-mentioned chapters.

Chapter 4

Speaking in the Imperium 4.1 Introduction Our first reading of Chronicles will be from the perspective of its interaction with the Persian imperial context. We will discuss texts which show signs that they had the Persian imperial context in mind and intended to communicate in the direction of the imperial centre, albeit it through the empire’s local officials. In these communications one should not think of the imperial context as being “far away” in Susa, Persepolis or Ecbatana. As indicated in the previous chapter, the imperial presence throughout the Empire, and particularly also in Yehud, was facilitated by the fact that the imperial administration was conducted through satraps and governors (who were often appointed from the local leadership corps). Ramat-Raḥel, as the Persian administrative centre just outside Jerusalem, bears witness to this fact. Also the regular transit of imperial administrative and military forces through the Levant en route to Egypt probably contributed to regular exchanges between the imperial centre and the satrapal and provincial periphery.1 One may therefore assume that the Persian imperial centre, through those officials who oversaw life in Yehud and Jerusalem, was aware of developments in this province and could therefore have been a possible intended audience of some of the writing in Chronicles. Characteristic of an imperial situation was (and is) the asymmetrical power relations that were in play. The imperial centre has the right to dictate relations, to conduct military campaigns to spread its influence, to impose administrative and economic measures onto subjugated colonies, and to create the conditions in subjugated colonies that would help them to serve the imperial centre best. Subjugated colonies are expected to be loyal to the imperial master, to support the imperium in military campaigns, and to pay taxes and tribute. We have seen above that the Persian imperium had an extensive administrative system to sustain these imperial relationships. One should, of course, not necessarily as1 For

further discussions of this aspect of imperial existence, see Louis C. Jonker, “Agrarian Economy through City Elite Eyes: Reflections of Late Persian Period Yehud Economy in the Genealogies of Chronicles” (Canadian Society of Biblical Studies Annual Meeting, Victoria BC, 2013); Louis C. Jonker, “Being Both on the Periphery and in the Centre: The Jerusalem Temple in Late Persian Period Yehud from Postcolonial Perspective” (Workshop on “Centre and Periphery in the Persian Period,” Munich, 2015).

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sociate imperial rule with dictatorship (a modern concept which is, in any case, anachronistic in ancient contexts). We have seen that, in general, the Persian rulers (Cyrus the Great par excellence) had a good reputation in Yehud and elsewhere, and that their royal ideology was somewhat different from that of their predecessors. However, ancient history scholars warn us not to over-romanticise the Persian imperium, because their “carrot-and-stick” approach still imposed a clear power hierarchy onto subjugated colonies. The identification of Chronicles texts to be studied in this chapter therefore remains a contentious issue. In any event, communication in an imperial situation from the perspective of a peripheral existence remains a challenging operation. Because of the asymmetry of power relationships it is simply not possible to speak out loudly against the imperial centre, because it involved the risk of being punished for rebellion. On the other hand, to speak loudly in favour of the imperium might have estranged the writer’s own constituency. Postcolonial criticism has taught us that speaking in the empire from the colonial periphery often involves subtle and nuanced communication, hybridity and mimicry. These features are not easy to identify in texts without taking their socio-historical backdrop into account. In our identification of texts in Chronicles for discussion in this chapter we will therefore use criteria that relate directly to our description of the late Persian context described in Chapter 3.2 We have explicitly relied on scholarship in Ancient Persian studies in our descriptions above and not primarily on the biblical texts (including Chronicles) in order to avoid the pitfall of circular reasoning here. The following criteria will therefore be used to identify texts that seem to communicate on the Persian imperial level: (i) Is there any explicit mention of Persian kings or officials? (ii) Are there any explicit indications of the Persian period as historical context? (iii) Are there any themes or discourses that would have resonated with the well-documented Persian royal ideology? (iv) Are there any themes that would have resonated with economic, judicial or religious circumstances during the late Persian period? 2 The present work does not purport to be a fully-fledged commentary on the book of Chronicles. It therefore does not contain full exegetical discussions of all parts, but rather discusses the selected texts with the intention of the present work in mind. These discussions draw from recent scholarly commentaries on Chronicles, including those of Sara Japhet, I&II Chronicles (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993); Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2003); Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2004); Steven L. McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, AOTC (Nashville: Abingdon, 2004); Ralph W. Klein, 1 Chronicles: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006); Pieter B. Dirksen, 1 Chronicles (Leuven: Peeters, 2005); Thomas Willi, Chronik (1 Chr 1,1–10, 14), BKAT XXIV/1 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2009); Ralph W. Klein, 2 Chronicles: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012). See also my own commentary on the book on which many of the discussions below rely: Louis C. Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, Understanding the Bible Commentary Series (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2013).

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The discussion will follow the fourfold structure of the book of Chronicles, indicating which texts in each main part of the book communicate on this level.

4.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) The genealogical introduction to the book of Chronicles forms the entry point through which the history of All-Israel is presented. There is general agreement among Chronicles scholars that the majority of the material in these chapters forms part of the Chronicler’s own construction. Although it draws heavily from genealogical resources, mainly the Pentateuch, the addition of this genealogical introduction is a unique feature compared to the Deuteronomistic History which starts with the conquest of the land of Canaan.3 Scholars also agree that the genealogies reflect the ideology of the Chronicler, as represented in the rest of the book, so strongly that they must have been part of the original work (and therefore not a later addition).4 Specialised studies, apart from commentaries, have shown that the genealogies are carefully constructed in order to place the focus on the (post-exilic) understanding of All-Israel.5 The Chronicler makes use of linear and segmented forms in his construction, and orders his material in a concentric fashion.6 These features will form the basis of our further and more detailed discussion of sections from the genealogies below and in subsequent chapters.

4.2.1 A Universalist Frame (1:1–27) This section actually contains three different genealogies, namely Adam and his descendants until Noah and his sons (vss. 1–4), through the descendants of 3 See my discussion of the Chronicler’s use of Pentateuchal genealogical material in Louis C. Jonker, “Reading the Pentateuch’s Genealogies after the Exile: The Chronicler’s Usage of Genesis 1–11 in Negotiating an All-Israelite Identity,” Old Testament Essays 25/2 (2012): 316–33. 4 Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009). 5 Magnar Kartveit, Motive und Schichten der Landtheologie in I Chronik 1–9, Neu bearb. Ausg., Coniectanea Biblica / ​Old Testament Series 28 (Stockholm: Almquist och Wiksell, 1989); Manfred Oeming, Das wahre Israel: Die “genealogische Vorhalle” 1 Chronik 1–9 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1990); James T. Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9 (Atlanta: SBL, 2008). 6 See Knoppers’s good discussion on theoretical studies on genealogies, as well as possible parallels in classical sources, in Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 245–265. Although I agree with commentators that there is a marked concentric construction in the genealogies, this feature should not be overemphasised. See my review of Sparks in Louis C. Jonker, “The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 73/2 (2011): 367–69.

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Noah’s sons (vss. 5–23), to the focus on the descendants of Shem (vss. 24–27). This is an abridged version of some Pentateuchal genealogical traditions,7 with the twenty-seven verses quickly running through at least three genealogies contained in Genesis 5:1–32, 10:1–32, and 11:10–32. This first of the Chronicler’s genealogies utilises both linear and segmented forms in its summary of the Genesis traditions. Scholars are in agreement that it is quite significant that the Chronicler starts his work with a genealogy running from Adam to Abraham. This forms a preamble to the historical construction which starts with the descendants of Abraham in 1:28. Sara Japhet remarked in her commentary that “the purpose of vv. 4b–23 in this context is irrefutably obvious: it is to provide an ethnic backdrop of the ‘seventy nations’ of the world against which the history of Israel is about to be described. It is a coherent plan, both of the chapter and the book.”8 Other commentators offer the same interpretation. Knoppers indicates: “To do justice to the force of 1 Chr 1:1–2:2, one has to reckon with the continuity from Adam to Esau and Israel, the common humanity of all peoples, and the diversity of the various nations who inhabit the world.”9 Klein writes: “The chapter implies the diversity and the unity of the world and it suggests that Israel understood its role within the family of nations and as a witness to all humanity.”10 Willi even goes so far as to call the book of Chronicles an “Adam-Buch”, referring to the ancient custom of calling a book after its first word. He continues to indicate that in the Chronicler’s view, the whole of humanity is embodied in Israel and its history.11 Manfred Oeming expressed the opinion that the universalist beginning of the Chronicler’s genealogies therefore functioned as some sort of a “Trichter”   7 Knoppers calls this “a miracle of condensation”. See Gary N. Knoppers, “Shem, Ham and Japheth: The Universal and the Particular in the Genealogy of Nations,” in The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein, ed. M. Patrick Graham (London [u. a.]: T & T Clark International, 2003), 13.   8 Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 56.  9 Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 294. See also Knoppers, “Shem, Ham and Japheth: The Universal and the Particular in the Genealogy of Nations,” 25–26: “[T]he author begins his genealogies with the primal human, thus providing a universal context for his work. Such a global perspective is, of course, not unique to the Chronicler’s writing. It is also characteristic of the Yahwistic (Gen. 2.4b–25) and Priestly (Gen. 1.1–2.4a) creation stories. A universal concern may also be found in other late compositions such as the prayer of Nehemiah 9, which begins with creation (v. 6), the history litany of Psalm 136 (vv. 1–9) and the beginning of Josephus’s Jewish Antiquities. In Chronicles, the line of continuity extending from the primal human to Israel confers a certain dignity upon all of Israel’s descendants. Living in the Persian period, the residents of Yehud can claim a direct line all the way back to the time of creation. Their ancient ancestor Israel himself stood in a direct line, genealogically speaking, to the first person.” 10 Klein, 1 Chronicles, 81. 11 Thomas Willi, “Innovation Aus Tradition: Die Chronistischen Bürgerlisten Israels I Chr 1–9 Im Focus von I Chr 9,” in “Sieben Augen auf einem Stein” (Sach 3,9): Studien zur Literatur des Zweiten Tempels: Festschrift für Ina Willi-Plein zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Michael Pietsch and Friedhelm Hartenstein (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2007), 410. See also his discussion of this pericope in Willi, Chronik (1 Chr 1,1–10, 14).

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(funnel) which guides the attention from the widest universal understanding to focus on Israel’s history. According to him, “geht [es] nicht um eine universale Gleichrangigkeit aller Menschen, sondern vielmehr um den Aufweis der Zentralstellung Israels und seiner zwölf Söhne innerhalb der Menschheit. Auf Israel läuft die ganze, genealogisch geraffte Menschheitsgeschichte hin. Der universale Horizont wird nur ausgespannt, um zu zeigen, dass Israel in dessen Zentrum steht.”12 Steven McKenzie emphasises more the theological point made by this universalist start to the Chronicler’s genealogies: Th[e] emphasis on being children of Abraham would have been especially meaningful for the members of the post-exilic community, who struggled with the issue of national self-identity in the wake of the destruction of the kingdom of Judah and subsequent exile to Babylon. But … Abraham and his heirs are one component of humanity as a whole. Here, the Chronicler’s message is even more powerful. The exile and its aftermath raised questions about Yahweh’s supremacy and Israel’s place in the world. By beginning with creation, the Chronicler affirms that Israel’s God is the sovereign lord of the earth and all its peoples. Implicit in this doctrine is that of election. While Yahweh controls all nations and peoples, Israel is his unique people and the special focus of his love and attention. The message is one of reassurance. Yahweh has a will and a plan for the future of his people, one that cannot fail.13

As McKenzie indicates, such a theological statement would have been reassuring to the people of Yehud. However, within the late Persian period context it would also have contained a subtle polemic in the direction of the Persian imperial rulers. By tracing Israel’s existence back to the first human, making the point that it is therefore part of humanity, the Chronicler’s genealogy claims for Yehud a place among the many nations of the Persian Empire, but more so also within the religious landscape of the time. We saw in Chapter 3 above that a fairly open imperial religious policy made it possible for local cults to establish and maintain themselves. With the universalist statement at the beginning of the Chronicler’s work, the Chronicler claimed a place in the sun for the Yahwistic cult within the religious landscape of the time. However, it is important to note a further point made by McKenzie, namely that this beginning also suggests that “Yahweh controls all nations and peoples”. Although the genealogies included in 1 Chronicles 1:1–27 do not mention Yahweh’s name at all, this understanding is certainly present in the rest of the book. Not on l y is Pharaoh Neco of Egypt portrayed in the closing episode of the Chronicler’s Josiah narrative (2 Chron. 35:21–22) as somebody who is acting on God ’s (‫ )אלהים‬command, but King Cyrus of Persia is even portrayed in prophet-like manner in the closing verses of the book (2 Chron. 36:22–23) as promulgating the restoration of the exiled people of Israel on Yahweh’s command and in fulfilment of the prophecy of Jeremiah. The book of Chronicles as 12 Oeming,

Das wahre Israel, 90. 1 & 2 Chronicles, 64–65.

13 McKenzie,

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a whole indeed reflects this understanding and ends on the same universalist note that was already sounded at the beginning (see the discussion below in § 4.5.3). This universalist framework, when interpreted theologically as McKenzie does, might again be a subtle polemic directed at the Persian Empire. Although the Empire and its ruler are appreciated (according to the closing verses of the book), it should also be clear that Israel’s God, Yahweh, is pulling the strings behind the scenes. The Chronicler most probably knew that such a statement would not have been regarded as offensive in the Persian Empire. Apart from the fact that there was an imperial openness towards different cults, we also know that the Persian king on occasions assumed the role of acting on command of the gods of other nations (such as in the case of Marduk, as witnessed on the Cyrus cylinder).14 The Chronicler therefore offered his universalist understanding of the history of All-Israel in continuity with the imperial royal ideology of the time, but simultaneously gave reassurance to the people of Yehud that Yahweh, their god, is in control of humanity. Some would see utopian elements in this universalist start to the Chronicler’s work.15 It can surely be seen as the Chronicler’s way of creating some alternative reality within which the history of Israel can be understood. However, in the late Persian period it is less likely that the Chronicler would have attempted to formulate an alternative reality in response to the circumstances of his day. The book of Chronicles rather provides evidence that the Chronicler wanted to situate the post-exilic community of Yehud within the new dispensation of imperial existence and did not want to evade it. In this respect, the Chronicler’s universalist beginning to his work contributes prominently to a process of identity negotiation in these circumstances where there was no need to find an alternative reality, but rather a need to situate Yehud within the present reality of imperial existence.16

14 See e. g. Louis Jonker, “Human Dignity and the Construction of Identity in the Old Testament,” Scriptura 105 (2010): 594–607. 15 See e. g. Steven J. Schweitzer, “The Genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9: Purposes, Forms, and the Utopian Identity of Israel,” in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul Evans and Tyler Williams (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 9–27. 16 Klein indicates: “After setting Israel within the context of the nations in chap. 1, the Chronicler used chaps. 2–8 to provide genealogical information for all the tribes of Israel, indicating that the small size of Israel in the author’s day, which was subject to the great Persian Empire, was indeed all Israel, at least in promise or in eschatological perspective. Representatives of the tribes beside Judah, Benjamin, and Levi, which were part of the original Israel, were also welcome to be part of the Chronicler’s Israel and to participate in its temple cult” (1 Chronicles, 280–281).

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4.2.2 The History of Humanity and Israel Continued in the Reorganised Temple Community in Jerusalem (9:1–34) The last part of the Chronicler’s genealogical introduction takes the narrative into the post-exilic time of the author, as also witnessed in the repetition of extensive parts of this genealogy in Nehemiah 11.17 This is actually the only part of the book that extends the chronology into the Chronicler’s own time. He bridges the gap from the downfall of Judah and Jerusalem to the resettlement in the land in two brief sentences (9:1b–2). Judah’s exile – because of their unfaithfulness” – is acknowledged, but he does not dwell on this sad time in Israelite history. He quickly continues to focus on those who have resettled in the land (9:2). The focus of the resettlement immediately shifts from “their own towns” (9:2) to “Jerusalem” (9:3) and its inhabitants in the post-exilic age. The text particularly features the prominent presence of “priests, Levites, and temple servants.” Although this pericope will again be discussed in Chapter 7 below, which will indicate how this text contributed towards the discourse on the priestly organisation in the Jerusalem cult, one should also notice that this section of the genealogy actually forms the end of the chronological line in the overall narrative construction of Chronicles. The Chronicler started with Adam and continued through the lineages of the sons of Israel, ending with a description of those who lived and worked in Jerusalem after the exile. With this overall construction of the genealogies the Chronicler suggested that the present (cultic) community in Jerusalem was actually a continuation of humanity’s history. The emphasis in this section is very much on the continuity with pre-exilic times under David and Solomon (as we will see below), but this last section also forms an inclusio in the overall organisation of the genealogies with the univeralist section discussed 17 Knoppers (I Chronicles 1–9, 509–511) is of the opinion that the relationship of this section to Neh. 11:3–19 is overstated by many scholars. He sees “more differences between the two lists than there are parallels” (here 510). Some scholars presuppose that both Neh. 11 and 1 Chron. 9 made use (in different ways) of a common source. Others see 1 Chron. 9 as a later addition to Chronicles. Still others regard 1 Chron. 9 as an original part of Chronicles, but one that depends on Neh. 11 – a situation that is also reversed by some, so that Neh. 11 is made dependent on 1 Chron. 9. Knoppers indicates that all these theories have largely overlooked the Septuagint version of Neh. 11. After comparing both versions of Nehemiah with one another, as well as with the two versions (Masoretic Text and Septuagint) of 1 Chron. 9, he concludes that both writers made use of an earlier text but then also took the liberty of contextualising and supplementing this text to suit their own respective interests. Klein (1 Chronicles, 263–265) disagrees, claiming that Knoppers misjudged the significance of the minuses (i. e. those sections which are not present) in the Septuagint of Nehemiah. Klein argues that “these minuses in Nehemiah do not represent an earlier or superior text, but are the result of textual damage” (i. e. various transmission errors). This technical argument between the two commentators shows that it is not always clear-cut what source materials – and particularly which stage of development in those materials – the Chronicler used. This cautions the reader not to draw too bold conclusions about the differences between these biblical texts.

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above. Together with 1:1–27 the present section of the genealogy forms an outer frame around the genealogies. Knoppers indicates the following: The list of 1 Chr 9 serves another important function. If the universal lineage sets the stage for the appearance of Israel (1 Chr 2–8), the tribal lineages set the stage for the reestablishment of an Israel centered around Jerusalem. That the Chronicler’s ethnography begins with the primal human and ends with the ethnography of Achaemenid Judah is but one more sign of how much genealogies about the past are related to the times and circumstances of the genealogists who formulate them. Ending with the Persian period community in Jerusalem, the text prepares readers for the concentration of the narrative portions of the book on the state centered in the same city (1 Chr 11–2 Chr 36).18

We saw in Chapter 3 that Jerusalem was re-established as administrative and cultic centre only in the late Persian period (probably by the end of the fifth century B. C. E.), and then probably as a result of the changed situation in the relationship between Persia and Egypt. Within this context, the Chronicler claims universal significance for Jerusalem and its cult. The restored status of the city is thereby not credited to Persian administrative influence, but rather to the universal bond between humanity and the cult in Jerusalem.

4.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) Evidence of possible interaction with the Persian imperial context in this second part of the book of Chronicles is limited to some faint allusions. However, they are nevertheless significant for our purposes.

4.3.1 “Satan stood up against Israel” (1 Chron. 21:1) The reference at the beginning of the Chronicler’s narrative about David’s census, namely that Satan stood up against Israel and instigated the census, has been discussed extensively in scholarly literature, particularly in publications touching on the theological background to the book.19 The Vorlage in 2 Samuel 24:1 I Chronicles 1–9, 264. e. g. the following more recent studies which also touch on literary and other aspects of 1 Chron. 21: Paul Evans, “Divine Intermediaries in 1 Chronicles 21 An Overlooked Aspect of the Chronicler’s Theology,” Biblica 85/4 (2004): 545–58; Ken Ristau, “Breaking down Unity: An Analysis of 1 Chronicles 21:1–22:1,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 30/2 (2005): 201–21; Ryan E. Stokes, “The Devil Made David Do It … or Did He? The Nature, Identity, and Literary Origins of the Satan in 1 Chronicles 21:1,” Journal of Biblical Literature 128/1 (2009): 91–106; Louis C. Jonker, “Of Jebus, Jerusalem, and Benjamin: The Chronicler’s Sondergut in 1 Chronicles 21 against the Background of the Late Persian Era in Yehud,” in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul Evans and Tyler Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 81–102. Paul Evans, 18 Knoppers, 19 See

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indicates that it was Yahweh’s wrath that flared up against Israel. The change to Satan in 21:1 therefore stems from the Chronicler’s hand. Numerous explanations for this change have been suggested in the scholarship on the book. The simplest of these is that the theological discrepancy in the 2 Samuel 24 text was resolved in this way by the Chronicler.20 In 2 Samuel 24 it does not make theological sense that Yahweh orders David to conduct the census, but later punishes David for doing so.21 This explanation is certainly logical in terms of the narrative flow of the census story, but it does not explain why the term “satan” was chosen to resolve the matter. The term “satan” is not unknown in the Hebrew Bible and it features in two other texts, namely Job 2:3 and Zechariah 3:1 in the sense of “the adversary / ​enemy,” in both cases with the determinative. There is a debate about whether the form in 1 Chronicles 21:1 without the determinative should be taken as a proper name, namely “Satan.”22 The implication of such a view would be that we then have here in Chronicles the first and only instance in the Hebrew Bible where the Satan figure is personified. Peggy Day, Sara Japhet and Steven McKenzie argue, however, that the form without the determinative does not necessarily point to a proper name, but could also be taken as an indeterminate noun (“an adversary / ​enemy”).23 Whereas Day sees this adversary as a heavenly being, Japhet and McKenzie interpret it as an earthly enemy. McKenzie’s formulation explains the point well: David’s actions in this verse are entirely within the human context; there is no reference to the divine realm. Moreover, taking śāṭān as a common noun – a human enemy – makes perfect sense in the verse and actually helps to make David’s subsequent actions more understandable. An enemy or adversary of David’s – an unnamed military foe – arose, and this in turn motivated him to take a census of the fighting men under his command “Let the Crime Fit the Punishment: The Chronicler’s Explication of David’s ‘Sin’ in 1 Chronicles 21,” in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul Evans and Tyler Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 65–80. 20  Knoppers states: “A more convincing explanation for the switch in subjects emerges after one considers the challenge that the Samuel narrative posed for the Chronicler’s ideology … For the Chronicler, musters are an appropriate feature of national administration … Moreover, the Chronicler was a firm believer in the principle of proportionality in divine-human relations … Given these facts, the author risked presenting his audience with an untenable scenario. If he did not alter his Vorlage, Yhwh would be prompting David to do something good and then punishing him for doing it” (I Chronicles 10–29, 751). 21 See also McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 170; Dirksen, 1 Chronicles, 257. 22 See e. g. Peggy L. Day, An Adversary in Heaven: Śātān in the Hebrew Bible (Atlanta: Scholars, 1988); Hugh G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 143–144; Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 374–375; Cilliers Breytenbach and Peggy L. Day, “Satan,” ed. Karel Van der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. Van der Horst, Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (Leiden: Brill, 1999); Dirksen, 1 Chronicles, 257.Klein, 1 Chronicles, 418–419. 23 Day, An Adversary in Heaven: Śātān in the Hebrew Bible; Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 374–375; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 170–171.

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(v. 5). Taking a census of men of fighting age was a typical step in preparing for war in the ancient world. If this interpretation is correct, the net theological result of the Chronicler’s reading is that David is personally and exclusively culpable for the offense of the census.24

The question remains what plausibility these three different explanations (Satan as proper name; satan as heavenly adversary; satan as earthly adversary) would have had within the late Persian context in which the Chronicler wrote. The use of the term would have come from the Chronicler’s context and this context should rather be taken into account than the narrative context of the David census narrative.25 Before coming back to this discussion, it is first necessary to give an overview of scholarship on possible Persian influence in the development in later Judaism (as well as in early Christianity) of an externalisation of evil from Yahweh’s being into a separate personification (who, in later Judaism and in the New Testament became known as “Satan” or “the devil”). Earlier scholars were more inclined to explain this development “from within,” that is with explanations from within the cultural-religious context of Israel. Paul Hanson, for example, expressed the opinion that this development and the emergence of apocalyptic eschatology can be explained with reference to those myths which were shared with the Canaanites, where chaos monsters and the Leviathan were seen as engaging in a primordial struggle against the ordered creation of God. He states: The basic schema of apocalyptic eschatology has evolved in Israel and the whole development is perfectly comprehensible within the history of Israel’s own community and cult. Hasty recourse to late Persian influence is therefore unnecessary and unjustifiable.26

James Barr is of another opinion, however. He states: It is customary to connect certain phenomena of the later Old Testament and of postbiblical Judaism with Iranian influence. The development within Jewish religion of such 24 McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 171. Knoppers (I Chronicles 10–29, 751) also prefers to interpret the term as “an adversary” without specifying whether it is an earthly or heavenly adversary. He remarks, however, that “[t]he use of śāṭān instead of Yhwh cannot be convincingly attributed to a shift in metaphysics from the pre-exilic to the post-exilic age, because Chronicles nowhere else evinces an inherently dualistic view of reality. The Chronicler is as much of a monist as the Deuteronomists are …” 25 One may well ask whether Japhet and McKenzie took this point sufficiently into account in their designation of “satan” as human adversary, with the suggestion of military enemies, in particular. This might make sense within the narrative world of the Chronicler’s text, but one should ask what such a statement would have meant in the Chronicler’s own time. With the heightened military presence of the Persian Empire in the Levant during the Chronicler’s time and the accompanying engagement of Yehud and Idumea in these military actions, one may well argue that the understanding of “satan” as military adversary / ​enemy would have entailed the risk of being understood as a subtle criticism of the Persian military presence in their midst. Whether the Chronicler would have risked his community’s relationship with the Persian Empire by statements which could potentially be interpreted as rebellious is debatable. 26 Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic. The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology, Rev. ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 60.

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matters as angels, dualism, eschatology, and the resurrection of the body is commonly attributed to the impact of Iranian religion. This would not be surprising, at least in theory; for the Jews lived about two centuries under the Pax Persica, and some of their most important books were written in that time.27

Although it is logical that the Persian context must have had an influence on religious developments in post-exilic Yehud, Barr indicates that there is reluctance among scholars to investigate this influence. He states: It therefore is striking that, on the whole, biblical and Jewish studies have remained very much aloof from the study of Iranian language, literature, and religion. For most biblical scholars, the “Oriental background of the Old Testament” has meant the Semitic background, perhaps also the Egyptian and the Hittite, but much less the Iranian. The energetic effort invested in work on Akkadian and Ugaritic parallels stands in surprising contrast to the absence of similar attention to Persian materials. … Much of Old Testament scholarship in the 1980s shows little greater consciousness of the Iranian sources than existed before the mid-nineteenth century. … [C]omparatively few Old Testament scholars seriously study Iranian materials. … I know of no fresh examination of the question of Iranian influence by any major Old Testament scholar in recent years.28

The situation has changed dramatically since the time of James Barr’s writing, of course. As we saw in Chapter 3 there was a blossoming of studies in Ancient Persian history, culture and religion from the end of the 1980s and during the 1990s. Much more is also known now about the interaction between these religious-cultural worlds of the time. It is therefore worthwhile to revisit Barr’s views in the light of newer developments in the field. The dating of Chronicles in the late Persian period (i. e. in the late Achaemenid period) means that it is most definitely too early to account for any influence from Zoroastrianism, and particularly its dualistic view of good and evil. Those interpretations which take 1 Chronicles 21:1 as an indication of a fully personified evil figure (as in later Judaism and Christianity) cannot be accepted within this socio-historical context. One may speculate, however, whether two developments which were mentioned in our discussion in Chapter 3 (§ 3.4.1.4) could not have played some role in the Chronicler’s substitution of Yahweh with “satan” in 1 Chronicles 21:1. The first is the influence of the so-called Daiva inscription of Xerxes, and the other is the elevation during the time of Artaxerxes II of two further deities alongside Ahuramazda, namely Mithra (the sun god) and Anahita (the water god). We have seen that the most recent discussions on the Daiva inscription associate the term “daiva” rather with rebellion against the Achaemenid king and do not see the term as indicating “demons” (as in earlier interpretations of the inscription). It might be that the Chronicler wanted to emphasise that the census 27 James Barr, “The Question of Religious Influence: The Case of Zoroastrianism, Judaism, and Christianity,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 53/2 (1985): 201. 28 Ibid., 201–202.

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was a rebellion against Yahweh (which is different from the Daiva inscription, where the rebellion would by implication have been against the king), and that he employed a term which was already well known in his own environment, namely “satan” as indication of “adversary” to strengthen this aspect of the narrative. The elevation of two further deities alongside Ahuaramazda (although the religion did not develop into full-blown polytheism) might also have played a role. The temporal proximity between the time of Artaxerxes II and that of the Chronicler’s work might suggest that some contact between these two world views had occurred. Whereas the elevation of Mithra and Anahita contributed to the externalisation of certain functions of the deity Ahuramazda, one could speculate whether the role of “satan” in 1 Chronicles 21:1 did not serve a similar function. By involving a “satan” figure in this context, the Chronicler could suggest that Yahweh alone was the deity who was in control of David’s kingship, but simultaneously could indicate that the role of instigating the rebellious act of the census was not performed by Yahweh directly, but rather through an external intermediary. Paul Evans also comes to this conclusion, although from a very different angle.29 He takes as his point of departure the portrayal of angelic beings in this narrative (in the scene which identifies the threshing floor of Ornan as the site of the future temple). Evans states: Although Ch did not see God as altogether separate from evil he, being a product of his post-e x i l ic age, saw a more developed role for divine intermediaries. As mentioned above, this could have been the result of Ch’s exposure to the book of Job where ‫ שטן‬was part of the heavenly entourage and was used by Yahweh to test human beings. Thus, Ch believed that in his Vorlage when God incited David to number the people, this was done through a mediator – ‫שטן‬. In this way, Ch was not intending to contradict his Vorlage but to better explain it. This reinterpretation by Ch is consistent with subsequent development of angelology in later intertestamental literature. These later books which retold OT narratives, (e. g., Jubilees) tended to bring in angels where there were none in the original OT text. Often the writer would introduce intermediaries to perform an act which God himself performs in the original story. In a similar manner, Ch replaces the original narrative’s account of God directly inciting David with a heavenly intermediary – ‫שטן‬.30

However, Paul Evans is right when he cautions that we may never be absolutely sure whether the Persian background influenced this specific instance of the Chronicler’s modification to his Vorlage. Our speculations above therefore also remain mere speculations. We concur with Evans, however, who concludes: As we have seen, Ch’s belief in increased roles for intermediaries is evident in his angelological reworking of 2 Samuel 24. Unlike in Ch’s Vorlage, the angel is clearly distinguished from Yahweh himself. … While Persian Dualism may have influenced this devel29 See Evans, “Divine Intermediaries in 1 Chronicles 21 An Overlooked Aspect of the Chronicler’s Theology.” 30 Ibid., 554–555.

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opment of the increased role of intermediaries, there is no evidence that Ch felt the need to remove all aspects of evil from originating in God. Of course, despite the distinction between the OT concept of Satan and that of later intertestamental literature (and the NT), ‫ שטן‬in Chronicles is still a malevolent figure. This is similar to Job where ‫ שטן‬maligns Job’s character to God in an effort to compel him to curse his maker. … Although not representing a complete doctrine of Satan, as developed in later Jewish writings, Ch’s reworking of 2 Samuel 24 was an important stage in its development. It is, in fact, the final stage in the development of ‫ שטן‬in the OT. Drawing on the traditions of Job and Zechariah Ch takes the concept one step further. In Chronicles ‫ שטן‬not only brings charges against Yahweh’s people but incites his anointed king to bring “guilt upon Israel”. Despite this development, the term is still a long way from denoting the archenemy of God. Instead, his appearance in Chronicles is evidence of Ch’s post-exilic theology which saw increased roles for divine intermediaries. While not being the mainstay of his purpose, this belief in divine mediation is evident in his work and has been overlooked by recent commentators.31

One should therefore be cautious and not make too bold claims about the role of this small change in the Chronicler’s attempt to negotiate a new identity in late Persian-period Yehud. However, one could see in this change at least an attempt by the Chronicler to draw (utilising the resources from his own tradition) his reworking of the census narrative nearer to Persian religious views. Rhetorically, this attempt could have had the effect of showing some analogies between the religion practised in Yehud and the Persian imperial religion.

4.3.2 The “Man of Rest” Builds the “House of Rest” (22:7–10; 28:2–3) Although the narrative about Solomon is presented only in 2 Chronicles 1–9, the significance of Solomon for the Chronicler already becomes clear in the account of David’s speeches in which he announces the preparations for the building of the temple in Jerusalem. Particularly important in this regard are the speeches reported in 1 Chronicles 22 and 28–29, since they are entirely part of the Chronicler’s Sondergut.32 31 Ibid., 556–557. Whereas Paul Evans argues that the main influence for the Chronicler’s adaption of the Vorlage came from Job, Ryan Stokes sees the Balaam narrative in Num. 22 as the primary influence. His conclusion is similar to that of Evans, however: “The preceding analysis leads one to conclude that the śāṭān of 1 Chr 21:1 came to be there by the hand of a redactor who was reading 2 Samuel 24 through the lens of the Balaam story in Numbers 22. This śāṭān is not merely a human opponent of Israel but a superhuman, angelic figure. Though it is not absolutely impossible that ‫ שטן‬in this passage is a proper noun, there is little to suggest this. The opponent here is more likely an anonymous superhuman adversary. Whether Satan or a śāṭān, this superhuman figure is not the archenemy of God or a tempter, as is the devil in later tradition. The śāṭān of 1 Chr 21:1 is an emissary of the deity, carrying out YHWH’s punishment of Israel” (“The Devil Made David Do It … or Did He?,” 106). 32 See my detailed study on these speeches and their rhetorical function within the Chronicler’s communication in an international context: Louis C. Jonker, “The Chronicler’s Portrayal

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Two speeches are reported in 1 Chronicles 22: in verses 6–16 David addresses Solomon, his son, and in verses 17–19 he issues a command to all the leaders of Israel. Although there is no Vorlage in Samuel-Kings for these speeches, scholars have shown convincingly that the Chronicler most probably fashioned them according to the material found in Deuteronomy 31 and Joshua 1, where the transition of leadership from Moses to Joshua is described.33 The same applies to the speeches reported in chapters 28–29. In 1 Chronicles 28:2–12 David addresses all the leaders of Israel, in 28:29–32 he addresses Solomon again, and in 29:1–3 the whole assembly. All these speeches show signs that they were deliberately fashioned according to the model of the transition of leadership from Moses to Joshua. In David’s speech to his son, Solomon, reported in chapter 22, we read the following: (7) David said to Solomon, ‘My son, I had planned to build a house to the name of the Lord my God. (8) But the word of the Lord came to me, saying, “You have shed much blood and have waged great wars; you shall not build a house to my name, because you have shed so much blood in my sight on the earth. (9) See, a son shall be born to you; he shall be a man of rest34 [‫]איש מנוחה‬. I will give him rest35 [‫ נוח‬Hiph.] from all his enemies on every side; for his name shall be Solomon [‫]שלמה‬, and I will give peace [‫ ]שלום‬and quiet [‫ ]שקט‬to Israel in his days. (10) He shall build a house for my name. He shall be a son to me, and I will be a father to him, and I will establish his royal throne in Israel forever”’ (NRSV, with adaptations: 1 Chron. 22:7–10).

It is clear that the Chronicler wanted to suggest a pun on the name of David’s son (‫)שלמה‬, and the theme of peace (‫)שלום‬. This is the only place in the Hebrew Bible where the name of Solomon is etymologised. Solomon will be a king of peace to whom the Lord has granted rest and quietness all around from his enemies. The peace, rest and quietness stand in stark contrast to the “shedding of blood” and “waging of wars” of which David is accused in 22:8. Although David prepares the way for the building of the temple, he is disqualified for the actual task and it remains the work of Solomon, the king of peace, to accomplish this task. The theme of “rest” is continued in David’s speech to the leaders of Israel reported in 28:2–12, where the temple is called “a house of rest”  – clearly a deliberate attempt by the Chronicler to associate the “house of rest” with the “man of rest”: of Solomon as the King of Peace within the Context of the International Peace Discourses of the Persian Era,” Old Testament Essays 21/3 (2008): 653–69. Parts of that discussion were incorporated and modified for the purpose of the present discussion. 33 See the good summaries of studies on this aspect in Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 783–788 and Klein, 1 Chronicles, 431–440. 34 Here I deviate from the NRSV translation which has “peace.” 35 Again, I prefer to translate as “rest” instead of “peace”, like the NRSV.

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(2) Then King David rose to his feet and said: ‘Hear me, my brothers and my people. I had planned to build a house of rest [‫ ]בית מנוחה‬for the ark of the covenant of the Lord, for the footstool of our God; and I made preparations for building. (3) But God said to me, “You shall not build a house for my name, for you are a warrior and have shed blood.”’ (NRSV: 1 Chron. 28:2–3).

The expressions “man of rest” and “house of rest” are unique in the Hebrew Bible. These combinations each occur only once, here in the Sondergut of the Chronicler. Many commentaries and studies have shown  – with reference to these texts – that Solomon’s kingship is presented to the audience of Chronicles as the kingpin around which the history of Israel revolved. Moreover, the temple as cultic institution is intricately involved with this portrayal of Solomon’s kingship. Temple building under Solomon appears to be a (or even the) central theme of the Chronicler’s construction of history.36 Ralph Klein, following previous studies on this aspect, shows how the Chronicler reinterprets the promise to David (reported in 2 Sam. 7) to fit his own construction of history. The Nathan oracle in 2 Samuel 7 is first picked up by the Chronicler in 1 Chronicles 17, which is then further interpreted in 1 Chronicles 22. Klein describes the differences between these versions as follows: In the books of Samuel, David himself had achieved the condition of rest, as we see in 2 Sam 7:1, 11. The first of these references indicating that Yahweh had given David rest is omitted altogether by the Chronicler in 1 Chr 17:1; the second is changed by him from ‘I will give you rest from all your enemies’ to ‘I will subdue all your enemies.’ In neither case, therefore, does David achieve rest according to the Chronicler. When the enemies are subdued in chap. 18, it is only through the military efforts of David. In the present verse [22:9 – LCJ] Yahweh promises to give Solomon rest without any military effort on Solomon’s part. The reference to rest in this verse is the only complete use of the rest formula in Chronicles, and it moves beyond the promise to David that he would defeat all his enemies (1 Chr 17:8, 10) by adding to the rest formula connected with Solomon the expression ‘round about.’37

The fact that Solomon did not achieve rest and peace on his own account is confirmed by the Chronicler’s reconstruction of Solomon’s kingship in 2 Chronicles 1–9. According to the Chronicler, this king of peace is never involved in any battle or war. Various studies have shown that the theme of rest, peace and quietness is not only characteristic of the Chronicler’s version of Solomon’s history, but forms a golden thread running throughout the Books of Chronicles.38 These studies con36 See Louis C. Jonker, “Completing the Temple with the Celebration of Josiah’s Passover?” Old Testament Essays 15/2 (2002): 381–97; Louis C. Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles: Late Stages of the Josiah Reception in II Chr. 34f (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003). 37 Klein, 1 Chronicles, 437. 38 See Jonker, “The Chronicler’s Portrayal of Solomon as the King of Peace,” 658–660 for a summary of the studies of Gabriel and Ruffing. See Ingeborg Gabriel, Friede über Israel:

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firm that Solomon’s reign was seen as a paradigm of the rest, peace and quietness that Yahweh gives to Israel, and that this rest, peace and quietness could not be achie v e d by military means, but were the result of the Judahite king seeking Yahweh (‫ )דרש‬and relying (‫ )שען‬on Him. The distribution of the related terminology i n C hronicles confirms these conclusions. The terms “rest,” “peace” and “quietness” are particularly associated with the so-called “good kings” who did what was right in the eyes of Yahweh.39 The very conspicuous distribution of these terms confirms the view that the association of Solomon with rest, peace and quietness in 1 Chronicles 22:9 forms a kingpin around which a prominent theological theme in Chronicles unfolds. The royal narratives of Asa, Jehoshaphat, Joash and Josiah that are terminologically linked to the promise to Solomon all form part of a literary network in Chronicles. The network emphasises that Ya h weh is the Giver of peace, rest and quietness, and that access to this condition can only be achieved by seeking Yahweh and by relying on him. Why would this be such a prominent theme in Chronicles? And why would the Chronicler have moulded Solomon as the man of rest and king of peace? The traditional scholarly answer to this question is that the Chronicler wanted to emphasise Solomon’s close association with the temple building, and that the connection of this theme with some other prominent, good kings in Judah’s history served the purpose of emphasising the role of the First Temple. The answer is thus primarily sought in the inner-Yehudite context of legitimating the second temple during the Persian era. However, on the basis of our discussion in Chapter 3 we may assume that it was not only the inner-Yehudite discourse that influenced the Chronicler’s reconstruction of Solomon (and the other kings). In § 3.4.1.2 we saw that the pax Achaemenidica (or pax Persica) formed one of the foundation stones of Persian imperial ideology and that it was also enforced onto subjugated peoples. According to this view, the Persian king had an obligation to establish and maintain order and peace, which were seen as representations of the cosmic order of Ahuramazda. We have furthermore seen that peace discourses were very prominent, particularly in the second half of the fifth, and the first half of the fourth centuries B. C. E. The so-called King’s Peace of 386 B. C. E., in which the tradition of the Peace of Callias was invoked, is a good example. Although it is impossible to prove this beyond doubt, this Persian royal ideology, as well as the way in which it was propagated throughout the Empire, Eine Untersuchung zur Friedenstheologie in Chronik I 10-II 36 (Klosterneuburg: Verlag Österr. Kath. Bibelwerk, 1990); Andreas Ruffing, Jahwekrieg als Weltmetapher: Studien zu Jahwekriegstexten des chronistischen Sondergutes (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1992). 39 For a detailed discussion of the terminological patterns, consult Jonker, “The Chronicler’s Portrayal of Solomon as the King of Peace,” 660–661 and Louis C. Jonker, “What Do the ‘Good’ and the ‘Bad’ Kings Have in Common? Genre and Terminological Patterns in the Chronicler’s Royal Narratives,” Journal of Semitics 21/2 (2012): 332–65.

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could well have been the background to the Chronicler’s portrayal of Solomon and the temple in Jerusalem. It might well be that the Chronicler had the wider international discourse on peace in his mind when he transformed Solomon into the “king of peace” and the “man of rest,” and the temple in Jerusalem into the “house of rest.” In this way the Chronicler probably indicated that the king of peace should be sought in his audience’s own Judahite past and not in the Persian imperial context. The house of rest was to be found in Jerusalem and not in Persepolis, Susa or Ecbatana. Above all, the Giver of Peace is Yahweh of Judah, and not Ahuramazda of Persia. Such an understanding of the Chronicler’s texts indicates that the writer cleverly associates himself with the peace ideology of the Empire by showing that Yehud also builds on similar ideological ideas of their royal past, but simultaneously subtly advances the contention that real peace should be sought in Yahwism and not in Persian imperialism.

4.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) The reign of Solomon is the focus of 2 Chronicles 1–9. As we have seen above, the Chronicler has already prepared the reader in 1 Chronicles 22 and 28–29 for the climax of the royal history that culminates in the accession of Solomon and his building of the temple in Jerusalem. We have seen that Solomon is explicitly called “a man of peace and rest” in 1 Chronicles 22:8–10, and Yahweh promises to give David’s son “rest from all his enemies on every side.” It therefore comes as no surprise that 2 Chronicles 1–9 reports neither battles nor strife during the transition of leadership from David to Solomon (in contrast to 1 Kgs. 1–2, where the very difficult transition of the kingship from David to Solomon is narrated). The Chronicler’s description of Solomon’s reign projects a tone of peace and rest. Even the pinnacle of Solomon’s achievements, the temple, is to be “a house … of rest” (1 Chron. 28:2). All the preparations that David made for the temple reach their climax under his son Solomon.

4.4.1 The Jerusalem Temple Reflecting Persian Palace Ideology (2–7) How would this narrative portrayal of the temple building in Jerusalem under King Solomon have been received during the second temple period, that is, during the Persian period that forms the backdrop of the Chronicler’s work? The religious circumstances during the Chronicler’s time seem to have had an impact here. We saw in § 3.4.1.4 above that, although worship of Ahuramazda was so prominent in the royal inscriptions and depictions since the time of Darius I, it seems that this cult was not imposed on the peoples across the empire. However,

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Brosius indicates that the Persian nobility in the satrapal centres of the empire and the provincial government officials were probably bound to uphold the royal cult as part of their duties at these decentralised places. She indicates that the officials’ “access to the royal cult would confirm their status as the king’s representatives in the satrapy, while at the same time it would signify their closeness to the king, which in turn would enhance their exalted status.”40 Local citizens were often employed as governors and representatives of the Persian Empire in Jerusalem. Those locals who officiated on behalf of the Persian Empire would have been in an “in-between” situation in that they would have been part of the Yahwistic community, serving in the restored temple in Jerusalem, but simultaneously would also have to show their allegiance to the Empire by honouring Ahuramazda. Matthew Lynch points out that “[i]mperial religious culture took a distinctive turn under the Persians, at least when compared with the Egyptian, Assyrian, and Babylonian empires that Israel encountered. Notably, great temples and cults played virtually no role within the dominant imperial system.”41 Lynch further indicates that “[d]espite these absences, there are strong lines of continuity between Achaemenid palace ideology and Ancient Near Eastern temple ideology.”42 Margaret Cool Root argues that there was probably conceptual fluidity between the notions of the ‘palaces’ or ‘audience halls’, which can be seen in Persian imperial centres such as Persepolis and ‘temples’ as “sites of religiously imbued observances focusing on the person of the king ‘in residence’.” 43 From this Lynch concludes that “[w]hile Persians evidently supported local cults and temples, it appears that the primary means of manifesting divine power was through the imperial palace.”44 Lynch continues this line of argumentation by relating the Chronicler’s portrayal of the Solomonic temple to this peculiarity of the Persian imperial and religious landscape: The Chronicler’s Judean contemporaries had no local palace of their own45 in which they could reflect and participate in the Achaemenid program of imitable power. However, the 40 Maria Brosius, The Persians: An Introduction, Peoples of the Ancient World (London: Routledge, 2006), 69. 41 Matthew Lynch, Monotheism and Institutions in the Book of Chronicles: Temple, Priesthood, and Kingship in Post-Exilic Perspective (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 61–62. Lynch builds his view on the work of Margaret Cool Root (“Palace to Temple – King to Cosmos. Achaemenid Foundation Texts in Iran,” in From the Foundations to the Crenellations. Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, ed. Mark J. Boda and J. Novotny, AOAT 366 [Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2010], 170) who observed: “There are very few installations in Achaemenid Iran that fit normative ideas of what constitutes a ‘temple’ as a structure for the housing of a deity and / ​or for the exercise of ‘religious’ observances.” 42 Lynch, Monotheism and Institutions in the Book of Chronicles, 62. 43 Cool Root, “Palace to Temple – King to Cosmos. Achaemenid Foundation Texts in Iran,” 207. 44 Lynch, Monotheism and Institutions in the Book of Chronicles, 63. 45 Lynch (Ibid.) makes this statement notwithstanding the existence of Ramat Raḥel in close

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Chronicler possessed another powerful medium for imitation – the historical narrative. Through this medium, I suggest, Chronicles painted images of imperial power that rivaled and imitated Achaemenid portraits of power, and that cast a vision for Yehud’s eventual historical reemergence as a significant locus of political and religious power. Though Chronicles almost completely ignores the Solomonic royal palace, for instance, there is evidence that the book conceives of the temple in terms of a royal palace,46 and hence, a vehicle for manifesting Yhwh’s imperial power.47

Within this context, Matthew Lynch then suggests that “it is fruitful to consider the strong emphasis on the grand imperial court and ‘political ceremony’ in Achaemenid Iran, and the emphasis on elaborate ranks of divine ministers and ‘public ceremonies’ at the temple in Chronicles.”48 With reference to Sara ­Japhet’s mentioning of the Chronicler’s penchant for public ceremonies,49 Lynch draws a parallel between the Chronicler’s portrayal of temple ceremonies and the royal imperial milieu: Chronicles’ ceremonies included “all Israel,” the ranks of priests and Levites, and the king, along with great songs and displays of wealth for the temple (1 Chr 22:3, 14; 29:4, 7). The increased attention to Jerusalem’s temple-ceremonies within a cultural milieu already dedicated to prominent “ceremonial cities” designed to augment the splendor of the king, as found at Persepolis, Susa, and Ecbatana, certainly warrants consideration as a point of possible shared cultural emphasis. At the very least, political-ceremony-as-religious-ceremony became a significant feature of the milieu in which the Chronicler wrote. Chronicles’ efforts to bolster Yhwh’s supremacy through great ceremonies and a great “citadel” is in the very least analogous to efforts to exalt the Persian “king in residence” at his great citadel, and even likely, given the purported Persian effort to mimic the imperial court at the local level.50

In this way, according to Lynch, a subtle shift is facilitated in the minds of those in Jerusalem (and elsewhere in the empire) who listened to or read the Chronicler’s work: “Rather than the monarchy, Chronicles reconfigures the memory of Israel’s institutional landscape such that the temple becomes the primary focal point for all Israel, the primary marker of Yhwh’s supremacy.”51 proximity to Jerusalem. He says: “Ramat Raḥel was proximate to Jerusalem, but was nevertheless a reminder of the Judeans’ non-participation in the Achaemenid administrative network.” 46 Lynch (Ibid., 63–64) discusses 1 Chron. 29:1, 19, where the term ‫“( בירא‬citadel”) is used in reference to the temple. This term occurs abundantly in the book of Esther as reference to the Persian royal palace in Susa. It furthermore occurs in Dan. 8:2, Neh. 1:1 and 7:2. In Neh. 2:8 it refers to the temple in Jerusalem, like the references in 1 Chron. 29:1 and 19. 47 Ibid., 63. 48 Ibid., 64 [his emphasis]. See also Maria Brosius, “New out of Old? Court and Court Ceremonies in Achaemenid Persia,” in The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies. Cambridge, ed. Antony J. S. Spawforth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 17–57. 49 Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 38. 50 Lynch, Monotheism and Institutions in the Book of Chronicles, 65. 51 Ibid., 261 [his emphasis]. Lynch’s conclusion differs from Jozef Tiňo’s view. Whereas Lynch concludes that the Chronicler’s portrayal of the temple points towards the supremacy of Yahweh in the Persian imperial context, Tiňo suggests that the Chronicler was actually pointing

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Thus, on the one hand, the second temple in Jerusalem – when viewed from the imperial centre – was a sanctuary of a local people based in a province on the periphery of the empire. It is likely that the local officials who served in the Persian administration were expected to show allegiance to the Persian religious ideals (associated with Ahuramazda). But, on the other hand, the book of Chronicles represents a view from the periphery. However, the Chronicler’s portrayal of the temple does not testify to an attitude of subjugation, but rather to a position of agency. In this respect, concepts used in postcolonial criticism might be helpful in attempting to understand this seeming discrepancy. We saw in § 2.2.1 that it is often characteristic of colonial relations that there is stereotyping of the colonised by their colonisers. In the ambivalent process of stereotyping it often happens that the colonisers expect the colonised to become like them, that is, that the colonised should rid themselves of their inferior cultural habits in order to be elevated to the culture of the colonisers. The result of such a process is a situation of “mimicry,” in which the colonised increasingly start assuming the identity of the colonisers, but use this assumed identity to undermine the imperial power. The move towards mimicry often develops into a condition of “hybridity”. Whereas the borders between the hegemonic imperial centre and the subjugated colonial periphery had been clear before, a “third space” develops where the identities of neither colonisers nor colonised are completely pure. Through the Chronicler’s unique portrayal of Solomon’s temple (in comparison to the Deuteronomistic version), he mimics the Persian imperial palace where the Persian king’s supremacy by the favour of Ahuramazda is celebrated. However, in doing so, he deconstructs and challenges the power of this imperial authority by indicating that Yahweh’s supremacy is celebrated in the Jerusalem temple. In this way a “third space” was opened within which the second temple community in Jerusalem could assume the hybrid identity of a subjugated province in the Persian Empire (i. e. being on the periphery), but simultaneously as the centre of Yahwism.52

towards the restoration of the Davidic monarchy. He states: “In Chronicles theocracy is only fully accomplished in the Davidic kingdom which rules over a united Israel, and it would therefore be difficult to accept its message as only the presentation of an ideal theocracy without hope for the restoration of the monarchy. The … re-definition of Palace-Temple relations thus points to an effort to re-evaluate the past history in order to present a vision for the future. However, the absence of eschatological language excludes the possibility of a vision of the ‘last days’, and the book should thus be read as a program for the renewal of the Davidic monarchy in the days of the ‘achievable future’” (King and Temple in Chronicles: A Contextual Approach to Their Relations [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010], 151). 52 For a more detailed discussion of the role of the Jerusalem temple both as centre and periphery, see Jonker, “Being Both on the Periphery and in the Centre: The Jerusalem Temple in Late Persian Period Yehud from Postcolonial Perspective.”

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4.4.2 Yahweh Loves His People (2:10 and 9:8) Ehud Ben Zvi has called attention to the fact that Chronicles twice mentions that Yahweh loved his people Israel (in 2 Chron. 2:10 and 9:8).53 What is remarkable about these texts is that in both cases the statement is made by a foreign monarch. Second Chronicles 2:10 forms part of a short section in which the communication between King Solomon and Huram of Tyre is reported (2 Chron. 2:2–15). The section differs in significant aspects from the extended version of the source text found in 1 Kings 5:1–12.54 Not only does the Chronicler portray Solomon as the one taking the initiative (instead of Huram in the Vorlage), but the order of information is also changed. In the source text (1 Kgs. 5:6) the actual request to Huram follows only after the explanation of why Solomon is going to build the temple. The basic request is for “cedars of the Lebanon” as well as craftsmen who will work with Solomon’s men. In the Chronicler’s version the basic request already appears at the beginning of Solomon’s message. Then follows the elaboration on the reason for building the temple as well as a theological appraisal of the future structure. Only after that, in 2 Chronicles 2:6–8, is the request made for well-skilled craftsmen and more wood. The payment offered to these craftsmen is specified in 2:9. Subsequently, Huram’s reaction in a letter follows in three stages. First is an introductory acknowledgment (2:10) by this foreign king that because Yahweh loves his people, he has made Solomon their king;55 second is elaborate praise (2:11) of Yahweh, the God of Israel, who made heaven and earth. Again, the foreign king exclaims that God has given the kingship to Solomon and that he has made him a wise son to David, endowed with intelligence and discernment. It is this king who will build a temple for Yahweh. Only after these two remarks by the foreign king does the third stage of his reaction follow, when he replies to Solomon’s request for a craftsman (2:12–13) and wood (2:15). Huram-Abi is named as the skilled craftsman who will be sent to work with Solomon’s men.

53 See Ehud Ben Zvi, “When the Foreign Monarch Speaks,” ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 209–28. This essay was republished in a slightly revised form in Ehud Ben Zvi, “When a Foreign Monarch Speaks,” in History, Literature and Theology in the Book of Chronicles, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi (London: Equinox, 2006), 270–88. 54 For a more detailed discussion of the changes the Chronicler made to his Vorlage, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 176–177. 55 Steven McKenzie remarks about this verse: “The opening in verse 11 [vs. 10 in Hebrew text – LCJ] is adapted from the words of the Queen of Sheba in 2 Chr 9:8 // 1 Kgs 10:9 as a speech of a foreign monarch marveling at Solomon’s majesty. The letter is in perfect Hebrew, and Huram is quite familiar with Israelite theology; indeed, his confession in verse 12 [vs. 11 in Hebrew text – LCJ] of Yahweh as maker of heaven and earth makes him appear as something of a convert to Israelite religion” (McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 234).

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The second occurrence of the expression that Yahweh loved his people follows in 2 Chronicles 9:8. This text forms part of the section in 9:1–9, 12 which narrates the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon in Jerusalem. This account serves a dual purpose. On the one hand, it emphasises the wisdom of Solomon. The Queen of Sheba’s intention in coming to Jerusalem was to test him with hard questions (9:1) – an expression associated with wisdom practice. Furthermore, Solomon answered all her questions; nothing was too hard for him to explain to her (9:2). The queen’s surprised reaction to Solomon’s wisdom is stated very elaborately in 9:3–7. Such an overwhelming confirmation of Yahweh’s granting Solomon wisdom cannot be missed by any reader! The narrative serves another purpose, however  – to emphasise Solomon’s wealth. The Queen of Sheba herself has a great reputation. She arrived with a very great caravan – with camels carrying spices, large quantities of gold and precious stones (9:1). And the summary in 9:9 is telling: “there had never been such spices as those the queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon.” Although this queen appears only briefly on the historical scene in the Deuteronomist’s and Chronicler’s versions of the past and then disappears again, her reputation as somebody who can give extraordinary gifts to whom she wants serves as a powerful instrument in the characterisation of Solomon. Although this account follows the Deuteronomistic source text closely, an interesting deviation occurs in 9:8. Whereas 1 Kings 10:9 reads, “Praise be to Yahweh your God, who loved you and placed you on the throne of Israel,” the Chronicler’s version differs in the last part: “and placed you on his throne as king to rule for Yahweh your God.” The change from “the throne of Israel” to “Yahweh’s throne” is in line with the way in which Solomon’s kingship is presented in the Chronicler’s own material in 1 Chronicles 28:5: “he has chosen my son Solomon to sit on the throne of the kingdom of Yahweh over Israel.” This reflects the Chronicler’s understanding that the actual king of Israel is Yahweh. Solomon might be the centre of literary attention in this episode, but with this small change to the source text the Chronicler reminds his readers that Solomon was not occupying his own throne but was rather representing Yahweh. With reference to the statement that Yahweh loved his people, Ehud Ben Zvi observes the following: Huram opens his response to Solomon by stating that Solomon’s kingship is the result or an exp r e s sion of ‫( אהבת יהוה את־עמו‬YHWH’s love of his people; v. 10). It should be stressed already at this point in the discussion that (1) within the world of the book of Chronicles the queen of Sheba who most likely never read Huram’s missive to Solomon, repeated almost verbatim Huram’s written words (2 Chron. 9.8); and (2) YHWH’s love for Israel is explicitly mentioned only twice in Chronicles. In both instances those who mentioned YHWH’s love for Israel are foreign monarchs who speak from their own perspective. Huram’s reference to YHWH’s love of Israel explains why Solomon is worthy of building the house for the name of YHWH. It also communicates an important feature in the Tyrian king’s perspective: he fully accepts that YHWH has a particular relationship

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with Israel (and not with Tyre or any other nation). … [T]he queen of Sheba is presented in the same way as Huram: a foreign monarch whose perspective and speech are similar to those of a pious Israelite in the world of Chronicles.56

These two references in the Chronicler’s Solomon narrative may be subtle indications to a Persian period readership that foreign monarchs are acknowledging (or, are supposed to acknowledge) the fact that Yahweh has chosen his people Israel to love, and that He nurtures them through the king. Those officials in Jerusalem, or Ramat Raḥel, who represented the Persian Empire in the Chronicler’s days, would not have missed the subtle polemic in the direction of the Persian throne. Earthly kings are only representatives of the gods, and those kings ruling over Israel are therefore representatives of Yahweh, the God who made the heavens and the earth. The subtle change that the Chronicler made from “Israel’s throne” in the Vorlage to “Yahweh’s throne” in 2 Chronicles 9:8 might furthermore be of significance in the Persian imperial context. In the time of the Chronicler, when Israel had no earthly king of its own and was part of the Persian Empire, this claim might have had special significance for the restoration community. The Chronicler’s easy acceptance of Persian rule over them might be related to this conviction that earthly kings are not the real kings. Yahweh is the real king, and He even has power over foreign monarchs such as the Persian emperors (see also the discussion in § 4.5.3 below).

4.4.3 Solomon Ruling from the Euphrates to Egypt (9:26) Second Chronicles 9:10–11, 13–28 expound Solomon’s international fame. This section indicates that not only Huram of Tyre and the queen of Sheba acknowledged Solomon’s wisdom, wealth, and influence, but that other kings also did the same. The section follows the source text in 1 Kings 10 closely, although some significant changes have been made by the Chronicler. The section in 9:25–28 deviates for example significantly from the source text in 1 Kings 10:26–29. Second Chronicles 9:25, 27–28 abbreviates the information of the text in 1 Kings 10, but the information contained in 2 Chronicles 9:26, namely “he ruled over all the kings from the River to the land of the Philistines, as far as the border of Egypt,” does not occur in this position in the source text. It was taken 56 Ben Zvi, “When a Foreign Monarch Speaks,” 273, 276. Ralph Klein points out that the reference in 2 Chron. 9:8 that Yahweh loved his people is not unique in Chronicles, but was taken over from the Vorlage in 1 Kgs. 10:9. He indicates: “Yahweh’s love for Israel is a frequent theme in Deuteronomy (Deut. 4:37; 7:8, 13; 10:15; 23:6 [5]). The additions of the words ‘to establish them’ and ‘over them’ were made already in Kgs LXX and are not part of the Chronicler’s original contribution. Nevertheless, ‘to establish them’ makes an important point that Israelite kingship is set up for the ultimate goal of establishing Israel” (Klein, 2 Chronicles, 139).

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from 1 Kings 4:21, where the same description is provided to indicate Solomon’s territory. The source text was only partially taken over, because 1 Kings 4:21 continues with the words “they brought tribute and served Solomon all the days of his life.” This slight adaptation of the source material might be of significance in the Persian period when the Chronicler wrote his text. Although the claim that Solomon reigned over a significant area from the Euphrates to the border of Egypt was not unique to the Chronicler’s portrayal, the repositioning of this information in the latter’s version might have been a careful statement to claim some central position within the Persian satrapy Beyond-the-River. The area indicated in the Chronicler’s text stretches more or less over the area that was known as one of the Persian satrapies under this name. However, the Chronicler’s omission of the indication that all the kings in that area paid tribute to Solomon and served him might be an indication that the highlighting of Solomon’s sphere of rule was not intended as a provocation in the Chronicler’s own days. It rather served the purpose of getting other officials and rulers in Beyond-the-River to acknowledge the lawful existence of the independent province of Yehud in the reorganised Persian imperial context.

4.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) Apart from the David-Solomon narrative, the narratives about the kingdom of Judah form the focus of the Chronicler’s historiography. Second Chronicles 10–36 describes the kingdom’s history from the schism and Rehoboam’s ascension to the throne in Jerusalem to the release of the exiles during the time of Cyrus of Persia. The Chronicler’s account of Judah’s history differs in three main aspects from that in the Deuteronomistic version of Samuel-Kings: (i) Judah’s royal history forms the major plotline of the narrative in Chronicles, while Samuel-Kings focuses on both kingdoms, but with more emphasis on the northern kingdom, Israel. (This aspect will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 5 below.) (ii) Whereas the reign of Manasseh formed the anticlimax of the Deuteronomistic version of Judah’s history, and king Josiah is idealised there, the Chronicler rather offers a more balanced account of these kings in which they become functionaries in the divine plan that leads to the Sabbath rest for the land (see 2 Chron. 36:20–21).57 (iii) Whereas the Deuteronomistic version Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles; Louis C. Jonker, “The Exile as Sabbath Rest: The Chronicler’s Interpretation of the Exile,” Old Testament Essays 20/3 (2007): 703–19; Louis Jonker, “‘Lewend En Kragtig’? Die Hermeneutiese Dinamika En Implikasies van (her)interpretasie in Die Ou Testament,” Nederduitse Gereformeerde Teologiese Tydskrif 52/1 (2011), http://ngtt.journals.ac.za/pub/article/view/12; Louis C. Jonker, “Manasseh in Paradise, or Not? The Influence of ANE Palace Garden Imagery in LXX 2 Chronicles 33:20,” in 57 See

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of Judah’s history ends with the fall of Jerusalem and the exile (2 Kgs. 25:1–26) and Jehoiachin’s release (2 Kgs. 25:27–30), the Chronicler ends his history with the edict of Cyrus of Persia, which permitted the exiles to return to their land and to rebuild Jerusalem and the temple (2 Chron. 36:22–23). The writer of Chronicles therefore takes the royal narrative of Judah into the Persian period, that is, into his own time. As we will see in the discussion below (particularly in § 4.5.3) this last aspect is very influential in our interpretation of the book of Chronicles as a writing for the restoration community in Yehud in the late Persian period.

4.5.1 Subtle Mockery of the Persians in Egypt through Asa’s History? (13:23b–16:14) The Chronicler introduces a significant portion of his own material in the narrative of Asa’s reign (2 Chron. 13:23b–16:14), creatively restructuring the Asa narrative in the source text (1 Kgs. 15:9–24) within a coherent theological framework.58 The Deuteronomistic version communicates a positive image of Asa as a king who ensured religious-cultic purity (1 Kgs. 15:11–15), and it narrates an unrelated episode of successful military strategy and diplomacy (15:16–22). One could say that the Deuteronomistic narrative presents religious-cultic and political information about Asa’s reign. The Chronicler’s account, however, reformulated the two sections into two theological alternatives. It contrasts a clear change from “having rest / ​peace / ​not war” in the first section to “having wars from now on” in the second. Two specific temporal indications (2 Chron. 15:19 and 16:1) establish the break between the two: rest prevailed until the thirty-fifth year of Asa’s reign, but the situation then suddenly turned around from the thirty-sixth year of his reign. The narrative as a whole now has a logical flow that also better integrates the introduction (13:23b) and conclusion (16:11–14). They are no longer merely notes about political history and royal succession, but now signify the turnaround from the land having rest (13:23b) to a king becoming ill and dying because he did not rely on Yahweh (16:11–14). Rather than communicate merely historical information about a past king, the Chronicler urges his audience to make a choice between two basic modes of existence. Cleverly, the Chronicler interrelates thematic terms and their associated themes to build the narrative: those seeking Yahweh and relying on him experience rest, peace, and absence of war. Successful building projects, Thinking of Water in the Early Second Temple Period, ed. Christoph Levin and Ehud Ben Zvi, BZAW 461 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 339–58. 58 The discussion here uses and adapts material from Louis C. Jonker, “The Cushites in the Chronicler’s Version of Asa’s Reign: A Secondary Audience in Chronicles?,” Old Testament Essays 19/3 (2006): 863–81; Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 221–226.

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religious reforms and victory in battle are associated with this style of existence. The opposite mode of existence is formulated by the negation of the same constellation of concepts: those who do not seek Yahweh and do not rely on him (or rely on worldly powers such as foreign kings or doctors) will experience war and unrest, as well as disease and death. The narrative communicates its theological slant by the organisation of actors. Ya h weh (who never acts in the Deuteronomistic version) is always the subject of ‫“( נוח‬give rest”) in the Chronicler’s narrative. When Asa relies (‫)שען‬ on Yahweh, Yahweh wins the battle on Asa’s behalf; when Asa relies (‫ )שען‬on Ben-Hadad of Aram for his battle, wars (plural) are the result. When Asa and the people seek (‫ )דרש‬Yahweh, they experience rest and security; when Asa does not seek (‫ )לא דרש‬Yahweh, the king becomes ill with a foot disease and dies. These two modes of existence are then highlighted by speeches by two prophets, Azariah and Hanani as the mouthpieces of Yahweh who ensure the right interpretation of reality. The speeches turn the military strategies of Asa into theological paradigms. The account of the war against Zerah the Cushite (14:7–14) is a novel element i n t he Chronicler’s narrative. The contrast in military power between Judah and Cush is made clear with reference to the numbers of armed men and chariots. Asa had at his disposal 300,000 men from Judah, equipped with large shields and with spears, and 280,000 men from Benjamin, armed with small shields and with bows – in total, therefore, 580,000 men. Zerah the Cushite, howeve r, had one million men (literally “thousands of thousands”) and 300 chariots at his disposal. The narrative dynamics in the Asa narrative are clearly meant to emphasise the miraculous nature of Judah’s victory over the Cushites, emphasising the role of Yahweh as the one who actually struck down (‫ )נגף‬the Cushites on Asa’s behalf. Asa’s success thus cannot be attributed to his military power – it was solely the result of his relying on Yahweh (14:10, with ‫)שען‬. This is confirmed again in the second half of the Asa account, when Hanani reminds Asa of the miraculous nature of this victory over the Cushites and Libyans (“a mighty a rmy”). Asa “relied [‫ ]שען‬on Yahweh,” and he “delivered them into [Asa’s] hand” (16:8). Two aspects of the Chronicler’s Asa narrative stand out when read against the socio-historical background of the late Persian period. Firstly, the heavy emphasis on peace, rest and order in this narrative reminds one strongly of the royal Persian ideology of pax Achaemenidica (as described in § 3.4.1.2) that was advocated throughout the Persian Empire, particularly from the time of Darius I and later. This was not limited to Persians only, but was also imposed on subjugated peoples. The Asa narrative makes clear, however, that the basis of peace, rest, a n d order should not be sought (‫ )לא דרש‬in earthly rulers, but rather in Yahweh. The restructuring of the narrative from the Vorlage by the Chronicler indica t e s that he deliberately wanted to portray two options for exist-

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ence:59 relying (‫ )שען‬on Yahweh leads to peace, rest and prosperity, but not seeking (‫ )לא דרש‬Yahweh leads to war and illness. This might be a subtle polemic directed at the local Persian leadership in Jerusalem and Ramat Raḥel, with the expectation that the community in Yehud will be allowed to contribute to peace and rest in the empire by relying on Yahweh. Secondly, one may ask why the Chronicler chose the battle against the otherwise unknown Zerah the Cushite from Asa’s past to make his particular point? The scholarly proposals concerning the identity of this king include a Nubian general of Pharaoh Osorkon I (a Libyan), a Nubian mercenary of Pharaoh Shoshenq living around Gerar, or a member of a small Bedouin-like ethnic group living in the vicinity of Judah (this is the majority view; cf. “Cushan” in Hab. 3:7).60 Clues as to why the Cushites were introduced into this narrative should perhaps be sought in the Persian era, when the Chronicler wrote.61 Various Greek texts of the time (e. g. Herodotus III and Diodorus) portrayed the Cushites as having the reputation of being invincible. Ethiopia (or Cush) was regarded by the Persians (and Greeks) as the southern extreme of the known world.62 Furthermore, excavations in Nubia indicate that the Persian invasions never managed to take complete control of this remote part of the world.63 Although the evidence from classical writers is scanty (and biased),64 people in the Persian province of 59 See Ruffing, Jahwekrieg als Weltmetapher: Studien zu Jahwekriegstexten des chronistischen Sondergutes, 359–360. 60 See Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, 261–265; Raymond B. Dillard, 2 Chronicles, WBC (Waco: Word Books, 1987), 119–120; Simon J. De Vries, 1 and 2 Chronicles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 299–307; Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 709–710; John A. Thompson, 1, 2 Chronicles: An Exegetical and Theological Exposition of Holy Scripture (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1994), 267; William Johnstone, 1 and 2 Chronicles (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 62; Steven S. Tuell, First and Second Chronicles, Interpretation (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 168; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 278; Klein, 2 Chronicles, 217–219. 61 For an explanation of this point, see Jonker, “The Cushites in the Chronicler’s Version of Asa’s Reign,” 871–872. 62 Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander. A History of the Persian Empire. (Translated into English by P. T. Daniels) (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 55. 63 Ibid., 101. 64  Knoppers (“Greek Historiography and the Chronicler’s History: A Reexamination,” Journal of Biblical Literature 4 (2003): 627–50) claims that one should not underestimate the influence of classical Greek writers on the Chronicler. Although Knoppers supports his point from the genealogical analogies between the first part of Chronicles and some classical writers, he convincingly argues that one could imagine Greek influence in biblical writings far earlier than the enigmatic date of 332 B. C. E., which is normally seen as a threshold for Greek influence on Judah: “Archaeological studies of the Levant carried out during the last few decades shed much light on the history of this land during the Neo-Babylonian and Persian eras. Analysis of the material remains from ancient Palestine no longer supports the use of 332 B. C. E. as the threshold for Greek influence on Judah. Archaeological and written evidence for Greek contacts with the eastern Mediterranean predates the Macedonian conquest by centuries. The end of the Neo-Babylonian period and the advent of the Persian period witnessed a great expansion of international travel and commerce. … One could argue that Yehud was initially isolated from western influence, but it would seem hazardous to deny any contacts whatsoever, especially

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Yehud may have been aware of this reputation of the Cushites, perhaps through the Elephantine Jewish community on the southern border of Egypt with Nubia. Could one perhaps imagine that these classical Greek traditions about the relationship between Persia and Nubia / ​Libya were in the back of the Chronicler’s mind when he adapted the narrative about Asa’s reign? One could perhaps imagine that the traditions about Cush being the most extreme part of the known world, as well as about the military reputations of Cush and Libya – particularly in relation to the Persians – were known among the literati in Jerusalem and Ramat Raḥel. Persians are depicted in classical Greek literature not as conquerors, but with the insinuation that they are weak. Whatever the case, the Chronicler may have used the classical Greek traditions to emphasise that Yahweh’s power is even greater than that of the Cushites (and therefore by implication greater than that of the Persians). While the book of Chronicles communicates its message most probably in the time when the Persian Empire had lost its political supremacy in Egypt and when Yehud became part of the southern frontier of the empire, such a message would have been a subtle mockery of Persian military power. The Persian officials in Jerusalem and Ramat Raḥel, who were recruited from the local population in Yehud, would probably have understood that the Chronicler’s message in the Asa narrative was a subtle polemic directed at them.

4.5.2 Jehoshaphat’s Legal Reform (19:4–11) Judged by the length of text that the Chronicler dedicates to King Jehoshaphat of Judah, he certainly considered this king of great importance for his historiographical reconstruction. Not only is this one of the longest royal accounts in Chronicles (together with those of Hezekiah and Josiah), it also contains the most substantial portion of the Chronicler’s own material. Apart from 18:1–34 and 20:31–21:1, which make use of source materials in 1 Kings 22:1–35 and 22:41–50, respectively, the rest of the Jehoshaphat account consists of the Chronicler’s own material.65 There is much ambiguity in the structure of the Chronicler’s account. Second Chronicles 17:1–6 introduces Jehoshaphat with references to his righteousness in the eyes of the Lord and to the successful establishment of his kingdom; 17:7–11 tells of the king’s campaign to teach Judah “the Book of the Law of among the elite. … That western influences are present in the material culture of Samaria and Yehud is evident by developments in pottery, numismatics, weights, weaponry, fortifications, and glyptic art” (Ibid., 648–649). 65 For a discussion of the full Jehoshaphat narrative, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 227–232. The present discussion was adapted from that source. See also Louis C. Jonker, “Was the Chronicler More Deuteronomic than the Deuteronomist? Explorations into the Chronicler’s Relationship with Deuteronomic Legal Traditions,” Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 27/2 (2013): 191–203.

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Yahweh”;66 and 17:12–19 deals with the king’s growing military power. All the materials thus far are from the Chronicler’s own hand. Second Chronicles 18:1–19:3 is an extensive account of Jehoshaphat’s joint military campaign with King Ahab of Israel to Ramoth-Gilead. This narrative (taken over from the source text in 1 Kgs. 22, with only a few changes) also contains the episode with the prophet Micaiah ben-Yimlah. Second Chronicles 19:4–11 deals with some judicial reforms that Jehoshaphat initiated. This material comes from the Chronicler’s own hand again. The major part of 2 Chronicles 20 recounts Jehoshaphat’s defeat of the coalition of the Ammonites and Moabites (20:1–30). Prominent features are the prayer of Jehoshaphat (20:5–12) and a description of the role of Jehaziel the Levite (20:14–17).67 The Jehoshaphat account closes (20:31–21:1) with the normal summary of the king’s reign and some other minor events. In this last section the Chronicler rejoins his source material in 1 Kings 22. In the present discussion our interest is particularly in the section dealing with Jehoshaphat’s judicial reforms (19:4–11).68 Past studies on this text have mainly focused on its historical authenticity or not.69 Wellhausen did not see any historical events behind the Chronicler’s version of Jehoshaphat’s reforms, and therefore regarded these descriptions as reflections of the Chronicler’s own reality. Since Albright’s study in 1950 the majority of scholars have come to accept the historicity of the Chronicler’s account of Jehoshaphat’s legal reforms and that it therefore reflects the situation of the 9th century B. C. E. This view implied that the Chronicler made use of some older source for his description and that it reflected a pre-Deuteronomic phase in the development of the mo66 See

the discussion in Chapter 7 below, which will show that the Levites assisted in teaching the Torah. 67 See the discussion in Chapter 7 below on the reference to Jehaziel the Levite. 68 For a detailed discussion of this text, see Jonker, “Was the Chronicler More Deuteronomic than the Deuteronomist?” 69  Apart from the standard commentaries, also see William F. Albright, “The Judicial Reform of Jehoshaphat,” in Alexander Marx: Jubilee Volume on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Saul Lieberman (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1950), 61–82; Keith W. Whitelam, The Just King: Monarchical Judicial Authority in Ancient Israel, Vol. 12, JSOTS (Sheffield: JSOT, 1979); Gary N. Knoppers, “Reform and Regression: The Chronicler’s Presentation of Jehoshaphat,” Biblica 72/4 (1991): 500–524; Gary N. Knoppers, “Jehoshaphat’s Judiciary and ‘The Scroll of Yhwh’s Torah,’” Journal of Biblical Literature 113/1 (1994): 59–80; Ralph W. Klein, “Reflections on Historiography in the Account of Jehoshaphat,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom, ed. David P. Wright, D. Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 643–57; Bernard S. Jackson, “Law in the Ninth Century: Jehoshaphat’s Judicial Reform,” in Understanding the History of Ancient Israel, ed. Hugh G. M. Williamson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 369–97; Steven L. McKenzie, “The Trouble with King Jehoshaphat,” in Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld, ed. Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim, and W. Brian Aucker, VTS 113 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 299–314.

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narchical judiciary. Sara Japhet brought more sophistication into the debate with her discussion of this text in her commentary. She indicates that one should not be looking at an either-or situation: either the text relies on an older source and reflects legal practice in the 9th century B. C. E., or that the text reflects legal practice in the days of the Chronicler. She suggests: The idiosyncratic features of Jehoshaphat’s judicial reform thus mark it as distinct both from the law of Deuteronomy and from the legal system of the Chronicler’s time. … It would seem that the Chronicler did in fact use some sort of source for his report; judging from the Chronistic features of the text, that source must have been a brief, undetailed and basic record of changes in the legal administration, amplified by the Chronicler with an introduction and rhetorical pieces, and integrated into his own view of Jehoshaphat’s reign.70

Gary Knoppers builds upon Japhet’s work when he says: In its structure, titles for officials, function, and paraeneses, the description of Jehoshaphat’s judicial renovation evinces two consistent features: indebtedness to other biblical accounts of judicial reforms and Chronistic composition. In other words, the very links between Exodus, Deuteronomy, and Chronicles that scholars have used to justify the priority of Jehoshaphat’s reforms actually point in the opposite direction. The Chronicler selectively draws upon the depictions of both the Mosaic reforms and the Deuteronomic reforms. … The Chronicler poses a juridical-political ideal different from what either the past (i. e., the Elohistic and Deuteronomic writers) or the present (i. e., Achaemenid hegemony) dictates. His history, no less than Deuteronomy, is programmatic. The Chronicler draws on both past tradition and present reality, but his history does not duplicate either. In writing about the past the Chronicler attempts to shape the present. His configuration of relationships transcends conflicts between rival sacerdotal houses, priests and judges, kings and prophets, kings and judges, and judges and the populace. … The Chronicler’s depiction of Jehoshaphat’s reforms ultimately reflects what he believes justice should be.71

When one takes into account that the Chronicler wrote his work in the late Persian period, the question arises as to what he wanted to achieve in this context with his portrayal of Jehoshaphat’s reforms. Since this narrative belongs to the Chronicler’s Sondergut, and is therefore absent from the Deuteronomistic version of this king’s history, it seems that the Chronicler had a specific purpose for including this section. I have suggested elsewhere that the Chronicler deliberately returned to the Deuteronomic legal material (in Deuteronomy 16:18–20 and 17:8–13) to formulate his vision for the judiciary in his own time. In this way the Chronicler was more deuteronomic than the Deuteronomist, who did not include this information in 1 Kings 22.72

I&II Chronicles, 774. “Jehoshaphat’s Judiciary and ‘The Scroll of Yhwh’s Torah,’” 79–80. See also McKenzie, “The Trouble with King Jehoshaphat,” 310. 72 Jonker, “Was the Chronicler More Deuteronomic than the Deuteronomist?” 70 Japhet,

71 Knoppers,

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The Deuteronomic regulations would have been very useful to include during the time of restoration, a time of taking control and standardising,73 in the Persian period. The socio-political circumstances during the Chronicler’s time would have prompted new interest in the ancient statutes for the organisation of judicial matters. It is not really important to know whether the association of these measures with Jehoshaphat can be traced back to historical events during this king’s reign, or whether the Chronicler makes this association as a pun on the name of the king (which means “Yahweh judges”). The function of this information in the Chronicler’s wider ideological account during the late Persian era is the determining factor. Differently from the Deuteronomists, who wanted to give an explanation for the fatal destruction of Judah because of the exile, the Chronicler was taking part in a process of reconstruction. Not only does the Chronicler contribute to the process of identity negotiation in defining what is meant by All-Israel in the Persian period, but he also contributes to finding new ways and means of living in the socio-political dispensation of being a dependent province in the Persian Empire. Dandamaev states the following with reference to legal matters in the Persian Empire: Extremely diverse legal systems and institutions, which ranged from the very primitive to the highly developed, existed in the Achaemenid state. The conquests of the Persians did not lead to dramatic changes in the legal traditions and norms of the vanquished peoples. In Babylonian business documents from Persian times one encounters the expression “according to the law (dāta – an Iranian word) of the king.” … This word is encountered in the Behistun and other ancient Persian inscriptions, as well as in the books of Ezra (7:26 and elsewhere) and Esther (1:8 and elsewhere) where the “laws of the king” are mentioned. In all probability, reference here is to the general legal order established by the Achaemenids, and not to a uniform legal code, which … scarcely existed at all. Intensive work on the codification of the laws of the conquered peoples was carried out during the reign of Darius I,74 while ancient laws … were also studied … The laws  See Thomas Römer, The so-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical, and Literary Introduction (London: T & T Clark, 2007), 79. 74 See e. g. the debate about the Persian imperial authorisation of the Torah in Yehud. See Peter Frei and Klaus Koch, Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich, OBO 55 (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1984); Peter Frei, “Zentralgewalt und Lokalautonomie im achämenidischen Kleinasien,” Transeuphratène 3 (1990): 157–71; Peter Frei, “Die persische Reichsautorisation: Ein Überblick,” in Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte, Vol. 1 (1995) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1995), 1–35; Josef Wiesehöfer, “‘Reichsgesetz’ oder ‘Einzelfallgerechtigkeit’: Bemerkungen zu Peter Freis These von der achaimenidischen ‘Reichsautorisation’,” Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte 1 (1995): 36–46; Peter Frei, “Persian Imperial Authorization: A Summary,” ed. James W. Watts (Atlanta: SBL, 2001), 5–40; Erhard Blum, “Esra, die Mosethora und die Persische Politik,” in Religion und Religionskontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden, ed. Reinhard G. Kratz (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2001), 231–55. See also my discussions of this issue in Louis C. Jonker, “Within Hearing Distance? Recent Developments in Pentateuch and Chronicles Research,” Old Testament Essays 27/1 (2014): 129–132; Louis C. Jonker, 73

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existing in various countries were made uniform within the limits of a given country, while where necessary they were also changed according to the policy of the king.75

Although one may therefore assume that there was no imposition of Persian legal codes from above onto the subjugated provinces, it seems reasonable to assume that local peoples would have felt the need to motivate their legal traditions anew in these socio-political circumstances. The Chronicler found this aspect lacking in his source text of king Jehoshaphat’s reign in the Deuteronomistic version, and he therefore felt the need to clarify the notion that Yehud’s legal tradition actually stems from the Deuteronomistic tradition. The intention of the author was most probably to indicate to the local Persian authorities that Yehud’s legal tradition goes back to the desert wanderings of the pre-monarchical age and that it therefore should remain in place despite the changed socio-political situation.

4.5.3 Cyrus the Great, Messenger of Yahweh (36:22–23) The final subsection in the Chronicler’s historiography deals with the pending liberation under Cyrus, the Persian emperor.76 This information is absent from the Deuteronomist’s version in Kings, which leads some scholars to believe that the Deuteronomistic History in broad terms was finalised during the exile, before there were any signs of liberation yet. The Chronicler, writing some two centuries later, of course knew about the emergence of Persia, the return of the exiles, the rebuilding of the temple and Jerusalem, and the restoration of Yahweh’s people. Although 36:22–23 is not to be found in the Deuteronomistic source text, these verses are present in the introduction to the book of Ezra (in Ezra 1:1–3). Scholars debate intensely which one of these versions is the original, but a consensus has emerged that the Chronicler probably copied these verses from the earlier book of Ezra in order to establish a unity of some sort with the historiography contained in Ezra-Nehemiah (which describes the history after the exile).77 However, the inclusion of these verses, and particularly the figure of “From Paraleipomenon to Early Reader. The Implications of Recent Chronicles Studies for Pentateuchal Criticism,” in Congress Volume Munich 2013, ed. Christl M. Maier (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 217–54. 75 Muhammad A. Dandamaev and Vladimir G. Lukonin, The Culture and Social Institutions of Ancient Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 116–117. See also Muhammed A. Dandamaev, “Achaemenid Imperial Policies and Provincial Governments,” Iranica Antiqua 34 (1999): 269–82. 76 Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 1076–1077; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 371–372; Klein, 2 Chronicles, 545–547; Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 311–312. The present discussion is an adaptation from the last-mentioned work. 77 See a discussion of different options in Jonker, “From Paraleipomenon to Early Reader. The Implications of Recent Chronicles Studies for Pentateuchal Criticism,” 227–228.

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Cyrus, at the conclusion of Chronicles not only served a literary function, but also concluded the whole history of Israel from a universalist perspective. The book starts with Adam and ends with Cyrus. With those figures bracketing his historiography, the Chronicler put the history of Israel within the context of wider humanity and the nations (see again § 4.2.1 above). The previous subsection (36:15–21) emphasised that the exile was a fulfilment of the prophecy of Jeremiah,78 and now 36:22 indicates that the liberation under Cyrus the Great was also to fulfil the word of Yahweh spoken by Jeremiah. It is explicitly said that Yahweh stirred up (‫ עור‬Hiph.) the heart of Cyrus, king of Persia, to make a proclamation throughout his empire. It is noteworthy that the covenant name, Yahweh, is used to refer to the deity and that prophetic terms are used here as well. The expression “Yahweh stirred up the heart of X” is very often used in a context where a prophet is commissioned by Yahweh to speak on his behalf. This prophetic impression is strengthened by the introduction to Cyrus’s edict in 36:23: ‫“( כה אמר כורש מלך פרס‬thus says Cyrus king of Persia” ) . The expression used here is well known as the so-called prophetic formula (Botenformel) that normally introduces oracles in the prophetic literature (normally ‫)כה אמר יהוה‬. Cyrus of Persia is thus portrayed as if he were a prophet of Yahweh, announcing the return and restoration of the captives from Israel and Judah on behalf of Yahweh. This is quite significant in terms of what the book of Chronicles intended to communicate to its audience in the late Persian era. The Persian imperial regime is presented here with the insinuation that the providence of Yahweh is embodied in this imperial dispensation. The direct quotation from Cyrus’s written document is introduced with the claim that Yahweh, the God of heaven, has given him all the kingdoms of the earth. This suggests that the Persian emperor’s authority over the nations subservient to the empire was actually an authority received from Yahweh. This view portrays Yahweh as a universal God who not only determines the history of the miserable lands of Judah and Israel, but also moves the great empires of the world. Yahweh’s power to bring change is not limited to the boundaries of Israel or Judah, but spreads out over the mighty Persian Empire. Cyrus furthermore claims that Yahweh has appointed him to build a temple for Yahweh at Jerusalem in Judah. We know that Cyrus was eventually instrumental in the rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple and city walls.79 However, this remark 78 See

Jonker, “The Exile as Sabbath Rest: The Chronicler’s Interpretation of the Exile.” “Building the Second Temple: Questions of Time, Text, and History in Haggai 1.1–15,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 27/2 (2002): 243–56; Diana V. Edelman, “What Can We Know about the Persian-Era Temple in Jerusalem?,” in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2.–1. Mill. B. C. E.), ed. Jens Kamlah, Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 41 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2012), 343–68; John R. Barker, “Theology at the Cutting Edge: The Book of Haggai and the Rebuilding of the Temple in the Early Persian Period,” New Theology Review 26/2 (2014): 103–6. 79 J. Kessler,

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not only functions on the level of historical detail; it also functions as a literary bridge to another king who was commissioned by Yahweh to build a temple, namely Solomon (see again §§ 4.3.2 and 4.4.1 above). What was lost through a whole series of Judahite kings not doing right in the eyes of Yahweh will be regained by Cyrus the Persian king. It seems reasonable to assume that the Chronicler, by drawing these literary lines, wanted the reader to realise that the eternal Davidic dynasty is indeed continued in the Persian ruler. And furthermore, by reading backward from 36:22–23, the reader is led to understand that the Chronicler’s image of Solomon was a disguised polemic directed at the Persian rulers (probably through their governors in Jerusalem and Ramat Raḥel, who were appointed from the local population) to suggest to them that good rulership implies that Yahweh’s guidance should be sought. The closing of the book of Chronicles therefore makes explicit what was already implicit in many texts contained in the book.

4.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in the Persian Empire This brings us to the point where the discussion can proceed with a synthesis of the data that were found in the book of Chronicles. In this chapter the focus was particularly on viewing the book against the background of the Persian imperial context. From this perspective certain texts in all four of the main section in Chronicles emerged as significant interlocutors in discourses related to the imperial setting. These examples have confirmed the methodological point made earlier in Chapter 2, but also in the introduction to the present chapter, that “speaking in the imperium” is always a matter full of ambivalence and hybridity. On the one hand, the Persian imperial existence brought new socio-political and socio-religious possibilities. It became possible for the Judean and Israelite exiles to return to their lands and to restore their societies and rebuild their communities. It was even possible to reconstruct the temple in Jerusalem and to restore the cultic service in their sanctuary. On the other hand, the Persian imperial condition also imposed burdens on the subjugated peoples and provinces in the form of taxes and tribute. Societies such as the one in Yehud had to comply with the Persian understanding of order and peace, and they were always under pressure to show allegiance to the Persian king by means of orderly administration and by acknowledging Ahuramazda. For Yehud, the Persian authority was not a far-off reality, but operated through local officials in Jerusalem (and its temple) and in nearby Ramat Raḥel. This ambiguous situation formed the backdrop to the development of new literature by the literati in Jerusalem. The act of writing a new history of their royal past (the book of Chronicles) in these circumstances was probably a great

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risk in itself. The need for finding a new identity in Yehud in these circumstances certainly necessitated establishing continuity with their past historical traditions. But the new historical, and particularly socio-political and socio-religious, circumstances also necessitated sensitivity to a wider context within which Yehud no longer had an independent monarchy and had to comply with the rulings of the imperial masters. The Chronicler’s work communicates its message remarkably in these challenging and ambiguous circumstances. This historiography shows that Yehud stands in continuity with the past of the kingdom of Judah. It shows that the community’s identity does not rest upon the successful political achievements of the past, but rather on “seeking Yahweh” and “relying” on Him. Their primary identity is that of a Yahweh community. But it also shows that their existence in subjugation to the Persian imperial authorities does not obliterate their self-understanding as Yahwists from the Judahite line. Through their hybrid existence, and through mimicry of the imperial masters, allegiance to the Persian Empire and criticism of the empire were not in tension with one another. Chronicles shows how the Yehudite community was advised to be loyal to the Persian Empire, but simultaneously to remain loyal to Yahweh. We therefore saw in our analyses of the different texts that there was appreciation of the empire, but also polemic directed against and even mockery of the empire. Several themes emerged from these analyses. (i) Yehud is embedded in a universal humanity (§ 4.2.1) which is manifested in mainly two spheres: the temple community in Jerusalem (§ 4.2.2) as well as in the Persian Empire (§ 4.5.3). The reorganised temple community in Jerusalem embodies the universal line of humanity, starting with Adam, but is also the true continuation of the line of Abraham. However, the imperial existence under the Persians is also understood to be the wider circle of this universalist framework, with Cyrus being portrayed as having received all the kingdoms of the earth from the God of heaven. (ii) Yahweh is the Lord, not only of Yehud, but also universally of all worldly kings and kingdoms. This becomes particularly clear from the fact that some foreign monarchs, such as Huram of Tyre and the Queen of Sheba (§ 4.4.2), but also Pharaoh Neco of Egypt and King Cyrus of Persia (§ 4.5.3) are portrayed by the Chronicler as acknowledging Yahweh and are even acting and speaking on Yahweh’s behalf. Furthermore, the temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem shows – in contrast to the palace ideology in the Persian Empire – that Yahweh is actually king and not the earthly rulers such as the Persian emperors (§ 4.4.1). (iii) Yehud’s Yahwism could contribute significantly to the establishment of peace, rest and order in society (§§ 4.3.2 and 4.4.1) and it should therefore not be denied a rightful place within the Persian ideological landscape. (iv) Although there might be some indications of the influence of the Persian religious traditions on Yahwism (§ 4.3.1), the temple in Jerusalem together with

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its public ceremonies and rituals not only remains the landmark (Wahrzeichen) of true Yahwism, but also indicates that true kingship belongs to Yahweh (§ 4.4.1). (v) King Solomon of old is the paradigm according to which monarchs – also the Persian rulers – would be measured. His seeking of Yahweh in the building of the temple in Jerusalem results in wisdom, peace and order, and prosperity (§§ 4.3.2; 4.4.2; 4.4.3). This subtle message was most probably directed at those monarchs of the Persian period who had ears to hear! (vi) Military fame and greatness do not come through massive military resources, but through relying on Yahweh, who is the conqueror even of the seemingly invincible (§ 4.5.1). (vii) Yehud’s legal system is based on pre-monarchical (deuteronomic) traditions, and should therefore be acknowledged in the new provincial dispensation (§ 4.5.2). From the above it seems that the Chronicler mastered the art of complex, double-edged communication in the imperium. On the one hand, he took pains to help the Yehudite community find a new socio-political and socio-religious identity in the new socio-historical dispensation. On the other hand, the Chronicler used his opportunities to direct a subtle polemic towards the Persian Empire, particularly in terms of religious and judicial matters. The hybrid nature of Yehudite existence as a province within the Persian Empire can therefore be clearly observed in the Chronicler’s writings.

Chapter 5

Not Alone in this Provincial World 5.1 Introduction We saw in Chapter 3 above that the provincial existence of late Persian-period Yehud was dominated by its relationship with Samaria, on the one hand, but also with other surrounding provinces to the west, south and east, on the other hand. We also saw in the description of this level of socio-historic existence that the prominence of the province of Yehud varied over time. There might have been a time when Yehud was not an independent province, but was subjugated to the province of Samaria. It seems, however, that Yehud re-emerged to prominence by the end of the fifth century B. C. E. and the first years of the fourth when Yehud, together with Idumea, became the Persian border region with Egypt (which had seceded from Persia). Imperial politics were therefore influential in the relative position of Yehud. However, we saw that other factors were also involved in the relationship between Yehud and its provincial neighbours, such as the differentiated economic situation in which Yehud was in a relatively weaker position compared to some neighbours (Samaria in particular), but also the religious situation with some rival cultic centres on Mount Gerizim and probably also at Khirbet el-Qôm. Mutual power relations among these provinces were therefore ambiguous. Although all of them had the same fate of being subjugated colonies of the Persian Empire, there was no equality among them (at least, from the perspective of Yehud). The colonies’ inter-relationships, which were embedded in their individual relationships with the imperial centre, were dominated by common political and religious histories (particularly with Samaria), by previous alliances or enmities, by present differentiation through imperial imposition (particularly with Idumea), and particularly by economic differentiation. The ambiguity of these mutual power relations therefore could potentially have led to situations where a relationship could be seen as beneficial in one context but oppositional in another. The identification of texts from Chronicles to discuss in this chapter will mainly be done on the basis of direct references to Samaria and areas related to it, as well as to areas or peoples surrounding Yehud and Jerusalem to the west, south and east. Samaria will also be discussed within the context of how the former northern kingdom of Israel is portrayed.

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5.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) 5.2.1 The Sons of Esau: Edom’s Position (1:34–54) We saw in the previous chapter that a universalist set of genealogies starts the Chronicler’s construction in 1:1–27. From 1:28 the genealogies shift to the family line of Israel’s patriarch, Abraham, with his sons Ismael and Isaac receiving attention in the following genealogical sections. First Chronicles 1:29–31 contains the genealogy of Ishmael, while 1:32–33 presents the descendants of Abraham through Keturah. After an introduction (1:34), 1:35–2:2 takes the Isaac lineage further, presenting first the descendants of Esau, including the kings and chiefs of Edom (1:35–54), and then of Israel (2:1–2). The order of the presentation of these genealogies is significant. It is a wellknown practice in these family lists to present the most important person or lineage last (as is also the case with Shem in the previous section). In the headings the tendency is often the opposite. There the focal element often comes first (as is the case with Shem, Ham and Japheth in 1:4). Here the situation is the same. Although 1:28 presents Abraham’s sons in the order Isaac-Ishmael, the genealogies are presented in the opposite order. The focus is clearly on Isaac’s descendants. The presentation of Isaac’s lineage follows the same pattern (apart from the heading in 1:34 not following the pattern seen with Shem and Isaac).1 The presentation of Esau’s lineage comes first and then the focus shifts to Israel. From the source text in Genesis 36 we know that Esau was associated with the land of Edom, and that Seir (mentioned as one of the progeny of Esau in this genealogy) became a synonym for Edom.2 The Chronicles text also makes this association with Edom explicit in the Edomite kings list presented in verses 43–54.3 1 For a discussion of the order in 1:34 see Elie Assis, “From Adam to Esau and Israel: An Anti-Edomite Ideology in 1 Chronicles 1,” Vetus Testamentum 56/3 (2006): 294–296. 2 See e. g. Diana V. Edelman, You Shall Not Abhor an Edomite for He Is Your Brother: Edom and Seir in History and Tradition, SBLABS (Atlanta: Scholars, 1995); Juan Manuel Tebes, “‘You Shall Not Abhor an Edomite, for He Is Your Brother’: The Tradition of Esau and the Edomite Genealogies from an Anthropological Perspective,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 6 (2009). 3 Sara Japhet remarks about the kings and chiefs of Edom mentioned in this section of the genealogy: “The historical concept expressed here is that there were two phases in the political history of Edom: in the first, Edom was ruled by kings (eight in all) who established their own capitals and were succeeded on by the other. After the death of Hadad there were no more kings; Edom was ruled by chiefs (of which the list cites eleven), successively or simultaneously. This development should of course be understood in the light of the words ‘before any king reigned over the Israelites’ in the heading of the passage as a whole (v. 43). The transition from one political order to another is connected with the accession of a king in Israel, who was, according t o Chronicles, David, with whom the history of kingship in Israel actually begins. Political circumstances of Edom were thus determined: kings reigning before the accession of David, a n d chiefs thereafter” (Sara Japhet, I&II Chronicles [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993], 64). Manfred Oeming comes to a similar conclusion, but on the basis of the al-

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The order of presentation of Isaac and Esau in the Chronicler’s genealogy leads some scholars to conclude that this is a subtle anti-Edomite polemic. Kartveit indicates that, although the Chronicler made use of Genesis 36 as source text, some small changes (namely, the omission of Gen. 36:13b–19, and the change of the phrase “the chiefs of Esau” of Gen. 36:40 to “the chiefs of Edom” in 1 Chron. 1:51) were made to the Vorlage, and in this way “Edom ist folglich nicht mehr ein Teil der Esau-Genealogie, sondern selbständig.”4 He concludes from this textual evidence: Man kann sich nun vorstellen, dass der Chronist mit der Lokalisierung von Edom in dessen herkömmlichen Gebiet und durch die zwei erwähnten Änderungen nicht nur ein gegebenes Bild übernimmt, sondern auch bewusst eine Querverbindung zu einem Israel-Zweig der Genealogie herstellt und den Edomitern ihr altes Gebiet zuweist. Eine leise Polemik gegen die einziehenden Edomiter im südlichen Stammesgebiet ist hier unüberhörbar.5

This could be a plausible theory, if Lipschits is correct in his assessment of the developments in the southern and south-western areas during the late Persian era (as we also saw in our discussion in Chapter 3 above). According to Lipschits, “the Negev, the Hebron Mountains, and the southern and central Shephelah were separated from the province of Judah. These areas became the center of another national-territorial unit: Idumea.”6 That the south-eastern border of Yehud (in the direction of Edom) was a contested area is evident in the system of fortresses erected in this area by the Persians at the end of the fifth to the beginning of the fourth centuries B. C. E.,7 probably in response to the rebellion which cut off Egypt from their sphere of influence. ternative translation he suggests for 1:43. With reference to 1 Kings 18 where David’s victory over the Edomites is narrated, he suggests that this verse should be translated as “before a king from (‫ )ל־‬the sons of Israel [reigned over Edom],” with the implication that David ended the Edomite rule, and that Edom became subjugated to Israel from that time. Oeming relates this then to a polemic against Edomite expansion when he says: “Zugegebenermassen muss man sowohl bei der Deutung auf David als auch bei der Polemik gegen edomitische Expansionen etwas zum jetzigen Text aus dem literarischen bzw. historischen Kontext hinzudenken. Dennoch scheint diese Deutung plausibler als eine Sekundärerklärung, die im Grunde nichts erklärt” (Das wahre Israel: Die “genealogische Vorhalle” 1 Chronik 1–9 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 19 9 0 ), 88–89. Klein, however, finds Oeming’s translation suggestion “untenable” (1 Chronicles: A Commentary [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006], 61 fn. 29). 4 Magnar Kartveit, Motive und Schichten der Landtheologie in I Chronik 1–9, Neu bearb. Ausg., Coniectanea Biblica / ​Old Testament Series 28 (Stockholm: Almquist och Wiksell, 1989), 116. 5 Ibid. Although with different arguments, Assis (“From Adam to Esau and Israel.”) comes to a similar conclusion than Kartveit. However, Klein (1 Chronicles, 61 fn. 29.) does not agree with Kartveit, because “the locations are mostly unknown.” 6 Oded Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah under Babylonian Rule (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 149. 7 See Yigal Levin, “The Southern Frontier of Yehud and the Creation of Idumea,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, ed. Yigal Levin (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 239–52.

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The Chronicler’s treatment of Edom might then well be a reflection that a polemic against Yehud’s southern neighbour was still continuing in those days. We know that the Idumean population consisted of various ethnic minorities during this period, including also some Judahites.8 This might be the reason that the Chronicler portrays Edom as part of the family but also distinctively separate from the bearers of the covenant.

5.2.2 An All-Inclusive All-Israel (with a focus on 2:1–2 || 9:1a; 4:24–5:26; 7:1–40) The term ‫“( כל־ישראל‬All-Israel”) appears for the first time in Chronicles in 9:1a. There i t is indicated that “All-Israel were registered in genealogies.” This phrase forms the conclusion of the great Israel genealogy in chapters 2–8,9 before at t e ntion shifts to the post-exilic inhabitants of Jerusalem in chapter 9. Chapter 9:1 belongs to the Chronicler’s own material, before he continues quoting from his sources again in the next verse. The phrase in 9:1a forms an inclusio with the opening of Israel’s genealogy in 2:1–2. The ‫“( בני ישראל‬sons of Israel”) are listed from there (with Jacob constantly being called “Israel” by the Chronicler). Everyone included between these two bookends of the Chronicler’s genealogical introduction is therefore considered to be part of “All-Israel.” It is therefore very significant to see that not only Judah and Benjamin (the two tribal areas of the former southern kingdom, coinciding with Yehud of the Chronicler’s present) are included in the Chronicler’s understanding of All-Israel, but indeed all the other tribes. This already starts with the mentioning of the following sons of Israel in 2:1: “Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, Zebulun, Dan, Joseph, Benjamin, Naphtali, Gad, and Asher.” We have mentioned before that scholars are in agreement that the Chronicler’s genealogical construction forms a ring structure, with the Levite genealogy occupying the centre position (5:27–6:66), and Judah (2:3–4:23) and Benjamin (8:1–40) being the two genealogical “pillars” on which the construction rests. These positions are significant in the Chronicler’s understanding of All-Israel 8 See Ian Stern, “The Population of Persian-Period Idumea according to the Ostraca: A Study of Ethnic Boundaries and Ethnogenesis,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, ed. Yigal Levin (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 205–38; Amos Kloner and Ian Stern, “Idumea in the Late Persian Period (Fourth Century B. C. E.),” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 139–44. 9 See Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 206; Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2003), 486; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 265; Louis C. Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, Understanding the Bible Commentary Series (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2013), 74–75.

5.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9)

155

(as we will see in our discussions in Chapters 6 and 7). However, the positions in between Judah and Levi (4:24–5:26), and Levi and Benjamin (7:1–40), are also significant in what they reflect of the Chronicler’s vision of these other tribal areas. The section in 4:24–5:26 deals first with the Simeonites (4:24–43) and then moves to the descendants of Reuben, Gad and the half-tribe of Manasseh (5:1– 26). The genealogy of Simeon not only gives a list of descendants, but also elaborates on the areas in which they settled as well as on the confrontations they had to deal with in the process of settlement. Although the focus of the Chronicler’s genealogies is very much on Judah, Benjamin and Levi, Simeon’s genealogy is still fairly comprehensive. The reason might be that the tribe of Simeon is also closely associated with Judah (the area of Simeon to the south of Judah had been absorbed into Judah long before the Chronicler’s time). The genealogy intends to reflect the pre-exilic existence, when Simeon was still a separate tribe, but also to state the situation in the Chronicler’s time. It is significant, however, that the Hebrew expressions used in 4:28 and 33 suggest that the Simeonites “were settled” in this area. The source used by the Chronicler, namely Joshua 19:1–9, mentions that the Simeonites had their “inheritance” in the area of Judah. This is in line with the Deuteronomistic understanding of the promised land being legally allotted to the different tribes. The Chronicler does not use the term “inheritance,” however. He was probably insinuating that the Simeonites were settled on Judahite land, but that the land still belonged to Judah. The rest of the genealogical interlude (5:1–26) focuses on some Transjordanian and northern tribes which had a close affiliation with the former northern kingdom, Israel. Our current knowledge of these tribes (Reuben, Gad and the half-tribe of Manasseh) confirms that they, like the Simeonites, had probably disappeared as separately identifiable groups by the time of the Chronicler. Their inclusion again could be interpreted as part of the Chronicler’s strategy to help define an inclusive All-Israel. On the one hand, the Judahite writer probably made some claims to the former tribal areas on behalf of the post-exilic community by reminding his readers that those dissolved tribes were once part of the family. On the other hand, readers who had a historical memory of being part of those tribes would find comfort in their existence still being endorsed by the writer. The portrayal of this group of tribes is fairly ambiguous in the Chronicler’s description. In 5:18–22 the Chronicler (with material from his own hand) narrates the military victories of these tribes over the Hagrites and other lesser-known groups. However, in 5:25–26 he reminds readers that these selfsame tribes “transgressed against the God of their ancestors, and prostituted themselves to the gods of the peoples of the land” (vs. 25, which is part of the Chronicler’s Sondergut), and were taken into exile by King Pul of Assyria (i. e. Tilgath-Pilneser) after “the God of Israel stirred up the spirit of King Pul” (the last element being

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part of the Chronicler’s innovative use of his source materials in the Deuteronomistic History). Apart from the fact that we find some important theological themes of the Chronicler here (including transgression against God, and the God of Israel stirring the spirit of a foreign king), this does not hide his repudiation of this part of the family behind fine-sounding words. He clearly indicates that the exile of the northern kingdom, Israel, was well deserved in terms of their apostasy before the Lord. This ambiguous tone reminds the reader that the northern kingdom and its associated Transjordanian areas are part of the definition of All-Israel, but do not escape criticism and in fact warrant distantiation. In the exilic punishment of which the readership is reminded, it is clear that the God of Israel does not side with these tribes, as shown through his use of a foreign king as his instrument of punishment. The second interlude in 7:1–40 takes the reader northward to focus on those tribes traditionally considered to be part of the northern kingdom, Israel (Issachar, Benjamin, Naphtali, Manasseh, Ephraim and Asher). Their link with the ancestor, Israel, is of course clear, since this section is also closely linked to 2:1–2, where the writer listed the sons of Israel. However, the overall construction does not strictly keep to the list of sons provided in 2:1–2. Dan and Zebulun are left out (although some see faint traces of a Dan genealogy in 2:12),10 and Joseph is replaced by his two sons Ephraim and Manasseh. Dan might have been omitted for a theological reason, namely its detestable cult referred to in Judges 18:30–31 and 1 Kings 12:29. But these explanations do not account for Zebulun’s omission. The simplest solution might be to remember that the northernmost tribes apparently left very scanty records, probably because they were always first in the line of fire during the Assyrian onslaughts which came from the north-east. Although Benjamin receives a separate and very prominent position in the Chronicler’s construction (as discussed above), this tribe is also mentioned in this interlude (7:6–12). The information here differs significantly from that which is provided in the Benjamin genealogy in 8:1–40. Without explaining the reasons for that, one may see in this additional mention of Benjamin, which is closely associated with the northern tribes of the former kingdom of Israel, an indication of the ambiguous position of Benjamin (as discussed in Chapter 3 above). From these interludes in the Chronicler’s genealogies one gets the clear impression that the Chronicler envisioned an all-inclusive All-Israel. The All-Israel of the late Persian period is envisioned to include not only the former southern kingdom’s sphere of influence, but also the northern kingdom’s sphere of influence. This might be considered to be a utopian description with which the 10 See the discussions in Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 453–454 and Klein, 1 Chronicles, 222–223.

5.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29)

157

Chronicler wanted to encourage his contemporaries towards conceiving of a better alternative reality.11 However, within the socio-historic reality of having Samaria as a province to the north, and some Transjordanian and southern areas functioning as provinces on an equal footing with Yehud, the claims of these genealogies were not innocent in these circumstances and their ambiguity certainly did not go unnoticed.

5.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) 5.3.1 All-Israel Supports David as King (11:1–12:41) Whereas the previous narrative about Saul in 1 Chronicles 10 forms the introduction to the Chronicler’s description of David’s kingship, the present section narrates David’s actual anointing and coronation as king and the consolidation of his military power. It is quite clear that the Chronicler wanted to get to this point in his historical description as swiftly as possible. For that reason he skips over some events that are considered important in the Deuteronomistic History. The Chronicler used material from his Deuteronomistic Vorlage, namely sections from 2 Samuel 5 and 23, and he artfully combines these with his own material (contained in chapter 12) to describe the consolidation of David’s power in the early years of his reign.12 Although the writer made use of material from 2 Samuel 5 at the beginning of this narrative (1 Chron. 11:1–3 || 2 Sam. 5:1–3), he nevertheless made a slight change right at the beginning. Whereas the Samuel text indicates that “all the tribes of Israel” came to David at Hebron to pledge their support of his kingship, the Chr o n icler changed this expression to ‫כל־ישראל‬, “All-Israel,” the wellknown term used by the Chronicler as a reference to the restored community of his own time. The expression “all the tribes of Israel” in the Samuel version probably had too strong an association with the former Northern Kingdom, and the Chronicler therefore changed it to an expression which would clarify that he 11 See Steven J. Schweitzer, “The Genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9: Purposes, Forms, and the Utopian Identity of Israel,” in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul Evans and Tyler Williams (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 9–27. 12 The composition history of 1 Chron. 11–12 is heavily debated. See Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2004), 572–575 for a good summary of the different viewpoints. The main issue of contention is that these two chapters in Chronicles do not present a neat chronological account of events, but are rather characterised by some repetitions. Therefore some scholars have suggested that smaller sections in chapter 12 might be later additions, and that they consequently disrupt the flow of the narrative. See our discussion below on Williamson’s proposal of a ring structure for this textual unit.

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is actually referring to the idealised whole community of the post-exilic time of restoration. The change of the accompanying verb from ‫“( בוא‬to come”) to ‫קבץ‬ (“to gather”) might also be suggestive of the collectivity that the Chronicler wanted to portray in his text.13 Recent commentators concur with Williamson’s suggestion that the textual unit in chapters 11–12 forms an artful chiasm and that no attempt should be made to read it chronologically.14 According to this view, the text consists of eight units that are ordered in pairs according to the locations indicated in the text: coronation and celebration at Hebron (11:1–9 and 12:39–41); support for David at Hebron (11:10–47 and 12:24–38); support for David at Ziklag (12:1–8 and 12:20–23); and support for David at the stronghold (12:9–16 and 12:17–19). According to Williamson and those following his proposal, the two smaller central sections carry the emphasis. What concerns us most in this part of our discussion are the tribes mentioned in the different parts of this chiastic construction. Similarly to the construction in the Chronicler’s genealogical introduction, these sections also involve the tribes from the Transjordan and the North, apart from Judah (12:17–19, 25–30), Benjamin (12:1–8, 17–19, 25–30) and Levi (12:25–30). Whereas our discussions in later chapters will deal with the references to Levi, our focus here is on the other tribes mentioned. All these other tribes are mentioned in chapter 12, which stems from the Chronicler’s own hand. The tribes mentioned are: Gad (12:9–16); Manasseh (12:20–22); Simeon (together with Judah, Benjamin and Levi in 12:25–30); Ephraim, half-tribe of Manasseh, Issachar, Zebulun, Naphtali, Dan and Asher (12:31–37); from Transjordan, Reuben, Gad and half-tribe of Manasseh (12:38). The tribes mentioned here correspond to those that were mentioned in the two interludes of the genealogical introduction (4:24–5:26 and 7:1–40), and one may assume that the Chronicler had a similar intention here to that in the genealogies, namely to make clear that these tribes which traditionally belonged to the former Northern Kingdom and Transjordanian areas, were considered to be part of the inclusive All-Israel envisioned during the time of restoration in the Persian period. The numbers of troops mentioned for each tribe (or group of tribes) are significant. Commentators indicate that these numbers are unrealistically high and many theories have been formulated to interpret them.15 I agree with Klein’s interpretation: B. Dirksen, 1 Chronicles (Leuven: Peeters, 2005), 167. G. M. Williamson, “‘We Are Yours, O David’: The Setting and Purpose of 1 Chronicles Xii 1–23,” ed. Bertil Albrektson, Vol. 21, Oudtestamentische Studien (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 164–76. See also Hugh G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 96–97. 15 For good summaries of these theories, see Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 570–571; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 314–316. 13 Pieter 14 Hugh

5.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29)

159

Instead of removing or reducing the large numbers, we need to interpret the muster list in its present form as a group of twelve tribal groupings, signifying the united, all-Israel interpretation for which the Chronicler always strives. His numbers are to be taken according to the plain sense of the Hebrew, as “thousands,” but their significance is symbolic, not literal, just as the arrangement of these two chapters is chiastic, not chronological. … While the list may imitate more realistic muster lists and is rich with military vocabulary, I believe its value is primarily theological and provides another example of the Chronicler’s all-Israel agenda.16

Klein also calls attention to the interesting fact that the southern tribes, Judah, Benjamin, Levi, and Simeon, are given relatively small numbers of valiant men in the narrative. The biggest numbers are attributed to the northern tribes. Klein interprets this phenomenon as follows: The principle seems to be, the more remote the tribe, the larger its delegation at David’s coronation. Hence David was by no means a king representing only Judah. All tribes supported him, and the tribes that were most distant – or long since forgotten or grown insignificant by the time of the Chronicler – were far and away the most supportive. The tribes of Judah, Benjamin, and Levi at the time of the Chronicler needed no special justification to be part of Israel, nor did the small community of Yehud exhaust what might be meant by “Israel.” The Chronicler gives significant importance to the tribes other than Judah and expresses thereby a broader hope for what Israel might become.17

When one takes into account that these other tribes (or rather tribal areas) formed part of other Persian provinces during the Chronicler’s time, these lists indicating support for Judah’s past king acquire an ideological ring. In a subtle way the Chronicler was portraying Yehud as the military nexus of these areas – a claim which would have been ironic in a context where Yehud in all probability not only had no significant military power, but also no king.

5.3.2 Philistines, Moab, Aram, Edom, Ammon (14:8–17; 18:1–13; 19:1– 19; 20:4–8) The sections mentioned here all contain information on neighbouring nations of Judah with whom David engaged in battle, or areas into which he extended his (military) influence. All these sections, however, were taken over from the Vorlage in 2 Samuel and should therefore not be over-interpreted in terms of the Chronicler’s ideological purposes. However, the fact that the Chronicler did include these texts (from 2 Sam. 5:17–25; 8:1–14; 10:1–19; 21:18–22), while he in general omitted great parts of the Samuel narrative, remains interesting. Those Samuel texts that reflect negatively on King David and tell the narratives of many inner-Judahite conflicts were omitted. The sections narrating the sub1 Chronicles, 315–316. 315.

16 Klein, 17 Ibid.,

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mission of the neighbouring nations and areas to David’s power were considered important enough for the Chronicler’s purpose that they were selected for inclusion. Within this situation of the Chronicler working very selectively with his source materials, one may speculate that these sections contributed to the Chronicler’s discourse about Yehud’s position amidst the surrounding provinces such as Philistia, Moab and Idumea. By reminding his readers that their founding king, David, already had included these nations and areas in his military and political sphere of influence, the Chronicler suggests that they belong to the idealised understanding of the concept of “All-Israel.”

5.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) 5.4.1 No Northerners Building the Temple (1:18–2:17) In 1 Chronicles 22 and 28–29 the Chronicler indicated that King David had paved the way for the building of the temple in Jerusalem and had already made extensive preparations. It is therefore somewhat strange that, according to the Chronicler’s narrative, Solomon had to appoint craftsmen again and had to gather building material from Lebanon. However, the narrative reaches its climax here, when the actual building of the temple is credited to Solomon. Second Chronicles 2 therefore introduces the history of the building process, which stretches to the end of 2 Chronicles 7. This episode starts with an introductory remark in 1:18 in which the building of the temple and the palace is announced, 2:1 and 2:16–17 frame the episode with information on the craftsmen whom Solomon conscripted, and 2:2–15 contains the report on the correspondence between Solomon and Huram of Tyre, in which Solomon requests some building material and assistance for his project. The wayyiqtol ‫( ויספר‬from ‫“ ספר‬to count”) opens both 2:1 and 2:16 with the reminder in the latter verse of the census undertaken by David (1 Chron. 21). These verses abbreviate the source text of 1 Kings 5:27–32. The numbers mentioned in the two versions are not significantly different. Chronicles differs only in terms of the number of foremen (3,600 according to both 2 Chron. 2:1 and 2:17, instead of 3,300 in 1 Kgs. 5:30). One significant difference, however, is that the Chronicler omitted the phrase ‫“( ויעל המלך שלמה מס מכל־ישראל‬Solomon brought up forced labour from all-Israel”) which is used in 1 Kings 5:27. The Chronicler, who did not want to blemish Solomon’s reputation in any way, rather replaced this phrase with his mentioning of a census, indicating that those being c o u nted were the ‫( גרים אשר באר‍ץ ישראל‬2 Chron. 2:16), that is, those non-Israelites who settled down among the Israelites and who had only limited rights. In doing so, the Chronicler also avoided any suggestion that this census

5.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9)

161

could be considered sinful, such as the census ordered by David (see 1 Chron. 21) that was conducted among the Israelites. There might be another reason why the Chronicler chose to alter his source text at this point. He not only avoided the risk of incriminating King Solomon with the conscription of forced labour, but also made sure through his alteration of the text that it becomes absolutely clear that nobody from Israel (i. e. Samaria in the Chronicler’s time) participated in building the Temple in Jerusalem. This interpretation of the text under discussion relates well to the fact that the Chronicler patterned the building of the temple on the narrative of the manufacturing of the tabernacle (see 2 Chron. 2:2–15). In this way, the Chronicler relates back to a pre-monarchical tradition, and thereby involves Tyrian workers and specialist builders in the project instead of anyone from Israel. These indications also link well with the statement in 1 Chronicles 28:19, where it is said that the plan for the temple building came directly from Yahweh’s hand and was not based on any precursor or other tradition.18 Why would the Chronicler have felt the need to give such a presentation of the building of the temple? As we saw in § 3.4.2.2, scholars are in agreement that the temple in Jerusalem was not the only Yahweh sanctuary during the Chronicler’s time. We know for sure that a Yahu temple existed on Elephantine in Diaspora Egypt,19 but also on Mount Gerizim near Shechem in the northern Israelite territory, as well as in Idumea (probably at Khirbet el-Qôm).20 Furthermore, we have evidence of numerous non-Yahwistic sanctuaries in the areas around Yehud.21 This religious context forms the background against which the Chronicler claims

John Jarick, “The Temple of David in the Book of Chronicles,” in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, ed. John Day (London: T & T Clark, 2007), 379–380. 19 Lynch remarks about this temple: “Egyptian Jews built this temple sometime prior to the conquest of Cambyses in 525 B. C. E. It was destroyed ca. 410 B. C. E., probably due to the expansion of the nearby temple of Knum, but was probably rebuilt before 402 B. C. E. as suggested by its mention in a later bill of sale. Because the Elephantine papyri date only until 399 B. C.E, it is not certain how long this temple persisted” (Matthew Lynch, Monotheism and Institutions in the Book of Chronicles: Temple, Priesthood, and Kingship in Post-Exilic Perspective (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 57.). 20 Lynch remarks about this temple: “A land transfer recorded on Idumean ostraca No. 283 mentions a ruined BYT YWH somewhere in Idumea, most likely in Khirbet el-Kôm / ​ Maqqedah. Based on comparative epigraphy, this temple appears to date from the Babylonian or Persian periods, though precision is difficult. The text also refers to two other temples in close proximity, a BYT ‘Z’ (temple of ‘Uzza), and a BYT NBW (temple of Nabu)” (Ibid., 59). See also Lemaire, “New Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea and Their Historical Interpretation”; Eshel, “Two Aramaic Ostraca from Mareshah”; Eshel, “The Onomasticon of Mareshah in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods”; Stern, “The Population of Persian-Period Idumea according to the Ostraca: A Study of Ethnic Boundaries and Ethnogenesis.” 21 See e. g. Bob Becking, “Temples Accross the Border and the Communal Boundaries within Yahwistic Yehud,” Transeuphratène 35 (2008): 39–54; Lynch, Monotheism and Institutions in the Book of Chronicles, 60–61. 18 See

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a unique position for the Jerusalem temple.22 The Chronicler’s portrayal might therefore be a polemic against other provincial sanctuaries, claiming that the Jerusalem temple has its roots in pre-monarchical traditions, and that no Israelite hands contributed to the building process.

5.4.2 Mount Moriah as Location for the Temple (3:1) In 2 Chronicles 3:1 the reader enters the section in which the long-awaited process of building the temple is described. The reader’s expectations have already been focused on the actual building of the temple in Jerusalem from the narration of David’s history in 1 Chronicles 21–22 and 28–29. Together with chapter 5:1, verses 1–2 in chapter 3 form a frame around the Chronicler’s account of the building of the temple. Verse 1 gives the location of the temple, while verse 2 indicates the temporal frame for the building of the temple. Verse 1 supplies three spatial indications, namely “in Jerusalem”, “on Mount Moriah where Yahweh appeared to his father David”,23 and “on the place that David prepared on the threshing floor of Araunah.” Although the Chronicler used 1 Kings 6–7 as source text, the location is specified with information that is not provided in the source text.24 The reference to Araunah’s threshing floor clearly comes from 1 Chronicles 21, where the reader was told that David bought this piece of land from the Jebusite. The choice of the neutral ground between Judah and Benjamin was probably deliberate, as we shall see in § 6.3.4. Here, in 2 Chronicles 3:1, however, the location is further specified as “on Mount Moriah.” The name “Moriah” is mentioned only twice in the Old Testament, namely here and in Genesis 22 as the location of Abraham’s offering of Isaac (“the land Moriah”). This is a very clear attempt by the Chronicler to connect the building of the temple to the ancestral history of Israel. The Chronicler’s insinuation is clearly that the Lord’s presence will be experienced in the temple in Jerusalem as their ancestor Abraham experienced it in the land Moriah. In this way it is shown that the Lord’s presence in this place is already well established 22 See

also the discussions in Hugh G. M. Williamson, “The Temple in the Books of Chronicles,” in Templum Amicitiae: Essays on the Second Temple Presented to Ernst Bammel, ed. William Horbury (Sheffield: JSOT, 1991), 25–31; Jarick, “The Temple of David in the Book of Chronicles,” 376–380. 23 The first ‫ אשר‬clause used in 2 Chron. 3:1 is probably linking “the place where Yahweh appeared to David” back to “Jerusalem”, and not to “Mount Moriah”, which will not make narrative sense within the story line of the Hebrew Bible. The reference to Yahweh’s appearance to David is rather connected with the episode narrated in 1 Chron. 21, and therefore with the second ‫ אשר‬clause in 2 Chron. 3:1, where reference is made to the threshing floor of Araunah. 24 See the discussion in Jarick, “The Temple of David in the Book of Chronicles,” 369–373.

5.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9)

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in their long-standing ancestral traditions, which gives further legitimacy for the temple construction on the same site. The strategy to link the site of Solomon’s temple to some ancestral context is not unknown in Chronicles. In the Sondergut passage of 1 Chronicles 21:22–25, David’s purchasing of the site from Araunah / ​ Ornan is also clearly patterned according to the narrative of Abraham’s purchasing of the Machpelah cave from Ephron (cf. this text with Gen. 23). Hugh Williamson remarks about these textual links that the Chronicler was able … to line these three episodes [Genesis 22; 1 Chronicles 21; and 2 Chronicles 3] in such a way as to emphasize the continuity of worship at this site and so indirectly to link the temple of his own day with some of the major religious leaders of Israel’s past.25

Within the context of poly-Yahwism and even with non-Yahwistic centres around (see § 5.4.1 again), the Chronicler might have felt the need to give additional legitimacy to the reconstructed temple in Jerusalem. Bob Becking summarises this situation as follows: “The presence of competing Yahwistic temples in the Persian Period seems to be a greater threat to the identity of Jerusalem as the centre of ‘real Yahwism.’ … The presence of these sanctuaries indicates the re-emergence of poly-Yahwism, i. e. a variety of forms of Yahwism differing from temple to temple.”26 Ralph Klein heads in the same direction with his comment about this passage: “The Chronicler’s theological enhancement of the site of Solomon’s temple may be an attempt to compensate for the somewhat inferior physical quality of the so-called Second Temple of his day, as noted in several biblical passages (Ezra 3:12–13; Hag 2:3, 6–9).”27 Isaac Kalimi also sees in the Chronicler’s description some attempt to extol the second temple despite its inferior quality, but he takes one step further when arguing that … it is not impossible that the Chronicler’s identification of the site of the Temple with the Aqeda hides a polemic with the rival Samaritans’ sacred place on Mount Gerizim. (They claim this site as the location where Abraham bound his son Isaac to the altar.) … The reference to the site of the Temple in Chronicles seems to be a result of the Chronicler’s desire to “fill in the gaps” in the Book of Kings. The references to the stories of the Aqeda and Araunah’s threshing floor were probably intended, first and foremost, to endow Zerubbabel’s Temple with a special degree of sanctity as it fell short of Solomon’s

“The Temple in the Books of Chronicles,” 24. See also Japhet I&II Chronicles, 551–552. Japhet remarks about the Chronicler’s addition of information about the temple site: “This final identification of all three sites with the Temple Mount is a result of a midrashic process, following characteristic midrashic paths. As no other traces of this process are found in the Bible, the question of its origin is unavoidable: was this midrashic structure the work of the Chronicler himself, or was he bringing to the surface existing developments, to which he gave expression in his own language and style? Pending further evidence, no definite answer may be given.” 26 Becking, “Temples Accross the Border and the Communal Boundaries within Yahwistic Yehud,” 53. 27 Ralph W. Klein, 2 Chronicles: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 46. 25 Williamson,

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Temple in size, wealth, and ritual accessories; perhaps it even contains a hidden polemic with the rival Samaritan sacred place on Mount Gerizim.28

When read within the provincial context during the late Persian period, the indication of the temple’s location in 2 Chronicles 3:1 thus seems to be a bold attempt by the Chronicler to claim supremacy for the second temple of his own time amidst a context of poly-Yahwism and rivalry between Yehud and Samaria about whose temple, and therefore whose Yahwism, is the legitimate one.

5.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) The existence, and disappearance, of the two former kingdoms of Judah and Israel and their respective capitals Jerusalem and Samaria, form the most direct socio-historical backdrop to the exilic and post-exilic periods. These two polities had different histories, with Samaria and the kingdom of Israel falling prey to the Assyrian expansions of the late eighth century B. C. E., while Jerusalem existed for another approximately 135 years before its inhabitants were taken into exile by the Babylonian imperial power of the early sixth century B. C. E. Although these two kingdoms had much in common (a common prehistory – if the traditional historical picture of a united Davidic-Solomonic kingdom is accepted – as well as a common religion, namely Yahwism), there were also major difference between them. We saw in Chapter 3 (§ 3.4.2.1) that Samaria and its environs were much less affected by the exile, that Yehud was presumably for a short period a dependent region of the post-exilic Samarian province, and that Samaria was much more successful than Yehud in terms of economic influence during the Persian period. These commonalities, but also these differences, formed the background against which the literati in Jerusalem wanted to contribute towards the processes of self-understanding in the south. In some instances, Samaria and the northern tribes are seen as “part of the family” (see e. g. § 5.2.2 above), but in others the writer of Chronicles distantiates Yehud from its northern brethren (see e. g. § 5.4.1 above). The same applied with reference to the Transjordanian tribes that were – from one perspective (see § 5.2.2 again) – considered to be part of the in-group from the Yehudite perspective. From another perspective, however, they were seen as adversaries, even as enemies. The Philistines were also controversial from the Yehudite point of view. We have seen above (§ 3.4.2.2) that they were econom-

28 Isaac Kalimi, “The Land of Moriah, Mount Moriah, and the Site of Solomon’s Temple in Biblical Historiography,” Harvard Theological Review 83/4 (1990): 362. See also Isaac Kalimi, “Der Jüdisch-Samaritanische Streit Um Den Ort der Opferung Isaaks,” Trumah: Jahrbuch der Hochschule für Jüdische Studien Heidelberg 2 (1990): 47–52.

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ically in a strong position vis-à-vis Yehud, and that they were never considered to be “part of the family.” As we indicated in the introduction to this chapter, the provincial dynamics, particularly in terms of the economy and religion, must have had a shaping influence on the mindscape against which the writer of Chronicles formulated his history.

5.5.1 A Story about Judah (and not Israel) (10–36) With the narratives of David and Solomon (1 Chron. 11–29 and 2 Chron. 1–9, respectively) the Chronicler has thus far succeeded in establishing a very clear prototype of Israelite kingship.29 This kingship has its roots in the eternal promise made to David by Yahweh, the deity of Israel. And it finds its highest expression in the kingship of Solomon, who sits on Yahweh’s throne. Solomon established a cultic centre by building the temple in Jerusalem, where both the tabernacle and ark of the covenant are resting, and he embodies Yahweh’s rest and peace for both his own people and foreign nations.30 This prototype forms the background to the discussion of Judah’s kings in the rest of Chronicles.31 In 2 Chronicles 10–36 a total of nineteen Judahite kings (or twenty, if Athaliah is also considered a separate monarch) are discussed. The Chronicler’s narrative includes all Judahite monarchs who are already known from the Deuteronomistic History in the book of Kings, and the Chronicler follows the same order as the Deuteronomist in his presentation. However, the Chronicler’s royal narratives are cast in a new framework. Not only does the David-Solomon complex form a new entry into the continuing royal narratives, but the Chronicler’s portrayal focuses exclusively on the Judahite monarchy, not the divided kingdoms. The Chronicler ignores the northern kingdom’s history for the most part and mentions it only where Israel’s past impinged on Judahite history. This confirms that the Chronicler’s version is not merely a reduction or abridged version of the Deuteronomistic text – it is surely another history that stands in continuity, but also in discontinuity, with the older historiographical tradition. 29 See also the discussion in Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 205–207, on which the present discussion is based. 30 Johnstone puts it as follows: “The sovereignty of God is acknowledged by Israel paying all that is due to him and by all the world bringing their tribute. The magnificence and wealth of the temple, and the splendor of the court and throne of Solomon, maintained by these dues and tribute, are thus the outward sign of this universal recognition of the reign of God” (William Johnstone, 1 and 2 Chronicles. Volume 2: 2 Chronicles 10–36. Guilt and Atonement, vol. 254, JSOTS [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997], 10). 31 See Klein, 2 Chronicles, 6–11.

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The concept of All-Israel figures prominently in the genealogical introduction to the book (see § 5.2.2 above) as well as in the David-Solomon narratives (see § 5.3.1 above). The exclusion of the northern kingdom’s history, however, does not alter the understanding of All-Israel in the next section of Chronicles. In the next part it becomes remarkably clear that the Chronicler’s understanding of All-Israel is not related to a united monarchy. Although the focus is on the Judahite kings, the Chronicler very clearly understands that the notion of the people of Yahweh as All-Israel does not exclude the northern tribes (as reflected in 1 Chron. 1–9). The last major section of Chronicles defines All-Israel as those who ‫“ דרש‬seek” Yahweh. All-Israel is therefore primarily defined in religious-cultic terms, not in terms of ethnicity.32 The Chronicler bases his description of the Judahite kings strongly on the Deuteronomistic version (1 Kgs. 2–2 Kgs. 25). However, he does so very freely. Much more than in the Solomon narrative, the Chronicler has the courage to omit great parts of the source texts, alter other parts, and even add his own materials. The significant number of differences in this section of Chronicles has sparked a debate on whether the Deuteronomistic History was really used by the Chronicler or whether both the Deuteronomists and the Chronicler rather made use of a common source, each in their own way. The theory, which was mainly advocated by Graeme Auld and revised by Raymond Person,33 was already discussed under the rubric of the composition history of Chronicles in Chapter 1 (§ 1.1.3). This theory has not found general acceptance, so one may still assume that the differences between Chronicles and 1–2 Kings derive mainly from the Chronicler’s own ideological agenda. For the Chronicler, the Davidic-Solomonic line of kingship as represented in the history of the kingdom of Judah provides the axis according to which All-Israel had to position itself and define itself in the Persian period. Although an independent monarchy no longer existed in the time of the Chronicler, the social memory construction around the Judahite kingship formed the basis for self-understanding in the new dispensation. 32 Steven McKenzie rightly states: “The major interest of the Chronicler – the temple, the Davidic dynasty, and ‘all Israel’ – continue in the final section of his work. Ironically for the last-named interest, the history of the northern kingdom is not systematically recounted but is only touched on when it overlaps with Judah’s history. This is because the Chronicler regards the northern kingdom as an illegitimate state that is in rebellion against the house of David and that is apostate because of its rejection of the temple as the only divinely ordained sanctuary. Nevertheless, the Chronicler also views the people of the north as still part of God’s chosen people of Israel. In addition to these interests, the distinctively Chronistic doctrine that surfaces in 2 Chronicles is that of individual responsibility and immediate retribution / ​reward. In stressing this doctrine, the Chronicler may be responding to the idea that the exile was punishment for the sins of previous generations of ancestors, an idea found in the Deuteronomistic History” (1 & 2 Chronicles, AOTC [Nashville: Abingdon, 2004], 259–260). 33 See particularly A. Graeme Auld, Kings Without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1994); Raymond F. Person, The Deuteronomic History and the Books of Chronicles: Scribal Works in an Oral World (Atlanta: SBL, 2010).

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5.5.2 (Ambiguous) Strife between South and North (13:1–20; 15:8–9; 21:2–22:1; 28:5b–15) When reading through the Chronicler’s version of the Judahite history, it becomes clear that the relationship between the kingdoms of Judah and Israel is portrayed very ambiguously. In some instances Judah and Israel are portrayed as being in opposition to one another (e. g. Abijah of Judah and Jeroboam of Israel fighting against each other), and Israel is even occasionally seen as instrument in Yahweh’s hand to punish Judah for transgressions (e. g. in the case of Ahaz of Judah). In other instances, however, Judah and Israel are seen as military allies (e. g. in the case of Jehoshaphat of Judah and Ahab of Israel), and the boundaries between the southern and northern royal houses are blurred (e. g. in the case of Jehoram). This ambiguity will be illustrated in the example narratives that will be discussed in the remainder of this subsection below. The discussion starts with some narratives that show the opposition between Judah and Israel. After that, some examples of apparent assimilation between Judah and Israel will be discussed. The first of the oppositional examples is Abijah of Judah’s campaign against Jeroboam of Israel.34 Whereas the history of King Abijah occupies only seven and a half verses in the Deuteronomistic source text (1 Kgs. 15:1–8a), the Chronicler’s version is much more extensive (twenty-two and a half verses in 2 Chron. 13:1–14:1a).35 The reason for this expansion is that the Chronicler completely altered the portrayal of this king. In Kings Abijah is described as somebody who “committed all the sins his father had done before him; his heart was not fully devoted to Yahweh his God, as the heart of David his forefather had been” (1 Kgs. 15:3). In Chronicles he becomes a pious leader who delivers a remarkable sermon to Jeroboam when Judah goes into battle against the kingdom of Israel.36 And he leads his people to a great victory in this battle. 34 For a more detailed discussion of the Chronicler’s Abijah narrative, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 216–220. See also Louis C. Jonker, “Refocusing the battle accounts of the kings: Identity formation in the Books of Chronicles,” in Behutsames Lesen: Alttestamentliche Exegese im interdisziplinären Methodendiskurs; Christof Hardmeier zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Sylke Lubs et al. (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2007), 245–74. 35 Verses 3–21, which are normally indicated to be the Chronicler’s own material, has been investigated in the past to see whether any older sources were used in its compilation. Ralph Klein’s study (“Abijah’s Campaign against the North [2 Chron 13]: What Were the Chronicler’s Sources?,” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 95/2 [1983]: 210–17) is quite influential in this regard. He comes to the following conclusion: “In the case of Abijah … the Chronicler’s departures from Kings can all be explained as due to a divergent text of Samuel-Kings, to his theological viewpoints, and to his exegetical-midrashic use of an Old Benjaminite list [Jos. 18:21–24 – LCJ] to give concreteness to Abijah’s victory” (Ibid., 217). See also Klein’s discussion in 2 Chronicles, 194–197. Jones, however, is critical of Klein’s proposal. See Gwilym H. Jones, “From Abijam to Abijah,” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 106/3 (1994): 420–34. 36 Deboys (“History and Theology in the Chronicles’ Portrayal of Abijah,” Biblica 70/1 [1990]: 48–62) argues in favour of the historicity of the Chronicler’s account and even thinks

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It is clear from 13:3 that Abijah initiated the war against Jeroboam. Although this stands directly in contradiction to the prophetic warning from Shemaiah to Rehoboam not to fight against their “brethren” in the northern kingdom (mentioned in 11:4), the Chronicler does not judge Abijah’s action negatively in 2 Chronicles 13. The narrative mentions that Jeroboam of Israel had double the number of troops on the ground than Abijah of Judah. This would make a victory for Judah over Israel remarkable. Before going into battle, Abijah first addresses his men in a remarkable speech. In the rhetoric of the speech Abijah takes as his point of departure the eternal kingship that Yahweh promised to David: “Don’t you know that Yahweh, the God of Israel, has given the kingship of Israel to David and his descendants forever?” (13:5). This is followed by an accusation: “Yet Jeroboam son of Nebat, an official of Solomon son of David, rebelled against his master” (13:6). The Chronicler is of the opinion that what Jeroboam did stands in direct opposition to the eternal covenant made by Yahweh with the Davidides. It is interesting to note that Jeroboam is characterised here as “an official of Solomon son of David,” and not as king over Israel, in order to emphasise the wrongness of what Jeroboam did. In 13:8–9 the Chronicler’s narration of Abijah’s speech turns to the apostasy of the northern kingdom. Not only are the golden calves made by Jeroboam mentioned, but also the ill treatment that the sons of Aaron and the Levites received from Jeroboam and the cheapening of the priesthood (“Whoever comes to be consecrated with a young bull or seven rams becomes a priest of what are no gods.” – NRSV) become accusations against Israel on account of which a war against them is legitimised. In sharp contrast to the apostasy of the northerners, the piety of the Judahites is emphasised in 13:10–11. Aaronide priests, assisted by Levites, have taken care of all the aspects of the temple cult.37 In doing so, they were observing the requirements of Yahweh. The main difference between Judah and Israel is that the Judahites have not forsaken (‫ )לא עזב‬Yahweh (13:10), while the Israelites have forsaken him (13:11( )‫)עזב‬. Therefore, the strong claim is made in 13:12 that God is with them, and that he is their leader. Israel should know that they are engaging in a holy war now in which Yahweh is fighting the battle for Judah. Therefore, the northern neighbours (“men of Israel”) are warned not to fight against Yahweh, the God of their fathers, for they will not succeed. When it became clear to Abijah and his troops in the meantime that Jeroboam had relied on good battle tactics, they cried out to Yahweh (13:14). So God routed Jeroboam and all Israel before Abijah and Judah, with God himself doing that the Chronicler had some source with Abijah’s sermon available when he wrote his version. This is unlikely, however, since the Chronicler’s text shows remarkable terminological similarities with other texts in the book. 37 Steven McKenzie notes that in the present formulation in verses 110–11 the Chronicler “draws more from the tabernacle liturgy than from the temple” (1 & 2 Chronicles, 272).

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the routing / ​striking (Hebrew ‫נגף‬, repeated in 13:20).38 The difference between Judah and Israel, as illustrated by this battle, is that the men of Israel were subdued (‫ )כנע‬on that occasion, and the men of Judah were victorious because they relied (‫ )שען‬on Yahweh, the God of their fathers (13:18). Whereas Jeroboam never recovered from this battle (13:20), Abijah was able to extend his kingdom to include some of the border region towns between Judah and Israel (13:19). It seems that the Chronicler used the figure of Abijah to rectify the blemishes left by the schism of the kingdom under Rehoboam. Whereas the idealised image of the Davidic kingdom and Solomonic cult came under severe pressure during Rehoboam’s reign, the Chronicler’s version of Abijah revives the splendour and dedication of that prototypical image. Abijah becomes a model of proper kingship and pious dedication to Yahweh in the Chronicler’s version.39 A second example of opposition between Judah and Israel is documented in 2 Chronicles 28:5b–15.40 The narrative about Ahaz, king of Judah, marks one of the most negative portrayals of a king in Chronicles. Whereas many of the previous royal narratives (e. g. Asa, Jehoshaphat, Joash, Amaziah and Uzziah) reflected some ambiguity about the virtues and vices of the kings, the present narrative provides a wholly negative account. The Chronicler even adapted some of the information in the source text (2 Kgs. 16) to create an even more negative portrait of King Ahaz. To some commentators Ahaz is the Chronicler’s substitute 38 Gary

Knoppers investigates the relationship between Abijah’s speech (vv. 4–12) and the battle account in vv. 13–21. He summarises his argument and conclusion as follows: “The closest analogue to this conflict is the type of inner-Israelite sacral war mandated in Deut 13:13–19 and depicted in Judges 19–21. 2 Chr 13:2–20 is reminiscent of the punitive actions to be taken by the Israelite tribes against a certain group or tribe embracing idolatry. Because the Northerners are still Israelite, their lives continue to fall under the jurisdiction of God’s Kingdom (v. 5). The tremendous victory Judah achieves despite great odds demonstrates to the Chronicler’s post-exilic audience that the standards upheld by Abijah – the Davidic dynasty and the temple cultus – have continuing relevance and authority over all traditional elements of Israel” (“‘Battling against Yahweh’: Israel’s War Cry against Judah in 2 Chr 13:2–20,” Revue Biblique 100/4 [1993]: 511). Knoppers’s view rightly emphasises that the Chronicler’s theology was not drawn from thin air. Wherever it is indicated – such as in the Abijah narrative – that the Chronicler introduced his own accent over against the Deuteronomistic version, it does not mean that he did so at will. The Chronicler was heir to a complex theological tradition which could be appropriated in different ways. 39 Knoppers is of the opinion that “[t]he Chronicler advocates approaching Yehud’s plight from a position of strength. Ironically this means affirming and safeguarding the sanctity of those institutions and traditions which historically were offensive to many Northerners and probably treasonous (in the case of an independent Davidic monarchy) to the Persian crown. … The Chronicler therefore provides ideological justification for reestablishing a Davidic-Solomonic state” (Ibid., 532.) Ralph Klein rightly criticises this view, however: “It seems unlikely to me, given the realities of Persian power, and the sustained focus on the temple and its cult elsewhere, that the Chronicler was really fostering such an audacious political agenda” (2 Chronicles, 207). 40 For a more extensive discussion of the Chronicler’s Ahaz narrative on which the present discussion is based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 261–266.

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for the Deuteronomist’s portrayal of Manasseh as the epitome of evil who was to blame for the exile of Judah.41 Although it is certainly true that Manasseh receives better treatment from the Chronicler, and Ahaz worse treatment, the Chronicler does not link Ahaz’s reign in any way to the Judahite exile. Instead, Ahaz serves as a prominent warning against unrestrained apostasy. There are two significant changes in the Chronicler’s use of the Deuteronomist’s version. First, the Chronicler added a substantial section (28:6–15) that describes an encounter with the northern kingdom, Israel. Second, the Chronicler omits the episode of Ahaz’s installation of a copy of the Damascus altar in Jerusalem (in 2 Kgs. 16:10–16), replacing it with an abbreviated version of the encounter with Syria. The focus of our discussion in this subsection is on the first of these, namely the added section on Judah’s encounter with Israel. The encounter with Israel, the northern neighbour, which makes up the greatest part of the Ahaz narrative, belongs fully to the Chronicler’s own material. This is also th e last time that an Israelite king is mentioned in the book of Chronicles. The Chronicler surely wanted to portray Ahaz within the context of his relationship with his northern neighbour. The motivation for the account of the heavy losses against Israel is again theological: because Judah had forsaken (‫ )עזב‬Yahweh, the God of their fathers (28:6). The section in 29:5b–15 introduces a number of ironic twists. Israel (and particularly the house of Ahab), normally portrayed as apostate and syncretistic, now becomes the instrument through which Yahweh punishes the apostasy of Ahaz and Judah. Furthermore, a prophet of Yahweh named Oded (28:9) addresses the Israelite (not Judahite) army on its way back to Samaria with thousands of captured kinsmen and plunder from Judah (28:8). The prophet of Yahweh who normally addresses the Judahite king, now warns these Israelite soldiers not to bring the Judahites to Samaria, lest Yahweh’s fierce anger (28:13) come upon Israel. Although Israel defeated Judah because Yahweh, the God of their fathers, gave them into Israelite hands, they do not have the right to slaughter the Judahites in a rage that reaches to heaven (28:9). They themselves are also guilty of sins against Yahweh (28:10), a clear reference to the apostasy of the north that even the leaders in Ephraim realise (28:13). Some Ephraimite leaders then convince the warriors to release the captives. After clothing them and providing sandals, food and drink, they anointed the captives and let them go back to Jericho (vs. 14–15).42 41 See e. g. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, 343–344; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 334; Klein, 2 Chronicles, 407. 42 Some scholars (following a suggestion by F. Scott Spencer, “2 Chronicles 28:5–15 and the Parable of the Good Samaritan,” The Westminster Theological Journal 46/2 (1984): 317–49) suggest that there are similarities between the Ahaz narrative and the parable of the Good Samaritan attested in Luke 10:25–37. (See for example: John M. Hicks, 1 & 2 Chronicles [Joplin: College Press, 2001], 442–443; Isaac Kalimi, “Robbers on the Road to Jericho: Luke’s Story of the Good Samaritan and Its Origins in Kings / ​Chronicles,” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 85/1 [2009]: 47–53). Although one cannot deny that the basic structure of the Ahaz

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Steven McKenzie is of the opinion that “[t]he story of the return of the captives (vv. 8–15), which is unique to Chronicles, is somewhat ill suited to the context in that it is not specifically related to Ahaz.”43 He theorises that the Chronicler’s motive in placing this account here “may have been to suggest that the fate of captivity was sealed by Ahaz.”44 This view would, however, not be in line with the ideology of immediate retribution, which McKenzie thinks is central to Chronicles. Although it is clear that McKenzie is right that Ahaz is made into the worst Judahite king by the Chronicler, it seems that the writer does not attribute the same blame to him as the Deuteronomist puts on Manasseh (who is held responsible for the exile).45 It is thus clear that the second example is also portraying an oppositional relationship between Judah and Israel, although the roles are different here. In the Abijah narrative it was Judah being victorious in military battle against Jeroboam of Israel, because Yahweh fought the battle on behalf of Judah. In the Ahaz narrative Israel becomes the instrument in Yahweh’s hand to punish Judah for their apostasy. Israel is even pictured as obeying Yahweh’s command through the prophet Oded, and as being gracious to the captives from Judah. By placing these two narratives in juxtaposition, it can be observed that the Chronicler did not have a monolithic view of Judah and Israel. Both could be in the wrong, and both could rely on Yahweh’s assistance. narrative could have contributed to further interpretation in new contexts, the connections that are usually made between the narrative and the parable rest on very limited analogies. The fact that the transportation of the wounded on donkeys to Jericho play a role in the Ahaz narrative does not necessarily mean that this story was the “origin” of the parable. The wider literary contexts are too different to be associated with one another. 43 McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 336. 44 Ibid. 45 Ehud Ben Zvi (“A Gateway to the Chronicler’s Teaching: The Account of the Reign of Ahaz in 2 Chr 28,1–27,” Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 7/2 [1993]: 249) comes to the following conclusion about the Chronicler’s intention with the Ahaz narrative: “This article concludes that the Chronicler wished the receiving community to abstract from the ‘historical’ account several lessons, among them: (a) the existence of a correspondence between actions and effects that is maintained by God, according to certain rules and qualifications; (b) the continuity of history through time due to the permanent character of both God’s rules for governing the world and the human choice to accept or reject God’s will; (c) the godly character of freeing the captive, feeding the hungry, and the like, (d) the actual meaning of divine election; (e) sin is not necessarily related to an irrational attitude; a rational earthly attitude that does not take into consideration YHWH and which is not linked to an active ‘seeking’ of YHWH leads to sin; (f) the importance but not absolute necessity of the existence of a Davidic king for developing a positive relation between YHWH and Israel, and between YHWH and each individual Israelite; (g) the importance but not absolute necessity of the existence of the Temple for developing a positive relation between YHWH and Israel, and between YHWH and each individual Israelite; and (h) the absolute necessity of the knowledge of the Torah (in its wider sense), and accordingly of the work of its interpreters and teachers – such as the Chronicler – for developing a positive relation between YHWH and Israel, and between YHWH and each individual Israelite.”

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Our discussion now continues to give some examples of Chronicles texts where the mutual assimilation of Judah and Israel, or at least their support for one another, is shown. The first example comes from the Chronicler’s account of Asa’s reign. We saw in the previous chapter (§ 4.5.1) that the Chronicler introduces a significant portion of his own material in the narrative of Asa’s reign (2 Chron. 13:23b– 16:14), creat ively restructuring the Asa narrative in the source text (1 Kgs. 15:9–24) within a coherent theological framework.46 The narrative in 2 Chronicles 15:1–19 comes mostly from the Chronicler’s own hand, except for four verses from the Vorlage. The episode still forms part of the first movement in the Chronicler’s history of Asa, in which Judah enjoyed peace and rest (until the transition to a time of war, introduced in 16:1). Verses 1–7 tell how a prophetic figure, Azariah the son of Oded, was stirred by the spirit of God and delivered a message to king Asa of Judah. The basic message is that if Judah and Benjamin would ‫“ דרש‬seek” Yahweh, then Judah would enjoy peace and rest. The next section of the text, verses 8–15, narrates how Asa took courage and introduced a series of cultic reforms in Judah and Benjamin, but also in those cities in the hill country of Ephraim that he had taken captive. After that he and the people gathered in Jerusalem in the third month of Asa’s fifteenth year of reign for sacrificing to Yahweh and to take an oath to Yahweh. Verses 8–9 give an interesting perspective on the northern territories. It is indicated there that Asa’s reforms were also undertaken in some cities belonging to Ephraim (a region traditionally associated with the northern kingdom Israel), but also that he gathered all Judah and Benjamin and all from Ephraim, Manasseh and Simeon who were ‫“ גרים‬sojourners” among them to take the oath to Yahweh with him in Jerusalem, and to celebrate a festival there.47 It is furthermore specified by the Chronicler that great numbers from these tribes deserted to the south when they heard that Yahweh was with them. The inclusion of Ephraim and Manasseh as supporters of Asa’s reform in the first, peaceful part of the Chronicler’s narrative is significant.48 It is well known that the designation “Ephraim and Manasseh” often functions as chiffre for the 46 See again Louis C. Jonker, “The Cushites in the Chronicler’s Version of Asa’s Reign: A Secondary Audience in Chronicles?,” Old Testament Essays 19/3 (2006): 863–81; Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 221–226. 47 Some commentators indicate that the celebration in the third month may have been the Feast of the Week which is celebrated in that particular period in later Judaism. See the discussions by Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 724–725; Klein, 2 Chronicles, 229. 48 Ralph Klein mentions that “[t]he surprise here is the mention of the tribe of Simeon, since it is usually assumed that Simeon was absorbed by Judah at an early period” (2 Chronicles, 228). Steven McKenzie adds: “The mention of Simeon (v. 9) is unusual, since its tribal allotment was south of and in fact incorporated within Judah, whereas Ephraim and Manasseh were both north. Some scholars have proposed that the reference is actually to Tel Simonia, a site in the Jezreel valley” (1 & 2 Chronicles, 281).

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northern kingdom, Israel. The Chronicler’s suggestion is not only that there was some sort of an assimilation between Judah and Israel in their celebration and oath-taking in Jerusalem, but that this cooperation also belonged to the peaceful period of Asa’s reign. Judah and Israel are therefore not in opposition, but both are rather part of Yahweh’s people seeking him and relying on him. The second example of assimilation occurs in the Chronicler’s Jehoram narrative in 2 Chronicles 21:2–22:1.49 The previous three kings, Abijah, Asa and Jehoshaphat, were (mainly) positive role models of the Davidic kingship in both Chronicles and Kings. However, the Chronicler enhanced their exemplary profiles even further with some of his own material. The same does not apply to Jehoram’s history. His portrayal is very negative, with the ominous note already sounding early in the narrative: “he walked in the ways of the kings of Israel” (21:6). The Chronicler’s account starts with some of his own material (21:2–4), which describes Jehoram’s early moves to establish his kingship. In the next verses (21:5–7) the Chronicler gives his evaluation of Jehoram, following the source text of 2 Kings 8:17–19. After that (2 Chron. 21:8–10), again following the source text in 2 Kings 8:20–22, he gives an account of the Edomite rebellion and also mentions the high places that Jehoram built (2 Chron. 21:11). Then follows the so-called Elijah letter (21:12–15), a short account of the battle against the Philistines and the Arabs (21:16–17), and a report on the king’s bowel illness already prophesied in Elijah’s letter (21:18–19). The pericope ends with the Chronicler rejoining the source text in 2 Kings 8:24 with the usual death-and-burial notice (2 Chron. 21:20). The focus in the present discussion will be on the first verses (2–4) where Jehoram’s initial deeds are narrated, as well as on the Chronicler’s version of his evaluation. The occurrence of Elijah’s letter in verses 12–15 will also be discussed. Verses 2–4 provide new information not presented in 2 Kings 8, but they also create confusion about whether the events happened in Israel or in Judah. Second Chronicles 21:2 suggests that the brothers of Jehoram were all sons of Jehoshaphat king of Israel,50 although Jehoshaphat was actually king of Judah.51 49 For the more extensive studies on the Chronicler’s Jehoram narrative on which the present discussion was based, see Jonker, “Textual Identities in the Books of Chronicles: The Case of Jehoram’s History”; Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 233–237. 50 Although Jehoram is not mentioned by name in 21:2, the enclitic personal pronoun at the beginning of the verse refers back to the concluding remark of the previous royal narrative in 21:1, in which Jehoram is nominalised. See also the studies dealing with the genealogical difficulties presented by this text: e. g. John Strange, “Joram, King of Israel and Judah,” Vetus Testamentum 25 (1975): 191–201; Donald V. Etz, “The Genealogical Relationships of Jehoram and Ahaziah, and of Ahaz and Hezekiah, Kings of Judah,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 71 (1996): 39–53; W. Boyd Barrick, “Another Shaking of Jehoshaphat’s Family Tree: Jehoram and Ahaziah Once Again,” Vetus Testamentum 50/1 (2001): 9–25. 51 The historical question of Jehoram’s genealogy has been a prominent theme in previous studies on this narrative. These studies try to offer alternatives to the traditional interpretation

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Second Chronicles 21:3, however, mentions that fortified cities in Judah were given to these brothers and that the kingship was given to Jehoram, who was his firstborn son. After establishing (‫ )חזק‬his power, Jehoram then put all his brothers to the sword along with some of the princes of Israel (21:4). This statement also confuses Judah and Israel. In order to resolve this confusion in the text, some scholars emend “Israel” in 21:2 to read “Judah” (so also many ancient translations).52 Another suggestion is that “Israel” in 21:2 refers not to the northern kingdom but rather to the southern and northern kingdoms as a whole. A third possibility sees the phrase “king of Israel” in 21:2 as an attempt by the Chronicler to link the Jehoram narrative to the Ahabite line of the northern kingdom (Athaliah, the daughter of Ahab of Israel, was married to Jehoram – see the next pericopes in 22:1–9 and 22:10–24:27). Jehoram’s horrendous deed of killing all his brothers would then be associated with the non-legitimate northern kingdom (in the Chronicler’s view) and not to the Davidide Judah. Whatever the case may be, we should not ignore that the distinction between Judah and Israel is blurred here. Second Chronicles 21:6 provides (in line with the source text) a negative evaluation of King Jehoram: he walked in the ways of the kings of Israel, as the house of Ahab had done. It further explains that there was an official relationship with the Israelite monarchy, namely he married a daughter of Ahab. Both versions indicate that the Lord did not destroy him, but they differ significantly in two details. First, they provide different motivations for that display of mercy. In 2 Kings 8:19 the reason is “for the sake of his servant David,” whereas the Chronicler has “because of the covenant Yahweh had made with David.” Second, the entity that “Yahweh was not willing to destroy”  – “Judah” in 2 Kings 8:19 – becomes the “house of David” in 2 Chronicles 21:7. This change is significant in that it focuses attention on the continuation of the royal line of that Jehoram was the son of Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, and the father of Ahaziah (with Athaliah, the daughter of Ahab of Israel and Jezebel, as mother). These studies also address the question of whether Jehoram of Judah and Jehoram of Israel were not one and the same king. Jehoram, son of Ahab, ruled over the northern kingdom in ca. 848/7–841/0 B. C. E. (see 2 Kgs. 3:1–27), while Jehoram, son of Jehoshaphat, ruled over Judah at more or less the same time (see 2 Kgs. 8:16). The biblical data on these are ambiguous. Boyd Barrick (“Another Shaking of Jehoshaphat’s Family Tree: Jehoram and Ahaziah Once Again.”) proposes the following alternatives in his essay: “(1) [T]hat Ahaziah was son of Athaliah and Jehoram’s unnamed elder brother, Jehoshaphat’s first-born and heir-apparent who predeceased them both; (2) that Jehoram, a younger son not expected to become king of Judah, was married to an unidentified daughter of Ahab and Jezebel and at the death of his brother-in-law Ahaziah became king of (North‑)Israel; and (3) that as Jehoshaphat’s oldest, or only, surviving son, Jehoram also became king of Judah at his death” (Ibid., 25). It is impossible to confirm the historical reality from the biblical texts. However, whatever relationships there might have been between the kings of Judah and Israel, the Chronicler used these relationships for his own theological purpose of showing that the borders between Judah and Israel were blurred, and that the downfall of these Judahite kings was the result of their close relationships with the Northern kings. 52 See e. g. Klein, 2 Chronicles, 298, 302.

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David instead of on the continuation of the kingdom of Judah. The reference to the “covenant” was probably intended to invoke the memory of the eternal promise made to David by Yahweh. In 2 Chronicles 21:12–15 follows the so-called letter of Elijah. This section, which belongs to the Chronicler’s own material, indicates that Jehoram received a letter from Elijah the prophet. The letter is introduced with the typical messenger formula ‫“ כה אמר יהוה‬thus says Yahweh” (with Yahweh specified in this case as the God of his father David). Again, as in the previous section, the accusation is made against Jehoram that he walked in the ways of the kings of Israel and he led Judah and the people of Jerusalem to prostitute themselves, just as the house of Ahab had. The way of Jehoram contrasts with the ways of his father Jehoshaphat or with that of Asa, king of Judah. That Jehoram murdered his own brothers also aggravates the matter. The letter therefore announces in typical prophetic fashion the punishment that the Lord is about to impose: he is about to strike Jehoram’s people, his sons, his wives and everything that belongs to him, with a heavy blow. The terminology used here (with a participle and noun related to the verb ‫נגף‬, “to strike”) is typical of the Chronicler’s style. It is often used in Chronicles to describe Yahweh’s punishment for transgressions. The punishment in this case also has a personal dimension for Jehoram: it announces that he will become very ill with a lingering disease of the bowels, until the disease causes his bowels to come out. This indeed was shown to happen in the Chronicler’s narrative (see 21:18–19). The introduction of prophetic voices in the Chronicler’s own material is very typical. This is often done to provide a theological interpretation of the events during a monarch’s reign. In the present narrative the prophetic voice of Elijah – this time in a letter – serves this function.53 It is as if the Chronicler lets the prophetic utterance confirm his own assessment of Jehoram’s reign. 53 Elijah’s letter is called a ‫מכתב‬. Christopher Begg (“Constructing a Monster: The Chronicler’s Sondergut in 2 Chronicles 21,” Australian Biblical Review 37 [1989]: 49) indicates that this same word is used in 2 Chron. 36:22 in connection with Cyrus’s proclamation. Begg argues that this is only one of the ways in which the Chronicler already opens a vision on the “exile and beyond” in the Jehoram Sondergut. He sees the relationship between these two verses as one of reversal: whereas the Elijah letter precedes Judah’s destruction by a foreign coalition (the Philistines and Arabs), the Cyrus proclamation precedes the restoration of Judah. Roy E. Knuteson (“Elijah’s Little-Known Letter in 2 Chronicles 21:12–15,” Bibliotheca Sacra 162 [2005]: 23–32) argues that Elijah was indeed the author of this letter. He comes to this conclusion after contending that Elijah was not taken to heaven, but was rather removed by the Lord to another geographic location. There he was prompted by the Lord to write this letter to Jehoram. The question addressed by Knuteson is totally irrelevant, however. The historicity of this letter should not be the focus of our investigation, but rather the function of the mentioning of Elijah in the Jehoram narrative. On account of the similar content in the Elijah letter and the other Sondergut parts of the Chronicler’s Jehoram narrative, one could assume that the letter was also written by the writer of the Sondergut. See also the discussion in Bernd J. Diebner, “Überlegungen zum ‘Brief des Elia’ (2 Chr 21, 12–15),” Henoch 9 (1986): 197–228.

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The themes of the letter are taken up in the continuation of the Chronicler’s own material in 21:16–17 and 21:18–19. As a punishment against Judah and Jehoram in particular, Yahweh aroused against Jehoram the hostility of the Philistines and of the Arabs.54 After all this, 21:18–19 report, the prophecy of Elijah’s letter was fulfilled when Yahweh afflicted (‫ )נגף‬Jehoram with an incurable disease of the bowels. It is ironically mentioned that after Jehoram’s death in great pain there was no honouring of this king: his people made no fire in his honour, as they had for his fathers, a sentiment echoed again in 21:20. What function would the discourse in the Chronicler’s version of Jehoram’s narrative have? When taking a social-psychological perspective on this narrative, we see the second temple Jerusalemite community in the process of negotiating a new identity. It seems that this community was trying to come to terms with the new post-exilic reality, in which the boundaries between the south and the north were no longer defined in terms of two separate monarchies. Categorisation could no longer be done in terms of the monarchic political realities, because those realities were now substituted by a common political fate as provinces under Persian imperial rule. This common fate motivated them to remember their continuity with their northern neighbour again – a continuity that was even testified in the crisscrossing of genealogical lines during the time of Jehoram.55 In order to avoid a “blurring of the lines” between the Yehudite and Samarian communities in the post-exilic period, Jehoram’s narrative was a rather useful story to tell. Assimilation with their “blood brothers” from the north could have been a useful option in their post-exilic reality (knowing that Samaria was a “larger, better-established, and considerably more populous” province than Yehud).56 However, this narrative simultaneously witnesses to differentiation. Although the lines between Judah and Israel, between Yehud and Samaria, were blurred by the presentation of this narrative, the Jerusalemite community was also quite sure about the fact that the Davidic line (not as political reality but as religious-theological reality) provided an assurance for the future. It was on account of Yahweh’s covenant with David that they were not destroyed by the exile. The “ways of their father David” therefore stand in sharp contrast to the “ways of the Ahabites” of the north. A prophetic word put in the mouth of the northern prophet Elijah, who was so prominent in the time of Ahab, confirms this sort of message for the Jerusalemite community.57 The people of Jerusalem should 54 The portrayal of the other nations in this narrative will be discussed in the next subsection, § 5.5.3. 55 See Gary N. Knoppers, “Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 279. 56 Ibid., 272–273. 57 The fact that a northern prophet is introduced here by the Chronicler to fulfil the function of rebuking a southern king for following the northern religious ways seems odd. Although the prophet is clearly portrayed as part of the in-group, he reminds the king that the Jerusalemite

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differentiate themselves from the northern religious ways. This would have been a powerful message in the time when it is most likely that a Yahweh sanctuary also existed in the northern kingdom on Mount Gerizim (see § 3.4.2.1 again). In this way, group belief is strengthened, and an in-group prototype is presented. Behaviour in accordance with this prototype is naturally suggested here. The Chronicler’s Jehoram narrative is therefore a text that contributes to the Yehudite / ​Jerusalemite community’s pursuit of optimal distinctiveness. This is in line with Knoppers’s observation that [a]ttempts at self-definition may have been necessary for some of the elite in Jerusalem precisely because of the similarities between the Yahwists living in the two territories. … [T]here was no unanimity among writers in Yehud about how to define Israelite identity, the community’s institutions, and the people’s relations to their neighbors.58

Assimilation and differentiation with their northern “blood brothers” are therefore in tension in the Chronicler’s Jehoram narrative. Self-categorisation takes place in terms of a group – the Samarian population – that in some instances could be considered an in-group, but in other instances could be seen as an outgroup. The example narratives from Chronicles discussed above therefore provide an ambiguous picture of assimilation and differentiation between the south and the north. This ambiguous strife is portrayed through the Jehoram narrative that was adapted from the Chronicler’s Vorlage to serve the purpose of identity negotiation in the second temple community. It was not only the relationship between south and north that was portrayed ambiguously by the Chronicler; also the relationships with other peoples around Yehud were shaped in the same way (as will be discussed in the next subsection).

5.5.3 (Ambiguous) Relations with Peoples Around Judah (17:10–11; 20:1–30; 21:8–11, 16–17; 25:5–10, 13–16; 26:6–8; 27:5; 28:17–19) Various other nations from the east, south and west feature in the Chronicler’s work. Peoples that are also well known in other parts of the Hebrew Bible, such as the Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites and Philistines, all feature prominently in the Chronicler’s narratives, while other lesser-known groups, like the Arabs and Meunites, also appear in the royal histories.59 These peoples are related to community should differentiate themselves from the northern kingdom, which functions as the out-group. This “blurring of the lines” between Judah and Israel is in line with other tendencies in Chronicles, which I have described in “Refocusing the battle accounts of the kings: Identity formation in the Books of Chronicles.” 58 Knoppers, “Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period,” 279. 59 See John W. Wright, “The Fight for Peace: Narrative and History in the Battle Accounts in Chronicles,” in The Chronicler as Historian, ed. M. Patrick Graham, Kenneth G. Hoglund, and

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areas which functioned as provinces in the Persian period and that had an influence on life in Yehud. We saw in Chapter 3 (§ 3.4.2.2) that these regions to the east, south and west were in close interaction with one another and with Yehud. This provincial dynamics, particularly in terms of the economy and religion, must have had a shaping influence on the mindscape against which the writer of Chronicles formulated his history. Like the relationship between Judah and Israel (discussed in the previous subsection), the relationship between Judah and these other nations and regions are portrayed very ambiguously by the Chronicler. In some instances these nations are portrayed favourably and in support of Judah, or Judah’s king, while in other instances they are in opposition to one another, or even portrayed as enemies. Example texts of these two groups will be discussed below in order to arrive at a deepened understanding of how the ambiguous relationships between Judah and the other nations reflect the realities of the late Persian period. The first example provides a favourable portrayal of the relationship between Judah and the surrounding nations. The Chronicler’s version of Jehoshaphat’s narrative (2 Chron. 17–21)60 contains a peculiar notice in 17:10–11. After the introductory section introducing the new king and extolling his virtues in 17:1–6, the Chronicler adds his own material in verses 7–9 in which he indicates that Jehoshaphat sent some officials and Levites to teach ‫“ ספר תורת יהוה‬the book of the law of Yahweh” in the cities of Judah. The effect of the teaching of the Torah on the nations around is indicated in verses 10–11: the fear of Yahweh (‫ )פחד יהוה‬came upon these nations, and they did not attempt any military attacks on king Jehoshaphat of Judah. Verse 11 continues with the indication that some of the Philistines and Arabs even brought some presents (silver, rams and goats) for the Judahite king.61 Although the Philistines and Arabs are mostly portrayed in hostile situations by the Chronicler, here he paints a favourable picture of them. Not only do they live in peace with Judah, but they even are supportive of the religious reforms of Jehoshaphat and respond favourably to the teaching of the Torah of Yahweh. The positive portrayal of the nations in the example above stands in contrast to the many instances where the nations are portrayed as in opposition to Judah and the Judahite king, as the following instances show. Steven L. McKenzie, JSOTS 238 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 150–77; Armin Siedlecki, “Foreigners, Warfare and Judahite Identity in Chronicles,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture, ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 229–66. 60 See the discussion on the Jehoshaphat narrative in Chapter 3 above (§ 4.5.2). 61 For a discussion on the numbers used in the indication of the presents, see Japhet, I&II Chronicles, 750–751; Steven S. Tuell, First and Second Chronicles, Interpretation (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 176; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 288–290; Klein, 2 Chronicles, 251–252.

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The first example again comes from the Chronicler’s Jehoshaphat narrative. Second Chronicles 20:1–30 forms part of the Chronicler’s Sondergut.62 It contains a battle account which is typical of the Chronicler’s novel approach: it includes a battle against foreign nations, a prayer to Yahweh, and a prophetic voice (this time in the form of Jehaziel the Levite).63 The account starts with the report that the Moabites and Ammonites with some of the Meunites came to make war against Jehoshaphat (20:1). After his men came to tell him that a vast army had already advanced to the west bank of the Dead Sea, that is, they were at En Gedi, Jehoshaphat was alarmed and he immediately set out to inquire (‫ )דרש‬of Yahweh. The whole of Judah (from every town) gathered with him to seek (‫ )בקש‬help from Yahweh. This “seeking” attitude of the king is a very positive sign. To the Chronicler, ‫ דרש‬and ‫ בקש‬express the ideal religious inclination, as we saw above. The seeking of Yahweh became material when Jehoshaphat stood up before the assembly gathered at the temple of Yahweh (20:5) and started praying (20:6–12). The king introduces his call to God with the invocation “O Yahweh, God of our fathers, are you not the God who is in heaven?” The king’s conviction is that Yahweh has dominion over all nations. The king recalls the conquest of the land, when God drove out all the nations before them and gave the land forever to the descendants of Abraham his friend (20:7). This last expression clearly links the events of Jehoshaphat’s reign with Israel’s ancestral history. In 20:10 the king’s prayer turns into an argument of sorts against Yahweh, who did not allow the people to drive out Judah’s attackers (men from Ammon, Moab and Mount Seir). On this account the king calls upon God to judge them. Although this very king in an earlier episode of his reign had the biggest army, he now declares in prayer that Judah has no power to face this vast army. He declares that their eyes are upon Yahweh (20:12). This attitude differs greatly from that of an earlier section, when Jehoshaphat used his own discretion to enter into an alliance with Ahab to fight against Ramoth-Gilead. The response to the king’s prayer comes in a prophetic utterance by the Levite Jehaziel. First, the ‫ רוח יהוה‬came upon Jehaziel (20:14).64 Jehaziel encourages Jehoshaphat to go into battle against the vast army for the battle is not his, but God’s (20:15), and he reassures the king of the deliverance Yahweh will give him (20:17). The Chronicler portrays this battle with the liturgy of a holy war: the vanguard is to sing to Yahweh and to praise him for the splendour of his 62 For the more detailed discussion of this example text on which the present discussion is based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 230–232. 63 See Jonker, “Refocusing the battle accounts of the kings: Identity formation in the Books of Chronicles.” 64 The employment of a Levite for a prophetic function might indicate that the Chronicler either favoured an expanded role for the Levites or that at the time the distinctive roles of Levites and prophets (and priests) were becoming increasingly merged. This aspect will be discussed in Chapter 7.

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holiness. Their battle cry is “Give thanks to Yahweh, for his love endures forever” (20:21).65 In the style of a holy war Yahweh set ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir (20:22) and caused them to destroy themselves. Jehoshaphat and his men could therefore conquer them without actually taking part in the battle in any way. Their role was to collect the booty and to praise Yahweh, who gave them victory at the Valley of Beracah (20:26) (which means “the valley of praise”). Jehoshaphat and his men could therefore return joyfully (20:27) to the temple in Jerusalem, where they could complete the liturgy of the holy war with harps and lutes and trumpets (20:28). The Chronicler’s narrative further indicates that the fear of God (‫)פחד אלהים‬ was upon all the kingdoms who heard about Yahweh’s great victory (20:29). Meanwhile, the kingdom of Jehoshaphat was enjoying rest (20:30( )‫)שקט‬. The battle ushered in the ideal state (according to the Chronicler’s vision): God had given him rest (‫ )נוח‬on every side. The programmatic language with which the Chronicler ends this battle account reconfirms the very positive image of the king and simultaneously advances the Chronicler’s ideology for his own time: rest and peace are the results of the king seeking Yahweh. In this example the Chronicler’s ideology is best expounded by the oppositional relationship with some neighbouring nations, particularly those who opposed Israel when entering the promised land. The following examples come from the Chronicler’s Jehoram narrative (see again the discussion above in § 5.5.3 on this narrative).66 In 21:8–11 an account of the Edomite (and Libnite) rebellion against Jehoram is presented. Whether this reflects a historical reality is not certain. However, in the time of the Chronicler the Edomites’ later heirs, the Idumeans, played a significant role in Persian provincial politics. The mention of the Edomites might therefore have had a very contemporary ring for the Chronicler’s audience. Libnah is mentioned in Joshua 10:29–30 as a so-called Levite city. Given the Chronicler’s high esteem for the Levites in his own time, this might just have had a contemporary sound to it. The Chronicler follows his source text in 2 Kings 8:20–22 fairly closely, but appends an elaborate theological motivation for the rebellion at the end of the Deuteronomist’s version. It is indicated that the rebellion happened, because Jehoram had forsaken Yahweh, the God of his fathers. The theologically loaded expression makes use of a verb typical of the Chronicler’s theology, namely, ‫עזב‬, “to forsake” Yahweh. The theological motivation continues in 2 Chronicles 21:11 (which also belongs to the Chronicler’s own material), indicting Jehoram for having built high places on the hills of Judah, having caused the people of 65 This description resembles that of the battle of Abijah against Jeroboam of Israel (2 Chron. 13). The praise song is also reminiscent of the bringing of the ark to Jerusalem. 66 For the more detailed discussions on which the present example is based, see Jonker, “Textual Identities in the Books of Chronicles: The Case of Jehoram’s History”; Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 233–237.

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Jerusalem to prostitute themselves and having led Judah astray. This allusion probably intends to connect Jehoram’s deeds with those of the house of Ahab of Israel. The Chronicler portrays the Edomite and Libnite rebellion as punishment for Jehoram’s following of practices for which his northern in-laws were actually better known. Still in the Chronicler’s Jehoram account, a section follows after the insertion of the material about Elijah’s letter in which the themes of the letter are taken up in continuation of the Chronicler’s Sondergut in 21:16–17. As a punishment against Judah and Jehoram in particular, Yahweh aroused (‫ עבר‬Hiph.) against Jehoram the hostility of the Philistines and of the Arabs. The Hebrew word ‫עבר‬ is also used in 36:22 (as in the present section, the Chronicler’s own material), which states that Yahweh “aroused” Cyrus to write his proclamation that would liberate Israel from exile. In the Chronicler’s view Yahweh can thus arouse nations or foreign kings to either exercise punishment on his people or facilitate their liberation. It is ironic that these foreign nations who were aroused against Jehoram will carry off all the king’s sons, except Ahaziah, the youngest. This is reminiscent of the same Jehoram killing all his brothers. Another example occurs in the Chronicler’s Amaziah narrative (2 Chron. 25:1–28).67 After the house of David was saved from extinction, Amaziah continues the Davidic line as king after the death of his father, Joash. The ambiguity in the Chronicler’s presentation of many of Judah’s kings – for example Asa, Jehoshaphat, and Joash – also continues in this episode. The Chronicler’s version features two prominent insertions into the source material in Kings.68 The first insertion, 2 Chronicles 25:5–10, describes Amaziah’s mustering of his troops and hiring of additional mercenaries from his northern neighbour, Israel. An anonymous “man of God” warns him in this section that it would be fatal if he were to ally with northern military resources, and he therefore dismisses these soldiers. Amaziah could muster three hundred thousand men ready for military service, a significantly smaller number than the armies that Rehoboam and Jehoshaphat could muster. However, in the next account of a battle (against the Edomites) it will become clear again (as so often in the Chronicler’s royal narratives) that victory is not dependent on military strength. What counts is the level of dedication to Yahweh and his cause. The small number was probably the reason why the king considered hiring mercenaries from Israel to strengthen his army in the coming battle. Although this seems to be good military strategy, it turns out to be a fatal move in the end. 67 For the full discussion on which the present example was based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 248–253. 68 The Chronicler expands a single verse (2 Kgs. 14:7) in the Deuteronomistic source text recounting the battle against the Edomites. Both substantial additions in Chronicles elaborate on that brief comment in Kings.

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Between the two major insertions in the Chronicler’s text, a description of the battle against the men of Seir is provided in 25:10–11. Seir, Edom and Esau are always closely related in the Hebrew Bible, and they are often taken as synonymous. The geographical area is to the south-east of the Dead Sea (referred to here as the Valley of Salt), where the Edomites (later replaced by the Nabateans) had their stronghold. Although 25:11 refers to 2 Kings 14:7 (the only mention in the Deuteronomistic version of the battle against Edom), the Chronicler alters this text to fit his own portrayal of this battle. He starts his version with the typical expression that Amaziah marshalled his strength (‫ )חזק‬and adds to the source text’s version another ten thousand Edomites who were captured alive and thrown off a cliff to dash them to pieces (25:12). This further elaboration ensures that the reader would be impressed by the dramatic victory that a relatively small Judahite army could achieve. The second insertion (25:13–16) describes in great detail the battle against the Edomites and its aftermath. The outcome of this battle against the Edomites was positive in military terms, but fatal in terms of Amaziah’s religious convictions. Verse 13 forms an interlude in the description of the Edomite excursion. It presents the reader with some background information about what happened to those troops that Amaziah had sent back and had not allowed to take part in the war. They were in the meantime causing havoc by raiding Judean towns from Samaria to Beth Horon, killing three thousand people and carrying off great quantities of plunder. This interlude picks up the narrative thread from 25:10 (also part of the Chronicler’s own material) and prepares the way for the battle against Israel described from 25:17 onward. Although the Deuteronomistic version also describes that battle (2 Kgs. 14:8–14, 17–20), the Chronicler creatively provided it with another prelude. The Chronicler focuses on the ironic twist that plagued the reign of Amaziah. Because he had obeyed the prophet and sent back the Israelite troops, they caused the trouble that necessitated the later battle (which the king tragically lost). Verses 14–16 contain the core of the Chronicler’s crit ique against King Amaziah.69 Although the king achieved a military victory against the Edomites with a relatively small army, he did not 69 Verse 14 contains the only information available in the Hebrew Bible on the religion of the Edomites. From this verse we can gather that they served more than one deity and that these deities were represented in visible form. The reason why the Chronicler felt the need to introduce this aspect of the Edomite deities into the narrative should probably be sought in the socio-historical circumstances of the time of the Chronicler’s writing, when the Persian province Idumea existed alongside Yehud. For further information on Edom and the Edomites, the following works may be consulted: John R. Bartlett, Edom and the Edomites (Sheffield: JSOT, 1989); J. Andrew Dearman, “Edomite Religion. A Survey and an Examination of Some Recent Contributions,” in You Shall Not Abhor an Edomite for He Is Your Brother: Edom and Seir in History and Tradition, ed. Diana V. Edelman (Atlanta: Scholars, 1995), 119–36; John R. Bartlett, “Edomites and Idumaeans,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 131/2 (1999): 102–14; Lawrence Zalcman, “Shield of Abraham, Fear of Isaac, Dread of Esau,” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 117/3 (2005): 405–10.

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attribute this achievement to wholehearted dedication to Yahweh. Instead, he brought back the gods of the people of Seir. He set them up as his own gods, bowed down to them and burned sacrifices to them (25:14). Because of this syncretistic move, the anger of Yahweh burned against Amaziah and Yahweh sent another prophet to the king with the pertinent question: “Why do you consult (‫ )דרש‬this people’s gods?” This time the king did not listen, however, and treated the prophet with contempt (25:16). The next example comes from the Chronicler’s Uzziah narrative (2 Chron. 26:1–23).70 Uzziah is yet another example of a king who started off well but ended in shame. In this case the Chronicler was solely responsible for presenting this picture of the king. The major part of this narrative (26:5–20) belongs to the Chronicler’s own material, which expanded on a very concise account in the Deuteronomistic version, found in 2 Kgs. 14:21–22; 15:1–7. The former text is part of the Deuteronomist’s concluding account of Amaziah’s reign, while the latter gives the actual account on Uzziah, complete with the usual date of accession correlated with that of the northern king (2 Kgs. 15:1). The Chronicler omitted this comment, together with the remark that the people still brought sacrifices to the high places (2 Kgs. 15:4), something typical of the Chronicler’s style. The narrative continues in the Deuteronomistic version in 2 Kings 15:5 with a remark, “Yahweh afflicted the king with leprosy until the day he died.” This follows logically after 2 Chronicles 26:4, indicating that the high places were still in operation. But since this information was omitted by the Chronicler, he had to provide other reasons for the king’s skin disease. So he reconstructed the whole narrative, adding an expanded section on Uzziah’s successes (26:5–15), probably to explain this king’s very long reign of fifty-two years. He also added a section on Uzziah’s pride (26:16–20), which explains the king’s skin disease, his troublesome last years and his death.71 The section on the successes of Uzziah starts with the telling remark: “He sought (‫ )דרש‬God during the days of Zechariah. … As long as he sought (‫)דרש‬ Yahweh, God gave him success.” It is very clear that the Chronicler relates these successes to the king’s dedication to Yahweh’s cause. These successes were clearly visible in three areas. First (26:6–8), he conducted successful campaigns against a whole series of foreign and neighbouring nations (Philistines, Arabs, Meunites and Ammonites) in order to expand his territory and initiate various building projects. This caused his fame to spread as far as the border of Egypt, because he had become very powerful. Second (26:9–10), he succeeded in fortifying Jerusalem and in providing cisterns for his livestock and fertile lands for his fields and vineyards. Third, Uzziah was also successful in building up a re70 For the full discussion on which the present example is based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 254–257. 71 The section on Uzziah’s pride will be discussed in Chapter 7 (§ 7.5.).

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markable army and military machinery (26:11–15), so that his fame spread far and wide. The formulation in verses 6–8 contains loaded terminology: 6  He went out and made war against the Philistines, and broke down the wall of Gath and the wall of Jabneh and the wall of Ashdod; he built cities in the territory of Ashdod and elsewhere among the Philistines. 7 God helped him against the Philistines, against the Arabs who lived in Gur-baal, and against the Meunites. 8 The Ammonites paid tribute to Uzziah, and his fame spread even to the border of Egypt, for he became very strong. (NRSV)

The Hebrew word for “help” (‫ )עזר‬in verse 17 is a sound play on the name Azariah, which means “Yahweh helped.” This is the name given to Uzziah in Kings. The insinuation is clear that, although Yahweh is not explicitly mentioned as subject here, Uzziah’s fame was given to him by Yahweh. The phrase “until he became powerful” in verse 18 uses the well-known word ‫ חזק‬again, which could be a double entendre here, leading to the dark period in the king’s history. This verb resonates with the king’s name in Chronicles, Uzziah (which means “Yahweh is strong”). The name change from Azariah to Uzziah might be the Chronicler’s way of indicating the two phases in this king’s career: the period of fame (when he was helped, presumably by Yahweh) and the period of shame (when he did not rely on Yahweh’s strength, but on his own). It is also interesting to note in these verses that, after the Philistine cities were destroyed and the Arabs and Meunites conquered, another nation to the east of Judah, the Ammonites, paid tribute to Uzziah, and that his fame spread “even to the border of Egypt.” The second last example comes from the Chronicler’s Jotham narrative.72 The very short passage in 2 Chronicles 27:1–9 describes the reign of King Jotham, the first king since Abijah to be judged wholly positively. The Chronicler closely followed the even shorter version in the Deuteronomistic History (2 Kgs. 15:32–38), but added some information on the successes of the king. The section in Chronicles starts with the normal introduction to and evaluation of the new king (27:1–2), followed by a description of his building projects (27:3–4) and his military campaign against the Ammonites (27:5); 27:6 provides a summary of his reign, before 27:7–9 concludes the narrative with the usual summary information. Whereas the Chronicler featured the Ammonites in acknowledgement of the king’s fame in the Uzziah narrative discussed above (with the Ammonites paying tribute to king Uzziah), this eastern neighbour becomes the object of a military battle in the Jotham narrative. Verse 5, which belongs to the Chronicler’s own material, reports that Jotham made himself strong over the Ammonites (with ‫)חזק‬, and that the Ammonites paid large amounts of silver, wheat and bar72 For the full discussion on which the present example is based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 258–260.

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ley to him. Klein remarks: “At the time of Jotham, Judah and the Ammonites did not have a common border. Opposition to the Ammonites fits the time of the Chronicler, since during the wall building of Nehemiah the Ammonites were outspoken enemies.”73 The final example that shows the opposition between Judah and some neighbouring nations comes from the Chronicler’s history of Ahaz (2 Chron. 28:1– 27).74 We saw in the previous section (§ 5.5.2) that the Ahaz narrative marks one of the most negative portrayals of a king in Chronicles. It also includes a section that deals with the king’s relationship with some of the neighbouring nations. Second Chronicles 28:17–19 (which belongs to the Chronicler’s own material) mention a defeat by the Edomites (28:17) as well as raids by the Philistines (28:18) in which they captured a number of villages from Judah. With these insertions into the account of Ahaz’s reign, the Chronicler managed to incorporate into the narrative an imperial force (Assyria), Judah’s kinsfolk to the north (Israel), and some neighbouring nations (Edomites, Philistines). These insertions probably had a metaphorical function, evoking the political reality of the Chronicler’s own time, when an imperial force (Persia), a related province (Samaria) and some other neighbouring provinces (Idumea and Philistia) dominated the socio-political scene. The example narratives from Chronicles discussed above provide an ambiguous picture of peace / ​submission or enmity / ​opposition between Judah and the neighbouring nations to the east, south and west. In some instances (17:10–11, the Philistines and Arabs bring tribute to Jehoshaphat) representatives of these nations pay tribute to a Judahite king, signifying a relationship of peace or submission. The majority of the examples, however, signify enmity and opposition between Judah and the surrounding nations. This opposition comes in two forms: on the one hand, some examples (21:8–11, Edomite and Libnite rebellion against Jehoram as punishment for the king’s apostasy; 21:16–17, Philistines and Arabs stirred into battle with Jehoram by Yahweh as punishment for the king’s apostasy; 28:17–19, Ahaz suffers defeat and raids by the Edomites and Philistines as punishment for his apostasy) show that Judah was conquered by one or more of its neighbouring nations. The Chronicler normally provides a theological motivation for this state of affairs, indicating that Yahweh punished Judah through the nations for not seeking him. On the other hand, other examples (20:1–30, Jehoshaphat conquers the Moabites, Ammonites and Meunites after relying on Yahweh; 25:5–10, 13–16, Amaziah conquers the Edomites (without Israelite help) because he obeyed the words of the prophet of Yahweh; 26:6–8, Uzziah sought Yahweh and fought 2 Chronicles, 387. the full discussion on which the present example was based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 261–266. 73 Klein, 74 For

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successfully against Philistines, Arabs, Meunites and Ammonites; 27:5, Jotham conquers the Ammonites because he relied on Yahweh) show Judah in the role of military victor over one or more of the surrounding nations. These narratives normally show the success and prosperity of the king after he had sought Yahweh and had relied on Yahweh.

5.5.4 Celebrating the Passover Together (30:1–27; 35:17–19) The Chronicler’s accounts of the histories of Hezekiah and Josiah are some of the most extensive narratives in the book. The writer used the narratives from his Vorlage in Kings, but often reworked this material to create his own unique perspective on the reign of these two kings. One aspect that is quite interesting for the present discussion is the fact that in both these narratives the Chronicler added some material in order to show that the Passover was celebrated by ‫כל־ישראל‬, that is, the whole of the idealised Israel of the post-exilic period that included Yahwists from the south and the north. Through his own reworking, the Chronicler emphasised in these accounts (particularly in the Hezekiah narrative) that people from the northern, and even Transjordanian tribes, were included in the Passover celebrations in Jerusalem during these the reign of these kings.75 Hezekiah is certainly one of the Chronicler’s favourite kings. Excluding the Chronicler’s accounts of David and Solomon, this is the most extensive of all the royal narratives, stretching over four chapters (2 Chron. 29–32). Here the Chronicler composed an almost completely new narrative with very specific ideas on how to portray this king. The Chronicler made very eclectic and limited use of the text in Kings. He uses the introduction to the king’s reign in 2 Chronicles 29:1–2 (adapted from 2 Kgs. 18:1–3) and inserts into his account huge portions of narrative about the cleansing and rededication of the temple (2 Chron. 29:3– 36) as well as about the celebration of the Passover (30:1–27), before rejoining very briefly the source account in his description of Hezekiah’s reform measures in 31:1–21 (an adaptation and expansion of 2 Kgs. 18:4–7). The most extensive use of source materials is 2 Chronicles 32:1–33, where the Chronicler (albeit again very selectively) uses 2 Kings 18:13, 17–37; 19:35–37; 20:1–21. The temporal focus in Chronicles is on the first year of Hezekiah’s reign, established by an elaborate and almost slow-motion description of the temple cleansing, Passover celebrations, and organisation of the Levites and priests 75 For the more extensive discussions on which the present description is based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles,, 267–280, 286–301. See also Louis C. Jonker, “Completing the Temple with the Celebration of Josiah’s Passover?,” Old Testament Essays 15/2 (2002): 381–97; Louis C. Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles: Late Stages of the Josiah Reception in II Chr. 34f (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003).

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(29:3–31:21). This description (apart from one verse in 2 Kgs. 18:4) is not in the Deuteronomistic version. What can be categorised as “post-year one” in the Chronicler’s account (2 Chron. 32:1–33) carries the main focus in the Deuteronomistic account (which even structures those events with precise temporal indications). The construction of this narrative by the Chronicler therefore reshapes (or retells) the account of the past in order to move it from the realm of political history to the realm of cultic history. The subsection in 30:1–27 (which is the Chronicler’s own material in full) is dedicated to the preparations for and celebration of the Passover. Passover occupies a very prominent place, not only in the Hezekiah narrative, but also in the Josiah account. However, it is here in the account of Hezekiah’s reign that the Passover is mentioned for the first time in Chronicles. It is introduced in 30:1 with the remark that Hezekiah sent word to all Israel and Judah, and also wrote letters to Ephraim and Manasseh, an all-inclusive designation that leaves no misunderstanding that the northern tribes are seen as part of the cultic community of Jerusalem. They are invited by the king to come to the temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem and celebrate the Passover to Yahweh, the God of Israel. Whereas the traditional Passover celebration, according to Exodus 12, had to take place in the family sphere, the Chronicler’s narrative makes clear that the Passover was celebrated as a national event during the time of Hezekiah. It is indicated that the king explicitly instructed and sent letters to the people from Beersheba to Dan (30:5) to come to Jerusalem for the celebration – another indication of the all-inclusivity of south and north in the celebrations. In the end it seems that the ideal of an all-inclusive celebration was striven for, but this did not really materialise; the text indicates that “people in Ephraim and Manasseh, as far as Zebulun scorned and ridiculed the royal couriers.” The lone exception was some men of Asher, Manasseh and Zebulun who humbled themselves (‫ )כנע‬and went to Jerusalem (30:10–11). The words of the king’s letter are given in 30:6b–9. The people are called to return to Yahweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Israel (30:6). This designation for Yahweh occurs only here in Chronicles, and the Chronicler hereby not only relates Hezekiah’s Passover to the ancestral era before the existence of the monarchy, but also includes both southern and northern traditions. The king calls on the people not to be like their fathers and brothers, who were unfaithful (‫ )מעל‬to Yahweh (30:7) – again a clear indication of the Chronicler’s theological vision that promoted faithfulness to Yahweh. Although the king’s letter is suffused with the Chronicler’s style and language, it is also clear that the Chronicler took a leaf from the Deuteronomist’s book in composing it (even though the letter is not represented in the Deuteronomistic version). A prominent Deuteronomic term, “to return” (‫)שוב‬, encapsulates the letter’s content. The call in 30:6 is: “people of Israel, return (‫ )שוב‬to Yahweh.” And the promise in 30:9 is: “if you return (‫ )שוב‬to Yahweh, then your brothers and your children will come back

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(‫ )שוב‬to this land, for Yahweh your God is gracious and compassionate.” Apparently the Chronicler is playing on the exilic condition of the northern kingdom here. The Passover in Jerusalem should be the way in which Judah’s brethren from the north can “turn back to” Yahweh so that they may be released from their captivity. This is typical of Deuteronomic theology, which also exercised enormous influence on the Deuteronomistic History. The narrative reports in 30:13 that a very large crowd of people assembled in Jerusalem, not for Passover, but to celebrate the Feast of Unleavened Bread in the second month.76 Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread had separate origins in pre-biblical times, but were later celebrated together or even merged into one festival. Apparently the Hezekiah narrative uses the different terminology interchangeably. It starts with reference to “Passover” (30:1, 2, 5), then refers to the same feast as “the Feast of Unleavened Bread” (30:13), continues with “Passover” terminology (30:15, 17, 18), and ends with reference to “the Feast of Unleavened Bread” again (30:21).77 76 Since the Chronicler wanted the climax of the “right” Passover to coincide with Josiah’s reign, he sets the celebration in Hezekiah’s reign in the second month. See my discussion in Jonker, “Completing the Temple with the Celebration of Josiah’s Passover?”; Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles. Simeon Chavel (“The Second Passover, Pilgrimage, and the Centralized Cult,” Harvard Theological Review 102/1 [2009]: 1–24) doubts whether the concession Passover of 2 Chron. 30 has anything to do with the narrative in Num. 9. He states: “[A] careful comparison of Numbers 9 and 2 Chronicles 30 shows that this view involves misleading abstractions that overlook defining details. The analysis … demonstrate[s] that the two texts describe two completely different and unrelated phenomena; that, accordingly, the texts employ alternate sets of terms; and that, undergirding the distinction, the texts are in total accord with their respective textual environments – namely, the Priestly literature and Chronicles – and never so much as refer to one another. Any apparent points of contact claimed to exist between the two texts evaporate as illusory” (Ibid., 6–7). However, the date of Hezekiah’s Passover should not be treated in isolation, but should rather be interpreted together with the Passover account in Josiah’s narrative as indicated above. 77 In religious-historical research on the Jewish festivals two main problems are normally discussed with reference to the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread: (a) it seems as if the Feast of Unleavened Bread and Passover did not belong together from the start. Questions are therefore being asked about their respective origins, and when, and for what purpose, these festivals were amalgamated; and (b) it is also clear that the Priestly and Deuteronomic / ​Deuteronomistic descriptions of these festivals reflect different pictures. Questions are therefore asked whether, for example, the festivals were meant as family rites, or as festivals to be celebrated at sanctuaries, and how the celebrations should be organised. Although it is not an easy task to determine the historical reliability of the biblical witnesses to these feasts, and in spite of the many different literary-critical and tradition-historical theories about the texts that refer to the feasts, the following can (at least) be said about them: (i) the Feast of Unleavened Bread (with its probable origin in Canaanite agricultural circles) was the first of the Israelite festivals to be celebrated at the sanctuary; (ii) the Passover (with its probable origin in Canaanite pastoral circles) was initially practised as family rite; (iii) the Passover was later removed from the family sphere to that of the sanctuary, and later became a centralised festival celebrated in the Temple together with the other festivals; (iv) the Passover and Feast of Unleavened Bread, both celebrated at the Temple, was later amalgamated into one festival. Although scholars differ in their dating of these phases in the development of the Passover (together with the Feast of Un-

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The Chronicler’s depiction of Hezekiah’s Passover constantly reminds the reader that this was not really properly done. Although 30:16 states that the Levites took up their positions as prescribed in the Law of Moses the man of God (in 30:18–20) makes clear that many people from Ephraim, Manasseh, Issachar and Zebulun ate the Passover lamb without consecrating themselves beforehand. Hezekiah then prayed to Yahweh to pardon everyone who sets (‫)כון‬ his heart on seeking (‫ )דרש‬God – even if they were not ritually clean according to the rules of the sanctuary. It is then stated that Yahweh heard Hezekiah and healed the people (30:20). Hezekiah’s Passover celebrations end with a blessing on the people by the priests and the Levites, words that “God heard, for their prayer reached heaven, his holy dwelling place” (30:17). The Chronicler’s account of Josiah’s Passover also represents a fairly drastic reconstruction of the Vorlage text.78 Second Chronicles 35:1–19 is devoted entirely to the first celebration of Passover “since the days of the prophet Samuel.” This version of the Passover celebration is not only considerably more elaborate than the version in Kings (which devoted slightly more than three verses to it), but it also provides completely different content. Verses 17–19 contain the evaluation and conclusion of the Passover celebration. Second Chronicles 35:17 mentions that the Israelites who were present celebrated the Passover at that time and observed the Feast of Unleavened Bread for seven days. “The Israelites” probably refers to those people from the northern tribal areas who joined the celebrations in Jerusalem. The evaluation of the Passover is given in 35:18: “the Passover had not been observed like this in Israel since the days of the prophet Samuel; and none of the kings of Israel had ever celebrated such a Passover as did Josiah.” This remark indicates that the “right” Passover is the one celebrated in Jerusalem, in contrast to any attempts in the northern kingdom Israel to do the same. The image that therefore emerges from the two royal accounts discussed here is that the Passover celebrations in Jerusalem were all-inclusive and definitely included the people of the northern kingdom. The Hezekiah narrative even exleavened Bread), it can be assumed that the late post-exilic Yehudite community (i. e. in the days of the Chronicler) celebrated the amalgamated festival, starting on the fourteenth day of the first month and continuing for seven days, in a centralised sanctuary, namely the second temple. The possibility cannot be excluded, however, that this feast was also celebrated elsewhere among the Diaspora communities (as the Elephantine Passover letter shows). 78 See again Jonker, “Completing the Temple with the Celebration of Josiah’s Passover?”; Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles. See also Kenneth A. Ristau, “Reading and Re-Reading Josiah: A Critical Study of Josiah in Chronicles” (University of Alberta, 2005); Ehud Ben Zvi, “Observations on Josiah’s Account in Chronicles and Implications for Reconstructing the Worldview of the Chronicler,” in Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Naʼaman, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi et al. (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 89–106.

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pounds on the attempts made to include the northern tribes in the celebrations. Simultaneously, however, the narratives also contain subtle criticism of any moves in the north to celebrate the Passover. The Hezekiah narrative makes clear that not all responded positively to the invitation of the king to come and celebrate Passover in Jerusalem. Josiah’s narrative indicates that none of the kings of Israel ever celebrated Passover in the fashion of Josiah. It thus seems from these example texts that the Chronicler wanted to portray the inclusivity of the cult in the south, but also wanted to lodge a hidden criticism in the text of any northern attempts to celebrate the Passover. Such a message would have been powerful in the Chronicler’s own days, the late Persian period, when a rival sanctuary was already in operation on Mount Gerizim.

5.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in the Provincial Context We saw in Chapter 3 (§ 3.4.2) that Yehud’s existence in the late Persian period was closely embedded in the provincial and regional world of the time. Samaria to the north not only reminded the literati in Jerusalem of the history of division between the kingdoms of Judah and Israel of old, but also of the fact that Samaria as a region had recovered remarkably well from the Assyrian exile, and therefore had a much more successful existence in the Persian Empire than its southern counterpart, Yehud. Similarly, the provinces around Yehud – Ammon and Moab to the east, Idumea and Arabia to the south, and Gaza to the west – reminded the literati in Jerusalem of old strife and enmity between Judah and its environs during the monarchical period (and even earlier), but also of the fact that these regions and provinces had the same status in the Persian Empire. As in the case of Samaria, it seems that many of these other provinces were economically in a more favourable position, through trade, than Yehud. These realities of the Chronicler’s time influenced his perspective when negotiating a new identity for Yahweh’s people in the changed socio-political and socio-religious circumstances. In some contexts the Chronicler portrayed Samaria and the other provinces as being in opposition to Yehud through the battle narratives of old and through religious-cultic differentiation. In other contexts these regions were presented as “part of the family.” During the late Persian era there was probably an awareness among the literati in Jerusalem that total estrangement from the surrounding provinces would be dangerous for Yehud’s survival in the Persian Empire. Simultaneously, however, there was an awareness of and a resolution among the literati to define Yehud’s distinctiveness in the context of the diverse nations around it. In our analyses of the different textual examples we therefore saw ambiguity in the way in which the different nations around Judah are characterised. The following themes emerged from these analyses:

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(i) For the Chronicler, ‫“ כל־ישראל‬All-Israel” is closely associated with the province of Yehud. This concept includes not only the tribes of the south, but also those of the north and the Transjordanian areas (§ 5.2.2). Such an inclusive understanding does not stand in opposition to the fact that the Persian province of Yehud included only a small area associated with Judah and Benjamin. This entity even associated with and supported King David of old, according to the Chronicler’s account (§ 5.3.1). It is highly unlikely that such an inclusive understanding of Israel represents any historical reality. The Chronicler’s genealogies and narratives rather want to create an idealised, even utopian,79 reality that serves the purpose of creating an understanding of their coherence primarily as a religious community. Those who seek Yahweh are considered to be part of All-Israel. The principle of Yehud’s identification with the surrounding nations, and therefore with the Persian-period provinces around Yehud, is therefore a religious one and not a political or economic principle. (ii) Although the Chronicler works with the inclusive concept of All-Israel, he does not leave any doubt that Judah and Jerusalem form the centre of the Yahwistic community. The whole narrative about their past kings is structured in such a way that the focus is almost exclusively on the kings of Judah (§ 5.5.1). Furthermore, the Chronicler makes clear that the northern kingdom and other surrounding peoples to the east, south and west did not contribute to the building of the temple in Jerusalem (§ 5.4.1). The Chronicler’s process of negotiating a new identity for Yehud therefore works with the principle of identification and continuity (as explained in the first point above), but simultaneously also shows differentiation from and discontinuity with the nations around Yehud on the issue of the centre of Yahwism. Those surrounding nations, which in some contexts may be considered to be part of the in-group, become out-groups when they do not acknowledge the centrality of Jerusalem and Judah in their understanding of the Yahwistic community. (iii) The temple occupies a location which is associated with pre-monarchical history, namely on Mount Moriah (§ 5.4.2). In this way the Chronicler portrays the temple in Jerusalem as a religious centre that belongs to All-Israel. This claim is most probably made within the late Persian context of poly-Yahwism as represented at other cult centres in the surrounding provinces. The Chronicler argues that all of these centres are actually embedded in the Yahweh worship in the temple, which is on Mount Moriah. (iv) The surrounding areas are either portrayed negatively as being in opposition to Yehud, or positively as being in support of Yehud (§§ 5.2.1; 5.3.2; 5.5.2; 5.5.3; 5.5.4). The Chronicler illustrates from some instances in history that 79 See again the discussion in Chapter 2 (§ 2.2.2) and the proposals of Steven Schweitzer: Steven J. Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, Library of Hebrew Bible / ​Old Testament Studies 442 (London: T & T Clark, 2007); Schweitzer, “The Genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9.”

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some of the surrounding nations supported David or the Judahite kings in their endeavours to expand Yahweh worship. However, the majority of the instances in Chronicles where other nations are mentioned show opposition of some kind between Judah and those nations. In some cases a Judahite king conquers some of these nations, as an illustration that Yahweh gives victory to those who rely on him. In other cases those nations act as instrument in Yahweh’s hand to punish a Judahite king for his apostasy against Yahweh. These examples not only urge all those leaders of the Chronicler’s time to rely on Yahweh, but also show that Yahweh has dominion over the surrounding nations. From the above discussion it seems that the Chronicler found himself in an in-between position during the late Persian period with reference to the surrounding provinces. On the one hand, the Chronicler’s process of identity negotiation emphasised continuity with the surrounding areas, but on the other hand, he felt the strong need to differentiate in terms of the cultic centre and influence.

Chapter 6

Tribal Rivalries of Old 6.1 Introduction We saw in the discussion in Chapter 3 above that the area of Benjamin played a significant role during the last years of Neo-Babylonian and the first years of Persian rule. With Mizpah, which functioned as administrative centre during this time, and with other Benjaminite towns probably accommodating some cultic centres, it seems that the intra-relationships in Yehud were complex. This situation, coupled with the fact that the loyalty of Benjaminites in former days was most probably very ambiguous – with its orientation either to the northern or the southern kingdom – resulted in a “Judah-Benjamin discourse” emerging in the years after the exile. Power relations between Judah and Benjamin were therefore dominated by the respective changes in status of both Benjamin and Judah in the late Persian period. Although Jerusalem had the dominant position (politically and because of the temple) in the monarchical period, the exile changed this situation and Jerusalem lost its position to Mizpah and other Benjaminite centres. Mizpah grew in prominence during the Neo-Babylonian period, but lost its influence to Jerusalem (and probably Ramat Raḥel) when the Persian Empire defeated the Neo-Babylonian power.1 Apart from explicit references to Benjaminite towns and people with Benjaminite ancestry as identification markers of texts to be discussed in this chapter, the presence of Saul and others from Saulide circles will also serve as a criterion for the selection of texts.2 Saul, as a Benjaminite, is portrayed in the Deuterono1 It is interesting to note that Bethel does not feature prominently in Chronicles. Although this place is so prominent in the patriarchal tradition (see particularly Gen. 28), and although the Deuteronomistic history is strongly polemical against Bethel (see particularly 1 Kgs. 12, 13; 2 Kgs. 2, 17), it occurs only twice in Chronicles in lists (1 Chron. 7:28 and 2 Chron. 13:19). Jarick states that Chronicles never denounces Bethel and wonders whether this situation in Chronicles “in some way dignifies Bethel’s rival claim to that of Jerusalem”. See John Jarick, “The Temple of David in the Book of Chronicles,” in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, ed. John Day (London: T & T Clark, 2007), 373–376 (here 374). 2 For a very good catalogue of occurrences of Benjamin in Chronicles, see Benjamin D. Giffone, “Sit at My Right Hand: The Chronicler’s Portrait of the Tribe of Benjamin in the Social Context of Yehud” (Thesis, Stellenbosch: Stellenbosch University, 2014), 153–188, http:// scholar.sun.ac.za/handle/10019.1/86500.

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mistic History as the first king of the United Israel, while much more prominence is given to David, as Judahite, in Chronicles.

6.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) 6.2.1 Judah and Benjamin, the Pillars of All-Israel (2:3–4:23 and 8:1–40) The placing of the tribes of Judah and Benjamin in key positions in the Chronicler’s genealogy was discussed earlier in this book. The fact that these two tribes occupy the “pillar positions” in the genealogical introduction3 signifies that the Chronicler considered them to be of great4 and of equal importance for the self-understanding of All-Israel.5 Both these genealogies have kings as their focus. King David (and his son Solomon) form the nexus of the Judahite genealogy, while the Benjaminite genealogy climaxes in the genealogy of Saul. The very elaborate descriptions (with linear and segmented genealogies) with which David and Solomon are described, in contrast to the fact that Saul is merely mentioned as one of the elements in Gibeon’s line (see 8:29), clearly indicates the Chronicler’s preference.6 Saul’s portrayal, as we will also see later in the 3 “Pillar positions” refers to the initial and last positions in the All-Israelite genealogy. It is preceded by a universalist introduction, which is balanced at the end with a list of the Persian-period inhabitants of Jerusalem. See Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2003), 261; James T. Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9 (Atlanta: SBL, 2008), 29. 4 Seeing that the tribe of Levi occupies the central position in the Chronicler’s genealogies, one could say the Levites are considered most important for the Chronicler’s image of All-Israel. However, the positions occupied by Judah and Benjamin also signify their importance, albeit then on a lesser level than that of Levi. 5 Knoppers rightly states: “When seen against the backdrop of late Babylonian and early Persian developments, the keen attention paid to Benjamin in the genealogies makes eminent sense. In Chronicles a conscious effort has been made to contest claims of Benjamin’s relative insignificance. Benjamin’s final position is a badge of honor. Judah, which appears first, and Benjamin, which appears last, establish the larger context in which the other tribes are considered. Judah, Levi, and Benjamin receive the vast majority of coverage (74 percent) and the critical positions in the overall presentation (2:3–9:1). To be sure, Chronicles confirms the earlier picture of occasional internecine troubles. Notes about internal strife punctuate the lineages … But, if allocation of coverage is one sign of authorial commitments, Benjamin does fairly well, receiving approximately 15 percent of the total coverage … As works written in the Achaemenid era, the Benjaminite genealogies must be judged on their own terms as declarations of the important role Benjamin plays within a larger Israelite identity” (I Chronicles 1–9, 491–492). 6 In fact, the continuation of the Benjaminite genealogy into Saul’s from 8:29 ff. is dubious, because there is no structural link between the two lists. The contrast is rather between those Benjaminites who are living in Jerusalem (8:27) and those living in Gibeon (8:29). Unlike the genealogical information given in the Deuteronomistic history (in 1 Sam. 9:1) there is no mention of the Gibeonites’ connection to Benjamin in 1 Chron. 8:29–40. See also the discussion in the next subsection.

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present chapter, is never on a par with that of David and Solomon. Although the Chronicler signified in the genealogical construction that Benjamin is equally as important as Judah, his preference for Judah and his Judahite perspective also surfaces clearly. This may also be the motivation for why Benjamin features in another place in the genealogies, as we have seen in the previous chapter (§ 5.2.2). Benjamin also finds a place among the northern tribes in the second interlude of the genealogies (see 7:6–12). The interlude section resembles the genealogy in chapter 8, but it is clear that these two versions are separate constructions. The passage in chapter 7 among the other northern tribes probably reflects the ambiguous position which Benjamin occupied in history, with its allegiance switching between the northern and southern kingdoms. With its “in-between” geographical position, it is understandable that this tribal area formed some sort of a cushion between Israel in the north and Judah in the south. The reference to Benjamin in the interlude section might therefore be the Chronicler’s acknowledgement of the earlier history of this tribal area, but the relative weight given to the genealogy in chapter 8, in the “pillar position,” surely reflects the Chronicler’s claiming of Benjamin as forming the backbone, together with Judah, of the post-exilic community in Yehud. The genealogy of Judah (2:3–4:23) is an elaborate and very complicated construction.7 It is no coincidence that the discussion of Judah in the present section is the most extensive of all the Chronicler’s genealogical presentations. Embedded in this section are the genealogies of the most famous of Judah’s descendants, namely David (3:1–9) and Solomon (3:10–24), the genealogy of the latter containing a list of all Judah’s kings and leaders beyond the exile. The final construction of the genealogies (whether they originally formed part of Chronicles or were added later to form an integral part of Chronicles) already paves the way for the focal point in the narrative parts of the book, namely the ideal historical period under David (1 Chron. 10–29) and Solomon (2 Chron. 1–9). Judah’s genealogy is introduced in two subsections (2:3–55 and 4:1–23), framing the sections dedicated to David and Solomon. Whether they compose a chiastic structure, as some commentators suggest,8 is not clear. Such structures often exist only in the eyes of the beholder. However, there is no doubt that the embedding of David’s and Solomon’s descendants within the broader family of Judah was particularly significant for the Chronicler. The ancient readers of Chronicles would not have missed the message here!

7 See

Hugh G. M. Williamson, “Sources and Redaction in the Chronicler’s Genealogy of Judah,” Journal of Biblical Literature 98/3 (1979): 351–59; Hugh G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 48–50. See also the commentary on this section in Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 295–359; Ralph W. Klein, 1 Chronicles: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 82–142. 8 See the discussion in Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies, 229–235.

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The final section in the Judahite genealogy (4:21–23) is dedicated to the progeny of Shelah, son of Judah. Interestingly, this section mentions two professions, namely linen workers (vs. 21) and potters (vs. 23). Knoppers indicates that the terms used here may be a reflection of the Chronicler’s own time rather than of monarchic Israel. The Hebrew word for “linen”, for example, is found in late sources. Knoppers observes that “the Persian period witnessed a growing interest in the organization and development of certain professions. Indeed, this was a period in which markets and international trade flourished. Although craftsmen could be organized in groups and families, there is no clear evidence for the rise of professional guilds with their own constitutions and officials before the fifth century B. C. E.”9 Klein, on the other hand,10 is convinced that the expression “they lived there with the king in his service” (4:23) refers not to the great king of Persia but rather to one of the Davidic kings in monarchic times. However, if Knoppers is right, one could perhaps also suggest that this final remark about service to “the king” extended this genealogy of Shelah into the present era of the Chronicler, showing how people of Judahite / ​Israelite origin were contributing to the Persian imperial economy. Although the emphasis in the Judahite genealogy is very strongly on the Davidic and Solomonic kingship and its role in monarchical times, Knoppers makes the valid point, though, that this genealogy does not reflect an exclusivist understanding. In his investigation of non-Israelites in the Judahite lineages (including indications of intermarriage in these lineages and non-Israelites who are made Judahites), he comes to the following conclusion: The genealogy of Judah undercuts a critical premise of Ezra and Nehemiah’s position in its very presentation of Judah’s origins. Judah, much less the Israel of which Judah is but one part, is ethnically diverse. Like the authors of Ezra and Nehemiah, the authors of Chronicles selectively draw on pentateuchal traditions, but they do so to a very different effect. Judah’s complex network of primary, secondary, and tertiary lineages, involving links with a variety of different peoples, resists any attempt at easy categorization. The multi-layered depiction of Judah’s development underscores its ethnic and social diversity. … The authors of the genealogy show no signs of being defensive about Judah’s inclusiveness. Quite the contrary, the incorporation of different individuals, families, groups, and towns facilitates the growth and expansion of the larger tribe. … The complex evidence provided by the Judahite genealogy augurs against postulating simplistic notions about Judean self-definition in the Persian period. Such generalizations, usually formulated with Ezra-Nehemiah in mind, provide a one-sided picture of the early Jewish community in Jerusalem. Other writings, along with the evidence provided by epigraphy, testify that the Jerusalem community contained many more voices than some have been willing to countenance.11 I Chronicles 1–9, 351. 1 Chronicles, 142. 11 Gary N. Knoppers, “Intermarriage, Social Complexity, and Ethnic Diversity in the Genealogy of Judah,” Journal of Biblical Literature 120/1 (2001): 29–30. See also Gary N. Knoppers,  9 Knoppers, 10 Klein,

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The previous paragraphs have focused on the Judahite genealogy. When we shift our attention to the Benjaminite genealogy (8:1–40), we see that it does not have the same complexity as the Judahite genealogy, but nevertheless consists of two parts, namely the line of Benjamin in 8:1–28, after which the focus shifts to the Gibeonites (and eventually Saul) in 8:29–40. We have seen above that the second part is not explicitly linked with the tribe of Benjamin. The link is rather indirect through the mentioning of the city of Gibeon which, according to Joshua 18:15, was assigned to Benjaminite territory. Jeiel, the father of (the person) Gibeon, forms the initial element in the second part of the Benjaminite genealogy. This line runs through Saul (vs. 33), of whom we know that he was king of Israel before David. We will see later in this chapter, however, that the position of Saul in the Chronicler’s portrayal of history is ambiguous. This ambiguity is probably already present here in the Benjaminite genealogy, where Saul is considered to be part of one of the “pillar” families of All-Israel, but there is not much focus on him.

6.2.2 Saul Remembered Genealogically (1 Chron. 9:35–44) The same tendency continues in a very last section of the genealogies. Some scholars, like Knoppers,12 do not consider this section part of the Chronicler’s genealogical construction, but rather see it as the transition to the Saul narrative which follows in chapter 10 (see our discussion below). Again, Saul is just a “‘Married into Moab’: The Exogamy Practiced by Judah and His Descendants in the Judahite Lineages,” in Mixed Marriages. Intermarriage and Group Identity in the Second Temple Period, ed. Christian Frevel (London: T & T Clark International, 2011), 170–91. Gerrie Snyman, in his attempt to construct a possible world of text production for the Chronicler’s Judahite genealogy, argues that the returned exiles, from their elite position of power through being literate and having Persian imperial support, wanted to legitimise their own position through this genealogy. He argues: “People arrived from everywhere in Yehud, and the new ruling elite created rules for membership and based those rules on the geopolitical history of the territory. The use of a genealogy is ideological in nature and is used to regulate a new social order established in an economic collective unit under Persian imperial control. The movement of people by the superpowers makes it impossible to connect the prehistory of groups to a certain territory. It does not really matter whether the ruling elite were returning from exile or not. They were more Persian in orientation than Jewish. … Then Chronicles became a text regulating – in a Persian way – membership of a community. This community was focused on keeping its identity …” (Gerrie F. Snyman, “A Possible World of Text Production for the Genealogy in 1 Chronicles 2.3–4.23,” in The Chronicler As Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein, ed. M. Patrick Graham, Steven L. McKenzie, and Gary N. Knoppers, JSOTS 371 [London: T&T Clark, 2003], 59). Snyman’s conclusion may be a good explanation for why the Chronicler did indeed include non-Israelites in the Judahite genealogy (as Knoppers has indicated). However, Knoppers’s warning against over-simplistic understandings of the situation remains valid. 12 Knoppers discusses it in the second volume of his commentary. See the start of Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2004).

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side note in a list which is almost a duplicate of the genealogy in 1 Chronicles 8:29–40. Whereas the previous version precedes the list of Jerusalem’s inhabitants in the post-exilic period, the present list follows after that list. It is not exactly certain how these two versions relate diachronically. Although there are some resemblances in 1 Samuel 9:1–2a and 1 Samuel 14:49 to information contained in these lists, these two versions belong to the Sondergut in Chronicles. Gary Knoppers is of the opinion that the version in chapter 9 is primary and that the writer copied it from there to add to the Benjaminite genealogy in chapter 8. He therefore indicates: The addition of 8:29–40 to the Benjaminite genealogies creates a curious literary structure in the transition from the genealogical introduction to the narration of the monarchy. Jeielite lineages (8:29–40; 9:35–44) frame the list of Jerusalem’s post-exilic residents (9:2–34). To put matters somewhat differently, much of the material relating to the last section of the genealogies (8:1–40) and the first section of the monarchy (9:35–44; 10:1–14) pertains directly to Benjamin. However one should reconstruct the history of the composition of the genealogies and their relationship to the narratives about the Monarchy, the attention devoted to Benjamin is revealing.13

This view confirms the importance of Benjamin, as second “pillar,” in the Chronicler’s self-understanding of All-Israel. It also become clear that, although the focus is clearly not on Saul in the present section (and its approximate duplicate in chapter 8), the reason for giving prominence to this part of the genealogy is the presence of Saul, the son of Kish, mentioned briefly in verse 39. Without the continuation of the Chronicler’s narrative with Saul in chapter 10, the present part (and its associated part in chapter 8) would probably not have entered the Chronicler’s genealogical construction.

6.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) 6.3.1 Saul’s Death and the Start of David’s Reign (1 Chron. 10:1–14) The Chronicler’s portrayal of Saul deviates significantly from the source text in 1 Samuel 31.14 The narrative about Saul’s death is the only remaining part of the elaborate description of this king’s life in the Deuteronomist’s version. Because of this drastically edited version of the Saul narrative, many scholars have also engaged with this text in order to offer explanations for the highly adapted form I Chronicles 1–9, 488. rely here on my earlier discussions of this text in Louis C. Jonker, “Revisiting the Saul Narrative in Chronicles: Interacting with the Persian Imperial Context?,” Old Testament Essays 23/2 (2010): 283–305; Louis C. Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, Understanding the Bible Commentary Series (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2013), 89–95. 13 Knoppers, 14 I

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of the Chronicler’s version.15 The reader of Chronicles might wonder why the writer chose to present Saul’s story in such a truncated way. We will later argue that this presentation is entirely related to the way in which the Benjaminites feature in Chronicles. Saul was a prominent member of the Benjaminite tribe (as we saw in our discussion of the genealogy in 1 Chron. 8:33–40). This association might be the key to understanding the Chronicler’s portrayal of Saul.16 Commentators normally see three sections in this text:17 verses 1–7 narrate the death of Saul and his house; verses 8–12 concentrate on the benevolent acts of the people of Jabesh-Gilead; and verses 13–14 provide a theological interpretation of Saul’s death. There are some minor differences between the Masoretic texts of Chronicles and its Vorlage in 1 Samuel 31 in the first two sections.18 15 Since 2000 the following studies have appeared: Georg Hentschel, Saul. Schuld, Reue und Tragik eines “Gesalbten” (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2003); Simcha S. Brooks, Saul and the Monarchy: A New Look (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005); David Wagner, Geist und Tora. Studien zur göttlichen Legitimation und Delegitimation von Herrschaft im Alten Testament anhand der Erzählungen über König Saul (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2005); Thomas Willi, “‘Den HERRn aufsuchen …’ Einsatz und Thema des narrativen Teils der Chronikbücher,” in L’Ecrit et l’Esprit: Etudes d’histoire du texte et de théologie biblique en hommage à Adrian Schenker, ed. Dieter Boehler, Innocent Himbaza, and Philippe Hugo (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 432–44; Yairah Amit, “The Saul Polemic in the Persian Period,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 647–61; Yairah Amit, “The Delicate Balance in the Image of Saul and Its Place in the Deuteronomistic History,” in Saul in Story and Tradition, ed. Carl S. Ehrlich and Marsha C. White, FAT 47 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 71–79; Gary N. Knoppers, “Israel’s First King and ‘the Kingdom of YHWH in the Hands of the Sons of David.’ The Place of the Saulide Monarchy in the Chronicler’s Historiography,” in Saul in Story and Tradition, ed. Carl S. Ehrlich and Marsha C. White (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 187–213; Piotr Kuberski, “La Crémation dans la Bible? La Mort de Saül et de ses Fils (1 S 31; 1 Ch 10),” Revue des Sciences Religieuses 83/2 (2009): 185–200. See also the following recent exegetical commentaries: Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 515–531; Steven L. McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, AOTC (Nashville: Abingdon, 2004), 114–120; Pieter B. Dirksen, 1 Chronicles (Leuven: Peeters, 2005), 158–167; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 282–291. 16 The following studies also investigate the problem involved in interpreting the Chronicler’s image of Benjamin: Yigal Levin, “Joseph, Judah and the ‘Benjamin Conundrum,’” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 116/2 (2004): 223–41; Philip R. Davies, “The Trouble with Benjamin,” in Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld, ed. Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim, and W. Brian Aucker, VTS 113 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 93–112. See also the following more general studies about Saul: Amit, “The Delicate Balance in the Image of Saul and Its Place in the Deuteronomistic History”; Steven L. McKenzie, “Saul in the Deuteronomistic History,” in Saul in Story and Tradition, ed. Carl S. Ehrlich and Marsha C. White, FAT 47 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 59–71; Gregory Mobley, “Glimpses of the Heroic Saul,” in Saul in Story and Tradition, ed. Carl S. Ehrlich and Marsha C. White, FAT 47 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 80–87. 17 Klein, 1 Chronicles, 283. 18 Gary Knoppers (I Chronicles 1–9, 52–66) is of course right when he emphasizes that differences between the Deuteronomistic Vorlage and Chronicles should not always be attributed to the theological intentions of the Chronicler. It might be that the Chronicler’s Vorlage was a different version of the text than the one encountered in the MT of the Deuteronomistic history. A comparison with (particularly) the LXX of Samuel-Kings can assist as cross-check in this re-

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However, the most interesting aspect for our discussion is the fact that the last two verses, where the theological interpretation is provided, belong to the Chronicler’s Sondergut. Our discussion will therefore focus on these verses.19 It is clear that the Chronicler wanted to give a theological interpretation to Saul’s death in verses 13–14. According to 10:13, Saul died because he was unfaithful to Yahweh (literally, “because of his unfaithfulness in which he has acted unfaithfully against Yahweh”) – the noun and verb are from the root ‫מעל‬, which is one of the Chronicler’s favourite theological terms. This unfaithfulness is defined in two statements: on the one hand, he did not keep the word of Yahweh, while on the other hand, Saul consulted a medium for guidance and did not inquire of Yahweh. The ironic wordplay between “Saul” (‫ )שאול‬and “to consult” (‫)לשאול‬, and also the use of the verb “to seek” (‫)דרש‬, which occurs prominently in the Chronicler’s own material elsewhere in the book, are strong indications of the writer’s theological evaluation of Saul. Saul not only disobeyed the word he had from Yahweh, but also sought divine guidance from elsewhere. Verse 14 continues with the statement that Yahweh put him to death. There is general agreement among exegetes that the unidentified subject of the Hebrew verb is Yahweh.20 The next sentence, which has the same subject (“Yahweh … turned the kingdom over to David son of Jesse”), shows that the Chronicler understood the transfer of the kingship from Saul to David as an act of Yahweh. It is noteworthy that Saul is never called “king” in this narrative, although this last verse suggests that he was in charge of the kingdom (‫)המלוכה‬. spect. With reference to 1 Chron. 10, the LXX version of 1 Sam. 31 shows that the Chronicler’s Vorlage most probably did not differ significantly from the MT version of 1 Sam. 31. Only in 1 Chron. 10:7, 9, 12 might small differences be assumed. See Klein’s discussion (1 Chronicles, 282–283 specifically notes 12, 17, 21). Knoppers is of the opinion, however, that the minuses in Chronicles compared to Samuel indicate that the Chronicler probably used a shorter version than MT Samuel: “It should be noted … that when Chronicles and MT Samuel are compared, many of these differences amount to lacunae in Chronicles. Chronicles exhibits very few pluses. Even though Chronicles is a late text, it would be methodologically flawed to assume that such minuses necessarily result from the Chronicler’s abridgment of Samuel. Quite the contrary, the version of Samuel used by the Chronicler was probably a shorter text than MT Samuel. … The most one can say, given the limited amount of textual evidence available, is that the Chronicler’s source was slightly shorter than MT Samuel. The Chronicler’s Vorlage represents a briefer, typologically more primitive text of Samuel than MT 1 Sam 31” (I Chronicles 10–29, 516, 526). However, since LXX Samuel and LXX Chronicles show more or less the same differences as their MT counterparts, it seems that the amount of deviation between MT Samuel and the Vorlage of MT Chronicles is minute, as Klein has indicated. In any case, these observations convince me to agree with both Klein and Knoppers in their refutation of Ho’s point of view in which he argued that 1 Sam. 31 and 1 Chron. 10 made use of a common source, with 1 Chron. 10 closer to the original. See Craig Y. S. Ho, “Conjectures and Refutations: Is 1 Samuel XXXI 1–13 Really the Source of 1 Chronicles X 1–12?,” Vetus Testamentum 45/1 (1995): 82–106. 19 For detailed analyses of the other parts, see Jonker, “Revisiting the Saul Narrative in Chronicles.” 20 See e. g. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 524–525; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 291.

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The discussion of the two last verses therefore shows that the portrayal of Saul in Chronicles is not only peculiar in terms of its abridgement, but also in terms of the theological evaluation of the first royal figure in Israel’s history. Although we may assume that the Chronicler presupposed that his readers would know the fuller account of Saul’s life in Samuel,21 it remains conspicuous that Saul receives so little attention compared to the Deuteronomistic version. However, an even more intriguing question is why the Chronicler gave attention to Saul at all. Gary Knoppers formulates this well: Given that virtually all of the Chronicler’s coverage of the monarchy is devoted to the Davidic monarchy centered in Jerusalem …, why does he devote any attention to Saul at all? Moreover, why does he provide a lengthy lineage for Saul’s ancestral house as a preface to his account of Saul’s rule … and allude to Saul in other contexts? If, in the Chronicler’s view, “the kingdom of YHWH” was “in the hands of the sons of David,” … why not just begin with the rise of David? As a Judean living in the late Persian or Hellenistic period, why does the Chronicler preface his narratives about David and Solomon with a short tale about Benjaminite Saul?22

Knoppers summarises the different scholarly views on the role of the Chronicler’s portrayal of Saul within his overall construction in mainly four positions.23 The first position emphasises that the Chronicler wanted to contrast Saul and David. A second group of scholars calls attention to the unique contribution of the Saul narrative in the Chronicler’s theology, emphasising that the Chronicler’s version also operates independently from the Vorlage. A third position is represented by scholars who downplay the contrast between Saul and David, as well as the unique theological contribution of the Saul narrative in Chronicles by emphasising the continuity between Saul’s and David’s reigns. The fourth group of scholars emphasises (like the first, although arguing from a different angle) the contrast between Saul and David that is constituted in the Chronicler’s version. These positions therefore oscillate between those who see continuity between Saul and David in the Chronicler’s construction, and those who see discontinuity. Knoppers rightly argues that these two extreme positions do not deal sufficiently with the textual data. He therefore says: The interpretative issue may not be a question of either continuity or discontinuity, but of both continuity and discontinuity. The Chronicler’s narrative draws a sharp line between 21 See e. g. Christine Mitchell’s discussion of how a reading of these narratives that does not take cognisance of the Vorlage compares with a reading that does stand in dialogue with the Vorlage: Christine Mitchell, “The Dialogism in Chronicles,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture, ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie, JSOTS (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 311–26. 22 Knoppers, “Israel’s First King and ‘the Kingdom of YHWH in the Hands of the Sons of David,’” 189. 23 See his discussions in Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 526–531; Knoppers, “Israel’s First King and ‘the Kingdom of YHWH in the Hands of the Sons of David,’” 189–193.

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the careers of Saul and David, but also avers that these monarchs are consecutive rulers of the same kingdom.24

In his attempt to bring the different positions into a synthesis, Knoppers argues that two considerations are important in reflecting on the matter. The first is the nature of the Chronicler’s historiography, and the second is the Chronicler’s circumstances in Persian-period Yehud. In dealing with the first consideration, namely the unique style of the Chronicler’s historiography and his focus on the monarchy, Knoppers emphasises that there is one significant difference between Samuel’s and the Chronicler’s presentation of the monarchy: In Samuel the beginnings of the monarchy are steeped in controversy. … Compared to the profound suspicions about kingship in 1 Samuel, the Chronicler’s condensed version of the Saul story is extraordinary. For the Chronicler, the institution of monarchy is not the issue. When Saul fails, a change of polity is not entertained …(W)hen Saul’s rule ends in ignominy and three of his male heirs perish, the kingdom endures. … (T)he deaths of Saul and his three sons do not result in a change of polity. After Saul’s failure, God turns the kingdom over to David …25

Knoppers therefore argues that the Chronicler shifted the focus from the institution of kingship to the conduct of the individual kings. The emphasis in Chronicles on Saul’s death ignores this king’s positive achievements, and thereby casts Saul’s royal legacy in a negative light. However, with this strategy the Chronicler does not implicate the tribe of Benjamin, but rather the individual king. This strategy results in the reader realising that David comes to the kingdom not by “lineage, marriage, inheritance, or political machination,” but “because of divine choice and human acclamation.”26 When Knoppers comes to the second consideration, namely viewing the Chronicler’s presentation of Saul against the background of the Chronicler’s circumstances in Persian-period Yehud, he concentrates on the prominence of the tribe of Benjamin in this era. In his argumentation he relies heavily on archaeological evidence from particularly the northern areas of post-exilic Judah (as we also discussed in Chapter 3 above). In his interpretation of the Saul narrative, Knoppers therefore argues that the Benjaminite background of this king would have been influential in the Chronicler’s assessment of Saul. He states: “In an era in which kinship relations and the question of ancestry were of great consequence for determining status and self-identity, the prominence of Benjamin is striking.”27 I Chronicles 10–29, 528. 528–529. 26 Ibid., 530–531. 27 Knoppers, “Israel’s First King and ‘the Kingdom of YHWH in the Hands of the Sons of David,’” 207. 24 Knoppers, 25 Ibid.,

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We are in agreement with Knoppers on both these considerations, and furthermore argue that the Chronicler’s Saul narrative has to be interpreted within the context of the Chronicler. We will therefore return to this question in our synthesis at the end of this chapter (§ 6.6), where we will reflect on the rhetorical role of this passage on Saul in the Chronicler’s processes of negotiating the identity of All-Israel.

6.3.2 Further References to Saul (11:2; 12:1, 2, 20, 24, 30; 13:3; 15:29; 17:13; 26:28) A few other passing remarks on Saul are included in Chronicles,28 namely in 11:2; 12:1, 2, 20 (twice), 24, 30 (twice); 13:3; 15:29; 17:13; and 26:28.29 In 11:2 “Al-Israel” is addressing David at Hebron, indicating that they have regarded him as a military leader for some time already, “even while Saul was king.” This is the first time that Saul is called “king” in Chronicles. However, one should take note that this does not belong to the Chronicler’s Sondergut, but was rather taken over from 1 Samuel 5:2. Christine Mitchell’s observation should also be noted here. She states: [I]t is important to notice that only once is Saul described as king (‫ )מלך‬in Chronicles, and it is in 11:2. Here it is the people who described Saul as having ruled (‫)שאול מלך‬, using the verb rather than the noun to describe Saul. Because the verb is used to describe his action rather than the noun to describe his status, it could be implied that while he did act as a king, he may not have been one. Moreover, since it is the people and not the narrator who describes Saul as ‫מלך‬, we might even wonder about whether they perceived his status correctly. In sum, it is as if Saul was never really a king at all, and the one mention in 11:2 with its attendant ambiguities is there simply to emphasise Saul’s non-kingship.30

In the next instance where Saul is mentioned, namely 12:1–2, we find an introduction to “the men who came to David in Ziklag.” The temporal indication situates this episode in the time “while he was banished from the presence of Saul son of Kish.” This remark occurs in the Chronicler’s Sondergut, but it shows that the Chronicler presupposed knowledge of the Deuteronomistic account of Saul’s strained relationship with David. The Chronicler continues to identify those men who came to David as “kinsmen of Saul from the tribe of Benjamin,” specifying that they could shoot arrows and sling stones with both hands. The fact that the Chronicler presupposed knowledge of the strained relationship between Saul and David also becomes apparent in verse 20 of the same chapter, 28 My

discussion here relies on Jonker, “Revisiting the Saul Narrative in Chronicles.” omits 12:24 from this list, but adds 17:13, where Saul is not mentioned explicitly in the Hebrew text. He is indirectly called David’s predecessor there. See Klein, 1 Chronicles, 284, 382. See also Giffone, “Sit at My Right Hand,” Chap. 6. 30 Mitchell, “The Dialogism in Chronicles,” 321. 29 Klein

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where it is stated that some of the men of Manasseh defected to David as well when they fought together with the Philistines against Saul. A parenthetic remark added by the Chronicler makes this statement more specific, however, saying that David and his men in fact did not help the Philistines against Saul, because they decided after deliberation that that would be too dangerous, should David suddenly join Saul in battle. Verse 24 then introduces the list of armed men who came to David at Hebron “to turn Saul’s kingdom over to him, as the Lord had said.” In verse 30 some Benjaminites are also listed with the specification that they were brothers (i. e. kinsmen) of Saul. It is further indicated that these men “remained loyal to Saul’s house until then.” These references are all part of the Chronicler’s Sondergut. In 1 Chronicles 13:3 the Chronicler offers his account of the bringing of the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem. This section probably refers to 2 Samuel 15:24–29, although these texts cannot be considered parallel. In the Chronicler’s version David addresses his men saying that they should bring the ark to Jerusalem, since “we did not inquire of it in the days of Saul.” The verb used here is ‫“( דרש‬to seek”), a verb which occurs prominently in Chronicles and is typical of the Chronicler’s theology. The ultimate goal of all Israel should be to “seek” Yahweh, because then they will experience rest and peace. It is therefore suggested here, with a clear relationship to the Sondergut in 10:13–14 (discussed above), that the era of Saul was not a time in which Yahweh was sought. The bringing of the ark to Jerusalem in David’s time is an expression of this attitude. The reference to Saul in 15:29 is still situated in the ark narrative, indicating that Michal, the daughter of Saul and wife of David, despised David in her heart when she saw him leaping and dancing in front of the ark as it was brought into Jerusalem. This reference, however, was taken over from the Deuteronomistic version in 2 Samuel 6:16. Although Saul is not mentioned explicitly in 1 Chronicles 17:13, the reference there, namely “from him who was before you,” clearly refers to Saul. This reference, which occurs in the context of the Chronicler’s version of Nathan’s oracle about the Davidic kingship, could be an amplification of the text (as the text-critical apparatus in BHS suggests) which was taken over from 2 Samuel 7:15, where Saul is mentioned by name in a similar phrase. The last reference to Saul occurs in 1 Chronicles 26:28. There it is indicated that the “dedicated gifts”31 from “Samuel the seer” and “Saul, the son of Kish,” 31 The

term ‫ ההקדיש‬used here probably referred to the booty that was taken in war, as well as other gifts for the maintenance of the sanctuary. Klein (1 Chronicles, 495) finds this reference in the text strange: “In addition to David’s contemporaries, the Chronicler (or the source from which he draws) claims that earlier Israelite leaders had contributed or dedicated (‫)ההקדיש‬ booty from their wars for the maintenance of a temple that in fact they never saw nor presumably ever contemplated. In his enthusiasm the Chronicler (or his source) links people who were

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together with those of Abner and Joab, were placed in the care of David’s treasurers. This section belongs to the Chronicler’s Sondergut. Apart from the genealogies, this is probably the only reference in Chronicles that conveys a positive image of Saul, indicating that he contributed to the “dedicated gifts.” However, it is suggested that those gifts were put in the care of David’s officials – certainly an indication of the transfer of power.

6.3.3 A High Place at Gibeon (16:37–43) This pericope in chapter 16 contains the concluding notes on the Chronicler’s ark narrative, which tells of the bringing of the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem.32 This whole section, except verse 43, belongs to the Chronicler’s Sondergut. Verse 43 quotes very selectively from 2 Samuel 6:19–23, taking over only verses 19b and 20a of the latter in a modified form.33 Right at the end of the ark narrative it is indicated that “all the people went to their own homes” (1 Chron. 16:43a || 2 Sam. 6:19b), and that “David turned around to bless his house” (1 Chron. 16:43b). In the last-mentioned part the Chronicler changed the verb from ‫ שוב‬in the Samuel text to ‫ סבב‬in his own text. The suggestion is clear: the blessing that the ark brought to the house of Obed-Edom was transferred to the rivals to one another and to David in their lifetimes and who even, in the case of Saul, otherwise served in a completely negative capacity in Chronicles. The booty of Samuel would be from his war against the Philistines (1 Sam 7:7–14), while Saul’s booty presumably was accumulated in his battles against the Ammonites (chap. 11), the Philistines (chaps. 13–14), and even the Amalekites (chap. 15) …” Knoppers (I Chronicles 10–29, 877) is of the opinion that the term “seems to designate the holy offerings or donations.” 32 For discussions on the problematic 1 Chron. 14 see John W. Wright, “The Founding Father: The Structure of the Chronicler’s David Narrative,” Journal of Biblical Literature 117 (1998): 45–59 and Tamara C. Eskenazi, “A Literary Approach to Chronicles’ Ark Narrative in 1 Chronicles 13–16,” in Fortunate the Eyes That See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Astrid B. Beck (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 258–74. See also our further discussion on the ark narrative in the next chapter (§ 7.3.1). 33  The Chronicler therefore omits the material in 2 Sam. 6:20b–23, where Michal’s response to the bringing of the ark to Jerusalem and the organising of the cult at Gibeon is indicated. Michal, Saul’s daughter, features briefly 1 Chron. 15:29, as discussed above. The continuation of the narrative about Michal’s contempt for David in the mentioned section in 2 Sam. 6, however, does not fit the Chronicler’s narrative. If the Chronicler had included this part from 2 Sam. 6 the ark narrative would have ended on this negative note, with his wife despising his actions and attitude, instead of on the triumphant note of Yahweh’s blessings going over onto David’s house. (See McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 150). It furthermore would have emphasised the dark relationship between Judah (David) and Benjamin (Michal), something which the Chronicler rather would like to leave unsaid here. Whereas the Deuteronomistic version also poignantly indicates in 2 Sam. 6:23 that “Michal, daughter of Saul, had no child of her own up to the day of her death” – probably ensuring that nobody would think that David’s blood line intertwined with that of Saul – the Chronicler also leaves this remark aside, probably to avoid drawing the lines between Judah and Benjamin too clearly.

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City of David, but is now also bestowed on David’s family (literally “his house”). The house of David is, of course, the royal line that runs from Judah’s first king, David, through all the other Judahite kings (whose histories will be narrated in 2 Chron. 10–36). The use of the verb ‫ סבב‬here ties this text to 1 Chronicles 10:14, where it is also used in the concluding statement after Saul’s death: “Yahweh … turned the kingdom over to David son of Jesse.” The rest of this pericope, that is 16:37–42, comes from the Chronicler’s own hand. It narrates in verses 37–38 the appointment of Asaph and his kinsfolk before the ark of the covenant of Yahweh in Jerusalem to serve (with the verb ‫ )שרת‬there on a daily basis, as well as of Obed-Edom and his kinsfolk as doorkeepers at the same place.34 Verses 39–42 continue, however, to indicate that the “high place in Gibeon” where the tabernacle resided was also maintained as working sanctuary, with Zadok the priest and his priestly brethren responsible for bringing burnt offerings before the tabernacle according to the written Torah. Furthermore, the Levitical families of Heman and Jeduthun were responsible for the music and the praising at the tabernacle in Gibeon, and the sons of Jeduthun were the doorkeepers.35 This section therefore suggests that there were two cultic centres during David’s reign: the ark in the City of David and the tabernacle in Gibeon, which was in Benjaminite territory. Some scholars dispute the historical reliability of this information.36 Nevertheless, it seems that the Chronicler is not giving this information for historical purposes, but is rather using it to prepare the way for the construction of the temple under Solomon (narrated in 2 Chron. 2–4). During Solomon’s reign both the ark and the tabernacle were taken to the temple in Jerusalem. Second Chronicles 1:3 still mentions that Solomon went to “the high place in Gibeon,” but when the ark and the tabernacle came to the temple in Jerusalem, the cult was united in one centre. Gary Knoppers rightly indicates that this is a very peculiar presentation of the events. He formulates the problem involved here as follows: The Chronicler does not deem the Gibeon shrine to be inherently illicit. Quite the contrary, he comments that the sacrifices performed there accorded with “all that was written 34 For a discussion of the literary history of this section, see Pieter B. Dirksen, “1 Chronicles 16:38: Its Background and Growth,” Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 22 (1996): 85–90. Ralph Klein responds as follows to Dirksen’s view: “My primary difference with Dirksen is that he assigns the core of v. 38, ‘and Obed-Edom and Hosah as gatekeepers,’ to the redactor responsible for adding chaps. 23–27 to Chronicles, whereas I attribute the core of v. 38 and most of chaps. 23–27 to the Chronicler himself. He and I agree that subsequent glosses identified Obed-Edom as the son of the singer Jeduthun and that the addition of sixty-eight brothers depends on that earlier gloss” (1 Chronicles, 368 n. 64). 35 The differentiation of Levitical priestly families will be discussed in Chapter 7 below, particularly in the discussion of 1 Chron. 23–27 in § 7.3. 36 See e. g. Sara Japhet, I & II Chronicles: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 321–323.

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in the Torah of Yhwh” (16:40). … But what is the upshot of the Chronicler’s unique presentation? Or to put it somewhat differently, what does his unusual combination of Deuteronomic and Priestly motifs say about his priorities for Judean worship? What is striking, in my judgment, is that he associates ongoing sacrificial worship with the sacred precinct in Gibeon, not with the sacred precinct in Zion.37

In his interpretation of this section, Knoppers then comes to four conclusions: First, the author does not take it for granted that centralized sacrifice, when it first occurred, had to occur in Jerusalem. Gibeon, for a few decades at least, qualifies as “the place that Yhwh your God shall choose … to bring your burnt offerings and other sacrifices” (Deut 12:5–6). In this respect, his work acknowledges the antiquity and status of one of the major towns found within Yehud during the author’s own time. Second, sacrifice is not the sole function of the officiants assigned to this cultic site. … Third, in the Chronicler’s understanding of Israelite law and lore, there can be multiple sites of Yahwistic worship, but only one legitimate place of (animal) sacrifice.38 … Fourth, Chronicles associates the establishment of worship in Jerusalem first of all with music and song, not with the sacrificial slaughter of animals.39

Knoppers therefore (rightly) focuses on the meaning that this section would have for understanding the Chronicler’s cultic views. However, the remark that the Chronicler’s “work acknowledges the antiquity and status of one of the major towns found within Yehud during the author’s own time” should be pursued further. The mention of the ark and the tabernacle at two locations in 1 Chronicles 16 might also be related to the tribal composition of post-exilic Yehud. The City of David was clearly associated with the tribe of Judah, while Gibeon was one of the Benjaminite places. Bringing the two main cultic symbols to the temple from a Judahite and Benjaminite location, respectively, might have been the Chronicler’s attempt to unite these tribal interests in the centralised Jerusalem cult. By indicating that both Zadokite priests and Levitical families served at the former sanctuary in Gibeon, the Chronicler acknowledges the importance of that tradition. However, by merging the Gibeonite tabernacle tradition with the ark tradition in the account of the building of the temple narrated in the following main section of the book of Chronicles, the Chronicler also made clear that Jerusalem is now the place of the legitimate cult which represents all those former traditions. Taking into account that Gibeon most probably had a prominent cultic function during the exilic period after the fall of Jerusalem, and that the Jerusalemite cultic community re-established itself (at the cost of Gibeon) as I Chronicles 10–29, 660. reminds us of the Elephantine correspondence where the Jerusalem leaders give their blessing to the reconstruction of the Elephantine Temple, provided that only cereal offerings, drink offerings and incense burning will be done there, and that no animal burnt offerings will take place there. Knoppers suggests that the Chronicler is making a similar distinction here. See Ibid., 661. 39 Ibid., 660–661. 37 Knoppers, 38 Knoppers

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cultic centre in the period of restoration, this portrayal would have been powerful rhetoric in the Chronicler’s own time.

6.3.4 Jebus as City of David and Site of the Temple (11:4–9; 21:15–22:1) The name “Jebus” as city name for the place that later on became known as Jerusalem is used only four times in the Hebrew Bible, namely in Judges 19:10 and 11 (in the narrative of the Benjaminites ill-treating a Levite’s concubine), and in 1 Chronicles 11:4 and 5 (in the narrative of David’s capturing of Jebus to make it his capital city).40 The gentilicum “Jebusite(s)” occurs much more frequently (41 occurrences, with approximately a quarter of those in the book of Joshua). The two occurrences of “Jebus” in 1 Chronicles 11 are interesting, because they belong to the small alterations that the Chronicler made to his source text in 2 Samuel 5:6–10. Whereas 2 Samuel 5:6 refers only to “the Jebusites,” the Chronicler specifies the place name twice. In this way, the Chronicler closely identifies Jebus, Jerusalem, and the City of David (which is also taken over from 2 Sam. 5:7), in order to emphasise the political association with the place. The explicit mentioning of Jebus does not seem to be significant in this narrative, but it forms the backdrop of a later narrative in Chronicles where the same place is also given theological and cultic significance, namely in the narrative about the theophany at Ornan’s threshing floor in 1 Chronicles 21. We have already seen in a previous discussion (§ 4.3.1) that 1 Chronicles 21 starts with an account of David’s census.41 Although the Chronicler relied heavily on the source text in 2 Samuel 24, he nevertheless made some significant changes to his Vorlage. For the purposes of the present discussion the addition in verses 6–7 seems to be of significance. There it is stated that Joab “did not count Levi and Benjamin among them, because the word of the king was abhorrent to Joab. This thing was evil in the eyes of Elohim; therefore, he struck Israel.” Many commentators explain the omission of Levi by referring to the priestly regulation in Numbers 1:47–49 (and Num. 2:33), which indicates that the Levites were not to be counted together with the other Israelites.42 With 40 MT has ‫ והיבוסי‬in Josh. 18:28, with the explanation that “this is Jerusalem.” Many versions (including LXX, Peshitta, Targum and Vulgate) understood the term as “Jebus,” with the LXX translating it as και Ιεβους. 41 See also my more detailed discussion in Louis C. Jonker, “Of Jebus, Jerusalem, and Benjamin: The Chronicler’s Sondergut in 1 Chronicles 21 against the Background of the Late Persian Era in Yehud,” in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul Evans and Tyler Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 81–102. 42 See Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 753; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 421; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chro­ ni­cles, 172–173; Dirksen, 1 Chronicles, 258.

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reference to the omission of Benjamin, commentators differ in their opinions.43 Japhet tries to find a common denominator for the omission of both Levi and Benjamin when she argues: The common denominator of these two tribes is their connection with Jerusalem: Jerusalem is included in the territory of Benjamin according to certain geographical concepts (e. g. Josh. 18.28; also Deut. 33.12), while the tribe of Levi is linked to the cultic activity in the Temple. The exemption of Jerusalem from the horrors of the plague is explained in II Sam. 24 by a change in God’s will. … In Chronicles, this explanation is prepared for and given substance in our verse, which theologically speaking is the sequel of v. 3. Benjamin and Levi were in fact free from guilt. The ‘guilt upon Israel’ caused by the census justified God’s punishment but also warranted the exclusion of Jerusalem.44

As in the Vorlage in Samuel (2 Sam. 24:16–25), the Chronicler’s version continues after the census narrative with the narrative of the identification of Ornan’s threshing floor as the future site for the temple (21:15–22:1). The most significant difference between the two versions (apart from the fact that the Chronicler calls the owner of the threshing floor Ornan, whereas his name is Araunah in Samuel) is the insertion of 21:27, as well as the short section 21:28–22:1 right at the end of the narrative. Verse 27 concludes the section in which a divine messenger appears. Verse 15 stated that “God sent a divine messenger to Jerusalem to destroy it,” although the Vorlage in 2 Samuel 24:16 indicates that “the divine messenger sent out his hand toward Jerusalem to destroy it.” Because the Chronicler’s version has God commanding the divine messenger, verse 27 indicates that Yahweh ordered the messenger to return his sword to its sheath. Verses 28–30 seem to be parenthetical, while the continuation after verse 27 is in 22:1. There David declares that the threshing floor is “the house of Yahweh Elohim,” and that the altar that was there was “the altar of burnt offering for Israel.” Scholars’ views differ as to whether verses 28–30 should be considered part of the Chronicler’s additions, or whether they were rather added by later scribal hands. These verses indicate that David sacrificed on the Jebusite’s threshing 43 Knoppers states: “Benjamin may have been omitted because the holy site of Jerusalem was considered to lie within its borders” (I Chronicles 10–29, 753). Klein disagrees with this view, however: “An earlier suggestion that the Chronicler attributed Jerusalem to the tribal territory of Benjamin is unlikely despite such passages as Josh 18:28 and Judg 1:21, since the temple site had not yet been sanctified by the sacrifices of David. … It is more likely that it was because the tabernacle was located at Gibeon (1 Chr 16:39; 2 Chr 1:3; cf. 5:5 and Josh 18:25) in Benjaminite territory that the Chronicler had Joab exclude this tribe from the census” (1 Chronicles, 422). Tuell is of the following opinion: “The reasons for excluding Benjamin are more complex. … Benjamin plays a special role in the Chronicler’s History. … In the genealogies, three separate lists are devoted to Benjamin; only Judah and Levi are treated in greater detail. Further, throughout the History, ‘Judah and Benjamin’ is the Chronicler’s designation for faithful Israel” (First and Second Chronicles, Interpretation [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001], 85). These views will be revisited below in my discussion of the fact that it was instead the late Persian reality that determined this insertion into the text. 44 Japhet, I & II Chronicles, 378.

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floor, although the tabernacle was at that time still in Gibeon. The explanation for this, according to verse 30, is that David was afraid of the sword of the messenger of Yahweh, who prevented him from going to Gibeon. Japhet states that “[t]here is no doubt that vv. 28–30 constitute a self-contained passage which can be interpreted in one of two ways: as a parenthetical element in the Chronistic composition itself … or as a later interpolation.”45 She sees 1 Chron. 22:1 as the narrative sequel to 1 Chron. 21:26–27 and therefore treats 21:28–30 as a separate unit. But she does not make a final judgment between the two possibilities.46 Both Dirksen and Klein, although in different ways and with different motivations, opt for the probability that these verses are part of the Chronicler’s addition.47 Knoppers comes to another conclusion when he states that vv. 28–30 should be attributed to a later scribe, who wanted to explain why David did not offer sacrifices in Gibeon, where the tabernacle altar was.48 However, all these commentators are in agreement that 1 Chronicles 22:1 belongs to the Chronicler’s own material. Knoppers even sees this verse – where the divine appearance on the threshing floor of Ornan, the Jebusite, is related to the site of the future temple – as a turning point in the Chronicler’s construction. After this the Chronicler’s David narrative concentrates on the preparation for temple building and the appointment of a national administration to assist David’s chosen successor, Solomon. Knoppers therefore asserts: “In this respect, the Chronicler’s story of the census functions as a bridge between two highly important periods in David’s career: the campaigns against Israel’s neighbours (18:1–20:8) and the preparations for the transition to the reign of his successor and the construction of a temple (22:1–29:30).”49 Moreover, the Chronicler had another long-range objective in emphasising the divine response to David’s sacrifice on the mentioned site, Knoppers indicates that the impressive divine reaction to David’s offering was preparing the way for the tabernacle to be brought to Jerusalem from Gibeon to be united with the ark of the covenant – a move that

45 Ibid.,

388–389. entertains both options when she says: “It would seem … that the difficulty in ascribing vv. 28–30 to the Chronicler does not stem from matters of language, style, literary structure, subject matter or theological views. From all these aspects the passage can be regarded as a parenthetic statement which tries to account for a difficult theological problem evoked in the story. The difficulty lies in the most fundamental approach to the determination of the Temple site: should it be viewed, in the spirit of the narrative context, as a divine choice and act of grace, or should it be regarded, as in the parenthetic passage, as a concession to human limitation and weakness? The question is, rather, can these two concepts coexist in one author, or should we attribute the deviant one to a later redactor, who based his interpolation on the general standpoint of the Chronicler himself? (Ibid., 389–390. 47 See Dirksen, 1 Chronicles, 263; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 429. 48 See Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 760. 49 Ibid. 46 Japhet

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211

was necessary, given the Chronicler’s ideology of supporting one national cult that adhered to both the Priestly and the Deuteronomic traditions.50 In my opinion, the final section in the narrative should be related to the insertion in 21:6–7, which was discussed above. If Knoppers is correct that the census narrative in the Chronicler’s construction forms the transition between the era of David’s campaigns and the era of temple building and worship in Jerusalem, it is clear that the Chronicler wanted to give a Benjaminite flavour to this transition. Japhet’s explanation for the addition in verse 6, where Levi and Benjamin are excluded from the census, seems acceptable. As indicated above, she proposes that the common denominator between Levi and Benjamin was that both were closely related to Jerusalem. That the Chronicler did not want to implicate Jerusalem in the census narrative seems logical if the outcome of this episode, according to the Chronicler’s construction, is taken into account. The Benjaminite link is further evoked with the explicit mention of Gibeon in verse 29. It seems that Benjamin and Jerusalem are brought into an interesting interplay by means of the Chronicler’s mention of the selection of the Jebusite’s threshing floor as the future site of the temple. Verses 28–30 can then well be the Chronicler’s attempt to also prepare the transition of cultic status from the Benjaminite Gibeon to the Judahite Jerusalem. Jebus, which probably belonged to both the tribal areas of Judah and Benjamin because of fluctuating boundaries, was the ideal neutral place where these two tribal traditions could be united in one cultic centre. The transition of status from Gibeon to Jerusalem would be concluded after the construction of the temple on the chosen site, as we will see in our discussion of the Solomon narrative (§ 6.4).

6.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) 6.4.1 Solomon Sacrifices and Receives Wisdom from Yahweh at Gibeon (1:2–13) Second Chronicles 1:1 opens with the remark that “Solomon, son of David, strengthened himself over his kingdom,” and that “Yahweh, his God, was with him and made him exceedingly great.” These words complete the transition from David to Solomon and set the scene for Solomon’s history.51 50 Ibid.,

761. the Deuteronomistic version in 1 Kgs. 1–2, the Chronicler portrays the transition from David’s to Solomon’s reign as smooth and without resistance. As was already announced in David’s blessings in 1 Chron. 22:1 and 28:20, “Yahweh his God was with him.” As in 1 Chron. 29:25, it is confirmed again that “Yahweh his God … made him exceedingly great.” Exactly the same expression was also used in 1 Chron. 22:5 with reference to the temple that 51 Unlike

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As a first incident, the Chronicler tells how Solomon convened ‫ כל־ישראל‬in Gibeon to bring sacrifices to the local sanctuary (1:2–6).52 The Chronicler takes pains to show that Solomon had the full support of all Israel in his going up to Gibeon.53 The designation ‫ כל־ישראל‬encapsulates a prominent theme in Chronicles. In a certain sense the whole literary construction of the Chronicler is intended to define who “All-Israel” was after the exile. Here it is claimed that “All-Israel” was the community (consisting of different leadership groups) that supported Solomon in his cultic endeavours. In 1:3 this community is called ‫“ כל־הקהל‬the whole assembly,” a term that often refers to the organised cultic community. The location is significant, since reference has already been made to Gibeon in 1 Chronicles 16:39 and 21:29.54 Gibeon was associated with Benjaminite Solomon had to build for Yahweh in Jerusalem. The Chronicler omits the killings in 1 Kings 1–2 in order to sustain the difference between the warrior David and the “peace” of Solomon. The Chronicler uses the verb “to make himself strong” (‫( )חזק‬translated as “established himself firmly” in many English translations) as an indication of Solomon’s settling into the kingship. This differs in two ways from the probable source texts in 1 Kgs. 2:12b and 2:46b. There another verb, “be established” (‫)כון‬, was used. It is strange that the Chronicler did not take over this verb, since it plays a significant role elsewhere in the book. A second difference is that the Deuteronomistic version suggests that God established Solomon’s kingship, while the Chronicler indicates that Solomon strengthened himself over his kingdom. Although this deviates from the Chronicler’s normal pattern, it seems that he wanted to emphasise the human dimension of Solomon as excellent king, as if he did not want this aspect to disappear behind the emphasis on Yahweh being with Solomon. 52 Ralph Klein remarks: “Just as David’s first act as king was the capture of Jerusalem and his first act after the celebration of his coronation was his effort to bring the ark to Jerusalem, so Solomon’s first act as king also involved worship in the company of the whole assembly” (2 Chronicles: A Commentary [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012], 21). 53 The Chronicler clearly made use of the Deuteronomistic version of the Gibeon incident in 1 Kgs. 3:4–15. However, the Chronicler used this text creatively and selectively. (But see A. Graeme Auld, “Solomon at Gibeon: History Glimpsed,” in Samuel at the Threshold: Selected Works of Graeme Auld, ed. A. Graeme Auld [Hants: Ashgate, 2004], 97–107 who is of the opinion that the differences between the Kings and Chronicles texts are due to the fact that they both used a common source, but in different ways. See also Klein’s rebuttal of this view in Klein, 1 Chronicles, 31–32.) The opening words, in which it is said that Solomon strengthened his reign, were probably taken from 1 Kgs. 2:12b and 2:46b, where a similar expression occurs. From the start the Chronicler makes clear that Solomon’s reign is closely related to God’s presence (see the expression “God was with him,” which is not in 1 Kgs. 2). From 2 Chron. 1:2 onward the relationship to 1 Kgs. 3 is clear, although the Chronicler added some information about whom the king commanded to go with him to Gibeon. This stands in contrast to the version in 1 Kgs. 3, which indicates that the king went to Gibeon alone. The last few verses, in which the wealth of Solomon is indicated (2 Chron. 1:14–17), were taken over from 1 Kgs. 10:26–29, where more or less the same information is provided. 54 For discussions of these texts, see §§ 6.3.3 and 6.3.4 above. See also the discussions in Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles; Klein, 2 Chronicles. The location indicated here, the high place at Gibeon, links this text to 1 Chron. 21:29, where it was already indicated that “the tabernacle of Yahweh, which Moses had made in the desert, and the altar of burnt offering were at that time on the high place at Gibeon.” This information is repeated here in 2 Chron. 1:3 and 1:5, with additional information about the bronze altar. Here it is specified (probably with reference to

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tribal territory. With the ark in Jerusalem (which was part of Judah’s tribal area) and the tabernacle under the supervision of Zadok in Gibeon,55 the cult was still split between these two territories under the reign of David.56 Solomon’s reign is therefore presented as the time during which the cult was unified in one location, namely in the temple in Jerusalem (see 2 Chron. 5:5 where the Chronicler added to his Vorlage that the tent of meeting was brought to the temple in Jerusalem, together with the ark).57 The next part of the narrative (1:7–13) deals with the appearance of God to Solomon. After Solomon and ‫ כל־ישראל‬made sacrifices on the altar in front of Exod. 38:1–8) that Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, had made the altar. This reference could point to the Bezalel-Oholiab account as a possible model that the Chronicler followed in his description of this event. Second Chron. 1:4–5 can be considered parenthetical, since it provides background information on why “Solomon and the whole assembly” had to go to Gibeon to offer sacrifices to the Lord. The last phrase of 1:5 states, “So Solomon and the assembly inquired of him there.” The expression used here, ‫“ דרש‬to seek” plus Yahweh as object, is a very significant expression in Chronicles, indicating the basic religious inclination that was expected of the king and All-Israel. 55 Ralph Klein remarks that “the designation for the tent of meeting in this verse is unique and ambivalent. More important is that the desert tent’s presence at Gibeon makes that site a completely legitimate place for Israelite sacrifice” (2 Chronicles, 22). 56  Sara Japhet states: “Prior to the Chronicler, no serious attempt was made to harmonize the ark-centred view of the Former Prophets with the tabernacle-centred picture of the Pentateuch … This text, and the related I Chron. 16, express the Chronicler’s effort to forge a unified and coherent theology from the distinct lines of tradition” (I & II Chronicles, 527–528). She furthermore indicates that some scholars have suggested that the presence of the tabernacle at Gibeon stems from an authentic historical tradition. Although this might well be, according to Japhet, she judges that “it is really immaterial whether [the tradition of a sanctuary at Gibeon pre-dating the Solomonic temple] originated with the Chronicler, or antedated him” (Ibid., 529). Klein says: “There has been a considerable debate over whether the location of the tabernacle or tent of meeting at Gibeon is historical, since the location of the tent at Gibeon is not mentioned in any pre-exilic source and its presence in this verse seems clearly to be an apologetic for Solomon, justifying his trip to Gibeon. I do not think this represents an authentic historical tradition” (2 Chronicles, 22). 57 Diana Edelman indicates that the Deuteronomistic History reflects a fairly negative sentiment about Gibeon and the Gibeonites. See Diana V. Edelman, “Gibeon and the Gibeonites Revisited,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Josef Blenkinsopp (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 153–67. See also Diana V. Edelman, “Did Saulide-Davidic Rivalry Resurface in Early Persian Yehud?” in The Land That I Will Show You: Essays on the History and Archaeology of the Ancient Near East in Honor of J. Maxwell Miller, ed. J. Andrew Dearman and M. Patrick Graham, JSOTS 343 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 69–91. She concludes: “What sort of dispute between Persian-appointed golah representatives and the citizens of Gibeon would have led to the decommissioning of the city wall and the great pool? … With the arrival of the Persians as the new overlords, local hope that a puppet king would be put back on the throne in a rebuilt capital was probably renewed. Among the non-golah living in Gibeon and in nearby towns in Benjamin, hope in the restoration of the original ruling dynasty of the area, the Saulides, to their seat of power at Gibeon might logically have grown and been given voice. Such a hope would have met concrete opposition with the return of the pro-Davidic, pro-Jerusalemite golah faction, who gained control of the local provincial administration and the endorsement of the Persian authorities” (“Gibeon and the Gibeonites Revisited,” 164). See also the discussion in Klein, 2 Chronicles, 21–22.

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the tabernacle in Gibeon, “God appeared to Solomon” in the same night. The following conversation, starting with God’s introductory invitation to Solomon that he could ask for whatever he wants God to give him, leads to Solomon asking in 1:9–10 that the Lord’s promise to his father David be confirmed, as well as for wisdom and knowledge. This is done on account of the great kindness that God showed to David (as expressed by Solomon in 1:8). The Hebrew word ‫ חסד‬used here (as well as in the Vorlage) is a clear indication of the covenant relationship envisioned between God and David / ​Solomon. God’s reaction to Solomon’s requests is given in 1:11–12. Solomon is granted “wisdom and knowledge” to govern God’s people over whom he has made Solomon king, as well as incomparable wealth, riches and honour, although Solomon did not request this. This indication prepares the way not only for the next short section (1:14–17), but also for the elaboration on Solomon’s i nternational fame in 2 Chronicles 9. Verse 13 concludes the Gibeon episode and changes the setting to Jerusalem, from where Solomon reigned over Israel. Within the socio-historical context of the late Persian period, when Jerusalem gained more administrative and religious influence to the detriment of some Benjaminite cities such as Mizpah and Gibeon, the Chronicler’s rhetorical strategy at the beginning of the Solomon narrative is of particular interest. The Chronicler’s reworking of his source texts made Gibeon into a legitimate cult centre where the tent of meeting was present, and where animal sacrifices could thus be brought. This positive portrayal of Gibeon stands in contrast to the Deuteronomistic attempts to pardon those – like Solomon – who still sacrificed on Gibeon’s height. Furthermore, by indicating that Gibeon was the location where Yahweh appeared to Solomon and granted him the continuation of the ‫ חסד‬done to his father David, as well as granting his request for wisdom and wealth, the Chronicler values this Benjaminite place very highly. However, the shift in setting facilitated by 2 Chronicles 1:13 (moving from Gibeon to Jerusalem) becomes a watershed moment in the continuation of the Solomon narrative. It becomes clear that the building of the temple in Jerusalem will end the phase in which Gibeon had cultic influence. The traditions of the ark (associated with the Judahite City of David) and the tabernacle (associated with Benjaminite Gibeon) would merge into the central temple in Jerusalem. We have seen that this move is confirmed by the addition in 2 Chron. 5:5, where the bringing of the ark to the temple is narrated. The Chronicler adds “and the tent of meeting” to his Vorlage. Although the rest of the narrative in chapter 5 does not give further prominence to the tabernacle, it becomes clear that the ceremony also brings the tradition associated with Gibeon to a close. With both ark and tabernacle now brought to the temple, their respective functions and symbolical meaning are transferred to one united sanctuary in Jerusalem. Although the Chronicler is therefore acknowledging the role that Gibeon, and therefore the Benjaminite areas, played in the prehistory of the central cult, his

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narrative in 2 Chronicles 1 also leaves no doubt that that fame belongs to the past. The site indicated by Yahweh (cf. 1 Chron. 21) became the legitimate and central sanctuary since the days of Solomon. This understanding therefore contributes clearly to the inter-tribal negotiation of identity in the time of the Chronicler. Although the tribal area of Benjamin is given due credit for the role it played in the past, the Chronicler affirms the position of Jerusalem in his contemporary dispensation.

6.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) 6.5.1 “Judah and Benjamin” in Judahite History (11:1, 3, 10, 12, 23; 15:2, 8, 9; 25:5; 31:1; 34:9) Expressions where Judah and Benjamin are used together occur eleven times in the Chronicler’s Judahite history.58 This statistic becomes significant when one notices that the combination does not occur in any of the other three major parts of Chronicles at all, and occurs only once in the Deuteronomistic history (in 1 Kgs. 12:23).59 It therefore seems that the Chronicler considered the combined expression an important tool to emphasise that the kingdom of Judah consisted of the two tribes Judah and Benjamin. One may safely assume that the use of the combined expression indicates that the composition of Yehud must have been contested in the Chronicler’s time. Through this expression, it seems that the Chronicler wanted to facilitate a self-understanding in Yehud that put the former discrete tribes of Judah and Benjamin on an equal footing. Benjamin Giffone therefore observes that “[t]he Chronicler emphasizes the parity of Judah and Benjamin during the period of the divided kingdom.”60 The Chronicler starts using the combined expression in the history of Rehoboam (five of the eleven occurrences in Chronicles: 11:1, 3, 11, 12, 23), most likely to make clear from the start of the Judahite history that the southern polity also included the Benjaminite tribal area together with Judah. After narrating Rehoboam’s history, the Chronicler uses the expression exclusively in connection with “good” kings in Judah’s history, namely Asa (15:2, 8, 9), Amaziah (25:5), Hezekiah (31:1) and Josiah (34:9). Whereas the focus of the next subsection 58 Benjamin Giffone catalogues the variations used in this expression: “The house of Judah and Benjamin” (11:1); “all Israel in Judah and in Benjamin” (11:3); “in Judah and in Benjamin” (11:10); “Judah and Benjamin” (11:12, 23); “all Judah and Benjamin” (15:2, 9; 25:5; 31:1; 34:9); “all the land of Judah and Benjamin” (15:8)” (“Sit at My Right Hand,” 177 fn. 65). 59 The expression furthermore occurs in Ezra 1:5; 4:1; 10:9, with equivalents in 1 Esdr. 2:8; 5:66; 9:5 but does not occur in the rest of the Hebrew Bible. It is also noteworthy that the expression “Benjamin and Judah” never occurs in the Hebrew Bible. 60 Giffone, “Sit at My Right Hand,” 177.

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(§ 6.5.2) will be on the occurrences of the combined expression in the Rehoboam narrative, the further discussion in the present subsection will be on those occurrences associated with good Judahite kings. We saw in previous chapters (§§ 4.5.1 and 5.5.2) that the Chronicler reformulated his Vorlage in 1 Kings 15:9–24 significantly in order to construct an Asa narrative that consists of two distinct parts, namely a time of peace and rest (until 15:19), and a time of wars and strife (from 16:1). The expression “Judah and Benjamin” occurs three times in the first half, that is, when king Asa experienced peace and rest. Second Chronicles 15 starts with the prophetic oracle of Azariah the son of Oded. Azariah opens his oracle with the words in verse 2: “Listen to me, Asa and All Judah and Benjamin.” The specific use of ‫כל־יהודה‬ ‫ ובנימן‬reminds us of the Chronicler’s other favourite designation, ‫כל־ישראל‬, which functions as indication of the inclusivity of south and north in post-exilic Yehud (see again the discussion § 5.2.2). In the present case ‫ כל‬certainly expresses the totality of the two entities, thereby avoiding the misunderstanding of the mere addition of Benjamin to Judah. In 15:8 the account of Azariah’s second reform starts with the indication that Asa took courage and started cleansing the abominable idols ‫מכל־אר‍ץ יהודה‬ ‫ובנימן‬, as well as from the cities that he had taken in the hill country of Ephraim. This is a geographical indication which, with the particle ‫כל‬, reflects the understanding of one geopolitical area, and not two separate tribal areas of Judah and Benjamin. It is therefore another attempt by the Chronicler to signify the unity of these entities in the kingdom of Judah. In 15:9 it is again (as in 15:2) ‫ כל־יהודה ובנימן‬that is gathered by king Asa. This time, the entity inclusive of both Judah and Benjamin is put in juxtaposition with the further designations of “Ephraim, Manasseh, and Simeon.” We saw in the earlier discussion in § 5.5.2 that the Chronicler indicates here that great numbers from Israel had deserted to Asa when they saw that Yahweh was with him. The Chronicler cleverly facilitates an increasing expectation in the Asa narrative by mentioning only Judah in the context of the first reform (14:3 – “he [Asa] commanded Judah to seek Yahweh the God of their ancestors”), turning to “All Judah and Benjamin” in the opening words of the prophet Azariah ben Oded (15:2), indicating that Asa’s second reform included Ephraim together with “the whole land of Judah and Benjamin” (15:8), and ending with the indication that Asa gathered not only “All Judah and Benjamin” but also “Ephraim, Manasseh, and Simeon” who had deserted to him in great numbers. The reader is thus led to grasp that the circle of those seeking Yahweh is increasing in size, and that “All Judah and Benjamin” is actually the core around which “All-Israel” will be formed.61 61 See

also Klein, 2 Chronicles, 228.

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217

The occurrence of “All Judah and Benjamin” in the Chronicler’s Amaziah narrative (in 25:5) is more difficult to interpret. Although the use of ‫ כל‬in the expression would lead us to conclude again, as in the previous instances, that the emphasis is rather on the totality and unity of Judah and Benjamin. The verse starts, however, with the indication that “Amaziah gathered Judah and positioned them according to their ancestral houses.” It is strange that only Judah is mentioned in this part of the verse. Ralph Klein discusses this enigma as follows: The inner tension between “Judah” at the beginning of the first sentence and “Judah and Benjamin” at the end was used by Welten to identify Benjamin as a later gloss,62 while Williamson saw it as evidence that the Chronicler was making an addition to an inherited source.63 Neither opinion seems compelling. The first “Judah” may be a generic reference to the southern kingdom, while Judah and Benjamin denote its constituent parts.64

The fact that the combined expression stands with the particle ‫ כל‬makes it difficult to support Klein’s conclusion. With the particle, the expression rather points towards the totality instead of emphasising the constituent parts. In the light of the increasing expectation facilitated by the Chronicler in the Asa narrative (see above), one might rather suggest that this variation is again a literary technique with which the Chronicler wants to emphasise the widening of the circle. The next occurrence of the combined expression is in the Chronicler’s account of Hezekiah’s reform measures. The account opens in 31:1 with the indication that: Now when all this [referring to the Passover celebrations narrated in chapter 30] was finished, all Israel who were present went out to the cities of Judah and broke down the pillars, hewed down the sacred poles, and pulled down the high places and the altars throughout all Judah and Benjamin, and in Ephraim and Manasseh, until they had destroyed them all. (NRSV)

As in the previous instance, this verse has Judah (mentioned alone) in conjunction with “All Judah and Benjamin.” It furthermore makes “All Israel” the subject of the reform measures and refers to “Ephraim and Manasseh” in conjunction with “All Judah and Benjamin.” This strange accumulation of gentilic expressions might be another case of the Chronicler’s literary skill to generate an increasing expectation (as suggested above with reference to 25:5). However, because this verse is a drastic reworking of the Deuteronomistic account in 2 Kings 18:4, one should probably also look for clues to the Chronicler’s formu62 Peter Welten, Geschichte

und Geschichtsdarstellung in den Chronikbüchern, WMANT 42 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), 92. 63 Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, 328. 64 Klein, 2 Chronicles, 356. Sara Japhet comes to a similar conclusion to Klein when she says: “The term ‘Judah’ thus serves a double role in this verse: first, the entire southern kingdom, then the particular tribal or geographical element” (I & II Chronicles, 861).

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lation in the redactional process.65 The expression ‫ כל־ישראל‬was probably kept because the Chronicler lets the reform measures follow after the Passover where All-Israel was celebrating.66 The initial sphere that is indicated is the “cities of Judah,” which surely has a geographical connotation. When it comes to the tearing down of “the high places and the altars” (in contrast to the “standing stones” and “asherim” that had to be removed from the cities of Judah) the Chronicler employs two chiffres, “All Judah and Benjamin” and “Ephraim and Manasseh”, which refer to the two kingdoms Judah and Israel respectively. In the light of the probability of a cult centre in Gibeon, and a sanctuary on Mount Gerizim in the Chronicler’s time, one may wonder whether this formulation is the Chronicler’s subtle way of criticising those institutions. The inclusive designation of “Judah and Benjamin” would open the horizon of understanding to include a centre such as Gibeon, while “Ephraim and Manasseh” clearly had the northern sphere associated with Samaria in mind. The last instance of the combined expression “Judah and Israel” in Chronicles occurs in 34:9. This verse forms part of the Chronicler’s Josiah narrative, and more specifically part of the section narrating the renovation of the temple in the eighteenth year of the king’s reign. The officials sent by Josiah to do the temple restoration go to Hilkiah the high priest and handed to him the money that was brought to the temple and that was collected by the Levites. The Chronicler indicates that the Levites collected these funds from “Manasseh and Ephraim, from all the rest of Israel, and from All Judah and Benjamin, and from the inhabitants of Jerusalem.” This elaborate specification stands in contrast to 65 In another study I have suggested that the Chronicler’s reformulation of 2 Kgs. 18:4 had the purpose of omitting the reference to the Nehushtan (in 2 Kgs. 18:4b) and substituting it with an extensive catalogue of reform measures. See L. C. Jonker, “The Disappearing Nehustan: The Chronicler’s Reinterpretation of Hezekiah’s Reformation Measures,” ed. I. Cornelius and L. Jonker (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2008), 116–40. Ralph Klein does not agree with my suggestion when he indicates: “Louis Jonker takes 2 Chr 31:2–19 as an extended allusion to and substitution for the omitted Nehushtan. He argues that the eighteen verses in Chronicles detailing worship in accord with the Torah are a substitute for the disappearing Nehushtan. I grant that these verses lay out a positive vision of the Jerusalem cult after the purification of Jerusalem, Judah, and the north in 2 Chr 29:6–7, 16–19, and 31:2, but I do not think Jonker has made a convincing case that these efforts are a substitution for the reference to the breaking up of Nehushtan itself” (2 Chronicles, 447). I furthermore indicated that the Chronicler’s shifting of the reform measures from the sphere of Jerusalem to Judah and the northern areas was a deliberate attempt to show that Jerusalem was not in need of reform. Klein provides a valuable alternative interpretation when he responds to this view: “Rather, I believe that those reforms in Jerusalem had already been carried out in 2 Chronicles 29 and 30 and were now being extended to the rest of the land. Hence, the Chronicler did not pretend that Jerusalem itself had not been in need of reform. In short, the prehistory of the Jerusalem cult center is not ‘whitewashed,’ as Jonker would have it” (Ibid. fn. 10). 66 Sara Japhet indicates: “The people returning from Jerusalem, having remained for some time at the Temple and its service, are filled with the inspiring experience of pilgrimage, and, imbued with religious enthusiasm and dedication, give concrete expression to their renewed conviction by totally removing all vestiges of idolatry” (I & II Chronicles, 962).

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219

the generic indication in the Vorlage text in 2 Kings 22:4 that the money was collected from ‫“ העם‬the people.” It seems as if the Chronicler wanted to make sure that his readers would understand that the totality of the land, including the unity of Judah and Benjamin, as well as the tribes from the north with all its additional inhabitants,67 contributed towards the restoration of the temple in Jerusalem. This statement, which would have had powerful rhetorical effect in the Chronicler’s time when Yehud and Samaria both had sanctuaries, would probably also have been understood as a plea for support of the transfer of the cultic centre from Benjaminite Gibeon to Jerusalem, which belonged to “All Judah and Benjamin.” It is thus clear from the instances discussed in this subsection that the expression “Judah and Benjamin” is mostly used in conjunction with the particle ‫כל‬, and that it therefore emphasises the unity of Judah and Benjamin as one geopolitical entity.

6.5.2 Rehoboam’s Reign and Judah-Benjamin (11) The use of the expression “Judah and Benjamin” is particularly prominent in the Chronicler’s account of Rehoboam (2 Chron. 10:1–12:16). Almost half of the occurrences in Chronicles (5 out of eleven) can be found in this text.68 The first king of the kingdom of Judah was Rehoboam, the son of Solomon. Rehoboam was a transitional figure. At the beginning of his reign the united kingdom of his father came under severe pressure. Under the leadership of Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, the northern tribes rebelled against the southern leader. When they did not get a satisfactory reaction from Rehoboam of Judah, a schism between the southern and northern tribes was the inevitable consequence. The Deuteronomistic historian simply blamed the dissatisfaction with the southern leadership on Solomon. According to that version of Israel’s history, Solomon conscripted slave labourers from the northern Israelites. The Chronicler takes pains to indicate that Solomon did not put his fellow Israelites under the yoke of slavery, but rather conscripted labourers from the Canaanite tribes 67 Japhet

comments on the expression “the rest of Israel” as follows: “The people of Israel are described here with the peculiar idiom še’ērīt yiśrā’ēl, a term which is never found in biblical prose except in Chronicles (cf. also I Chron. 12.38 [39]). RSV’s rendering ‘the remnant of Israel’ colours it with a specific theological nuance, which may not be implied by the Chronicler’s usage. Its other occurrence in Chronicles is in the context of David’s enthronement, where the same term is correctly rendered ‘the rest of Israel’. The comparison of David and Josiah, expressed in this pericope in various forms, should lead to the use of the same term here also, referring to the people in its most general composition: those mentioned ‘and all the rest’ (Ibid., 1027). 68 For an extensive discussion of the Chronicler’s Rehoboam narrative on which the present subsection was based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 208–215.

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who had remained in the land. Since the Chronicler wants to present a blameless Solomon as the zenith of royal obedience to Yahweh, the subsequent schism presented the Chronicler with a difficult task. He had to reconcile the historical reality and the older Deuteronomistic version with his own theological agenda in which an idealised Solomon occupies central position. In doing so, the Chronicler cleverly made use of some of the older Deuteronomistic traditions about Rehoboam and the schism, but also made significant alterations and additions. The resultant literary structure of the Chronicler’s narrative is as follows: 2 Chronicles 10:1–19 closely follows the source text in 1 Kings 12:1–20 in presenting the narrative about the schism (although the Chronicler eliminates the last verse of Kings). This narrative consists of an introduction in 2 Chronicles 10:1–2, followed by a report on all the conversations that took place (10:3–15) and a description of the resultant schism (10:16–19). In 11:1–4 (following 1 Kgs. 12:21–24 closely) it is indicated that a prophetic intervention kept Rehoboam and Judah from battling against their northern neighbours. Then follows a section of the Chronicler’s own material in which Rehoboam’s consolidation of the southern kingdom is narrated (2 Chron. 11:5–12), the defection of some priests and Levites from the north to the south is described (11:13–17), and the growth of Rehoboam’s family is featured (11:18–23). The narrative then goes into a description of Shishak’s campaign against Jerusalem (12:1–12). Although the first few verses of this account follow the source text in 1 Kings 14:25–28, the Chronicler also altered his source and added an elaborate portion of text about the prophet Shemaiah speaking to Rehoboam. The narrative concludes (2 Chron. 12:13–16) with a summary of Rehoboam’s reign using the usual formulas (adapting some source material from 1 Kgs. 14:21–31). The overall structure of the Chronicler’s Rehoboam narrative, which differs from the Deuteronomistic version, may be understood in the light of the Chronicler’s theological agenda. Steven McKenzie is therefore right when he states: “The division of the kingdom at the beginning of Rehoboam’s reign had to be at least partly his fault, since it could not be blamed on Solomon. Similarly, the invasion of Shishak had to be punishment in response to Rehoboam’s sin.”69 The first two occurrences of the phrase “Judah and Benjamin” occur in the section on the prophetic intervention that kept Rehoboam and Judah from battling against their northern neighbours (in 11:1, 3). Although the Chronicler has made use of the Vorlage in 1 Kings 12:21–24,70 he did so very creatively & 2 Chronicles, 261. indicates that “[c]ommentators on Kings have ascribed 1 Kgs 12:21–24 to a secondary hand for a variety of reasons: (a) the text refers to the people of the northern kingdom as brothers (v. 24), a term not used of the north elsewhere in Kings; (b) the text refers to the south as Judah and Benjamin (vv. 21, 23), whereas v. 20 had said that only Judah was left for Rehoboam; (c) the name Shemaiah never appears in pre-exilic texts but is common in post-exilic times; (d) a war at this point, particularly with an army as large as Rehoboam had mustered seems improbable” (2 Chronicles, 153). Japhet does not exclude the possibility that these verses 69 1

70 Klein

6.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36)

221

in 2 Chronicles 11:1–4. The differences of usage of the expression “Judah and Benjamin” emerge when the two texts are compared: 21When Rehoboam came to Jerusalem, he assembled all the house of Judah and the tribe of Benjamin (‫)את־כל־בית יהודה ואת־שבט בנימן‬, one hundred eighty thousand chosen troops to fight against the house of Israel, to restore the kingdom to Rehoboam son of Solomon. 22But the word of God came to Shemaiah the man of God: 23Say to King Rehoboam of Judah, son of Solomon, and to all the house of Judah and Benjamin (‫ואל־כל־בית יהודה‬ ‫)ובנימין‬, and to the rest of the people (‫)ויתר העם‬, 24“Thus says the Lord, You shall not go up or fight against your kindred the people of Israel. Let everyone go home, for this thing is from me.” So they heeded the word of the Lord and went home again, according to the word of the Lord. (1 Kings 12:21–24 – NRSV) 1When

Rehoboam came to Jerusalem, he assembled one hundred eighty thousand chosen troops of the house of Judah and Benjamin (‫ )בית יהודה ובנימן‬to fight against Israel, to restore the kingdom to Rehoboam. 2But the word of the Lord came to Shemaiah the man of God: 3Say to King Rehoboam of Judah, son of Solomon, and to all Israel (‫ )כל־ישראל‬in Judah and Benjamin (‫)ביהודה ובנימן‬, 4“Thus says the Lord: You shall not go up or fight against your kindred. Let everyone return home, for this thing is from me.” So they heeded the word of the Lord and turned back from the expedition against Jeroboam. (2 Chronicles 11:1–4 – NRSV)

It is surprising that the Chronicler omitted in both cases the particle ‫כל‬, although he had an affinity for using it in conjunction with Judah and Benjamin in other texts. In the first case, the Chronicler clearly wanted to avoid the Deuteronomist’s expression that made a distinction between “the whole house of Judah” and “the tribe of Benjamin.” This occurrence in 1 Kings 12:21 is probably the clearest expression of the disunity between Judah and Benjamin, but furthermore also contrastive in the sense that the “house of Judah” (with the connotation of familial ties and dynasty) is contrasted to “the tribe of Benjamin” (with the connotation of the premonarchical era). The Chronicler’s version ties both Judah and Benjamin together, with the designation ‫ בית‬applying to both. Although the Chronicler has omitted the particle ‫ כל‬from the Vorlage text in 1 Kings 12:21, his version in 2 Chronicles 11:1 is still a stronger expression of unity and familial ties. The direct address of Shemaiah, the man of God (in other words, a prophetic figure) is presented in the second occurrence (in 1 Kgs. 12:23 || 2 Chron. 11:3). In the Deuteronomistic version three parties are addressed by the prophet, namely Rehoboam, all the house of Judah and Benjamin, and the rest of the people. In Chronicles, however, only two parties are addressed, namely Rehoboam and All-Israel, with the reference to Judah and Benjamin changed into a in Kings are secondary, but she argues that they were already included in the Vorlage of Kings that the Chronicler used (I & II Chronicles, 649–650). Klein rightly argues: “If Japhet is right that these verses had already been included in the Vorlage of Kings used by the Chronicler, the alleged secondary character of these verses will have no impact on the interpretation of this pericope in Chronicles” (2 Chronicles, 154).

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geographical indication. It seems that the Chronicler did not want to make the differentiation between “all the house of Judah and Benjamin” and “the rest of the people”, and that he rather transferred the use of ‫ כל‬to the expression “All-Israel.” Furthermore, Ralph Klein refers to 1 Chronicles 9:3 when he argues that “[i]n the Chronicler’s view, the kingdom of Judah was never occupied solely by people from the tribes of Judah and Benjamin.”71 The next two occurrences of the expression “Judah and Benjamin” in the Chronicler’s Rehoboam account is in the section (consisting of the Chronicler’s own material) in which Rehoboam’s consolidation of the southern kingdom is narrated (2 Chron. 11:5–12). This pericope tells about Rehoboam’s building projects for the purpose of defence (vs. 5, 11, 12) and storage of food, oil and wine (vs. 11). After the list of city names in verses 6–10, it is specified that these cities were fortified cities ‫( ביהודה ובבנימן‬vs. 10). The fact that the preposition ‫ ב־‬is repeated leaves the impression that Judah and Benjamin are mentioned here as two separate regions. Furthermore, this indication stands in contrast to the heading in verse 5b that refers to “cities for defence in Judah”, thus without mention of Benjamin. The matter is further complicated by the fact that, according to Klein, all the cities listed in verses 6–10a were part of Judah.72 Verse 12 mentions that Judah and Benjamin belonged to Rehoboam. This sentence seems to be parenthetic, specifying information that might have been unknown or disputed. Klein therefore rightly says that “[t]he Chronicler overstates the case in claiming that Judah and Benjamin belonged to Rehoboam. In fact, of course, Benjamin was disputed territory.”73 Klein refers here to the time of Rehoboam, but one could equally envision that the Chronicler felt it necessary for his own time to make this Judahite claim on Benjamin. The last occurrence of the expression “Judah and Benjamin” in the Chronicler’s Rehoboam account is in 2 Chronicles 11:23. The section consisting of verses 18–23 narrates Rehoboam’s familial growth. Many wives and children are always a sign of prosperity for the Chronicler, and this section also belongs to the Chronicler’s hand. Verse 23 indicates that he acted with insight and distributed74 his sons in all the lands of Judah and Benjamin. The use of ‫ כל‬together with ‫ ארצות‬leaves the impression that the unity of Judah and Benjamin is not the focus here, but rather the whole geographical region included in Judah and Benjamin. In sum: there is no clear pattern in the Chronicler’s usage of the reference in the Deuteronomistic history and in his Sondergut. However, it does seem from some of these references that the relationship between Judah and Benjamin must have been a contentious issue for the Chronicler. 2 Chronicles, 165. 173. 73 Ibid., 174. 74 See Klein’s textual note on the unusual Hebrew verb used here (Ibid., 168 note 18). 71 Klein, 72 Ibid.,

6.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in Relation to Benjamin

223

6.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in Relation to Benjamin The following aspects were observed in our analyses in this chapter:75 (i) The genealogies provide a positive portrayal of Benjamin, on a par with the tribe of Judah. Judah and Benjamin form the pillars of the Chronicler’s understanding of All-Israel (§ 6.2.1). (ii) However, in other instances, of which the Saul narrative is a prominent example, Benjamin is cast in a negative light (§§ 6.2.2; 6.3.1; 6.3.2). Apart from the fact that the Chronicler omits great parts of the Deuteronomistic version of Saul’s history, he even portrays Yahweh as the one killing the Benjaminite Saul in order for the kingship to go over to the Judahite David. (iii) The distribution of the name Benjamin in Chronicles is also instructive. The overwhelming majority of occurrences of Benjaminite terminology in Chronicles belong to the writer’s own material. It seems therefore that, although Benjamin is equally prominent in Chronicles and the Deuteronomistic History, the Chronicler presents Benjamin on his own terms. Furthermore, references to Benjamin or Benjaminite places occur in all parts of Chronicles, that is, in the histories of David and Solomon (1 Chron. 10–29 and 2 Chron. 1–9, respectively) as well as the history of Judah’s kings (2 Chron. 10–36). (iv) It is particularly interesting that Benjamin occurs almost exclusively (with the exception of five occurrences in the Rehoboam narrative) in the narratives about those kings who were evaluated positively by the Chronicler (namely, David, Asa, Jehoshaphat, Amaziah, Hezekiah and Josiah) (§§ 6.3.3; 6.4.1; 6.5.1; 6.5.2). (v) Another significant statistic is that Benjamin occurs eleven times in the expression “Judah and Benjamin” in the contexts of the narratives about Rehoboam (2 Chron. 11:1, 3, 10, 12, 23), Asa (15:2, 8, 9), Amaziah (25:5), Hezekiah (31:1) and Josiah (34:9). In seven of these ten cases the expression is introduced by the same element that is used in the term “All-Israel,” namely, ‫כל‬ – thus “All Judah and Benjamin” (§§ 6.5.1; 6.5.2). The Chronicler uses “All Judah and Benjamin” almost as a synonym for “All-Israel.” Benjamin was one of the keys to the Chronicler’s construction of an All-Israel identity. (vi) A prominent theme in Chronicles is the matter of where the (primary) sanctuary should be. Several of the narratives give recognition to the (former) Benjaminite cult places (mainly Gibeon), but nevertheless argue subtly that Jerusalem’s temple now embodies all the former cultic traditions of Judah and Benjamin (§§ 6.3.3; 6.3.4; 6.4.1). 75 See the following publications which also offer syntheses of the Chronicler’s portrayal of Benjamin: Jonker, “Revisiting the Saul Narrative in Chronicles”; Jonker, “Of Jebus, Jerusalem, and Benjamin: The Chronicler’s Sondergut in 1 Chronicles 21 against the Background of the Late Persian Era in Yehud”; Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 92–95.

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The investigation has thus shown that the Chronicler’s portrayal of Benjamin is very ambiguous. The matter is not as simple as identifying a pro‑ or anti-Benjaminite tendency in Chronicles. Benjamin Giffone, therefore, comes to the careful conclusion that Chronicles consistently attempts to portray Benjamin positively from a Judah‑ and Levi-centered perspective. It is difficult to argue that a Benjamin-inclusive agenda is a primary concern of the Chronicler. However, we do find instances in which the Chronicler’s editorial decisions become intelligible through the lens of a Benjamin-inclusive agenda – decisions that are difficult to explain in light of the more commonly understood themes of Chronicles.76

In Chapter 3 (§ 3.4.3) we saw that the socio-historical circumstances in the restoration period after the exile turned the relationship between Judah and Benjamin into a sensitive topic. The restoration in Yehud, particularly on administrative and religious levels, took place to the detriment of the Benjaminite area. These new circumstances contributed to the re-emergence of old rivalries between these tribal areas, but simultaneously created the space within which the unity of Judah and Benjamin could be emphasised. The Persian province Yehud was established mainly in the geographical areas of Judah and Benjamin, and there was therefore also enough incentive in the socio-historical circumstances to emphasise the unity of, and cooperation between, these tribal areas. This historical background helps us to understand the Chronicler’s portrayal of Benjamin better. The Chronicler, writing from the re-established centre of political and cultic power in the post-exilic era, had great difficulty with Benjamin. On the one hand, as a staunch supporter of the Davidic house and the cultic centre in Jerusalem, the Chronicler did not want to give any credit to Benjamin. In the more relaxed Persian imperial context the Benjaminites could potentially try to resuscitate their political-administrative role (in Mizpah) or their cultic influence (particularly in Gibeon, where the tabernacle was kept before David brought it to Jerusalem and where Solomon still worshipped). The Chronicler wanted to avoid this at all costs, since he wanted to claim those powers exclusively for Jerusalem. Any counter-claims had to be settled by indicating that the only Benjaminite king they had, Saul, was actually killed by Yahweh himself in order for the kingship to go over to a Judahite, David, and his house. However, the Chronicler was equally confronted with the fact that the Judahite centre of political and cultic influence was situated near Benjaminite territory (as the narrative in 1 Chron. 21 about Araunah’s threshing floor emphasised). The Chronicler therefore also needed the support of Benjamin. For the negotiation of an All-Israel identity in the late Persian period, the Chronicler needed to emphasise the close relationship between these two areas again (without, of course, conceding any political-administrative or cultic influence to Benjamin). 76 Giffone,

“Sit at My Right Hand,” 187.

6.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in Relation to Benjamin

225

It thus seems that the Chronicler facilitates a process of identity negotiation that emphasises continuity and discontinuity between Judah and Benjamin. The Chronicler’s portrayal of Benjamin forms part of a process of intra-group categorisation within Yehud (see § 2.2.4 again). However, the Persian imperial ideology of the time (see § 3.4.1.2 again) would have made the Chronicler well aware of the fact that the Persian kings wanted order and peace in their subjugated provinces. There is therefore no desire on the Chronicler’s part to estrange the Benjaminites. They are still a prominent, even a founding, part of the “All Israel” concept that the Chronicler is trying to foster in these days. When trying to establish oneself from a provincial point of view within the empire, one can simply not afford to emphasise the differences with the in-group too much. Intra-group identity negotiation takes place within Yehud, but not at the expense of the concomitant processes of inter-group identity negotiation in the Persian Empire. This description fits well what is called hybrid identities in postcolonial theory (see § 2.2.1 again). We see here the overlapping identities of a Judahite who on one level distances himself from Benjaminite claims to power. But we also see in the Chronicler somebody who understands himself as an “All Israelite,” that is as an inhabitant of All-Israel situated as a province within the Persian Empire.

Chapter 7

Defining the Jerusalem Cult 7.1 Introduction The main focus of the Chronicler’s work is surely on the situation in Yehud and on the second temple cult in Jerusalem. In our discussion in Chapter 3 above (§ 3.3) we indicated that the book most probably had its origin in the late Persian period in Jerusalem, and that the authorship of the document should be sought among the literati who were influential in the Jerusalem temple cult. We saw that the socio-historic circumstances of the day, and particularly the multi-levelled existence described in Chapter 3 of the present work gave rise to a phase in which much emphasis was placed on the rebuilding of a national identity in Yehud. After Jerusalem was re-established as administrative and cultic centre during the Persian era, it grew in influence and power within its own environment. Many studies therefore confirm that Chronicles was written as a “new national history” which had the purpose of fostering a new understanding of the restored community, which is called, ‫כל־ישראל‬, “All-Israel.” However, we have also seen that the late Persian period was most probably a period of rivalry and tension in the Jerusalem temple cult (§ 3.4.4). We saw from the history of the priesthood that there were different factions, inter alia, as a result of strife between those who were exiled and those who remained in the land, and that the rivalry between Zadokites and Levites also intensified in the Persian period. The power relations constructed by these rivalries did not exist in a vacuum, however. They were embedded within the imperial context where Persian officials in Jerusalem (probably recruited from local elites) were overseeing the local situation in order to prevent uprisings and rebellions, and to impose the royal ideology of the pax Achaemenidica. Local rivalries could not jeopardise the relationship of Yehud with the imperial centre. One should furthermore take into account that the elite leaders of Jerusalem also had the task of keeping the Persian imperial ideology intact by delivering taxes and tribute as prescribed. Since taxes in kind could not have been supplied by the urban centre, the leaders in Jerusalem therefore had to rely on rural farmers to bring their produce for this purpose. We saw in our discussion in Chapter 3 above (§ 3.4.1.3) that the temple in Jerusalem, in the absence of a local royal administration, most probably had the task of coordinating the paying of taxes

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Chapter 7: Defining the Jerusalem Cult

to the Persian Empire (through the satrapy, or by supplying the locally-stationed Persian military forces with their basic requirements). This situation added another dimension to the power relations between the cultic centre in Jerusalem and the people of the land. In a certain sense the whole book of Chronicles contributes towards redefining “All-Israel” and particularly the cult in Jerusalem. However, the following criteria will be used for the identification of texts to be discussed in this chapter: (i) explicit references to ‫ כל־ישראל‬and other descriptions of how this entity was understood; (ii) explicit references to temple clergy, their roles and their inter-relationships; and (iii) explicit references to the temple and its function.

7.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9) 7.2.1 Levi, the Centre of Attention and Beneficiary of Land (5:27–6:66) In our discussions above we pointed out a ring structure in the genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9, whose centrepiece is 5:27–6:66. That the genealogy of Levi occupies such a central place in the Chronicler’s presentation should not escape our attention. Not only does it function centrally in the literary construction of the genealogy; it also functions centrally in the ideological framework within which the Chronicler worked.1 The whole Jerusalemite cult – with all its officials and institutions – was based on Levitical descent. The prominence of this genealogy therefore from the start signals to the reader that the Chronicler is working from a cultic perspective. The cult forms a central element in the identity construction he is negotiating here. Whoever wants to understand himself or herself as part of All-Israel should also be embedded in the cultic community. This long section covers different aspects related to the lineage of Levi. Levi, being one of the twelve sons of Israel mentioned in 2:1–2, is credited with being the ancestor who delivered to Israel its priestly lineage. The very extensive genealogy therefore starts with the family list of the high priests who served 1 It is important to note that these Levite genealogies, similarly to the others, do not necessarily reflect a historical reality (e. g. in terms of high priests, or the like). We may concur with Antti Laato, who states at the beginning of his study: “In this article a distinction between historical genealogy and ideological genealogy will be maintained. Genealogical claims for a particular individuals may or [sic] not be historical. On the other hand, such a claim might also be an ideological connection with little or no historical basis. Some priests or some priestly groups may have wanted to identify themselves with important and ancient priestly families in order to legitimate their own position in society” (Antti Laato, “The Levitical Genealogies in 1 Chronicles 5–6 and the Formation of Levitical Ideology in Post-Exilic Judah,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 62 [1994]: 77). See also Pieter B. Dirksen, 1 Chronicles (Leuven: Peeters, 2005), 96–97; Antje Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, WMANT 131 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2012), 312–337.

7.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9)

229

in Jerusalem until the exile (5:27–41). Then a more general genealogy of Levi (through his sons Gershom, Kohath and Merari) is presented (6:1–15), followed by a list of those who were appointed as singers in the sanctuary in Jerusalem, namely the children of Heman, Asaph and Ethan (6:16–33). A short section returns to the high priestly lineage until the time of David (6:34–38), before the final section provides an elaborate description of the cities and land allotted to the priests and Levites (6:39–66).2 Without going into all the intricacies of this section here (we will return to this in our discussion below of David’s organisation of the cultic personnel as witnessed in 1 Chron. 23–27), we may concur with Steven McKenzie in his summary: This [genealogy] illustrates the importance of the priests and Levites in their respective roles as officials of the cult of Yahweh. Israel is presented as a theocracy. … The fact that all twelve tribes were originally included in the list of Levitical cities depicts yet again the unity of the people of Israel under David. The distribution of the Levites among the tribes suggests that the author views them as integral to Israel’s identity and make-up. The enumeration of the Levitical towns may also reflect the Chronicler’s effort to defend or legitimate the Levites’ right in the Persian period to a heritage in Israel consisting of certain towns and their “open lands.”3

McKenzie touches here on a feature of the Levite genealogy, particularly in the last section on the Levite cities and land (6:39–66), which seems to be important in the economic circumstances of the late Persian period. In an earlier contribution4 I indicated that a conspicuous pattern of donors and beneficiaries is constructed in this section of the genealogy. It is clear that the list in 6:39–66 derives from the narrative text in Joshua 21 which reports the allotment of dwelling places to the Levites during the conquest of the land.5 However, the 2 Although with different arguments, various scholars come to the conclusion that one should reckon with the possibility of multiple authorship of the Levite section in the Chronicler’s genealogies. See commentators such as Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2003); Steven L. McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, AOTC (Nashville: Abingdon, 2004); Dirksen, 1 Chronicles; Ralph W. Klein, 1 Chronicles: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), but also the study by Laato, “The Levitical Genealogies in 1 Chronicles 5–6 and the Formation of Levitical Ideology in Post-Exilic Judah.” We may concur with Knoppers when he says that “given the evidence for substantial corruption, especially in the lists …, it is not always easy to discern where authorial (or editorial) activity ends and scribal activity begins. In any case, the Levitical genealogies seem to have had a complicated textual history” (I Chronicles 1–9, 407). 3 McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 96. 4 See the as yet unpublished paper: Louis C. Jonker, “Agrarian Economy through City Elite Eyes: Reflections of Late Persian Period Yehud Economy in the Genealogies of Chronicles” (Canadian Society of Biblical Studies Annual Meeting, Victoria BC, 2013). 5 Scholars are in agreement that the narrative about the allocation by lot of Levite cities in Jos. 21:5–40 is closely related to priestly tradition. The introduction to this narrative states in vv. 1–3 that the Levite family heads came to Eleazar the priest, to Joshua and to the tribal family heads of Israel and reminded them of the command of Yahweh through Moses that they be given

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Chronicler made interesting changes in the order of the material in Joshua 21. After a general introduction to the list of Levitical cities in verse 39a, the Chronicler first offers a detailed list of the places given to the descendants of Aaron who were from the Kohathite clan in verses 39b–45 (that is, the priestly line). Although this material is also present in Joshua 21 (in vv. 10–19), the Chronicler shifted it an earlier position in his presentation. By first presenting the Aaronide cities, the Chronicler has given prominence to this part of the Levitical lineage, emphasising the status of the Aaronides within the priesthood, and highlighting their connection to the tribe of Judah (which is presented in 2:3–4:23, with King David being its most prominent member), but also of Benjamin.6 After the extensive description of Aaronide cities, there are three short summaries of the towns given to Kohath’s descendants (v. 46), to the descendants of Gershom (v. 47), and to the descendants of Merari (v. 48). Similar to Joshua 21, the Levitical tribe did not receive their own tribal land, but land and cities belonging to other tribes were allocated to them (described with the verb ‫)נתן‬. The summary section in verses 46–48 concludes with the general remark in verse 49 that the Israelites gave (again with ‫ )נתן‬the Levites these towns and their pasturelands. towns to live in. This introduction refers to the command which is stated in Num. 35:2, a text which is considered by scholars as of priestly origin. (See e. g. Ehud Ben Zvi, “The List of the Levitical Cities,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 54 [1992]: 77–106.) Although there are different views on the historicity and setting of the Levite city narrative in Jos. 21, scholars agree that this chapter is clearly associated with priestly tradition. The same would then apply to the reflection of this narrative in the Chronicler’s Levite city list. There is more or less a consensus in scholarship about the priority of Jos. 21 in comparison to the Levite town list in 1 Chron. 6. Although alternative views have been formulated in the past (e. g. by Auld, who saw the relation between the two texts in the inverse direction), the majority of scholars now agree that the Chronicler made use of the Joshua text. For a good summary of the debate, as well as for additional arguments as to why Jos. 21 should be seen as the earlier text which served as source for the Chronicler, see Manfred Oeming, Das wahre Israel: Die “genealogische Vorhalle” 1 Chronik 1–9 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1990), 146–149. 6  James T. Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9 (Atlanta: SBL, 2008), 154–155 explains the reorganising of material from Jos. 21 in terms of a theological motif, namely the contrast between faithfulness / ​possession and unfaithfulness / ​exile. He is of the opinion that this contrast is constructed in various ways by the genealogies in conjunction with some narratives in Chronicles. He comments on the position of the Aaronide towns’ position in the list: “This connection between exile and dwellings may further explain why the Chronicler brought the list of the towns of the sons of Aaron forward to a position prior to the summary statements. As the ‘exile’ had been explicitly mentioned in relation to the sons of Aaron, and not to the other Levitical clans, so also must a mention of the ‘dwelling places’ be explicitly made to the sons of Aaron. If the Chronicler had allowed the reference to the towns of the sons of Aaron to remain in its Josh 21 position, the dwellings could be taken to refer to all of the Levitical clans, and possibly bring the legitimacy of the sons of Aaron, who had been exiled, into question. By drawing attention to the current dwelling places of the sons of Aaron, the Chronicler is indicating that those actions which caused the exile of the sons of Aaron have been restored not only to their lands, but also to their position within the cult. The sons of Aaron still retain the duty of offering sacrifice and making atonement for the people.”

7.2 The Genealogies (1 Chronicles 1–9)

231

Verse 50 is misplaced in the context of the Chronicler’s list. Its equivalent in Joshua 21:9 introduces the information given in verses 10–19, but with these verses being moved to an earlier position in Chronicles, the logical order is broken. Verse 50 would have made good sense if it had preceded verse 39. In its new position verse 50 is supposed to introduce the more detailed indications of land allocations in the following verses, but the indications of donor tribes do not fit the following verses.7 From verse 51, the order of presentation returns to the order of Joshua 21. Verses 51–55 contain a detailed description of the Kohathite cities, verses 56–61 of the Gershomite cities, and verses 62–66 of the Merarite cities. The following picture of land beneficiaries and donors emerges from the discussed section, 1 Chronicles 6:39–66: Reference

Beneficiary(ies)

Donor(s)

6:39–45

Sons of Aaron of the families of Kohathites (vv. 39, 42) Caleb, the son of Jephunneh (vs. 41)

Tribe of Juda (vs. 40) Tribe of Benjamin (vs. 45) [Tribes of Judah, Benjamin, and Simeon (vs. 50)]

6:46–49

Kohathites

Half-tribe of Manasseh

Gershomites

Tribe of Issachar Tribe of Asher Tribe of Naphtali Tribe of Manasseh in Bashan Tribe of Reuben Tribe of Gad Tribe of Zebulun Summary vs. 49: Sons of Israel

Merarites Summary vs. 49: Levites 6:50

[Levites]

Tribe of Judah Tribe of Simeon Tribe of Benjamin

6:51–55

Kohathites

Tribe of Ephraim Half-tribe of Manasseh

6:56–61

Gershomites

Half-tribe of Manasseh Tribe of Issachar Tribe of Asher Tribe of Naphtali

7 See Dirksen, 1 Chronicles, 111: “Like the parallel text Josh. 21:8, v. 49 concludes the preceding passage. V. 50, however, has a different function from the parallel text, Josh. 21:9. The latter verse opens a new passage in which the cities are mentioned by name; but v. 50 forms part of the conclusion of the preceding passage, in which the mention of Judah and Benjamin refers back to vv. 40–45. After v. 49, which has a general conclusory nature, v. 50 is actually superfluous.” See also Sara Japhet, I&II Chronicles (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 161: “Any view of the structure of the list must regard this verse as misplaced.”

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Reference

Beneficiary(ies)

Donor(s)

6:62–66

Merarites

Tribe of Zebulun Tribe of Reuben Tribe of Gad

This portrayal becomes significant when viewed against the background of the connection of this section with Joshua 21, and the use of the verb ‫ נתן‬in this section of the Levite genealogy is also conspicuous. Although the verb itself abounds in the Hebrew Bible, mostly without economic connotations, the distribution of verbs in the Chronicler’s genealogies highlights the use of ‫נתן‬. It occurs only in the Levite section. We have shown above that the geographical list given here was taken from Joshua 21, which could be an adequate explanation for the use of the verb. However, in Joshua 21 the list forms part of a narrative which tells the story of the conquest of the promised land – a narrative context in which the giving of the land holds deep theological meaning, because Yahweh is the subject of the verb. The list was taken out of its narrative context when it was employed by the Chronicler, and the priestly families were given more prominence in the latter’s arrangement of the materials (as we saw above), but the theological nuance of Joshua 21 was also transferred to 1 Chronicles 6 by means of the verb ‫( נתן‬with the donor tribes now becoming the subjects of the verb, instead of Yahweh). Considering the economic role of the temple in the late Persian period, as well as the “in-between position” which Jerusalem fulfilled between rural Yehud and the imperial centre, this legitimation of the land donations to the temple clergy may well be described as a sort of “sacred economics” in which the regime of extraction of goods from the rural population is motivated theologically.8 This discussion shows that the Chronicler wanted to show the continuity of the Levites in the second temple with the tribe of Levi, which was given land by Yahweh during the conquest of Canaan. However, by transferring the agency of the giving of the land to all the tribal areas mentioned as donors, the Chronicler gave a theological motivation for a system which probably had economic value (when interpreted against the background of the Persian imperial economy).

8 Roland Boer has drawn on Marxist economic theory for his description of the imperial economic situation in Jerusalem. See Roland Boer, “The Sacred Economy of Ancient ‘Israel,’” Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 21/1 (2007): 29–48. See also Gerald O. West, “Tracking an Ancient Near Eastern Economic System: The Tributary Mode of Production and the Temple-State,” Old Testament Essays 24/2 (2011): 511–32.

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7.2.2 The Aaronide, Zadok the Priest (5:34; 6:38) We saw in Chapter 3 (§ 3.4.4) that Zadok the priest is an enigmatic figure in history. We discussed there that some scholars (such as Alice Hunt and Joachim Schaper)9 consider Zadok to be a late-comer in history, because it is only in the later texts of Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah that he is provided with a genealogy which links him to the Aaronide priestly family. We also saw that the power relations after the exile between the Zadokite priesthood and the Levites (and other minor priestly groups) were complicated probably because the Zadokites were those who were exiled and returned to Jerusalem, and the Levites were those who remained in the land during the exile and filled the cultic power vacuum. A study of the genealogical information in Chronicles confirms that Zadok’s connection with the Aaronide family was most probably a late development. The name “Zadok” occurs four times in the Chronicler’s genealogical introduction, with the first three (5:34, 38; 6:38) belonging to the Chronicler’s Sondergut, while the last instance (9:11) has a parallel in Nehemiah 11:11. Some scholars indicate that 5:38 is probably not referring to the priest Zadok, but to another person with the same name.10 In 6:35–38 it seems that the Chronicler was alluding to the information in Numbers 3:2–4, although the name Zadok does not occur in the latter text.11 It seems that the reference in 9:11 refers to the same Zadok who was mentioned in 5:34 and 6:38.12 The occurrences in 1 Chronicles 5 form part of what is often called the high-priestly genealogy in 5:27–41. Most recent commentaries provide good discussions of the occurrence of Zadok in this specific list of the Chronicler’s genealogies, as well as of theories about the geographical origin of the Za-

9 See again Joachim Schaper, Priester und Leviten im achämenidischen Juda: Studien zur Kult‑ und Sozialgeschichte Israels in persisicher Zeit, FAT 31 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); Alice Hunt, Missing Priests: The Zadokites in Tradition and History (New York: Continuum, 2006). 10 This is not completely certain, however, since the names of three generations coincide with the version in 5:34, namely Amariah, Ahitub and Zadok. For a good summary of the problems involved in 5:38, see Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 401–402. 11 Knoppers (Ibid., 425–426) remarks about this occurrence: “By situating the Aaronide genealogy (vv. 35–38) immediately after the list of Aaronide responsibilities at the Tabernacle (v. 34), the author intimates that these Aaronide duties were continued by Zadoq and his descendants during the monarchic period.” 12 Knoppers (Ibid., 503) states that it is “probably referring to Zadoq I (1 Chr 5:34; 6:38; Ezra 7:2; Josephus, Ant. 10.152), rather than to Zadoq II (1 Chr 5:38; Josephus, Ant. 10.153 Soudaios). It seems that 1 Chr 9:10–11 ( / ​ / ​Neh 11:10–11) has suffered a major haplography from Meshullam to Zadoq (I) triggered by the repetition of Zadoq in the list (from Zadoq II to Zadoq I). This remark not only confirms the textual difficulties, but also how unusual the genealogical traces of Zadok are in the Hebrew Bible.

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dokites (whether Jebus, Gibeon or Hebron).13 It remains impossible – because of a paucity of information – to clarify the historical background of the priest Zadok, or the Zadokites. However, we may be more confident in formulating theories about why the Chronicler included Zadok in his genealogies. In this regard, Gary Knoppers has made a valuable contribution. In his discussion of this section in his commentary, he first refutes the common practice in scholarship of viewing the list in 5:27–41 as a “high-priestly” genealogy. He indicates that the text itself does not make that assertion. Furthermore, “[t]here is nothing said about high priests, chief priests, commanders of the house of God, or leaders of the priests … There is no discussion of the supervision of other priests or of the administration of the sanctuary. … The point about succession is inherent to the passage, but the point about the genealogy being a high-priestly list is a later extrapolation.”14 The more important point for our study, however, is Knoppers’s second point. In this point he supports but qualifies the interpretation by some scholars that 5:27–41 constitutes a charter for Zadokite control over the post-exilic priesthood. He states: To be sure, situating Zadoq within a long Qohathite lineage validates Zadoqite claims to an excellent pedigree. … To underscore the point, Zadoq appears at the very center of the lineage. The genealogist does not furnish a lineage for the other relevant son of Aaron, Ithamar. This has the effect of favoring the line from Qohath, Amram, Aaron, and Eleazar to Zadoq. … Nevertheless, the presentation cannot be construed as exclusively pro-Zadoqite. Chronicles characteristically speaks of the priests as the sons of Aaron … and never as the sons of Zadoq. … In the case of this priestly genealogy, the author pushes things back further. There are other priestly lines within the Qohathite lineage. The broad formulation recognizes the existence of other offshoots of the Qohathite line and allows for the possibility that non-Zadoqites could officiate as priests. … By situating the descendants of Zadoq within a broader genealogical context, the author avoids developing antitheses between priests and Levites, Aaronides and Zadoqites, Eleazarides and Ithamarides. The writer negotiates among established positions and synthesizes disparate traditions. To some extent, the Levitical genealogies relativize the distinction between priests and Levites by speaking of Qohathites, Merarites, and Gershonites.15

This view resonates with other observations in Chronicles that the status of the Zadokite priesthood was honoured by the writer of Chronicles, but that the position of the Levites was also elevated, without becoming a rival for cultic dominance. Our study of further passages below will confirm this point. Such a view is very meaningful for our present reflection on the process of identity negotiation in the late Persian period in Yehud. The literati who wrote Chronicles – and who most probably had Levite affiliations – took in a recone. g. Ibid., 405–406, 412–415; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 195–197. I Chronicles 1–9, 414. 15 Ibid., 414–415. 13 See

14 Knoppers,

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ciliatory position in which the communality of the different priestly factions of the time was emphasised.

7.2.3 The Restored Cultic Community in Jerusalem (9:1–34) In Chapter 4 (§ 4.2.2) we indicated how this section of the Chronicler’s genealogies correlates with the universalist opening section. We argued there that the present section indicates that the post-exilic community in Jerusalem and in the temple cult was actually a continuation of universal humanity. We also saw that the composition history of this section is extremely difficult to unravel, particularly in its relation to Nehemiah 11. What remains clear, however, is the focus on Jerusalem and the temple. First Chronicles 9:2 (similar to Neh. 11:3) indicates those who were the first after the exile to live in their possessions (their towns), namely the Israelites, priests, Levites and temple servants. Verse 3 moves to Jerusalem, indicating that some of the people of Judah, Benjamin, Ephraim and Manasseh lived there. Judah and Benjamin are also mentioned in Nehemiah 11:4, but the insertion of Ephraim and Manasseh in the Chronicler’s version is novel. It probably continues the idea of the whole genealogical introduction that All-Israel also included the northern tribes and the former northern kingdom. The next verses (4–9) dwell on those lay Judahites and Benjaminites who lived in Jerusalem, but then in verses 10–13 (with Neh. 11:10–14) the focus shifts to the priests, and in verses 14–16 (with Neh. 11:15–18) to the Levites. Whereas Nehemiah 11 mentions the gatekeepers only in verse 19, the Chronicler’s version has an extended section 9:17–34 in which first the names of the gatekeepers are mentioned, followed by a description of several of their duties. The last verse (34) forms a conclusion, calling all these “Levites.”16 Although it is very difficult to reconstruct from this passage a clear picture of the clergy groups in Jerusalem in the post-exilic phase (see also our discussion of 1 Chron. 23–27 below), one thing remains clear from this description, namely the impression of a well-organised clergy at the temple in Jerusalem, consisting of “priests” and “Levites.” Whether this is a reflection of the real situation in Jerusalem during the Persian period, or rather a utopian or idealist description, remains unknown. However, the Chronicler’s genealogical introduction concludes with a section which leaves the impression of All-Israel (Judahites, Benjaminites, Ephraimites and Manassites) centring on a well-organised cult in which “priests” and “Levites” do their duties.

16 See the detailed discussion in Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 69–98.

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7.2.4 In Continuity with Different Traditions of the Past (Priestly Material) I have shown elsewhere that the Chronicler mainly made use of genealogical materials from the Priestly tradition in the Pentateuch.17 Also Joshua 21, from which he draws the material in 1 Chronicles 6 (as discussed above), is closely associated with the priestly tradition. Why did the Chronicler treat the priestly material preferentially in his genealogical introduction? The answer to this question might be very simple, namely that the Chronicler was looking for genealogical material to include as an introduction to his history work, and the priestly writings happened to provide this kind of material. However, we also know of non-priestly genealogical material, such as Genesis 4 (the Cain genealogy) that was not included by the Chronicler. The reason for the priestly preference might rather be motivated ideologically. Studies by Gary Knoppers and others have indicated clearly that the Chronicler wanted to merge the Deuteronomistic tradition (which formed the main source for his historical work) and the priestly tradition, probably in mimetic fashion.18 In response to those scholars who argue in favour of the disunity of Chronicles on account of its use of different traditions, Knoppers states: I find myself among those scholars who are skeptical that Chronicles underwent one or more major Priestly, Levitical, or Deuteronomistic redactions. Arguments for pervasive disunity fail to come to full grips with the distinctive features of the Chronicler’s compositional technique: his adroitness in drawing upon originally disparate lemmata, his ability to acknowledge and negotiate different ideological perspectives, and his capacity for pursuing his own agenda as he engages a variety of earlier biblical traditions. There is no question that one encounters both pro-Priestly and pro-Levitical passages in Chronicles. Nor is there any doubt that the work draws from Priestly tradition in certain contexts, but from Deuteronomic tradition in others. Rather than an indelible mark of literary disunity, these passages evince the author’s concern to mediate different perspectives within the context of the late Persian period or early Hellenistic age.19

The preference for Priestly material in the genealogical introduction should therefore be seen against this background. These genealogies were selected to serve as a Priestly macro-context within which the Deuteronomistic version 17 Louis C. Jonker, “Reading the Pentateuch’s Genealogies after the Exile: The Chronicler’s Usage of Genesis 1–11 in Negotiating an All-Israelite Identity,” Old Testament Essays 25/2 (2012): 316–33; Louis C. Jonker, “From Paraleipomenon to Early Reader. The Implications of Recent Chronicles Studies for Pentateuchal Criticism,” in Congress Volume Munich 2013, ed. Christl M. Maier (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 217–54. 18 See particularly Gary N. Knoppers, “The Relationship of the Deuteronomistic History to Chronicles: Was the Chronicler a Deuteronomist?,” in Congress Volume Helsinki 2010, ed. Martti Nissinen (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 307–41. He applies mimetic theory in his characterisation of the Chronicler’s usage of both Dtn. / ​Dtr. and Priestly materials to compose his own work. On account of this model of reworking earlier traditions Knoppers concludes that Chronicles cannot merely be seen as an extension of the Dtr. movement. 19 Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 92.

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237

of the history of Ancient Israel (which is the Chronicler’s main source) was embedded. As we will see in a later discussion, scholars often point out that the Priestly and Deuteronomistic traditions are respectively related to the priests and Levites in the second temple cult. The deliberate combination of traditions not only shows that the Chronicle was resolute about indicating that his work stands in continuity with the traditions of the past, but also that he wants to continue both the priestly and Levitical traditions. As Knoppers rightly said, this is a clear indication of the Chronicler’s “concern to mediate different perspectives” in the context of the second temple cult. One should also note that the Priestly genealogical material gave the Chronicler the means to show the continuity of his version of history with the patriarchal era, and particularly with the glorious days (in the Chronicler’s perspective) of the Davidic monarchy. Within the late Persian period, emphasis on these affiliations was not innocent. The embedding of Israel’s history in the context of the patriarchal lineage confirmed that the community of Yehud was not to be seen as a new creation in the wake of the exilic disaster. All-Israel, as defined in the genealogies and the whole book of Chronicles, stands in continuity with the patriarchal past, and in fulfilment of the covenant promises to those patriarchs. Furthermore, the very extensive attention given to David and Solomon (as two prominent Judahites) emphasises that the cultic leadership of the post-exilic community stands in continuity with those kings who established the cultic place in Jerusalem. We will see in our further discussions that the Chronicler very deliberately emphasised the position of the Jerusalem cult in the Persian period. The prominent position of David’s and Solomon’s genealogies is already a reminder of the foundations of the cult, and of the continuity which is constructed by the Chronicler between the post-exilic cult and the royal cult of the past.

7.3 The David Narrative (1 Chronicles 10–29) 7.3.1 The Ark of the Covenant Comes to Jerusalem (13–16) We have already discussed the final pericope of the Chronicler’s ark narrative in a previous section (§ 6.3.3). The full narrative in chapters 13–16 will be our focus here.20 This narrative forms a very prominent part of the Chronicler’s David history, and although it relies extensively on a Deuteronomistic source text in 2 Samuel 5–6, it also contains numerous Sondergut sections. Three matters are of 20 In my discussion I rely on a paper which I delivered at the SBL Annual meeting in San Francisco in 2011 and which was published as Louis C. Jonker, “‘The Ark of the Covenant of the Lord’ The Place of Covenant in the Chronicler’s Theology,” in Covenant in the Persian Period: From Genesis to Chronicles, ed. Richard Bautch and Gary N. Knoppers (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 393–414.

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interest for the purpose of the present discussion: first, the composition of the ark narrative highlights the bringing of the ark to Jerusalem as David’s first major act as king; second, the Levites receive prominence in the ark narrative; and third, the category of the “covenant of Yahweh” is closely related to the ark and the Levites in this narrative. However, before we discuss these issues in greater detail, it is necessary to review some discussions of the composition history of this section.21 Some scholars have suggested the existence of a pre-canonical ark narrative which can be witnessed in all or parts of 1 Samuel 4–6 and 2 Samuel 6.22 The Chronicler would then also have made use of this pre-canonical source for his construction of 1 Chronicles 13–16. It is uncertain whether this hypothesis holds true. However, one may assume that the Chronicler made use of the Samuel version of this narrative, selecting such material as supported his cause. The information in 1 Samuel 4–6 was omitted by the Chronicler and he has concentrated his version on 2 Samuel 6. In terms of the Chronicler’s version, 1 Chronicles 14 poses a problem for biblical scholarship, since it is seemingly unrelated to the preceding (13) and following (15–16) chapters.23 It furthermore quotes from 2 Samuel 5, although 2 Samuel 6 has been quoted already in 1 Chronicles 13. This and other problems led John Wright, for example, to conclude that the existence of an ark narrative, running from 1 Chronicles 13–16, is negated by “the intrusive role of 1 Chronicles 14”.24 21 See

again our discussion in § 6.3.3, where some of these aspects were briefly introduced. Rost was the first to postulate the existence of an independent ark narrative which can be witnessed in 1 Sam 4–6, and which can be dated to the late Davidic or early Solomonic era. See Leonhard Rost, Die Überlieferung von der Thronnachfolge Davids, BWANT 42 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1926). Others who have followed in these lines are: Franz Schicklberger, Die Ladeerzählungen des ersten Samuel-Buches, Forschung zur Bibel 7 (Würzburg: Würzburg, University, 1973); Antony F. Campbell, The Ark Narrative, 1 Sam 4–6, 2 Sam 6: A Form-Critical and Traditio-Historical Study, SBLDS 16 (Missoula: Scholars, 1975); Patrick D. Miller, The Hand of the Lord: A Reassessment of the “Ark Narrative” of 1 Samuel, Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977). For a good summary of more recent studies on the ark narrative, see Keith Bodner, “Ark-Eology: Shifting Emphases in ‘Ark Narrative’ Scholarship,” Currents in Biblical Research 4/2 (2006): 169–97; James M. Street, The Significance of the Ark Narrative: Literary Formation and Artistry in the Book of Chronicles, Studies in Biblical Literature 129 (New York: Peter Lang, 2009). 23 The Chronicler made extensive use of source material known from other biblical records. 2 Sam. 5:11–25 form the basis for the Chronicler’s chapter 14:1–16 (with 14:17 the Chronicler’s own material). The Chronicler furthermore used 2 Sam. 6:1–23, but in a very peculiar way. The Chronicler used vv. 1–11 of 2 Sam. 6 in his chapter 13 (in 13:5–14). In doing so, the sequence of 2 Samuel was changed, starting with the material from 2 Sam. 6 in chapter 13, and then following it up with material from 2 Sam. 5 in chapter 14. The rest of 2 Sam. 6 was used at the end of chapter 15 and the beginning of chapter 16 (in 15:25–16:3, parallel to 2 Sam. 6:12–19a) as well as at the end of chapter 16 (in 16:43, parallel to 2 Sam. 6:19b–20a). Some small sections of the source material in 2 Sam. 5 and 6 were omitted, namely 2 Sam. 6:12a and 20b–23, which have no parallel in Chronicles. 24 John W. Wright, “The Founding Father: The Structure of the Chronicler’s David Narrative,” Journal of Biblical Literature 117 (1998): 47. 22 Leonhard

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Wright sees 1 Chronicles 14:2 as the nexus between two greater narratives, the one running from 10:1–14:2 (“The Rise of the Founding Father”), the other from 14:3–22:1 (“The Reign of the Founding Father”). Tamara Eskenazi, however, came to another conclusion. On the basis of a literary analysis of inter alia verbal and compositional patterns, she comes to the conclusion that the Chronicler’s ark narrative highlights the following themes: “1. The utmost importance of the ark in particular and the cult in general; 2. The wide-ranging participation by the people of Israel in the cult and the life of the nation; 3. The importance, beauty, and joy of the cult; 4. The unique role and significance of the Levites.”25 She divides the narrative as follows on the basis of her literary analysis: 13:1–4 (“Objective defined: to bring the ark to Jerusalem”); 13:5–15:29 (“Process of actualization: the transfer of the ark”); and 16:1–43 (“Objective reached: celebration of the ark’s arrival in Jerusalem”). Although there is merit in Wright’s arguments about chapter 14, and although Eskenazi’s literary arguments for unity are sometimes unconvincing, it remains unlikely that the Chronicler envisioned chapters 13 and 15–16 respectively as separate units. The fact that 2 Samuel 6 was quoted in both these sections points in the direction of some sort of a compositional unity at least. In our opinion, the peculiar position of chapter 14 should be explained in another way. It might be that chapter 14 (quoting from 2 Sam. 5:11–25) was detached from its original position after 1 Chronicles 11:9 (quoting from 2 Sam. 5:1–3, 6–10). There the content of chapter 14 would have made good sense. If chapter 13 was directly followed by chapters 15–16 this would equally have created a direct connection with the unsuccessful attempt to bring the ark to Jerusalem (in chapter 13) followed by the further preparations and final bringing of the ark (in chapter 15). However, since there is no additional support for such a textual order in any of the other versions, this proposal remains hypothetical. What remains plausible, however – and this brings us to the first of the three issues that are of special significance for this section – is the explanation of the present position of chapter 14 as a deliberate attempt by the Chronicler to present the bringing of the ark to Jerusalem, on the one hand, and the capturing of the city, on the other, as David’s first acts as king after his coronation.26 As Klein 25 Tamara

C. Eskenazi, “A Literary Approach to Chronicles’ Ark Narrative in 1 Chronicles 13–16,” in Fortunate the Eyes That See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebra­ tion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Astrid B. Beck (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 262. 26 Although there might be good (compositional-historical) reasons to transpose this chapter to another position, the effect of the present form of the text is to provide an interlude during which the significance of the previous episode can be digested by the reader, but also to prepare the way for the successful bringing of the ark to Jerusalem. This “two-stage” construction can also be seen in two other related and significant events. We see (later in the David-Solomon narrative) that the Chronicler deliberately described David’s reign as a time of preparation for the building of the temple under Solomon. In the history of the kings of Judah we see a similar construction with the Passover celebrations during Hezekiah’s reign that had to be postponed,

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puts it: “In Chronicles, the transfer of the ark to Jerusalem is David’s first act as king after his coronation in 11:1–3 // 2 Sam 5:1–3 and his capture of Jerusalem in 11:4–9 // 2 Sam 5:6–10. This provides one of several reasons why the Chronicler shifts 2 Sam 5:11–25 and its account of David’s building himself a house, the list of his family, and the account of his battles with the Philistines to a position between the two attempts to bring the ark to Jerusalem (at 1 Chr 14:1–17) rather than its position in 2 Samuel, where it precedes the first attempt to bring the ark to Jerusalem.”27 The Chronicler’s re-arranging of his source materials makes clear that he wants to emphasise the association of Jerusalem with Davidic kingship. This sequence of events in the Chronicler’s historiography gets special significance in the late Persian context in which Jerusalem had to re-establish itself as cultic centre for All-Israel. The second matter to which we would like to call attention is the prominence that is afforded in the ark narrative to the Levites.28 The actual bringing of the ark to Jerusalem comprises only a small part of the narrative (15:25–16:3), with the remainder of chapters 15 and 16 dedicated to descriptions of David’s preparations, as well as the appointment of clergy and other staff to minister before the ark. The Chronicler’s use of source material is quite interesting here, as can be seen from the following tabular description of the structure of 1 Chronicles 15–16: Reference

Content

Parallel

15:1–24

Levites and Levitical responsibility

——

15:25–16:3

Bringing of the ark to Jerusalem

2 Sam 6:12–19a

16:4–7

Appointment of singers to praise Yahweh before the ark

——

16:8–36

Song of Praise sung by the Levites

Ps 105:1–15 (in 16:8–22); Ps 96:1b–13a (in 16:23–33); Ps 106:1b, 47–48 (in 16:34–36)

16:37–42

Appointment of further singers, as well as priests and gatekeepers for Gibeon

——

16:43

Conclusion

2 Sam 6:19b–20a

with the “right” celebration only taking place during the time of Josiah (for further discussion, see Louis C. Jonker, “Completing the Temple with the Celebration of Josiah’s Passover?” Old Testament Essays 15/2 [2002]: 381–97; Louis C. Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles: Late Stages of the Josiah Reception in II Chr. 34f [Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003]). The Chronicler thereby closely associated these three themes, namely the ark of the covenant, the Temple and the Passover celebration. 27 Klein, 1 Chronicles, 330. 28 See also Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 98–115.

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It seems that his usage of 2 Samuel 6 was intended to enclose the whole episode. The actual ark procession is described in 1 Chronicles 15:25–16:3 (with 2 Sam 6:12–19a as parallel) and the conclusion of the episode is narrated in 16:43 (with 2 Sam 6:19b–20a as parallel – as discussed earlier in § 6.3.3). Three other sections are enclosed by these quotations from 2 Samuel 6: first, in 16:4–7 (without parallel in other biblical literature) the appointment of singers to praise Yahweh before the ark; second, a song of praise sung by the Levites (composed from three excerpts from the Psalter);29 and third, 16:37–42 (again, without parallel in biblical material) in which further singers are appointed, as well as priests and gatekeepers for the ministry at the tabernacle at Gibeon. The part of the narrative preceding the Chronicler’s creative use of source materials, that is, 1 Chronicles 15:1–24 (which belongs to the Chronicler’s own material), is mainly dedicated to the Levites and Levitical responsibilities. This first part relates well to the Sondergut sections in 16:4–7 and 16:37–42, where the appointment of (Levitical) singers is also the main focus, as well as to the Song of Praise in 16:8–36 which – according to the Chronicler – was sung by Levites. The bringing of the ark to Jerusalem is therefore embedded in texts which give prominence to the Levites. This is also emphasised by the fact that the Chronicler states explicitly in 15:26 that the Levites (helped by Elohim!) were the bearers of the ark. Although the Chronicler relies here on his source text in 2 Samuel 6, the explicit mentioning of the Levites as bearers stems from the Chronicler’s hand. The suggestion is thus that the second bringing of the ark to Jerusalem was successful, because Levites were involved in its transportation.30 29 The hymn in the centre of chapter 16 plays an important role (see my discussion in Louis C. Jonker, “The Chronicler Singing Psalms: Revisiting the Chronicler’s Psalm in 1 Chronicles 16,” in “My Spirit at Rest in the North Country” (Zechariah 6.8): Collected Communications to the XXth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, Helsinki 2010, ed. Hermann Michael Niemann and Matthias Augustin [Frankfurt: Peter Lang Pub Incorporated, 2011], 115–30). By using poetic source materials for the construction of his hymn, the Chronicler creates a pause in the progress of the narrative to let the theological significance of the event sink in. As Kirsten Nielsen puts it: “(A)t the moment when Asaph and his associates begin singing the song, there is a pause in the progress of events. Prose continues the story; poetry creates a standstill. This, however, does not mean that the psalm leaves the audience untouched or unchanged, for the psalm has been placed in the middle of the narrative about the ark arriving in Jerusalem. It is especially at this point that it is necessary to clarify who captured Jerusalem, and a hymn is suitable for this purpose” (“Whose Song of Praise? Reflections on the Purpose of the Psalm in 1 Chronicles 16,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture, ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie, JSOTS 263 [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999], 333). This view is echoed in the conclusion of Doan and Giles’s study: “In the context of the narrative dialectic, the Chronicler presents, in song, an iconic interlude, one that allows the spectators to embrace an identity and a history. Their participation in the song allows the Chronicler’s audience to claim the identity of past heroes as their own identity” (“The Song of Asaph: A Performance-Critical Analysis of 1 Chronicles 16: 8–36,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 70/1 (2008): 43. 30 It is unclear who the carriers of the ark were in the first attempt, because the subject of the

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The third and last aspect that should be emphasised here with regard to the Chronicler’s ark narrative is the peculiar use of the phrase “the ark of the covenant of Yahweh.” The full expression ‫( ארון ברית־יהוה‬or alternatively, ‫ארון‬ ‫ ברית־האלהים‬in the case of 1 Chron. 16:6) occurs twelve times in Chronicles. In two cases (2 Chron. 5:2, 7 as part of the Solomon narrative, where the ark is brought to the newly-built temple) it was taken over verbatim from the source text (1 Kgs. 8:1, 6). In five cases (1 Chron. 16:6 [in the alternative form], 37; 22:19; 28:2, 18) it belongs to the Chronicler’s Sondergut. In the remaining five cases (1 Chron. 15:25, 26, 28, 29; 17:1) the Chronicler modified the shorter version of the source texts (‫ ארון־האלהים‬in the case of 2 Sam. 6:12 and 7:2; ‫ ארון־יהוה‬in the case of 2 Sam. 6:13, 15, 17) towards formulating the full phrase ‫ארון ברית־יהוה‬. The usage of the full expression “the ark of the covenant of Yahweh” is remarkable, because there were no compelling formal reasons for the Chronicler to use the full collocation. The shorter expressions ‫ ארון יהוה‬and ‫ ארון האלהים‬both occur elsewhere in Chronicles (the first in 1 Chron. 15:3, 12, 14; 16:4; 2 Chron. 8:11, and the latter in 1 Chron. 13:3, 5, 6, 7, 12, 14; 15:1, 2, 15, 24; 16:1; 2 Chron. 1:4). It therefore seems that the insertion of ‫ ברית‬into the expression (or alternatively, the usage of the full expression in the Chronicler’s own material) in the ark narrative probably signifies some special rhetorical function. It is remarkable that the majority of the newer commentaries on Chronicles (published since 2000) do not make any mention of the fact that the Chronicler constantly inserted the word ‫ ברית‬into the textual material in 1 Chronicles 15–16 which was taken over from the source text in 2 Samuel 6.31 Tuell, McKenzie, Dirksen and Boda do not discuss this matter at all,32 while Knoppers briefly comments on 1 Chronicles 15:25 as follows: “That the Chronicler deliberately changed Samuel’s terminology … is doubtful, because he does not show any consistent preference for this locution elsewhere.”33 Klein focuses on this peculiarity, however, when he states: “Only now, as the account of the last stage of the ark’s movement begins, and with the Levites finally carrying the ark, does the Chronicler call it the ‘ark of the covenant of Yahweh’ in harmony with Deut 10:8. Six of the twelve uses of this phrase in Chronicles occur in this context … Where the passages have a parallel in the Vorlage, in each case the Chronicler added the word ‘covenant.’ For the Chronicler the ark is the symbol of the covverb in 13:17 is not specified. See Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed. (New York: Doubleday, 2004), 586–587, 617–618. 31 The same applies to the older commentary of Sara Japhet (I&II Chronicles, 291–324). 32 See Steven S. Tuell, First and Second Chronicles, Interpretation (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 54–70; McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 142–153; Dirksen, 1 Chronicles, 204–229; Mark J. Boda, 1–2 Chronicles, Cornerstone Biblical Commentary (Carol Stream: Tyndale House, 2010), 137–151. 33 Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 610.

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enant relationship between Yahweh and Israel and also the symbol of Yahweh’s presence in Jerusalem …”34 Another study which is important for our purposes is that by Tamara Eskenazi.35 She remarks: Until the Levites carry the ark, it is identified as the ark of God or ark of YHWH. Once the Levites are specifically appointed to carry the ark and actually do so, the terminology changes. Now, for the first time in Chronicles, the ‘ark of the covenant’ occurs. The transformation takes place in 15:25. Not only does the term ‘ark of the covenant of YHWH’ suddenly appear, but it also recurs with astonishing frequency: four times in the immediate four verses … Indeed, of the twelve occurrences of the expression ‘ark of the covenant’ in all of Chronicles, six are concentrated in our section, after the Levites carry the ark and bring it to Jerusalem [italics in original – LCJ].36

Eskenazi continues to formulate her theory on this rather dramatic transformation of the ark into the ark of the covenant: I suggest that at the surface level of the text, the Levites – not the ark itself – are perceived as the actual bearers of the covenant. Only when the two combine – when the Levites and the ark meet – does the ark constitute a covenantal symbol. … [I]t is inevitable that one recognize the Levites, not the ark alone, as the vehicle of God’s covenant.37

In summary then, the Chronicler’s ark narrative emphasises the connection between Jerusalem and the first acts of King David to establish his kingdom; it emphasises the role of the Levites in bringing the ark to Jerusalem; and it emphasises that the Levites are the covenant bearers who are inextricably related to service in Jerusalem’s sanctuary. All these aspects contribute significantly to the Chronicler’s portrayal of this one part of the priestly elite in Jerusalem during his own time.

34 Klein, 1 Chronicles, 356. Van den Eynde also pays attention to this matter when she relates the insertion of the term ‫ ברית‬into the notion of David’s kingship: “The stories of the ark structure in the overall story and provide a setting for the development of the Chronicler’s view on kingship. The usage of ‫ ברית‬in the naming of the ark can meaningfully be interpreted against the background of the divine ‫ ברית‬promises to David. Both the additions and adaptations of the collocation and of the references to the divine ‫ ברית‬promises to David are linked with David” (“Chronicler’s Usage of the Collocation ‫ארון ברית יהוה‬,” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 113 [2001]: 430). Ralph Klein differs from Van den Eynde. In his discussion of the addition of the word “covenant” in 1 Chron. 15:25 he states: “I do not think her thesis that this term must be connected to the covenantal promises to David is convincing. Rather, the ark functions to demonstrate Yahweh’s presence in the sanctuary, … and it is called ‘the ark of the covenant’ because it contains the two tablets of the law … The ark in Chronicles combines therefore the older meaning of the ark as symbolizing God’s presence and the Deuteronomic interpretation that it is a box to hold the tablets of the law, without Deuteronomy’s polemic against the view of the ark as symbolizing God’s presence” (1 Chronicles, 356 fn. 50). 35 Eskenazi, “A Literary Approach to Chronicles’ Ark Narrative in 1 Chronicles 13–16.” 36 Ibid., 270. 37 Ibid., 270–271.

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7.3.2 Again, Zadok the Priest (12:29; 15:11; 16:39; 29:22) We have already discussed the occurrence of Zadok in the Chronicler’s genealogies above in § 7.2.2. Our focus shifts now to Zadok’s presence in the David narrative. The name Zadok appears in nine places in the corpus of 1 Chronicles 10–29, namely in 12:29; 15:11; 16:39; 18:16; 24:3, 6, 31; 27:17; 29:22. All these are in Sondergut passages, except 18:16, which relies on 2 Sam. 20:25 albeit in a changed form.38 The section in 12:24–41 narrates the military support that David received at Hebron from the different tribes. It is indicated in verse 27 that 4,600 men equipped for war came from the Levites, while the next verses specifies that Jehoiada “the leader of the house of Aaron” brought additional men (v. 28) as well as Zadok, “a valiant young warrior” (v. 29). The military context is troublesome here and there is no reference to his priestly status. Klein remarks, however: While Zadok is not identified as a priest here, the Chronicler makes no effort to distinguish him sharply from Zadok the priest. … [T]hese verses may not be ancient and in any case would add very little or no historical information to the already somewhat obscure history of Zadok. These verses merely provide an opportunity for the Chronicler to introduce Zadok. If these verses, or at least v. 29, do have some historical basis, it could clarify how Zadok rose to the position as David’s chief priest by recording that he was involved with David as a military supporter already during David’s Hebron days.39

In 15:11 we find the account of the second attempt to bring the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem (see our discussion above in the previous subsection). It is indicated that “David called Zadok and Abiathar the priests, and the Levites” (who are specified by name), and ordered them to consecrate themselves in order to bring the ark to Jerusalem. It is interesting that verses 12–13 address the Levites (“you are the heads of the fathers of the Levites”), but the continuation in verse 14 indicates that both the priests and Levites consecrated themselves for the task.40 Verse 15 lets the Levites alone carry “the ark of God just as Moses had commanded.” This section therefore gives an ambiguous portrayal of the in38 Whereas 2 Sam. 20:25 has the phrase “Zadok and Abiathar were priests,” the Chronicler changed it into “Zadok son of Ahitub and Ahimelech son of Abiathar were priests.” The information provided in Chronicles is problematic. Klein (1 Chronicles, 388) explains: “Ahimelech as the son of Abiathar is a historically inaccurate genealogical reference, derived from 2 Sam 8:17, and is reflected also in 1 Chr 24:6, where Ahimelech is mentioned as the son of Abiathar, and in 24:3, where Ahimelech is listed as a priest in the time of David. In 15:11 and 27:34, however, both without a parallel in Samuel, Abiathar does function as David’s priest.” See also the discussion in Knoppers (I Chronicles 10–29, 705). 39 Klein, 1 Chronicles, 323. 40 Klein (Ibid., 353) therefore concludes: “The term ‘Levites’ in Chronicles normally refers to those clergy who are second in rank to the priests, but it also is used in a wider sense, as here, to designate all clergy, including the Aaronides, who were also descended from Levi. Note that both the priests and Levites sanctified themselves to bring up the ark of Yahweh according to v. 14, which supports the wider meaning of ‘Levites’ here.”

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volvement of Zadok, Abiathar and possibly other priests. It remains significant, however, that – although the bringing of the ark is closely associated with the Levites – Zadok and Abiathar are not excluded from the operation. We mentioned in our discussion in a previous section (§ 6.3.3) that Chronicles has Zadok bringing the burnt offerings to the sanctuary in Gibeon (16:39), together with some Levitical families who served as singers and musicians (16:40–41). There we interpreted this occurrence as a confirmation of the status of Gibeon, a Benjaminite sanctuary, in parallel to that of Jerusalem. Gibeon was the place where the Tabernacle was kept before it was moved to the Temple in Jerusalem during Solomon’s time. Some commentators are of the opinion that this information about the high place at Gibeon was given here in order to explain why Solomon later still made pilgrimages to Gibeon (see 2 Chron. 1:3–7). What is important to note for our present discussion is that both the Zadokites and Levitical families are associated with the Tabernacle at Gibeon and that both served in the sanctuary there. However, like elsewhere, the distinction is made between the Zadokites bringing the burnt offerings “according to what was written in the law of Yahweh,” while the Levites served in a minor capacity as musicians. The next four occurrences (24:3, 6, 31; 27:17) all occur in the Sondergut section in 1 Chronicles 23–27, where the division and duties of priests and Levites in David’s time are presented. Since our discussion below (§ 7.3.4) will focus on that section, these texts will rather be dealt with there. The last occurrence of Zadok in the David narrative is in 29:22, where it is indicated (again in a Sondergut passage) that Zadok was anointed as priest on the same occasion when Solomon was made king. This information comes as a surprise, because the previous narratives had already indicated that Zadok served as priest under David’s reign. Klein’s speculation that this indication “might … be an attempt to emphasize the joint roles of king and priest known from other post-exilic passages” seems attractive.41 In the absence of a king in Jerusalem during the Persian period, we know that a diarchic form of administration developed (as witnessed, for example, in Haggai where the governor Zerubbabel and the priest Jeshua are indicated to be the leaders of the community in Jerusalem). If this interpretation is correct, it seems significant that the Chronicler saw Zadok (and therefore the Zadokite priesthood) as the second arm of the leadership in Jerusalem. In summary, the occurrences of Zadok in the David narrative mostly serve the function of confirming the priestly status of this part of the priesthood, putting 41 Another possible interpretation mentioned by Klein (Ibid., 541), and supported by Knoppers (I Chronicles 10–29, 956), is that the text in 29:22 is a reflection of the fact that, according to 1 Kings, the priestly power was consolidated in Zadok only in the time of Solomon after Abiathar was banished to Anathoth (1 Kgs. 2:35).

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the priests on a par with the Levites (although the distinction is upheld that the Zadokites were the ones who performed the burnt offerings and not the Levites).

7.3.3 Jerusalem, Yahweh’s Abode Forever (23:25–26) Although the greater section of the David narrative which focuses on the division and duties of the Levites and priests (1 Chron. 23–27) will be discussed below (§ 7.3.4), one specific reference should be highlighted separately. In a Sondergut section (23:25–32) describing the Levites’ duties in the future temple (according to the narrative line), it is announced (in v. 26) that the Levites no longer had to carry the tabernacle (‫ )משכן‬and the instruments for its service. The motivation for this change of duty is given in the previous verse where it is stated:42 “For David said: ‘Yahweh the God of Israel has given rest (‫ )נוח‬to his people, that he might reside (‫ )שכן‬in Jerusalem forever.’” We know from other sections in Chronicles that the Levites used to carry the ark of the covenant, but not “the tabernacle.” This confusion is probably witness to the composite character of the literature here, but it also reminds one of the information in Numbers 3:21–37 and 10:17, which note that Levite families had special duties regarding the tabernacle.43 The point to be noted here, however, is that the Temple in Jerusalem is seen as the abode of Yahweh which stands as sign of the “rest” that Yahweh has given to his people. This allusion is very well attuned with the Chronicler’s emphasis on rest and peace. The wordplay between “reside” (‫ )שכן‬and “tabernacle” (‫ )משכן‬furthermore associates the change of the Levites’ duties with the “rest” that Yahweh has given and of which the Temple is a symbol. These words would have been meaningful in the Chronicler’s own time, when Levites formed a prominent part of the cultic establishment in the Jerusalem temple. This text not only gives theological legitimation for the Levites’ role in the cult, but also confirms the eternal association that Yahweh has with the Temple in Jerusalem.

7.3.4 Division and Duties of Levites and Priests (23–27) In the past the majority of studies on 1 Chronicles 23–27 focused on the history of origin of these chapters.44 Questions such as “What sources underlie these 42 See Christo H. J. Van der Merwe, Jackie Naudé, and Jan Kroeze, Biblical Hebrew Reference Grammar (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 317, § 41.4/5.2 iii. 43 See the discussion in McKenzie, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 187–188. 44 See John W. Wright, “From Center to Periphery: 1 Chronicles 23–27 and the Interpretation of Chronicles in the Nineteenth Century,” in Priests, Prophets and Scribes: Essays on the For-

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chapters?” and “What redaction processes can be detected in this literature?” formed the main point of interest of many Chronicles scholars. Klein summarises three basic positions taken in the debate on the origin of these texts.45 First, some scholars (such as Welch, Noth, Rudolph, Mosis and Braun) considered all of the lists in chapters 23–27 to be secondary. Second, some scholars (such as Williamson, Allen and De Vries) argued that certain lists are original, but others belong to a secondary level. A third position taken by some scholars (such as Japhet, Klein and Knoppers) is the originality of all or almost all lists. Knoppers, for example, argues: “1 Chronicles 23–27, no less than other materials in Chronicles depicting the careers of David and Solomon, contribute to a larger picture of the United Monarchy as a golden age for the people of Israel.”46 More recently, particularly through the work of Wright and Knoppers,47 scholars have started moving away from a preoccupation with sources and redactions, and have shifted their attention to the social, political and religious concerns reflected in the final composition.48 Knoppers states: One unfortunate consequence of this preoccupation with sources and redactions over the course of the past two centuries is that the larger picture becomes lost as scholars focus on the origins and date of individual textual fragments. I wish to return to the social, political, and religious concerns raised by these chapters, specifically, how the materials relating to administrative appointments made at the close of David’s reign contribute to the larger picture of his legacy.49

Wright has a similar point of view: 1 Chr 23–27 is not marginal to the Chronicler’s Davidic narrative. The passage and its characters do not interrupt the narrative, but complete the story. David, ever the good king, arranges and orders his kingdom down to the last detail in preparation for his death and mation and Heritage of Second Temple Judaism in Honour of Joseph Blenkinsopp, ed. Philip R. Davies and Robert P. Carroll (New York: Bloomsbury, 1992), 20–42. 45 Klein, 1 Chronicles, 445–447. 46 Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 798. 47  See John W. Wright, “Guarding the Gates: 1 Chronicles 26:1–19 and the Roles of the Gatekeepers in Chronicles,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 48 (1990): 69–81; John W. Wright, “The Legacy of David in Chronicles: The Narrative Function of 1 Chronicles 23–27,” Journal of Biblical Literature 110/2 (1991): 229–42; Wright, “From Center to Periphery: 1 Chronicles 23–27 and the Interpretation of Chronicles in the Nineteenth Century”; Gary N. Knoppers, “Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors? The Levites in Chronicles and the History of the Israelite Priesthood,” Journal of Biblical Literature 118/1 (1999): 49–72. See also Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion. 48 See also my contribution on which I rely in this section: Louis C. Jonker, “David’s Officials according to the Chronicler (1 Chronicles 23–27): A Reflection of Second Temple Self-Categorization?,” in Historiography and Identity (re)formulation in Second Temple Historiographical Literature, ed. Louis C. Jonker (New York: T & T Clark International, 2010), 65–91. Sias Meyer studies some priestly literature with the same question in mind. See Esias E. Meyer, “Divide and Be Different: Priestly Identity in the Persian Period,” Hervormde Theological Studies 68/1 (2012): 54–60. 49 Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 789.

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Solomon’s accession. 1 Chr 23–27 emerges as a pivotal passage within the Chronicler’s account of the reign of David.50

Our analysis here takes the same direction as that suggested by Wright and Knoppers, but eventually wants to go a further step by asking why this specific portrayal of the priestly and Levite divisions was included in the Chronicler’s David narrative. Our intention is therefore not only to ask what role this section plays in this particular historiographical portrayal of David, but also to reflect on what this section contributed rhetorically to the discourses in the Chronicler’s own time.51 The present form of 1 Chronicles 23–27 portrays a discourse on what it means to be of Levitical descent.52 Before discussing this textual complex, the following distinction made in the description should, however, be noted: a distinction is made between the use of the term “Levite” in the generic sense, and in a more technical sense for a specific faction in the cultic personnel. This distinction is taken over from Joachim Schaper’s work. Schaper convincingly indicates that one should distinguish between a more generic use of the term “Levite” (referring to the tribal background of a part of Judean society), as distinct from a more technical use (referring to a specific part of the temple clergy).53 This distinction proves to be very helpful for understanding the organisation of the Levites provided in 1 Chronicles 23–27.54 The table below presents a summary of the divisions indicated in 1 Chronicles 23–27.55 It will assist the reader in following the description of this textual complex below. 50 Wright, “The Legacy of David in Chronicles: The Narrative Function of 1 Chronicles 23–27,” 233. 51 Labahn also moves in this direction in her study. See particularly Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 366–393. 52 Hartmut Gese’s study on the history of the Levitical priesthood was used by many scholars to explain the present section. See Hartmut Gese, “Zur Geschichte der Kultsänger am zweiten Tempel,” in Vom Sinai zum Zion: Alttestamentliche Beiträge zur biblischen Theologie (München: Chr. Kaiser, 1974), 147–58 (a reprint of his original 1963 article). Gese distinguished four stages of development in the Levitical phratries: (1) After the return from exile, the cultic singers were simply called “sons of Asaph” and were not yet regarded as Levites (Cf. Ezra 2:41 = Neh. 7:44). (2) During Nehemiah’s time, the singers were regarded as Levites and divided into two groups, the sons of Asaph and the sons of Jeduthun (Cf. Neh. 11:3–19; 1 Chron. 9:1–18). (3a) The Levitical singers were divided into three groups, Asaph, Heman and Jeduthun (Cf. 1 Chron. 16:37–42; 2 Chron. 5:12; 29:13–14; 35:15). (3b) Three groups remain, but Jeduthun was eventually replaced by Ethan, and Heman became more prominent than Asaph (Cf. 1 Chron. 6:31–48; 15:16–21). See also the later study by Knoppers, “Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors?” 53 Schaper, Priester und Leviten, 294–295. 54 See also Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 260–273; 337–361. 55 Adapted from Louis C. Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, Understanding the Bible Commentary Series (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2013), 149.

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Generic Levites – General introduction (23:3–5) – 38,000 total – In continuity with ancestral past – Introduction according to families (23:6–24, 27) – Davidic kingship forms basis for division Aaronides (associated with cultic Levites) – Division on authority of David (plus Zadok and Ahimelech) – Functions of Aaronides (24:1–19) – Functions of (cultic) Levites (23:25–26, 28–32) – 24,000 total (see 23:2–5) – Duties assigned by Yahweh

Rest of Generic Levites – Division on authority of David (plus Zadok and Ahimelech) – Overview (24:2–31) – Musicians (25:1–31) – 4,000 (see 23:2–5) – Gatekeepers (26:1–19) – 4,000 (see 23:3–5) – Other officials – 6,000 (see 23:3–5) Treasurers (26:20–32) Commanders (27:1–15) Officers (27:16–22) Interlude (27:23–24) Storehouse keepers (27:25) Farm workers (27:26–31) Counsellors (27:32–34a) Commander (27:34b)

The text indicates that King David assembled before him certain categories from the city elite: commanders of Israel, the priests and the Levites (presumably used here in a technical sense). These are the groups that are also represented when the Aaronide divisions are made (cf. 24:3), as well as the division of the rest of the Levites (generic) (cf. 24:31). The text dealing with the census in 23:3–5 introduces four categories of Levites (generic), namely those who had to conduct the work in the house of Yahweh (24,000 in number), the officers and judges (6,000), gatekeepers (4,000) and musicians (4,000). The division into these four groups is done by David analogically to the Levite families (generic), going back to Levi. Three families are mentioned, namely Gershon, Kohath and Merari (23:6–24, 27). The way that the tripartite family division relates to the fourfold function division is not explained in the text. However, the aim of the census and division is indicated to be that all the Levites (generic) were to do the work for service in the house of Yahweh. In the Kohathite family description the focus is placed on Aaron (23:13). Aaron’s line is not mentioned, since they were set apart for very specific functions in the cult. The new dispensation announced by David for the Levites (technical) explicitly puts them in close association with the Aaronides by indicating that they had to assist them in various duties in the sanctuary (23:25–26, 28–32).

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Although the view could be accepted that this relationship does not entail subordination, a distinction of function is clear.56 The Levite (technical) tasks did not include service at the altar. Although chapter 23 does not elaborate on the Aaronide line, 24:1–19 now focuses specifically on the Aaronides. David, together with Zadok and Ahimelech, organise them for their duties (24:3), and a whole entourage is present when the lots are cast to determine their twenty-four divisions (24:6). This entourage again includes – apart from David – commanders, Zadok the priest, Ahimelech the son of Abiathar, the heads of the ancestral houses of the priests and Levites (presumably technical). A Levite (technical) acts as scribe for the occasion. The whole procedure is completed according to how it was established for them by their ancestor Aaron, as the Lord God of Israel had commanded him (24:19). From 24:20 the division of the rest of the Levites (generic) takes place. It becomes clear from 24:31 that this division is presented in correspondence with the division of the Aaronides in 24:1–19. More or less the same entourage is also present at the casting of the lots for these Levites (generic). At this point it becomes clear that the Aaronides (together with the Levites [technical] who are closely associated with them) are actually the 24,000 mentioned in the opening census in 23:3–5. They are clearly those Levites (generic) who had to take charge of the work in the temple. Their division and function go back to David who, together with Zadok and Ahimelech, has assigned this function to them. They stand as one focal group among the Levites (generic), with the rest of the Levites (generic) who are discussed from 24:20–31 being the other focal group. What applies to the Aaronides (together with the Levites [technical]) in terms of their being appointed by David (with the cooperation of Zadok and Ahimelech) also applies to the rest of the Levites (generic). The following chapters then describe the rest of the Levites (generic) in more detail: chapter 25 focuses on the musicians (associated with the fourth group of 4,000 mentioned in 23:3–5), 26:1–19 on the gatekeepers (associated with the third group of 4,000 mentioned in 23:3–5) and 26:20–27:34 on various officials, judges, treasurers, commanders, and counsellors (associated with the second group of 6,000 mentioned in 23:3–5). This description in chapters 23–27 results in the following group differentiation: 56 Both Knoppers and Klein point out that the expression used here emphasises “a coordinate relationship” and not subordination. See Knoppers, “Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors?,” 59; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 455. According to them, subordination would have been indicated with the expression ‫( על־יד‬instead of the phrase ‫ ליד־בני אחרן‬in 23:28), which is used in quite a few instances in Chronicles. Dirksen does not agree with this view. He is of the opinion that the expression in 23:28 indeed denotes subordination. However, he continues: “Of course this does not mean less respect. The writer holds that priests and Levites both have their indispensable function within the order of the cult, while emphasizing only the prerogatives of the priests” (1 Chronicles, 286).

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(i) The Levites (generic) consist of two major groups, namely first the Aaronides (with the Levites [technical] closely associated with them) and secondly the rest of the Levites. The organization of both these groupings was done with Davidic authority and in the presence of other parties. (ii) Among those responsible for the original organization of both these groups were Zadok and Ahimelech (who are both indicated to be Aaronides and therefore Levites [generic]). The insinuation, it seems, is therefore that the adherents to the traditions of Zadok and Ahimelech (whatever that might have entailed) should realize that they were instrumental in legitimizing the status and functions of the different sections of the Levites (generic). (This point confirms that the Zadokites are not portrayed as a separate or rival priestly grouping here. Reference to “priests” in this context rather refers to Aaronides. However, the mention of Zadok shows the need during the time of origin of this text to emphasize that the Zadokites actually confirm – or, are supposed to confirm – the present cultic order.) (iii) The focus is very much on the Aaronides, whose position is certainly being bolstered by this discourse on self-categorization. They have been set apart for special functions in the temple service and liturgy. However, the Levites (here definitely in the technical sense) serve next to them, although a differentiation of function is clearly made. Of all the groupings mentioned in these texts, only the Aaronides (in 24:19) and the Levites (technical; in the direct speech in 23:25–26) are indicated as having received their function and assignment from Yahweh. (iv) The rest of the Levites (generic) consist of musicians, gatekeepers and all kinds of officials, commanders and counsellors. Although their organization also goes back to David and their ancestral past, Yahweh’s direct role in their assignment is not indicated. They are also clearly differentiated from the Levites (technical) who are associated with the Aaronides. This very complicated differentiation of groups and functions contributed significantly towards the Chronicler’s attempt to define the cultic community in Jerusalem.57 Although the narrative context places all these groups in the time of David, they are rather reflective of the cultic situation in the Chronicler’s own time in the late Persian period. The differentiations offered in this complex 57 Knoppers comes to the following conclusion about this section in Chronicles: “The emphasis on the complementary responsibilities of Levites and priests is not unique to this text [1 Chron. 23–27]. Other texts in Chronicles also present a collateral understanding of the relationship between priests and Levites. Moreover, there are parallels, as we have seen, between the duties described here and the duties of the Levites elsewhere in Chronicles. Whichever direction future discussions take, the present treatment may have at least one salutary effect. It may impel scholars, who speak of pro-Priestly or pro-levitical pro-Levitical? redactions of the Chronicler’s History, to be more careful in explaining exactly what they mean” (“Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors?,” 71–72).

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section are reflections of the power relations between the different cultic groups, as well as of their respective spheres of influence.

7.3.5 David’s Abundant Freewill Offerings for the Temple (29:1–9) After the division and duties of the cultic personnel were stipulated in 1 Chronicles 23–27, the Chronicler’s Sondergut narrative continues with a series of speeches by David in which he commits the building of the Temple to his son Solomon. This is followed (in 29:1–5) by a section which indicates that David continued his address to the whole assembly and that he announced his free-will offerings for the building of the Temple. It is explicitly stated that David made these contributions from his personal possessions, over and above the preparations that he had made for the building of the Temple, “because of his delight in the house of God” (29:3). The assembly then followed his example and, according to 29:6–9, also contributed abundantly to the cause. Commentators call attention to the fact that the giving of free-will offerings for the building of the Temple is not mentioned in the Deuteronomistic version in 1 Kings. The Chronicler probably had the construction of the Tabernacle in mind. According to Exodus 25:1–7 and 35:4–9, Yahweh ordered Moses to gather offerings for the Tabernacle.58 After Moses ordered the people to do so, they contributed. David, however, sets the example of generosity. We saw in our discussions in Chapter 3 (§ 3.4.1.3 and § 3.4.4) that the Temple in Jerusalem most probably had an economic function during the later Persian period, when the province Yehud was taxed by the Persian imperial centre. Within this context Klein’s remark makes sense: “[T]he Chronicler may well be using these words of David to persuade his own intended audience to be generous in their support of the temple.”59 This underlying motivation for adding the narrative about David’s free-will offerings to the Temple corresponds well with the tendency that we have also identified in the Levite genealogies (see § 7.2.1).

7.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9) 7.4.1 Priests and Levites Celebrate the Bringing of the Ark to the Temple (5:2–14) At the end of the previous episode (2 Chron. 5:1) the scene is set for the dedication of the temple. The following episode now deals with this great event, 58 See

e. g. Klein, 1 Chronicles, 531. 532.

59 Ibid.,

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253

which stands at the centre of the Chronicler’s reconstruction of the monarchical past. The dedication of the temple has different elements and is accompanied by speeches, prayers, sacrifices, music and a theophany. The whole description from 5:2 to 7:22 bears a liturgical character, as if the Chronicler wanted the reader of his history to experience the glory of the temple again and to re-enact the worship performed there. This would, of course, convey a clear message to the second temple cultic community of the Chronicler’s own day.60 The section in 5:2–14 corresponds closely to the source text in 1 Kings 8:1–11, although some alterations were made to the last part (namely 1 Chron. 5:11b–13a being an addition to 1 Kgs. 8:10–11).61 These alterations are typical of the Chronicler’s sentiments.62 The addition deals, first, with the consecration of the priests – a motif already encountered in 1 Chronicles 13, which describes the first, unsuccessful attempt to bring the ark to Jerusalem. The Uzzah incident has already underlined what may happen if humans trespass into divine territory. This theme is continued in 1 Chronicles 15, where David ordered “the heads of the Levitical families” to consecrate themselves before bringing the ark to the 60 Sara

Japhet describes the effect of the Chronicler’s text as follows: “The text of Kings does not describe the entrance of the priests into the inner shrine, the positioning of the ark and their safe exit as accompanied by any sort of ceremonial effect, with the exception of Solomon’s poetic proclamation honouring the descending of divine glory (I Kings 8.12–13). The Chronicler, quite to the contrary, regards this moment as the climax of the whole event and embellishes it with an impressive ceremonial performance of music, involving all the singers, Levites as well as priests. … It is only ‘when the song was raised’ – which punctually accompanies the exit of the priests – that the house is filled with the cloud. This musical accompaniment includes not only a vocal hymn of praise in the conventional formula – ‘praise to the Lord for he is good, for his steadfast love endures for ever’, but also string instruments, the sounding of trumpets and cymbals. Such a precise description probably reflects the musical ceremonies of the Chronicler’s own day, and the significance of music in the ritual of the Second Temple” (I&II Chronicles, 580–581. 61 Klein (2 Chronicles: A Commentary [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012], 73) discusses the different views on vss. 11b–13a. Some commentators are of the opinion that these verses are a secondary addition to vss. 11a and 13b–14. Klein concludes: “What is beyond question in any case is that the Chronicler has inserted between 1 Kgs 8:10a and 8:10b all of the materials in 2 Chr 5:11b–13a, spelling out the role of the musicians and their music that was played on this occasion” (Ibid., 74). 62 There are numerous similarities between 2 Chron. 5:2–14 and the account in 1 Chron. 15–16. The same verb was used in 1 Chron. 15:3 – with David as subject – to refer to the convening of All-Israel to bring the ark to Jerusalem. In the present section Solomon performs this role. The role of the Levites is also very similar in these sections. Particularly the Chronicler’s additional material in 2 Chron. 5:12–13a recalls the musical accompaniment described in 1 Chron. 15–16. The mention of the three Levitical families, Asaph, Heman and Jeduthun, is in line with the Chronicler’s tendency to give prominence to these families in the cultic celebrations. These references probably reflect the Chronicler’s own cultic situation. The praise song to Yahweh of the Levitical singers, “he is good; his love endures forever” – a phrase also well known from the Psalter – was already featured in 1 Chron. 16:34 and 16:41 as part of the celebration after the bringing of the ark to Jerusalem. For further discussion see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles.

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City of David. When the continuation of the ark’s journey once again becomes the theme of the narrative in the present episode, the Chronicler deems it very important to mention again that those who will be responsible for carrying the ark will have “consecrated themselves.” Second, the addition emphasizes the role of the Levites in providing the musical accompaniment during the ceremony (5:12–13a). The prominence of the Levites – already well known from the elaborate section in 1 Chronicles 23–27, where the organization of the Levites is explained – had already been emphasized by another small change to the source text in 2 Chronicles 5:4. There it is said that “the Levites took up the ark,” although the source text in 1 Kings 8:3 refers to “the priests” taking up the ark. The active role of the Levites is therefore emphasized in the Chronicler’s version. It is interesting to note, however, that the Chronicler kept the Deuteronomistic version in 2 Chronicles 5:7, which states that “the priests then brought the ark of the Yahweh’s covenant to its place in the inner sanctuary of the temple, the Most Holy Place.” The Chronicler therefore does not exclude the priests from this important task. Second Chronicles 5:5, which forms the transition from the Levites taking up the ark (5:4) to the priests bringing the ark (5:7), mentions that “the Levitical priests” (‫הכהנים‬ ‫ )הלוים‬did the carrying. This phrase represents another minute change (omission of the copulative) that the Chronicler made to his source text, which reads “priests and Levites” (‫)הכהנים והלוים‬. By identifying the priests who helped with the carrying as being of Levitical lineage, the Chronicler achieved his goal of highlighting the role of the Levites without omitting the priests from the occasion altogether. The addition in 5:11 of “regardless of their divisions” therefore also indicates that both priests and Levites had consecrated themselves, because both groups had to participate in the bringing of the ark to the temple. The priestly divisions, elaborately described in 1 Chronicles 23–27, are in the background here again (see the discussion in § 7.3.4 above). This example text shows that the Chronicler wanted to contribute to the discourse on different priestly factions that most probably characterized his own time. However, as we have seen in numerous other examples, the Chronicler did not take an exclusive stance for or against certain priestly groupings, but rather merged different factions into a reconciliatory disposition. We may assume that this text (like the remainder of Chronicles) did not primarily describe the historical situation in the First Temple, but rather contributed to the discourse during the second temple period. The text under discussion here may therefore be interpreted as a process of identity formation within the Jerusalem priesthood, where the Levites and (Zadokite) priests were envisaged as being in much closer proximity in terms of status and function compared to their portrayal in the Deuteronomistic version.

7.4 The Solomon Narrative (2 Chronicles 1–9)

255

7.4.2 The Levites Assist the Priests in the Offerings (7:6) Solomon’s prayer (in 2 Chron. 6:12–42) is followed by the report on the glory of Yahweh taking possession of the temple. This section draws strongly on 1 Kings 8:62–9:1, but with significant deviations. First of all, the three verses (2 Chron. 7:1–3) describing how the glory of Yahweh filled the temple are from the Chronicler’s own hand. The phrase “the glory of Yahweh” occurs three times in these verses, emphasizing that Yahweh’s presence has now become visible in the new temple. The description of the theophany accompanied by fire resembles the description of how “the glory of Yahweh” filled the tabernacle after its construction (see Exod. 40:34–38). The Chronicler emphasizes again that the temple stands in continuity with the tabernacle tradition. McKenzie, however, notices one small difference between the two portrayals: “In contrast to the tabernacle event where those who are present run away in fear, when the people in 2 Chron. 7:3 witness the divine activity, they are inspired to worship and give thanks.”63 The people react with the well-known phrase “he is good; his love endures forever.” The dramatic theophany is followed by the king and all the people offering twenty-two thousand head of cattle and a hundred and twenty thousand sheep and goats. The number of sacrificial animals mentioned in 7:5 is taken from the Deuteronomistic source text. The Chronicler continues, however, by providing additional information (in 7:6) about the cultic personnel who were involved: the priests took their positions, as did the Levites with Yahweh’s musical instruments. As in the previous example (described in § 7.4.1 above), it is not denied that the priests performed their appropriate duties, but the emphasis is on the Levites assisting them and providing the musical accompaniment for the occasion. The rest of the verse also blurs the functions of priests and Levites through the indication that “the priests blew the trumpets,” and not the Levites. Klein observes that “[t]he Chronicler consistently assigns trumpets to the priests,” as witnessed in 1 Chronicles 15:24; 16:6; 2 Chron. 5:12–13;13:12, 14; 29:26.64 When the trumpets of the priests sounded, ‫ כל־ישראל‬were standing – an expression emphasizing the inclusive concept of Israel again. As in the previous example above, the present text also portrays the Levites on a par with the (Zadokite) priests, without drawing the boundaries between these groupings too clearly. As in the previous case, this example also bears witness to the Chronicler’s more reconciliatory position between the different priestly factions of his own time.

1 & 2 Chronicles, 248. 2 Chronicles, 107.

63 McKenzie, 64 Klein,

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7.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36) 7.5.1 Priests and Levites from the North Support Rehoboam (11:13–17) The previous chapter discussed the Chronicler’s Rehoboam narrative (in § 6.5.2). There the focus was on how Judah and Benjamin feature in this narrative. A further section of that narrative also sheds light on how the Chronicler saw the roles of the priests and Levites. Second Chronicles 11:13–17, a section which belongs to the Chronicler’s own material, continues the trend set in the previous section, namely to provide a consolidated image of Rehoboam’s kingdom.65 It is simultaneously a polemic against the cult of the northern kingdom by narrating how some priests and Levites from all their districts throughout Israel defected from the north to the south. On the one hand, this is a confirmation that the royal cult in Jerusalem was still the only legitimate cult, but on the other hand, it indicated that Jeroboam’s worship was nothing more than idol veneration. He appointed his own priests for the high places and for the goat and calf idols he had made (11:15). The Levites – who we know play such an important role in the Chronicler’s understanding of the cult – even came to Jerusalem because Jeroboam and his sons had rejected them as priests of Yahweh (11:14).66 And these “priests and Levites” were not alone: they were joined by those from every tribe of Israel who set their hearts on seeking Yahweh, the God of Israel (11:16). Here the very important Chronistic concept of “seeking Yahweh, the God of Israel” occurs (in this case with ‫)בקש‬. In spite of the political trouble, Rehoboam’s reign became a time of consolidation for those who sought Yahweh in the cult in Jerusalem. “Seeking Yahweh” is the basic constituent of being Yahweh’s people. By showing this inclination, they were walking in the ways of David and Solomon (11:17). The continuation of the Davidic-Solomonic kingdom is not so much dependent on the political support of All-Israel as it is constituted when All-Israel is “seeking Yahweh.” A critical issue in this text is the change from “priest and Levites” in verse 13 to only “Levites” in verse 14. Willi and Williamson have taken verse 14a to be secondary,67 but Ralph Klein does not agree with that view: 65 For the full discussion on which the present subsection is based see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 208–205. 66 Sara Japhet interprets the Chronicler’s addition of the phrase “and his sons” in the following way: “[A]s is clear from the words ‘Jeroboam and his sons cast them out’, ‘his sons’ referring to all the following kings of northern Israel, the very separate existence of this kingdom will continue to prevent the priests and Levites from realizing their privilege and duty” (I&II Chronicles, 669). 67 Thomas Willi, Die Chronik als Auslegung: Untersuchungen zur literarischen Gestaltung der historischen Überlieferung Israels (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972), 211 n. 26; Hugh G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 243.

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257

The Chronicler breaks up ‘the priests and Levites’ from v. 13 by speaking chiastically first of the Levites and then of the priests. On the one hand, the clergy gave up their homes and their guaranteed income, and, on the other hand, they came because they had been prevented from carrying out their priestly (and Levitical) duties. The verse is paradoxical but true: the clergy came voluntarily to Jerusalem because they had been expelled from clerical service in the north. The idea of expulsion apparently arose from the Chronicler’s reading and interpretation of 1 Kgs 12:31–33. Those verses had merely stated that Jeroboam had built high places and appointed non-Levitical priests (v. 31), that Jeroboam had established an alternate date for the fall festival (v. 32), and that he himself had led the sacrifices dedicated to the calves and appointed at Bethel priests from the high places (v. 33)”68

The fact is that, as the text stands in its final form, the rest of the pericope after verse 14 has the Levites as antecedents. If Willi’s and Williamson’s view is accepted, it would seem that there was some deliberate attempt at an unknown stage to highlight the defection specifically of the Levites. We know from older studies that the Levitical traditions originally functioned in the northern kingdom, but that there was movement to Jerusalem after the destruction of Samaria in 722 B. C. E.69 This might have been an attempt to emphasise that the Levitical connection already goes back to the time of the schism, rather than the time when Israel ceased to exist. However, if Klein is correct that verse 14a is part of the Chronicler’s artful construction, and that no differentiation between priests and Levites is made here, the text still confirms that the northern traditions had already dissociated themselves from the northern cult at an early stage, and that their association with the Jerusalem temple goes back to the time of Solomon’s son, Rehoboam. This attempt to link the northern priestly and Levitical traditions to the temple in Jerusalem was probably a deliberate attempt to legitimise the participation of this clergy in the second temple.

7.5.2 Abijah’s Claim about the Priesthood in Judah (13:10–11) We have already dealt with some aspects of the Chronicler’s Abijah narrative in chapter 5 (§ 5.5.2), in connection with the relationship between Judah and Israel. In that discussion it was emphasised that the pericope in 13:4–12 draws a sharp distinction between the cults of the northern kingdom and that of the south. A 2 Chronicles, 174–175. e. g. Aelred Cody, A History of Old Testament Priesthood, AnBib 35 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1969); Philip R. Davies, Robert P. Carroll, and John W. Wright, eds., Priests, Prophets and Scribes: Essays on the Formation and Heritage of Second Temple Judaism in Honour of Joseph Blenkinsopp (New York: Bloomsbury, 1992); Joseph Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual Leadership in Ancient Israel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995). 68 Klein, 69 See

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similar polemic is thus made there as in the Rehoboam narrative discussed in the previous subsection. The speech of Abijah to the northern king Jeroboam narrated in 13:4–12 therefore serves to differentiate the south from the north. Another aspect of that narrative that should be highlighted in the present chapter, which deals with the Chronicler’s view of the cultic personnel, is the specific characterisation of the southern cult in 13:10–11. The Chronicler indicates in verse 10 that two groups are serving Yahweh in the temple in Jerusalem, namely the priests, who are Aaronides, as well as the Levites. The Levites are indicated to be “in the service.”70 The functions performed by these two groups are listed in the next verse, namely‫׃‬ They offer to the Lord every morning and every evening burnt offerings and fragrant incense, set out the rows of bread on the table of pure gold, and care for the golden lampstand so that its lamps may burn every evening; … (2 Chron. 13:11 – NRSV)

No differentiation is thus made between the respective tasks of the two groups, and they are portrayed by the Chronicler as having the same status. This is another indication that the Chronicler did not represent an exclusively pro-priestly or pro-Levite position.71 He rather portrays these clerical groups as being on the same level and working in cooperation with one another.

7.5.3 Levites (and Priests) Teaching the Torah (17:7–9) In Chapters 4 (§ 4.5.2) and 5 (§§ 5.5.2 and 5.5.3) we dealt with various aspects of the Chronicler’s Jehoshaphat narrative within the Persian imperial and provincial contexts, respectively. One further aspect of this narrative that needs our attention in the present chapter, which deals with the cultic context in Jerusalem, is 17:7–9 dealing with Jehoshaphat’s attempts to educate the people of Judah in the Torah of Yahweh. The text states that Jehoshaphat sent some officials (‫)שרים‬, together with some Levites and two priests (Elishama and Jehoram) to teach (‫ )למד‬in the cities of Judah.72 While various Pentateuch traditions (e. g. Lev. 10:11 and Deut. 70 MT has ‫במלאצת‬, while the LXX has ἐν ταῑς ἐφημερίαις αὐτῶν (thus with 3 m pl sf.). Klein is of the opinion that “[t]he final mēm was lost by haplography” (2 Chronicles, 193). However, this proposal does not take into account that the inclusion of the plural suffix makes a remarkable difference in terms of the relative positions of the priests and Levites. When the suffix is included, it might be understood that the Levites stood in the service of the priests (taking the priests as antecedent of the suffix). Without the suffix the text might be understood as the Levites having their own duties, equal to the duties of the priests. This would make sense in the light of verse 11, where no differentiation is made between priestly and Levite functions. 71 See Knoppers, “Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors?,” 70–71; Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 92. 72 Another instance in Chronicles where the teaching function of the Levites is highlighted is 2 Chron. 35:3 (in the Josiah narrative). However, another verb is used there, namely ‫ בין‬Hiph. “to bring to insight.” The object of teaching is not specified there, although the beneficiaries are

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259

31:9–13) make provision for priests to teach the Torah, it is noteworthy that the Chronicler includes other officials and some Levites in the list of people sent out by Jehoshaphat. Some literary-critical studies have attempted to give a diachronic explanation for this strange inclusion of the Levites in this context.73 However, this may rather reflect the Chronicler’s own time, when the difference in function between these groups started to become blurred.74 The object of teaching is indicated in verse 9, namely ‫ספר תורת יהוה‬. Ralph Klein indicates that “‘[t]he book of the law of Yahweh’ is probably a reference to the Pentateuch, and not some royal code.”75 Klein’s remark does of course not insinuate that the Pentateuch was already available during the time of king Jehoshaphat, but rather that the Chronicler fills in the narrative with realities of his own time, when the Pentateuch was probably already available in some stage of finalisation. While the Torah becomes much more prominent in the cultic community during the late Persian period, the Chronicler’s statement that the Levites were also consigned to teach the Torah would have had the effect of elevating the portrayal of this part of the clergy from those portrayals (also in the Torah) that regarded them as clerus minor. It thus seems that the Chronicler puts the Levites on a par with the other priests in this narration.

7.5.4 Priests and Levites Involved in Jehoshaphat’s Judiciary (19:4–11) A further example from the Chronicler’s Jehoshaphat narrative is the portrayal of the Levites being involved in the reorganized judiciary of king Jehoshaphat. indicated as ‫כל־ישראל‬. Japhet remarks about this verse: “The view of the Levites as teachers betrays the late date of the address; the role of ‘teaching’ had originally been that of the priests, who are almost by definition ‘teaching priests’ (II Chron. 15:3); tōrāh, which is their inheritance, literally means ‘teaching’. This role is also evidenced during the Persian period, as illustrated by Hag. 2.11; Zech. 7.3, and Mal. 2.7” (I&II Chronicles, 1047). Klein therefore rightly remarks: “Throughout this chapter the Chronicler increases the duties of the Levites and assigns them high honor. According to Neh 8:7, one of the duties the Levites performed was helping the people to understand (‫ )מבינים‬the Torah, which seems to be much like their identification here as instructors (‫ )המבינים‬of all Israel” (2 Chronicles, 519(. 73 Antje Labahn e. g. sees vss. 8a, 8bα, and 9a as later additions to the text that wanted to associate the Levites with the duty of teaching the Torah (Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 222. 74 Labahn does not exclude this possibility when she comes to the conclusion: “Die Chronik setzt hiermit neue funktionale and theologische Schwerpunkte; funktionale Schwerpunkte, indem eine Erweiterung um Schreib‑ und Lehrfunktionen geschieht, und theologische Schwerpunkte, indem die Leviten mit der Tora als der Urkunde des maβgeblichen göttlichen Willens betraut werden. Damit wird ein levitisches Gruppenporträt erzeugt, das eine Verflechtung von sakralen und profanen Funktionen impliziert und die Leviten in neue soziale Bereiche hineinführt. Mit dieser Positionierung der Leviten setzt die Sinnkonstruktion der Chronik neue Akzente gegenüber anderen alt. Schriften” (Ibid., 224–225). 75 Klein, 2 Chronicles, 251. See also Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 221–222.

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As part of the two-tiered judicial system that Jehoshaphat instituted, a central court was established in Jerusalem to deal with disputed cases. Verse 8 states that Jehoshaphat appointed “certain Levites, priests, and family heads of Israel” to give the judgment of Yahweh (‫)למשפט יהוה‬. Verse 11 indicates that Amariah, ‫כהן הרוש‬, was appointed to lead in matters concerning Yahweh, while Zebadiah, ‫הנגיד לבית־יהודה‬, had to take the lead in matters of the king. The Levites’ function is specified as ‫ושטרים הלוים לפניכם‬. Although the understanding is created in verses 8–10 that the Levites also acted as judges on the king’s command, it seems in verse 11 that the Levites were not put in a leadership position, but rather in a subordinate position, supportive of the duties of the head priest and the governor of the house of Judah. Ralph Klein remarks: The Levitical officials (‫ )שטרים‬no doubt would take care of administrative matters relating to the judiciary at Jerusalem. Japhet (776) raises the possibility that this may have been the sole function of the Levites, with the priests and the leaders of the ancestral houses performing the judicial duties in the strict sense of the word, but it is possible that Levites served in two capacities.76

Whereas we concentrated on the interpretation of this narrative in the Persian imperial context in Chapter 4 (§ 4.5.2) as a possible reflection of judicial reforms implemented during the Chronicler’s time, the present discussion rather takes the cultic context in Jerusalem as background. Within this latter context it seems significant that the Chronicler involves the Levites in the judiciary together with priests and family heads. As in the previous example discussed above, it seems that the position of the Levites was elevated to be on a par with other cultic and public leaders of the time.

7.5.5 A Levite as Prophet (20:14–17) This section in Chronicles is still part of the Chronicler’s Jehoshaphat narrative. We saw in earlier discussions (§§ 4.5.2; 5.5.2 and 5.5.3) that 20:1–30 belong to the Chronicler’s Sondergut, and that they contain a battle account. After the Moabites, Ammonites, and some Meunites had become a threat for Jehoshaphat of Judah, he prays to Yahweh to help him in this situation. A prophetic utterance forms the response to the king’s prayer in verses 14–17. All the signs are there that the Chronicler wanted his audience to understand this response as a true prophetic utterance. Not only does he indicate that the ‫רוח‬ ‫ יהוה‬came upon Jehaziel, who utters the prophetic message (vs. 14), but the message itself is introduced with the typical so-called Botenformel, that is, prophetic formula: ‫( כה אמר יהוה‬vs. 15). The position taken by Jehaziel, namely in 76 Klein, 2 Chronicles, 278. See also Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 273–280.

7.5 The Kingdom of Judah Narrative (2 Chronicles 10–36)

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the middle of the assembly (‫)קהל‬, is also a sign of an important message that is about to follow. The surprising element in this text, however, is the fact that Jehaziel is indicated to be a Levite. It is indicated that he was an Asaphite, and four generations are given in the introduction of this figure. It is unusual in Chronicles, but also in the rest of the Hebrew Bible, that a Levite acts in a prophetic capacity (although he is not explicitly called a prophet in this section). Klein furthermore points out that this is the only place in Chronicles where a Levite actually speaks.77 We indicated earlier that the employment of a Levite for a prophetic function might indicate that the Chronicler either favoured an expanded role for the Levites, or that at the time of the Chronicler the distinctive roles of Levites and prophets (and priests) were becoming increasingly blurred. Antje Labahn interprets this occurrence of a Levite as prophet as follows: Mit dieser Schilderung eines Leviten wird der zuvor genannte Aufgabenbereich von Leviten als Sänger / ​Musiker erweitert. Während die Beteiligung der Sänger / ​Musiker an der Szene auf die Darbietung von Gesang und Musik beschränkt ist, nimmt der Prophet eine andere Funktion wahr.78

Labahn further indicates that there might be connections between this text and 1 Chronicles 25:1–7, where it is indicated that the Levites (inter alia the sons of Asaph, like in the present text) had to prophesy (‫ )נבא‬with their musical instruments.79 However, in 1 Chronicles 25 there are no further indications of prophetic functions that had to be performed by the Levite groups. The case of Jehaziel in 2 Chronicles 20:14–17 therefore remains unique. This portrayal of Jehaziel the Levite might be a reflection of the Chronicler’s own days, as indicated above, but it could also be the Chronicler’s literary construction through which he wanted to elevate the profile of the Levites again. We saw in some of the previous examples discussed above that there is a tendency in Chronicles to portray the Levites as being on a par with the rest of the priesthood. The present example might be pointing in the same direction.

7.5.6 Uzziah not Allowed to Act as Priest (26:16–21) We have already dealt with the Chronicler’s Uzziah narrative in Chapter 5 (§ 5.5.3). Whereas the discussion there focused on the portrayal of the surrounding nations, the focus in the present subsection will be on the section about Uzziah’s pride. 77 Klein,

2 Chronicles, 289. Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 233.

78 Labahn, 79 Ibid.

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After the initial successes of king Uzziah of Judah (indicated with ‫ חזק‬in 26:16), he grew proud and apostasy (‫ )מעל‬became characteristic of his reign. Although the Deuteronomistic Vorlage in 2 Kings 15 also reported on Uzziah’s pride (and accused him of not getting rid of the heights on which the people still brought sacrifices), the Chronicler reconstructs this text with the addition of his own material in 26:16–20. In verse 21 he rejoins the source text. In the Chronicler’s version, Uzziah’s pride is described with two qualifications, namely he was committing apostasy (‫ )מעל‬against Yahweh his God, and he went into the temple of Yahweh to burn incense on the incense altar.80 The reader of Chronicles would know that proper cultic behaviour is of the utmost importance for this writer. This was already made very clear in the Uzzah narrative in 1 Chronicles 13. Uzzah (whose name remarkably resembles that of king Uzziah) touched the ark of the covenant while it was en route to Jerusalem, and Yahweh struck him dead for this transgression. Improper behaviour in the cult, such as a king performing the duty of a priest, is the most extreme example of unfaithfulness. Azariah the priest, together with eighty other courageous priests of Yahweh (vs. 17), confronted the king while he was preparing to burn incense on the altar of incense. Their accusation is crystal clear: “you have committed apostasy (‫מעל‬ again)” (vs. 18). While the king was still raging at the priests, leprosy broke out on his forehead (vs. 19). By mentioning the skin disease in 26:19–20, the Chronicler prepares the way to rejoin his source text in 2 Kings 15:5. There, without citing any background circumstances, the Deuteronomist writes that “Yahweh afflicted the king with leprosy until the day he died.” The Chronicler adds that the priests hurried him out of the temple and that the king himself was eager to leave, because Yahweh had afflicted him. As in the source text, 2 Chronicles 26:21 states that the king lived in a separate house, but the Chronicler adds that he was leprous and excluded from the temple of Yahweh. Whereas 26:15 ended with the fame of the king spreading over all the neighbouring areas, 26:21 ends with the king being expelled from the temple because of his pride. Sara Japhet interprets this narrative as follows: The central drama of the narrative seems to lie in the confrontation of King Uzziah / ​ Azariah, as head of state, with the high priest Azariah, head of the clergy. The Temple is the sanctified arena of this confrontation, in which the legitimate activity of the priest is trespassed by the king, effecting dangerous impurity. There is no physical conflict; the priest’s word of rebuke, and the king’s refusal to concede, are enough to activate the power of Temple sanctity. It is significant that the resultant contamination makes its appearance 80 For a discussion on how the technical term ‫ קטר‬should be understood in this context, see Klein, 2 Chronicles, 378. See also Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 183–189.

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on the forehead, the most conspicuous place on the king’s body, announcing his impurity to the world.81

This view confirms that the Chronicler wanted to construct opposition within the temple environment between, on the one hand, the priests who were commissioned by Yahweh to bring sacrifices of different types in the temple, and on the other, those people with political power who had no permission to perform the same duties in the temple. Whether this is a reflection of any real discourse in the Chronicler’s time is difficult to say. If this was the case, this text might be bold criticism against those in the late Persian-period context who wanted to perform cultic duties. However, with this novel element in the Uzziah narrative the Chronicler at least made clear that the clergy had sovereignty in the cultic domain. Their position may not be threatened by the interference of other (political) powers.

7.5.7 Hezekiah Appoints Levites for Temple Duties (29:3–36) We saw in Chapter 5 (§ 5.5.4) that the Hezekiah narrative is one of the most extensive in Chronicles.82 The Chronicler made very eclectic and limited use of his Vorlage in 2 Kings 18. For example, huge portions of narrative about the cleansing and rededication of the temple (2 Chron. 29:3–36) as well as about the celebration of the Passover (30:1–27) were inserted into his source material before he rejoined very briefly the source account in his description of Hezekiah’s reform measures in 31:1–21. Second Chronicles 29:3 opens quite a long section with the very elaborate temporal indication “in the first month of the first year of his reign.” The Chronicler wanted to portray this king as immediately starting to reform the cult after the devastating events of his father Ahaz’s reign.83 This “first year of his reign” is also the Chronicler’s primary interest. I&II Chronicles, 885. the full discussion on which the present section was based, see Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 267–280. 83 The historicity and extent of Hezekiah’s cultic reforms are disputed among modern-day scholars. For one version of this dispute, see Israel Finkelstein and Niel A. Silberman, “Temple and Dynasty: Hezekiah, the Remaking of Judah and the Rise of the Pan-Israelite Ideology,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 30/3 (2006): 259–85, as well as Diana Edelman’s response in “Hezekiah’s Alleged Cultic Centralization,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 32/4 (2008): 395–434. She offers the following conclusion, which opposes the view of Finkelstein and Silberman: “From a religious perspective, cult centralization would not have made sense under the monarchy … To deprive the national god of his outlying sanctuaries would have been tantamount to eliminating his claims to those lands, which his physical presence in sacred spaces would have symbolized … Yahweh Sebaot was conceived of as a national deity, not a universal deity; it was only with the emergence of Yahweh Elohim, after the loss of the monarchy, that Yahweh lost his specific ties to his former kingdoms of Israel and Judah; 81 Japhet, 82 For

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Whereas Ahaz closed the doors of the temple and started sacrificing “at every street corner in Jerusalem” (28:24), the new king opened the doors of the temple of Yahweh and repaired them (29:3). In the next sections the Chronicler indicates that Hezekiah prepared the way for extensive temple renovations. He gives a prominent role to the priests and the Levites in this whole endeavour. The king addresses them in the extensive direct speech in 29:5–11, opening with the words “listen to me, Levites”. This narrows the address to the Levites specifically, as becomes clear also from verse 12, where the Levites (and not the priests) respond to the king’s call.84 In his speech the king calls on them to perform two tasks: consecrate yourselves now and consecrate the temple of Yahweh, the God of your fathers (29:5). In 29:6–9 the Chronicler provides the historical reasons for Judah’s present disastrous state. It is clear that the description particularly refers to the evils of Hezekiah’s own father, Ahaz. These evils of the fathers are strongly expressed in 29:6: “our fathers were unfaithful” (‫“ ;)מעל‬they did evil in the eyes of Yahweh our God and forsook (‫ )עזב‬him” – again with two strong programmatic words in the Chronicler’s version of this statement. The intention of the king (29:10) is expressed clearly (“to make a covenant with Yahweh, the God of Israel”), and to do so, he calls upon the Levites, whom Yahweh has chosen to stand before him and serve him and bring offerings (29:11). The term used for “bring offerings” comes from the Hebrew root ‫קטר‬. Antje Labahn discusses the implications of the use of this verb at length: Zu [dem] theologischen Konzept gehört schlieβlich auch die Aussage, dass die Leviten opfern (V.11: ‫)קטר‬. Auffällig ist daran, dass die Leviten allein als diejenige Gruppe genannt sind, die opfern. Dabei wird mit √‫ קטר‬eine recht vage Formulierung benutzt. Dabei stellt sich allerdings die Frage, ob der Begriff generell jedwede Opferart meint, eine semantische Möglichkeit von ‫קטר‬, die in der Chronik auch in 2Chr 32,12 vorliegt, oder ob hier speziell an die Darbringung von Räucheropfern gedacht ist. Da im Kontext die Doppelwendungen ‫ עלה עולה‬und ‫ קטר קטרת‬vorkommen (V.7), ist anzunehmen, dass der blasse Terminus eines einfaches ‫ קטר‬bewusst vage gewählt worden ist, um keine der Möglichkeiten der Identifikation des Opfers auszuschlieβen. Die Wahl von ‫ קטר‬grenzt sich gegen die chr Stellen ab, die vom Brandopfer pars pro toto für die Opfer im Kult schlechthin reden, da dort als opferndes Kultpersonal Priester und Leviten genannt sind. it is at this time that the Deuteronomistic legislation envisioning a single temple would make ideological sense. It is only after the severing of the ties between Yahweh Sebaot and monarchic ideology in both kingdoms that the conception of this deity could be reshaped in the new empire environment” (Ibid., 429). If Edelman is correct in her assessment, it would reconfirm the view that the Chronicler’s (and for that matter, the Deuteronomist’s) literature was not primarily meant to reflect the historical circumstances of the monarchy on which he writes, but rather his own historical circumstances in the second temple period. 84 It may be that the term “Levites” is used in the generic sense here; see introduction to § 7.3.4 above. It would then involve both the priests and Levites. However, the response from the Levites alone in verse 12 creates the impression that only the Levites (technically speaking) are addressed here.

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Wenn hier die Leviten als Verantwortliche für Opferhandlungen bestimmt werden, muss ein anderer Begriff gewählt werden, um innerhalb der Schrift keine Kontradiktion zu schaffen. Wegen seiner vielfältigen Identifikationsmöglichkeiten kann ‫ קטר‬dennoch auf den gesamten Kult bezogen sein; das würde bedeuten, dass der Kult hier den Leviten zugeordnet wird. Damit wäre eine beinahe unerhörte Verschiebung der Verantwortung für den gesamten Kultbetrieb vorgenommen, die selbst in der Chronik, in der die Leviten vielfältig hervortreten, einzigartig wäre.85

We will return to Labahn’s view shortly. The response of the Levites is immediate (in 29:12–14) as they set to work. In a short genealogical section the names of those Levites who started working are provided. Three families who are already well known from the genealogies in 1 Chronicles 1–9 (see § 7.2.1), as well as from the section on David’s officials in 1 Chronicles 23–27 (see § 7.3.4), participate: Kohathites, Merarites and Gershonites. Of the next four groups mentioned in the list, three names are also well known as those of temple singers (Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun) (see again § 7.3.4). The actual cleaning is now described in 29:15–19. This was done as the king had ordered, following the word of Yahweh (29:15). In the description of the restoration of the temple, as well as in the report to the king that follows, the word consecrate (‫ )קדש‬is used four times – which underlines the programmatic nature of the Chronicler’s description. The temporal indications in 29:17 (“on the first day of the first month”; “by the eighth day of the month”; “for eight more days”; “finishing on the sixteenth day of the first month”) again confirm that the restoration of the temple forms the very basis of Hezekiah’s reign. With the report that they have prepared (‫ )כון‬and consecrated (‫ )קדש‬everything, the priests and the Levites turn the clock back to a pre-Ahaz age, when the dedicated temple service was still intact. The scene is set for a renewed dedication of the temple and the resumption of its cultic function. Different kinds of sacrifices are now performed on the altar by the priests, the descendants of Aaron (29:21). The description of these sacrifices in 29:20–24 is very detailed and graphic in order to give expression to the cultic context. It is important to note that the Chronicler indicates that the atonement sacrifices were brought for ‫כל־ישראל‬. The legitimacy of the restored and rededicated temple in Jerusalem is not limited to Jerusalem itself or Judah, but the temple extends its cultic function to include All-Israel, that is, the complete post-exilic people of Yahweh as envisioned by the Chronicler. Since we know that Samaria and its sanctuary were destroyed during the reign of Hezekiah, the Chronicler’s claim is that Jerusalem is now, and always was, the sanctuary for All-Israel. Second Chronicles 29:25–30 specifically involves the Levites in the celebrations. They are reinstated in the way prescribed by David as well as by Gad the 85 Labahn, Levitischer

Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 132–133.

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king’s seer and Nathan the prophet; this was commanded by Yahweh through his prophets (29:25). Their function is particularly to praise Yahweh with the words of David and of Asaph the seer (29:30). This section is particularly reminiscent of the Chronicler’s description of David’s cultic organization. According to 1 Chronicles 23–27, the Levites are quite prominent in accompanying with their music and instruments the sacrificial worship (which is to be performed by the priests). According to the Chronicler’s depiction, this tradition is taken up again during the reign of Hezekiah. After Hezekiah had given the word, the assembly could join in the sacrificial celebrations. Enormous numbers of animals were slaughtered for the sacrifices, so much so that the priests could not handle the slaughtering on their own and so their kinsmen the Levites had to help (literally “strengthened,” ‫ )חזק‬them (29:34). This remark is particularly interesting. It may seem that the Chronicler wants to portray the Levites and priests in a good working relationship with one another. However, the motivational clause included in 29:34 also creates another impression: “for the Levites had been more conscientious in consecrating (‫ )קדש‬themselves than the priests had been.” The entire book of Chronicles provides fairly equal portrayals of the Levites and the priests, but the present text possibly sounds another evaluative note. One may assume that the Chronicler, without being overly biased, wanted to advance the Levites’ cause by indicating that they had already consecrated themselves (the same sentiment is expressed in 30:3). If the Levites’ function of bringing ‫ קטרים‬would indeed include all kinds of sacrifices and not only incense offerings (as discussed by Labahn in the quotation above), this would be a confirmation of the point made here. It would then elevate the Levites to perform a function which they are not allowed to perform elsewhere. However, the further narrative, particularly the indication that the Levites assisted the priests with the slaughtering of the sacrifices, leaves the impression that they still retained a subordinate role in this regard. Labahn, after considering both options, seems to opt for the narrower understanding of ‫קטר‬, and therefore that the Levites did not take on the role of performing other sacrifices. It is clear, according to her, that this text assigns the Levites at least the incense offerings. This is not insignificant in the Chronicler’s own time, as Labahn indicates: Die Chronik spricht also – mit dezenter Formulierung – das Räucheropfer den Leviten zu. Mit dieser Neuzuschreibung schlieβt sie an einen Zeitgeschmack an, da das Räucheropfer in der Zeit des Zweiten Tempels beliebt und gebräuchlich gewesen zu sein scheint. Dafür sprechen jedenfalls Funde perserzeitlicher Kultobjekte in Form kleiner Räucherkästen, die an verschiedenen Stätten in Palästina entdeckt wurden.86

86 Ibid.,

133.

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7.5.8 Priests and Levites Celebrate Passover (30:1–27; 35:1–19) In Chapter 5 (§ 5.5.4) we discussed the Chronicler’s Hezekiah and Josiah narratives with the focus on how these narratives portray the inclusion of both the southern and northern kingdoms in the celebration of the Passover. In the present subsection the focus is rather on how these narratives portray the respective roles of the priests and Levites. In both narratives – which consist mainly of the Chronicler’s own material – the priests and Levites play a pivotal role in the celebration of Passover. In the Hezekiah narrative (2 Chron. 30:1–27) several functions of the priests and Levites are described. After great numbers of people, not only from Judah and Benjamin, but also from Ephraim and Manasseh, came to Jerusalem for the Passover, the celebrations started on the fourteenth of the second month.87 Verses 15–17 describe the duties performed by the priests and the Levites. This subsection of the narrative starts with the phrase “they slaughtered (‫ )שחט‬the Passover on the fourteenth of the second month.” The pronoun “they” refers either to the laity who were gathered in the temple (the antecedent in vss. 13– 14),88 or it is the so-called “Semitic passive” that leaves the antecedent unidentified.89 Verse 15 continues to indicate that the priests and Levites “were ashamed” and therefore purified themselves and brought burnt offerings (‫)עלות‬ to the temple of Yahweh. This second half of verse 15 should probably be understood as a reference to actions which had been performed before the celebrations started.90 According to this portrayal, there was no difference in the preparations for the Passover by the priests and Levites respectively. The next verse states that “they”, that is, both the priests and Levites, took up their positions as prescribed “in the Torah of Moses, the man of God.” After this phrase, the differentiation between the duties of the priests and Levites starts. The priests “sprinkled the blood” that was passed to them by the Levites. It is not clear from whom the Levites received the blood, but it might be suggested that they did the slaughtering themselves in order to collect the blood that could be passed to the priests for the sprinkling action. Klein remarks that this description does not coincide with any of the Torah prescriptions and that “[t]hese changes 87 The

prescribed date for celebrating the Passover was on the fourteenth of the first month. The concessionary Passover was celebrated one month later, however, because all the people had not sanctified themselves in time. However, the Chronicler’s portrayal is part of a literary technique in which he let the bigger narrative build up to the climax of Josiah’s Passover that was celebrated on the right date. For further discussion of this technique, see Jonker, “Completing the Temple with the Celebration of Josiah’s Passover?”; Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles. 88 According to the Pentateuchal traditions (e. g. in Exod. 12:6 and Deut. 16:6), the Passover was a family feast where lay people slaughtered the Passover lamb themselves. 89 Klein, 2 Chronicles, 437. 90 Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, 369; Klein, 2 Chronicles, 437.

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raise some questions about the Chronicler’s claim in this verse that they did this ‘according to their custom, according to the Torah of Moses the man of God’.”91 A further differentiation is made in verse 17 between the function of the priests and Levites. It is stated that there were many attendees of the Passover celebrations in the temple who had not purified themselves, and could therefore not do the slaughtering of the Passover lamb themselves. The Levites then had to perform this task (‫ )שחט‬in order for the ritual to be holy for Yahweh. The priests are not mentioned in this context and one should therefore assume that they were not involved in this (presumably lesser) ritual. The accommodation of the ritually unclean attendees (mainly from Ephraim, Manasseh, Issachar and Zebulun, according to verse 18) was taken a step further by king Hezekiah interceding for them in prayer, and Yahweh healing the people (according to vs. 20). The next section starting in verse 21 narrates the further celebration of the Feast of Unleavened Bread.92 Here the Levites and priests (in that order) have the same function again, namely to sing praises to Yahweh day by day, accompanied by musical instruments. Verse 22, however, reports that king Hezekiah spoke ‫ על־לב‬with all the Levites. The priests are not mentioned in this context. The expression ‫ על־לב‬is translated differently by commentators,93 but should probably be understood as “speaking from the heart.” Hezekiah expresses appreciation for the fact that the Levites “were facilitating good insight of Yahweh” (‫)המשכילים שכל־טב ליהוה‬. Antje Labahn interprets the phrase as follows: Anders verhält es sich demgegenüber mit V.22a. Hier wird expliziert, dass die Leviten über besondere Einsicht verfügen. Durch die Explikation werden sie herausgestellt und gegenüber den Priestern, über die vergleichbare Aussagen nicht getroffen wird, aufgewertet. Eine weitere Kennzeichnung ergänzt die Qualität der Leviten: sie stehen dem König besonders nahe. Diese Nähe wird durch den in der Chronik singulären Ausdruck, dass ,Hiskia zum Herzen aller Leviten redet῾, betont. Die Verwendung des Begriffs „Herz“ als anthropologischer Metapher zielt auf eine besondere Beziehung zwischen dem Herrscher und den Leviten. Die chr Charakterisierung Hiskias hat damit Auswirkungen auf die Leviten.94

At the end of the narrative there are some further references to the priests and Levites. In verse 24 it is indicated that “a great number of priests purified themselves” (with no mention of the Levites), while verse 25 indicates that both priests and Levites rejoiced together with the whole assemblies of Judah and Israel, and the aliens in their midst. The final action by the clergy takes place 2 Chronicles, 438. a short summary of the history of the Passover and Feast of Unleavened Bread, see Jonker, Reflections of King Josiah in Chronicles, 81–82. 93 Japhet has “Hezekiah spoke encouragingly” (I&II Chronicles, 954), while Klein translates the phrase with “Hezekiah spoke tenderly” (2 Chronicles, 439). 94 Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 137. 91 Klein, 92 For

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when the priests and Levites jointly stood up and blessed the people (vs. 27). The Chronicler indicates that this prayer reached the heavenly abode of God. Antje Labahn therefore comes to the following conclusion with reference to the Chronicler’s portrayal of Hezekiah’s Passover: Mit dieser Charakterisierung werden die Leviten gegenüber anderen Personen des Tempelpersonals, wie etwa den Priestern, ausgezeichnet. Diese Kennzeichnung stellt eine theologische Qualifizierung dar, die neue Akzente innerhalb des Kultes setzt. Die Leviten bleiben im Kult, doch schreibt die Chronik ihnen gröβere Verantwortung und höhere Weihen gegenüber dem Bereich des clerus minor zu. In dieser Erweiterung des Levitenbildes begegnet eine erste Neubestimmung der Gruppe in der Chronik. … Für die Sinngebung der Chronik ist die Neuausrichtung der Leviten ein entscheidender Schritt zu ihrer Aufwertung. Die Neubestimmung der Leviten gegenüber den Priestern impliziert als Kehrseite eine Stoβrichtung gegen die Priester, da nicht nur vergleichbare Aussagen über die Priester getroffen werden, sondern sie durch ihre ambivalente Schilderung dezent kritisiert werden. Die Chronik positioniert die Leviten demgegenüber so, dass sie mit allen verfügbaren Autoritäten verknüpft werden: mit der Autorität Moses als Gesetzgeber (V.16a), mit der göttlichen Autorität Jahwes (V.22aβ) und mit der royalen Autorität Hiskias (V.22aα).95

Labahn is probably overstating the case by indicating that the Chronicler was clearly writing a polemic against the priests, and therefore in favour of the Levites. Although there are certainly critical comments about the priests in this narrative, it rather seems that the Chronicler was careful not to portray the Levites as occupying a higher position than the priests. Labahn is, however, right that there are clear signs that the Hezekiah narrative had the aim of enhancing the profile of the Levites. A similar tendency can be observed in the Chronicler’s Josiah narrative, and particularly in the description of the Passover celebration in that context (2 Chron. 35:1–19). Verse 2 states that king Josiah appointed the priests for their duties in the temple, while verses 3–6 contain an extended direct speech of the king to the Levites. They are called those “who instructed all Israel” (see the discussion in § 7.5.3 again) and “who had been purified to Yahweh.” In his speech the king relieves them of the task of carrying the sacred ark and they are ordered to put it in the temple that Solomon had built. They are further instructed to prepare themselves in their family divisions for service in the temple according to the directions given by David and Solomon, probably a reference to the earlier parts of Chronicles (see the discussions in §§ 7.3.4 and 7.4.2). They are explicitly tasked with the slaughtering (‫ )שחט‬of the Passover lambs in verse 6, and with the preparation of the sacrifices for “their brothers”, probably a reference to the priests. After an indication of all the voluntary contributions to the people, the priests and the Levites (vss. 7–9), the next subsection of the narrative (vss. 10–13) 95 Ibid.,

144.

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explicitly differentiates the roles of the priests and Levites again. The Levites are doing the slaughtering and skinning of the animal offerings, and they pass the blood to the priests, who sprinkle it. The plural form of the verbs in verse 13 leaves the impression that the priests and Levites acted jointly in the roasting and boiling of the Passover offerings.96 In verse 14 it seems that the plural refers only to the Levites who made preparations for themselves and for the priests. The Levites are clearly the subjects in verse 15, where some of the minor functions of the priests (singing and guarding the doors) are mentioned again. The narrative ends (vss. 16–19) with a very positive appraisal of the celebrations. It is indicated there that no other king before Josiah had celebrated the Passover together with the priests, Levites, all Judah and Israel, who were there with the people of Jerusalem. Although there are clear signs again in this narrative that the Chronicler deliberately focused on the changed (and enhanced) functions of the Levites, it does not seem that the narrative functions as an anti-priestly polemic. The priests are still portrayed as those who had to do the sprinkling of the blood during the Passover sacrifices – a task which was seemingly associated with the most holy of the duties. Antje Labahn comes to a similar conclusion: Die Sinnkonstruktion der Chronik schafft damit soziale Verbindungen, die über den Abschnitt dieser Perikope hinausreichen. Die von der Chronik bevorzugte Gruppe wird in den Verantwortungsbereich der Schlachtung des Passa eingesetzt, wie es im AT nirgendwo sonst begegnet. Die Chronik schafft damit eine auβergewöhnliche Aussage, mit der die Dienste der als heilig gekennzeichneten Leviten herausgestellt werden. Die Textwelt der Chronik geht sogar noch über diesen kultischen Zusammenhang hinaus, indem die Leviten zudem als Lehrer (V.3aα2) und als Propheten (V.15bα1) mit Bezug auf Asaf vorgestellt und an die Autorität des Wortes Gottes zurückgebunden werden. Das Porträt der Leviten wird dadurch um weitere Aspekte ergänzt, die ebenso der Auszeichnung der Leviten dienen.97

To summarise: both the Hezekiah and Josiah narratives give clear indications that the Chronicler wanted to portray the Levites as having expanded duties, and in some instances with duties that resemble the priestly duties closely. There are also other characterisations in the narratives that clearly wanted to enhance the profile of the Levites. However, these narratives do not contain clear anti-priestly sentiments. Rather the Levites are given a status that is at least on an equal footing with that of the priests.

96 Verse 13 contains the well-known combination of terminology from different Pentateuchal cultic traditions. See my discussion in Jonker, 1 & 2 Chronicles, 300. 97 Labahn, Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 157.

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7.5.9 Priests and Levites Collect and Distribute Temple Income (31:2–19) As a continuation after the Chronicler’s narrative about Hezekiah’s Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread (discussed in the subsection above), the text in 31:2–19 deals with the abundance of contributions for the temple that resulted from the celebrations. The material in 2 Chronicles 31:2–10, which deals with the free-will offerings given by the king (31:3), the inhabitants of Jerusalem (31:4), the Israelites (31:5), and the men of Israel and Judah (31:6), does not appear in the source text and is another unique part in Chronicles. The priests and Levites (31:2, 4, 9) play a prominent role in the gathering and proper administering of these offerings. The attitude that the givers should adopt in bringing these offerings should be to devote (‫ – חזק‬probably a wordplay on the name of king Hezekiah) themselves ‫“( בתורת יהוה‬to the Torah of Yahweh”). The abundance of the free-will offerings so that the priests and Levites had enough to eat and plenty to spare (31:10) is a clear illustration of this devout attitude. When the king asks the priests and Levites about the abundant contributions, Azariah the head priest acts as spokesperson on their behalf. He is particularly indicated as being from the house of Zadok. Klein remarks about this designation that [t]his is the only time in Chronicles that an individual high priest is said to be of the house of Zadok, but Azariah I, who served during the reign of Solomon (1 Kgs 4:2), is called the son of Zadok there. Azariah the chief priest draws out in this verse the positive implications of the doctrine of retribution: “Since we began to bring in the offering (‫ )תרומה‬to the house of Yahweh we have had enough to eat and plenty to spare.” It is noteworthy that here the high priest and the king work together, as the king’s secretary and the officer of the chief priest did in 2 Chr 24:11, 12, 14. This is the Chronicler’s understanding of an ideal sharing of power.98

On account of the abundance of the free-will offerings that were brought to the temple, the next section shows the king giving orders to prepare (‫ )כון‬storerooms in the temple of Yahweh, and this was then done accordingly (‫)כון‬. The contributions, tithes and dedicated gifts could be stored there (31:12a). A long section (31:12b–18) describes how the Levites undertook the administration and redistribution of the free-will gifts. It is indicated that the Levite Conaniah was put in charge of this administration, with his brother Shimei second in charge. Kore, the keeper of the East Gate, was in charge of the free-will offerings. The Chronicler does not let the opportunity slip to indicate that the offerings were distributed to the Levitical families because they were faithful in consecrating themselves (31:18b). Verse 19 focuses on the priests again. They are called “the sons of Aaron” and are indicated as living in the rural areas or in other towns than Jerusalem. 98 Klein,

2 Chronicles, 450–451.

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Unspecified “men” had to do the distribution of the temple stocks to all the male members, and to all who were recorded in the genealogies of the Levites. While the focus is on the priests here, the term “Levite” in the last sentence is probably used in the generic sense.99 To summarise: It seems that the Levites, and particularly some of their leaders, are given prominence in this narrative. The fact that they were given special functions by king Hezekiah in the distribution of the contributions to the temple enhances their profile again in the eyes of the audience of Chronicles.100

7.5.10 Levites Involved in Temple Restoration (34:8–13) Second Chronicles 34:8 introduces the eighteenth year of King Josiah’s reign. The greater part of this narrative takes place in this year. The subsection in 34:8–13 describes the administration of the temple restoration in Jerusalem. Although the Chronicler made use of the source text in 2 Kings 22:3–7, he made significant changes and additions to that material. The words “to purify the land and the temple” (2 Chron. 34:8) were added by the Chronicler in order to link the temple restoration to the other cultic reform measures that were moved forward in his narrative (compared to the Deuteronomistic version). Whereas only Shaphan is sent by the king according to the Deuteronomist’s version, the Chronicler reports that three people were sent, namely “Shaphan son of Azaliah and Maaseiah the governor of the city, with Joah son of Joahaz, the recorder” (34:8). Their task was to repair (‫ )חזק‬the temple of Yahweh the God of Josiah. The Chronicler inserts the term ‫ חזק‬here. As we know, in Chronicles the term (which means “to strengthen”) not only refers to the strengthening of physical structures but also denotes the assumption of the right attitude toward Yahweh and the cult. Whereas the Deuteronomist’s version in Kings (in 2 Kings 22:4–7) has the king’s order to Shaphan in direct speech, the Chronicler changes this into a report in which it is indicated that Shaphan, Azaliah and Maaseiah went to Hilkiah the high priest and gave him the money. By making small changes and adding some information, the Chronicler highlights the role of the Levites in the preparations for the temple restoration. “The doorkeepers” mentioned in 2 Kings 22:4 become “the Levites who were the doorkeepers” (vs. 9), and whereas the money was collected from “the people” in Kings, the Chronicler turns this into the money that had been collected from “the people of Manasseh, Ephraim and the entire remnant of Israel and from all the people of Judah and Benjamin and the in99 This verse reminds one of the divisions that were described in 1 Chron. 23–27 (see § 7.3.4 again). 100 See also Labahn’s discussion in Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 287–300.

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habitants of Jerusalem” (2 Chron. 34:9). It is clear that the Chronicler turns the temple restoration into a joint effort by All-Israel, but in the process emphasizes the northern tribes Manasseh and Ephraim and the southern tribes Judah and Benjamin. These represent the former northern and southern kingdoms (see the discussion in § 5.5.2 again). The Chronicler omits the comment in 2 Kings 22:7 that no accounting was necessary for the collection money, but rather adds further descriptions of the Levites’ roles (“skilled in playing musical instruments” [vs. 12];101 “secretaries, scribes and doorkeepers” [vs. 13]). It is also made clear that the Levites were in charge of the workmen and that they supervised the whole project from beginning to end (vs. 13). The attitude with which they did their work is described with the words “the men did the work faithfully” (vs. 12).102 It is thus clear that the Chronicler’s manipulation of his source text in 2 Kings 22 had the intention of highlighting the role of the Levites in the temple restoration project during Josiah’s days. The reason for these changes should be sought in the Chronicler’s own time, when the prominence of the Levites was apparently an important theme, rather than seeing in this account a more accurate historical reconstruction of Josiah’s temple restorations.

7.6 Synthesis: Identity Negotiation in the Jerusalem Cult In the discussion of the socio-historical context in Jerusalem in the period of restoration after the exile (see § 3.4.4) we saw that many “fault-lines” were running through this community. The complexity of the community in Jerusalem in the late Persian period was at least co-determined by the relationship between the so-called “remainees” and “returnees.” This division played out in terms of economic circumstances (with Jerusalem much more affected by the exile than the surrounding areas), but it also had cultic overtones. Those (minor) priestly groupings who had filled the cultic power vacuum during the exilic absence of the so-called Zadokite priesthood were still present when those exiles returned to Jerusalem. Disputes over authority and the differentiation of cultic roles were the order of the day. Furthermore, we know from numerous recent archaeological and other studies that the Yahwism of the post-exilic era was not a homogeneous  101 Klein (2 Chronicles, 501) provides a good summary of all the scholarly views on the insertion of additional functions of the Levites in vss. 12–13. He is of the opinion that these functions are not out of place in a building project such as the one described in the text. With reference to Rudolph’s commentary, Klein indicates that even musical accompaniment was not unknown in the ancient Near East, “which makes good sense with burden bearers and other repetitive activities, where musical beat is established” (Ibid.) 102 Whereas it is customary in the Chronicler’s work to mention the three Levite families together, here only two are mentioned (the Merarites and Kohathites), with the Gershonites for some reason absent here. See Klein, 2 Chronicles, 501.

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religious movement. There were other Yahwistic sanctuaries to reckon with, and even non-Yahwistic cultic influence. When this socio-historical lens forms our perspective for reading the book of Chronicles, an abundance of narratives and references stand out. It is overwhelmingly clear in Chronicles that priestly functions and role differentiation were major issues at this time. It is also clear that the prominence of the Levites (either as generic tribal group, or as technical priestly faction) are present in the background of many of the Chronicler’s texts, and of his reworkings of his Vorlage materials. We therefore saw in our analyses of the different textual examples that the relative roles of the priest and Levites were very influential. Several themes emerged from these analyses. (i) The Levite tribal family forms the centre of attention in the Chronicler’s genealogies (§ 7.2.1). The genealogy of this family not only forms the most extensive part of the genealogical introduction to the book, but it also occupies the central position in the ring construction, with Judah and Benjamin forming the outer pillars of the Chronicler’s understanding of All-Israel. (ii) Whereas the Levite tribal family generically forms the context within which the priesthood is placed, some distinctions is made in some texts to indicate that (a) the Aaronide priests were also Levites, and (b) that the Levites in the technical sense of the word had differentiated responsibilities in the cult, of which some were similar to those of the Aaronide priests (§ 7.3.4). (iii) In all parts of the book of Chronicles there is abundant evidence that the Chronicler wanted to profile the Levites (§§ 7.2.1; 7.2.3; 7.3.1; 7.3.3; 7.3.4; 7.5.5; 7.5.7; 7.5.10). Although the image of the Levites forming the clerus minor with subordinate tasks in the cult is still present in some descriptions, the Levites are given additional functions (such as teachers of the Torah [§ 7.5.3], as judges [§ 7.5.4], as prophets [§ 7.5.5], and roles similar to those of the priests at the altar [§ 7.5.8]) in order to enhance their status. (iv) However, there does not seem to be an overt strategy of undermining the priests in favour of the Levites (§ 7.2.2; 7.2.4; 7.3.2; 7.5.2). Although there is occasional criticism of the priests (§ 7.5.8), examples of that rather serve primarily to highlight the positive profile of the Levites. The Levites are portrayed as being on an equal footing with the priests, and one can hardly call the Chronicler either pro-priestly or pro-Levite (§§ 7.3.4; 7.4.1; 7.4.2; 7.5.1; 7.5.3; 7.5.4; 7.5.8; 7.5.9).103 103 Knoppers

states: “There is no firm evidence to suggest that the Chronicler holds to an absolute equality between priests and Levites. Nevertheless, the author does not emphasize hierarchy. Both the priests and the Levites are essential to the success of the Temple cultus. Rather than constituting evidence for a pro-Priestly author or redactor of Chronicles, the summary of levitical duties is evidence for the Chronicler’s own distinctive stance, a via media between the positions of Deuteronomy, the Priestly source, and Ezekiel. … Given the Chronicler’s highly

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(v) The Chronicler makes clear that the priesthood (in general) and priestly functions are closely related to holiness and dedication to Yahweh (§§ 7.3.1; 7.5.6). Those who do not comply with the strict rules of the cult stand in danger of punishment through death or illness. The Levites are never guilty of breaking or ignoring these standards in Chronicles (§ 7.4.1), although the priests are sometimes shamed for not being consecrated to perform their duties in the temple (§ 7.5.8). (vi) The Chronicler makes clear that the temple in Jerusalem is the centre of the cult and is worthy of support from All-Israel (even in economically hard times). The Levites are closely associated with this institution (§ 7.2.3; 7.3.5; 7.5.9; 7.5.10). These themes leave the unambiguous impression that the Chronicler surely had the intention of contributing to the process of identity negotiation on behalf of the Levites in the late Persian period. Whether the Chronicler’s view of the Levites and the cult is utopian cannot be established for certain. However, the Chronicler’s reworking of older narrative material, and his presentation of his own, encourage his audience towards adopting a very positive view of the Levites and of the cult centre in Jerusalem. The cult is portrayed as well-organized, not only in terms of the cultic functions, but also in terms of the familial contexts within which the cult is functioning. The Chronicler’s work reflects a reconciliatory position in which different factions in the cult are placed on an equal footing. The temple in Jerusalem, which is the sanctuary of All-Israel according to the Chronicler, is worthy of support, as in the days of the great kings of Judah. Antje Labahn also approaches the matter from the perspective of group identity when she closes her study with the following summary: Das, was die Leviten zusammenhält, ist eine Gruppenidentität. … Die vielfältigen und inhomogenen levitischen Listen formulieren eine Identität, die alle Gruppenmitglieder zusammen bindet. In dem Wirklichkeitsentwurf wird ein Netz von Verknüpfungen erzeugt, das alle Gruppenmitglieder erfasst und integriert. … Dadurch entsteht eine Identität der Gruppe. Alle Mitglieder sind „Leviten“, unabhängig davon, an welcher Stelle und in welchem Bereich sie eingesetzt sind. Der Begriff „Levit“ wird in der Chronik zu einem Identitätsmarker, der die Heterogenität der multi-funktionalen Gruppe überwindet. Die Identität der Gruppe trägt sich durch die Summe der positiven Zuschreibungen an die Wahrnehmung von Einfluss und Machtpartizipation auf unterschiedlichen Ebenen. Wer sich als Levit versteht und sich mit dem multi-funktionalen Gruppenprofil identifiziert, kann Mitglied der Gruppe werden. Er oder sie partizipiert am Gruppenprofil und dessen

nuanced presentation, informed by the work of a variety of earlier biblical writers, it is too simplistic to maintain that the Chronicler’s work reifies either Zadokite dominance or levitical ascendancy during the post-exilic period. … It may impel scholars, who speak of pro-Priestly or pro-levitical redactions of the Chronicler’s History, to be more careful in explaining exactly what they mean” (“Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors?,” 71). See also Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 92.

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Identitätsaussagen, wie sie in der Wirklichkeitskonstruktion der Chronik formuliert werden.104

With this description we have come to the end of our fourfold reading of the Chronicler’s textual material. The next chapter will provide a summary and synthesis of the results of this study, and will offer a methodological prospect of how the method followed in this study can also benefit the study of other textual corpora of the Hebrew Bible.

104 Labahn,

Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion, 391.

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Synthesis and Methodological Possibilities 8.1 Summary of Results In Chapter 1 (§ 1.3.3) we identified the following hiatus in the use of the category of “identity” in current biblical scholarship: the “identity” of Yahweh’s people, as reflected in the literature of the Hebrew Bible, is often discussed without any socio-historical contextualisation, and without any awareness of the very influential, interactive relationship between “identity”, socio-historical context and literature formation. Without an understanding of this complex interaction, biblical studies using the heuristic lens of “identity” is in danger of remaining one-dimensional and superficial. The aim of this book was therefore to consider more sophisticated and more nuanced models for applying the heuristic lens of “identity” in our interpretations of Hebrew Bible literature. To study Persian-period literature in the Hebrew Bible we have hypothesised that a multi-levelled understanding of the socio-historical context of the time could potentially contribute to a more sophisticated understanding of identity negotiation through the biblical literature of this period. In Chapter 3 we distinguished between four concurrent and overlapping levels of socio-historical existence, namely the Persian imperial context, the provincial context within which Yehud was embedded, the tribal relationship between Judah and Benjamin, and the cultic context among the cultic literati in Jerusalem. We argued – with reference to postcolonial perspectives on hybridity and mimicry – that different power relations were in operation on these four levels of socio-historical existence, and that the simultaneity of these power relations created a complex society, producing a complex literature. In subsequent chapters (Chapters 4–7) we used these four socio-historical levels as lenses through which the text of the book of Chronicles was investigated. The results of each of these investigations have already been summarised and synthesised in the closing section of each chapter (§§ 4.6; 5.6; 6.6; 7.6) and there is no need to repeat those results in the present summary. Revisiting the relevant sections of those four chapters will give the reader of this book a comprehensive understanding of how they impact on our understanding of identity negotiation in the book of Chronicles. We have seen that all four major parts of Chronicles contributed in varying degrees to the processes of identity negotiation on the four socio-historical lev-

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els of existence. Although it seems that the Chronicler’s main contribution was in negotiating identity among the priestly groups in the Jerusalem cult (see the textual analyses in Chapter 7), there is clear evidence that the Chronicler also engaged with the other three socio-historical levels. The genealogical introduction to the book (1 Chr 1–9) contributed mainly towards situating the Levites (in the generic and technical senses) at the centre of the post-exilic understanding of All-Israel (§ 7.2). The Levite genealogy not only forms the central part of the genealogical ring construction, but also forms the most extensive part of this construction (§ 7.2.1 and § 7.2.4). It furthermore gives an impression of the relationship between the Levite and Zadokite factions in the priesthood (§ 7.2.2) and indicates that Levites formed the backbone of the restored cultic community in Jerusalem (§ 7.2.3). However, the genealogies also contribute to identity negotiation on the other three socio-historical levels. They situate the narrative about Judah’s past within a universalist framework (§ 4.2.1), and suggest that the history of humanity is actually continued in the post-exilic Jerusalem cult (§ 4.2.2). In this way, the Chronicler claims universal significance for Jerusalem and its cult. The restored status of the city is thereby not credited to Persian imperial influence, but rather to the universal bond between humanity and the cult in Jerusalem. The genealogies furthermore forge an understanding of All-Israel which includes not only the southern and northern tribes, but also the Transjordanian tribes and some other surrounding areas (§ 5.2.2). In the Chronicler’s (utopian) vision the all-inclusive post-exilic All-Israel therefore encompasses almost all those areas around Yehud that were also provinces under Persian imperial rule. These areas were thus seen as part of the in-group in the negotiation of the social identity of All-Israel by the Jerusalem cultic centre. The one exception was probably Idumea (§ 5.2.1), against whom a polemical tone could be detected in the genealogies. Although some anti-Benjaminite sentiments can also be seen in other major parts of Chronicles (see summary below), the genealogical construction emphasises that Benjamin formed one of the main pillars of All-Israel together with Judah (§ 6.2.1). Benjamin is thus seen as part of the in-group, although no room is left for renewed administrative or cultic claims by this tribal entity (§ 6.2.2, but see also the further summary below). The Chronicler’s David narrative (1 Chr 10–29) mainly contributed to identity construction on the levels of establishing the relationship between Judah and Benjamin, as well as in endorsing the cultic conditions in Jerusalem. We saw in Chapter 6 (§ 6.3) that there are numerous interactions with the Benjaminite context in the David narrative. Not only is Saul portrayed in a fairly negative fashion (§§ 6.3.1 and 6.3.2), but the Chronicler also made sure to establish the cultic centrality of Jerusalem over against Benjaminite centres such as Gibeon (§§ 6.3.3 and 6.3.4). Although there is no doubt that the Chronicler did not want

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the Benjaminite (administrative and religious) centres to re-gain influence in Yehud, Benjamin is also not estranged and is still considered to be part of the family. This was probably a strategy towards making inner-group differentiations within Yehud without losing Benjamin’s support in the inter-group differentiation within and vis-à-vis the broader Persian imperial context. The David narrative furthermore plays an important role in establishing the cult in Jerusalem in post-exilic Yehud. The Chronicler’s reworking of the literary traditions about the ark of the covenant (§ 7.3.1), as well as inserting his own materials concerning the organisation of the cultic personnel (§§ 7.3.2 and 7.3.4), contributes towards negotiating cultic identities among the priestly factions in Jerusalem. The David narrative also makes clear that Jerusalem is Yahweh’s abode forever (§ 7.3.3) and that David prepared the way for his son Solomon to build the temple there (§ 7.3.5). Within the post-exilic context of poly-Yahwism and even non-Yahwism, these narratives surely contributed towards the polemics against other sanctuaries outside Yehud. In terms of the imperial level of socio-historic existence, the David narrative does not contain major narratives engaging with this broader context. However, some allusions in these narratives (§§ 4.3.1 and 4.3.2) indicate that the Chronicler did direct subtle polemics against the Persian imperial religion and particularly its royal ideology. It is indicated that Solomon, David’s son, will be the true “man of rest and peace” due to the fact that he will build Yahweh’s temple in Jerusalem – which is most probably intended as part of a subtle polemic against the imperial ideology of pax Persica. On the level of provincial relationships, the David narrative includes a narrative which emphasises that David enjoyed the support of All-Israel (§ 5.3.1) as well as several less emphatic allusions to indicate that David extended his military influence into the neighbouring areas (§ 5.3.2). The Solomon narrative (2 Chr 1–9) contributes in more or less equal fashion to all four levels of socio-historical identity negotiation. The account of the building of the temple in the Solomon narrative leaves the impression of a subtle polemic directed at the Persian Empire, with the portrayal of the temple probably modelled after Persian palace ideology (§ 4.4.1). It is furthermore indicated that foreign monarchs acknowledged that Yahweh loves his people All-Israel (§ 4.4.2) and that Solomon extended his kingdom from the Euphrates to Egypt (§ 4.4.3). These elements in the Solomon narrative probably contributed to a reflection on Yehud’s position in the imperial context of the Chronicler’s time. The Solomon narrative also contributed to viewing the temple in Jerusalem against the background of the provincial context, particularly at a time when there is evidence of rivalling Yahwistic and non-Yahwistic sanctuaries. The narrative claims that no northerners contributed to the building of the Jerusalem temple and that the plan was received directly from Yahweh (§ 5.4.1), and that

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the location of the temple on Mount Moriah goes back to premonarchical patriarchal traditions (§ 5.4.2). On the tribal level, the Chronicler acknowledges the role that Gibeon had played in the past by indicating that Solomon received wisdom there and sacrificed there. However, the Chronicler also makes clear through this narrative that the era of Gibeonite (and therefore Benjaminite) influence had ended when tabernacle was moved from Gibeon to Jerusalem by Solomon (§ 6.4.1). The Solomon narrative furthermore acknowledges the fact that both the priests and the Levites – on an equal footing – celebrated the bringing of the ark of the covenant to the temple in Jerusalem and that the Levites assisted the priests with the offerings (§§ 7.4.1 and 7.4.2). The extensive narratives about Judah’s kings until the release from exile (2 Chr 10–36) mainly contribute towards the identity negotiation processes within the Jerusalem cult. Numerous narratives or shorter references (§§ 7.5.1 to 7.5.10) reflect the sometimes tense relationships between the (Zadokite) priests and the Levites. The main trend, however, is to show the Levites as being on a par with the rest of the priesthood, without diminishing the sphere of influence of the (Zadokite) priests. It is therefore clear that these narratives were told from a Levite perspective, although there is no attempt to portray them as the major power within the Jerusalemite cult. These narratives also participate in the identity negotiation on the level of the Persian Empire by subtle mockery of the Persian military influence (§ 4.5.1) in claiming that the judicial system goes back to older Deuteronomic traditions (§ 4.5.2) and portraying Cyrus of Persia as a messenger of Yahweh who releases the exiles in fulfilment of the prophecy of a Yahwistic prophet, Jeremiah (§ 4.5.3). The relationship with the provincial environment, particularly with Samaria in the north, is portrayed in a fairly ambiguous fashion in the narratives about Judah’s kings. Although the southern, Yehudite perspective is crystal clear, since the history of the Israelite kingdom is almost completely ignored by the Chronicler (compared to the Deuteronomistic history) (§ 5.5.1), it is also clear that the Chronicler did see the northern province Samaria (§ 5.5.2) and other surrounding provinces (§ 5.5.3) as allies in dealing with the Persian Empire. Inter-provincial identity negotiation did not prevent the Chronicler from portraying these other provinces on Yehud’s side in the inter-group categorisation within the imperial context. The celebration of the Passover is furthermore portrayed as the occasion when north and south united (§ 5.5.4). Although only minor narratives or references in the overall Judahite royal narratives refer to the relationship between Judah and Benjamin, these narratives and references (particularly the varying ways in which the combination of Judah and Benjamin is used in Chronicles) show that the relationship between these tribal areas remained contentious up to the Chronicler’s time (§§ 6.5.1 and 6.5.2).

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These different parts of the Chronicler’s work are not offered to the reader in isolation. They rather form a well-integrated and comprehensive historiography, built on the foundation of the earlier Deuteronomistic history, but modified and re-interpreted within the context of late Persian-period Yehud. In the authoring of this work, the Chronicler was situated in at least four concurrent and overlapping socio-historical contexts, and was responding to all these contexts through this literature. The central aim of the Chronicler, however, was to contribute towards those processes that were entailed in negotiating the social identity of the inhabitants of Yehud – or, All-Israel, as the Chronicler calls this community.

8.2 Multi-levelled Identity Negotiation in Chronicles In Chapter 2 we indicated that this study proceeded from a constructivist understanding of identity (see particularly § 2.2.4). Identity cannot be seen as some essence inherent in individuals or groups, but should rather be understood dynamically as those negotiation processes that shape the ever-changing self-understandings of individuals and groups. Social identity theory teaches us that there is close interaction between identity, socio-historical context and literature formation. Literature often participates in processes of identity negotiation, and typically works simultaneously in continuity and discontinuity with past traditions in order to develop new self-understandings in changed and changing circumstances. Seen from this methodological perspective it becomes clear that Chronicles, with its complex narrative and other literary materials, formed part of those discourses of the late Persian period that aimed at defining and situating All-Israel within the new socio-political and socio-religious dispensation. Utopian studies (§ 2.2.2) alert us to the fact that the descriptions in Chronicles might not all be reflections of flesh-and-blood realities of the time, but referred rather to those envisioned utopias that were supposed to lead the community into the future, giving hope to a community in disarray. Social memory studies (§ 2.2.3) focus our attention in such as way as to notice that the Chronicler – in his past-construing writing – proceeded from certain socially formed mnemonic mindscapes, and simultaneously contributed to adapting and changing those mindscapes. However, postcolonial studies (§ 2.2.1) help us to see that in all these processes different (often asymmetrical) power dynamics were at work. Our hypothesis in the present study is that the landscape of power relations in the Chronicler’s case was determined by at least four levels of socio-historical existence (see Chapter 3), namely the Persian Empire, provincial existence amidst surrounding provinces, the tribal relations between Judah and Benjamin, and the inner-cultic dynamics in the Jerusalem temple.

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The identity negotiation processes that we witness in Chronicles are therefore multi-levelled, complex and dynamic. We have seen in our discussions of the various texts in Chronicles that all four of these levels provide valuable, and even necessary, insights into the complexity of the processes of identity negotiation of the time. Any reading of Chronicles that would reduce these processes to linear relationships would be reductionist, and any description of the identity of All-Israel in post-exilic Yehud that does not take these different levels into account would be confusing and superficial. However, the claim here is not that the Chronicler worked from some planned and pre-conceived design to give expression to the multi-levelled identity negotiations of All-Israel. These processes often (if not in fact mostly) take place unconsciously or subconsciously. The theoretical notion of “textual identities” helps us to understand that the Chronicler’s literature gives glimpses into these unconscious or subconscious processes. By studying the Chronicler’s writings, we are exposed to those social processes that were in operation during the author’s time. When determining the rhetorical thrust of the Chronicler’s literary materials, we see how the Chronicler contributed to the identity discourses of his time – sometimes explicitly and sometimes subtly. The literary artistry of this author – when viewed against the variegated socio-historical contexts of the time – helps us understand something of the multi-levelled processes of identity negotiation embodied in the book. So, who was All-Israel according to the Chronicler? The expression “All-Israel” which is used so frequently by the Chronicler already embodies something of the utopian vision that the Chronicler had of the post-exilic community. This expression signifies the envisioned unity that the writer wanted to facilitate in the late Persian period, after the return of different groups of exiles to their homeland, where many of their compatriots had remained behind, and amidst those who chose to remain in diaspora. “All-Israel” embodies the social memory of a united Davidic kingdom, a kingdom which included not only the southern tribes, but also the northern and Transjordanian areas. Although “All-Israel” brought to expression the social memory of that glorious past of an all-encompassing people of Yahweh, the Chronicler leaves no doubt that the post-exilic All-Israel is defined from the perspective of the Jerusalem centre. Jerusalem, and the cult in Jerusalem, form the centre of his mnemonic mindscape and the perspectives on All-Israel all originate from this centre. The Chronicler’s literature reveals something of the new southern optimism that flourished in the later Persian period, probably after the proclamation of Yehud as a separate province in the Persian Empire. The southern, Yehudite perspective is furthermore infused with an exclusive understanding of Yahwism. Yahweh’s abode among his people is located in the reconstructed temple in Jerusalem. There is no acknowledgement of other Yahweh sanctuaries and the book polemicises against those nations around Yehud

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with non-Yahwistic cults. The Chronicler acknowledges the fact that the Yahweh cult had some predecessors in Benjaminite areas (such as Gibeon), but he makes sure that his readers would understand that all those traditions have now been united in the Jerusalem temple. The Jerusalem temple, as a typical act of mimicry, also embodies for the Chronicler the claims that were usually associated with royal palace ideology in the Persian Empire. Within the cult centre of Jerusalem, and in the Chronicler’s vision, the Levites occupy more or less the same status as the rest of the (Zadokite) priesthood, and they assist the priests in some functions which were not usually attributed to the Levites in the past. On the political front the Chronicler reflects a complex existence in which the aspirations of a Persian province are voiced, without giving any indication of disloyalty to the imperial centre. However, some subtle polemics against the imperial religion and politics can be detected in Chronicles. There is no indication in the book, however, that the Chronicler wanted to resurrect the pre-exilic political dispensation. He rather indicates to his readers that even the Persian imperial rulers operate under the jurisdiction of Yahweh, the God of Israel. Within this universalist understanding, it was thus possible to remain loyal to the Persian Empire, but simultaneously to claim the uniqueness of the Jerusalem Yahwistic cult. In this way the Chronicler could navigate the asymmetrical power relations to which the colonised province of Yehud was exposed. According to the Chronicler, the relationship with the immediate and more remote north was ambiguous. The relationship with the Benjaminite tribal area just north of Jerusalem was characterised by solidarity and unity, but the Chronicler made sure that no new Benjaminite political-administrative or cultic aspirations would develop. Benjamin is a central part of the family, but Judah determines its perspective and orientation. There is clearly another understanding of power relations in Judah’s relationship with the Benjaminite tribal area. In contrast to the power relations on the imperial level, Judah claims the dominant position in its relation to Benjamin. The relationship with Samaria, the more successful Persian province to the north, is equally ambiguous. The tribes of the former northern kingdom are considered to be part of the all-encompassing All-Israel. However, there is no doubt that the glorious royal history of the former kingdom of Israel does not form part of the Chronicler’s mnemonic mindscape. According to the Chronicler, Samaria and the northern traditions – particularly the religious traditions of the north – are subservient to the Jerusalem cult and to a southern Yehudite perspective. Again, another configuration of power relations – which differs from that functioning on the imperial level – is evident in the Chronicler’s portrayal of Samaria. In all these ambiguous portrayals we witness a complex process of identity negotiation at work. Not only is an in-group prototype formulated (with the definition of All-Israel), but inner-group categorization (in relation to Benjamin, Sa-

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maria and other surrounding provinces) as well as outer-group categorization (in relation mainly to the Persian Empire) also take place through the Chronicler’s literature. This results in a complex process of social identity negotiation which is witnessed in the literary creations of the Chronicler, but which also continued in other literature in the same period and in the decades and centuries thereafter.

8.3 Potential of Approach for Other Textual Corpora The distinction between at least four levels of socio-historical existence in the late Persian period has proven to be quite helpful for our analysis in this book. It has assisted us to acquire a greater appreciation of the complex, and even ambiguous, literary materials of Chronicles. It also facilitated a more sophisticated and multi-levelled answer to the question as to how the identity negotiation of All-Israel is manifested in Chronicles. One may now take one step further to ask whether this distinction could also be applied to other biblical literature from the same period. As a conclusion to the present study, some pointers for similar research in other biblical corpora are offered. This is done in the belief that comparative studies on literature from the Persian period can potentially enrich our understanding of the multi-faceted processes of textual composition that took place in this era. This can also facilitate a more sophisticated understanding of the socio-historical processes at work and the processes of socio-political and socio-religious change that took place in the period, which was most influential in the formation of biblical literature. Without any attempt to offer full-blown methodological models for studying the literature of the Hebrew Bible, the following subsections offer some suggestions for scholarship on the three main parts of the Hebrew Bible, relating some trends in these fields to the approach followed in the present study.1

8.3.1 Torah Scholarship We indicated in Chapter 1 (§ 1.3.2) that the theme of “identity” has become a prominent heuristic lens for Pentateuchal studies in recent years. It is particularly the book of Exodus,2 as well as the legal materials of the Torah (purity laws; 1 This is not the place to offer my independent scholarship on these different textual corpora. In the discussions below I therefore rely extensively on summaries and syntheses that have already been published in order to chart the terrain in these areas. 2 See particularly the following works which compare the Exodus narrative with African myths of origin and migration: Hendrik L. Bosman, “Origin and Identity: Rereading Exodus as a Polemical Narrative Then (Palestine) and Now (Africa): Appropriating Exodus in Africa,” Scriptura 90 (2005): 869–77; Funlola O. Olojede, “The Exodus and Identity Formation in View of the Origin and Migration Narratives of the Yoruba” (Thesis, Stellenbosch University,

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priestly organisation; Sabbath and festival regulations, etc.)3 that have received attention from this perspective. There is much potential in these studies and scholars working in these directions might find some advantage in asking what potential the differentiation in socio-historical existence outlined in this book may hold in their enquiries. We also indicated in the introduction (§ 1.3.2) that the issue of a possible Persian imperial authorization of Torah sparked off a debate on what role the wider socio-political context played in the finalization of the Pentateuchal formation, and in its gaining authoritative status as Torah.4 Scholars like Rainer Albertz and Jean-Louis Ska have suggested that the processes of identity construction might have contributed to the Pentateuch becoming Torah at the end of the Persian period.5 Albertz accepts that “the edition and promulgation of the Pentateuch seems to have come to an end already in the Persian period; since the early Hellenistic

2008), http://scholar.sun.ac.za/handle/10019.1/2588; Hendrik L. Bosman, “A Nama ‘Exodus’? A Postcolonial Reading of the Diaries of Hendrik Witbooi: Exodus as Narrative Concerning Origin and Migration Negotiating Identity in Africa,” Scriptura 108 (2011): 329–41; Jonathan Weor, “The Theological Interpretation of the Book of Exodus as Narratives Concerning Origin and Migration as an Ongoing Negotiation of Identity by the Tiv People of Nigeria: Exodus as Narrative Concerning Origin and Migration Negotiating Identity in Africa,” Scriptura 108 (2011): 357–64; Edwin M. Zulu, “Interpreting the Exodus among the Ngoni People: Exodus as Narrative Concerning Origin and Migration Negotiating Identity in Africa,” Scriptura 108 (2011): 365–80; Kenneth Ngwa, “Ethnicity, Adoption, and Exodus: A Socio-Rhetorical Reading of Exodus 2.1–10,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 38/2 (2013): 163–87. See also Kåre Berge, “National Identity and Popular Sentiment in Genesis and Exodus,” Coniectanea Biblica. Old Testament Series 58 (2011): 37–52; Federico Alfredo Roth, “Hyphenating Moses: A Postcolonial Exegesis of Identity Construction, Destruction, and Reconstruction in Exodus 1:1–3:15” (Fuller Theological Seminary, 2013), http://gradworks.umi.com/35/68/3568071. html. 3 See the following selection of recent studies in this regard: Gershon Hepner, Legal Friction: Law, Narrative, and Identity Politics in Biblical Israel (Peter Lang, 2010); Esias E. Meyer, “Divide and Be Different: Priestly Identity in the Persian Period,” Hervormde Theological Studies 68/1 (2012): 54–60; Esias E. Meyer, “From Cult to Community: The Two Halves of Leviticus,” Verbum et Ecclesia 34/2 (2013): 1–7; Eckart Otto, “Torah and Prophecy: A Debate of Changing Identities,” Verbum et Ecclesia 34/2 (2013): 1–5; Thomas Römer, “Conflicting Models of Identity and the Publication of Torah in the Persian Period,” in Between Cooperation and Hostility: Multiple Identities in Ancient Judaism and the Interaction with Foreign Powers, ed. Rainer Albertz and Jakob Wöhrle (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 33–52. 4 See also my more detailed discussions in: Louis C. Jonker, “Within Hearing Distance? Recent Developments in Pentateuch and Chronicles Research,” Old Testament Essays 27/1 (2014): 123–46; Louis C. Jonker, “From Paraleipomenon to Early Reader. The Implications of Recent Chronicles Studies for Pentateuchal Criticism,” in Congress Volume Munich 2013, ed. Christl M. Maier (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 217–54. 5 Rainer Albertz, “The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance,” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 40/3 (2009): 420–24; Jean-Louis Ska, Introduction to Reading the Pentateuch (Winona Lake, Ind: Eisenbrauns, 2006). See also Römer, “Conflicting Models of Identity and the Publication of Torah in the Persian Period.”

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period the authority of the Torah was widely accepted.”6 He sees the promulgation of the Pentateuch as a process in which at least three parties were involved, namely the internal Judean community, the proto-Samaritan community, as well as external Persian politics. Albertz states: “Even if one questions the specific model of a Persian imperial authorization in this connection, one should perhaps think of a specific interest of the Persians in limiting the rivalries between their provinces Judah and Samaria, after these had become the south-western borderline to independent Egypt.”7 Jean-Louis Ska hints in the same direction when he says: “Instead of letting itself be assimilated or become just another province in the vast Empire, Post-exilic Israel wanted to safeguard its identity. Persian politics gave it the opportunity to do this.”8 With these views Pentateuch scholarship has come a long way since the days of Julius Wellhausen and others, when a classic documentary or source hypothesis was used as explanatory model for the formation of the Pentateuch. Recent scholarship has become much more aware that the formation of this literature cannot merely be described on a literary-historical level, but that one should view these processes of literature formation against the background of socio-historical contexts. The focus in scholarship has therefore shifted to processes of composition and redactions, and the socio-historical conditions which prompted those processes. In line with the directions indicated by Albertz, Ska and others, one may suggest that a differentiation of socio-historical contexts – on the basis of the model that was used in this study on Chronicles – may potentially contribute to more sophisticated descriptions of the multi-levelled processes through which the Pentateuch was composed and finally redacted. Until recently, the focus was mainly on the contribution of the Persian imperial context to these processes. Instead of viewing this influence merely on the level of Persian imperial politics, one should also consider what influence the (internal) religious conditions of the time exerted on the finalisation of the Pentateuch. Political and religious influence certainly went hand in hand in this period, and it might be a useful perspective to take on the finalization of the Pentateuch to investigate how the composite and reworked literary work interacted with the socio-religious and socio-political conditions of the late Persian era. It might furthermore be very useful to follow up Albertz’s views on the role of interaction between Yehud and the proto-Samaritans in the finalization of the Pentateuch.9 The fact that different versions of the Pentateuch developed in this time bears witness to the fact that interaction on a regional-provincial level was 6 Albertz, 7 Ibid.

“The Pentateuch as Torah,” 424.

Introduction to Reading the Pentateuch, 226. Gary N. Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans: The Origins and History of Their Early Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). 8 Ska,

 9 See

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influential in these processes. Differentiation between the northern and southern Yahweh cults was surely prompted by the socio-historical existence of the provinces Yehud and Samaria in the late Persian period. One can also safely assume that the different cultic factions in the Jerusalem cult during the second temple period were influential in the different redactions that the Pentateuch underwent en route to its finalization. The different formations of Henneateuch, Hexateuch and Pentateuch which Pentateuch scholars identify in the initial parts of the Hebrew Bible might also be witness to differentiated socio-historical interests that prompted these formations.10 These avenues may potentially lead to greater convergence in scholarship on Persian-period biblical literature. Whereas scholars in different specialization areas tend to work within the confines of their own corpus, the approach followed in the present study may open possibilities for comparative studies, where the tendencies observed in different textual corpora can be investigated together. Such greater cooperation between scholars from different areas of specialization may assist us to come to a more comprehensive understanding of the processes of identity negotiation through literature formation towards the end of the Persian period.

8.3.2 Nebi’im Scholarship The production of prophecy in Ancient Israel has received more attention in recent scholarship.11 Whereas nebi’im scholarship has focused on the flesh-andblood prophetic figures and their contexts in the past, we are now reminded that “prophetic books are a very different kind of ‘social agent / ​product’ than flesh and blood products.”12 The concept of “prophetic book” has therefore become the point of focus in some recent scholarship. Within this context Ehud Ben Zvi establishes the following link between the prophetic book and the historical circumstances within which it originated: The conceptual prototype, the books themselves, the repertoire of which they are an integral part and, …, the genre of “prophetic book” are all social products. The conceptual prototype arose within a set of historical circumstances and made sense to their primary historical communities in relation and interaction with their world / ​s of knowledge as a whole, including their social / ​ideological horizons. The conceptual prototype and its his10 See e. g. Thomas Römer, “How Many Books (teuchs): Pentateuch, Hexateuch, Deuteronomistic History, or Enneateuch?” in Pentateuch, Hexateuch, or Enneateuch: Identifying Literary Works in Genesis through Kings, ed. Thomas B. Dozeman (Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 25–42. 11 See e. g. Diana V. Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi, eds., The Production of Prophecy. Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud (London: Equinox, 2011). 12 Ehud Ben Zvi, “The Concept of Prophetic Books and Its Historical Setting,” in The Production of Prophecy. Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud, ed. Diana Vikander [Hrsg.] Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi, Repr. (London [u. a.]: Equinox, 2011), 73.

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torical manifestation in written prophetic books were involved in “actual” power relations but also in power relations that existed only in the minds of literati, and among them. For these reasons, it is important to understand the historical setting in which the conceptual prototype was shared by writers and readers and played a generative role with regards to the fifteen prophetic books in their present form.13 The social, political and ideological dimensions of the historical setting need to be reconstructed as far as is feasibly possible, based on the limited evidence available.14

In his investigation of the historical setting of the prophetic book Ben Zvi concludes that “the early Persian period is the most likely setting for the development of the prototype of what a prophetic book should be and of the corpora of prophetic books as we know them.”15 In his further discussion of this setting – and particularly the ideological dynamics and power relations of this setting – he distinguishes between different discourses that can be detected in the prophetic literature. An underlying discourse is a subtle polemic against the Persian imperial context of the time. Ben Zvi describes it as follows: The prophetic books and the remembrance of the past that they shaped and evoked among rereaders contributed to ideological discourse(s) of resistance vis-à-vis the ideologies of the contemporary imperial, dominant centres: YHWH is in control of the entire universe. YHWH is unshakable and uniquely linked to Israel, Jerusalem, and its intellectual leadership, which the deity has endowed with knowledge through books written for them in their own particular language.16

Another discourse in the prophetic corpus is a marked polemic against Benjamin. Ben Zvi says: Some features of the prophetic books are illuminated in a particular light against the historical setting of the early Persian period. For instance, elements of the hidden polemics against the Jerusalemite literati’s contemporaneous Benjamin, the seemingly dominant group of their time inside Yehud, are partially hidden and certainly presented in the form of attacks on a Benjamin located in the far past. Not only are these attacks set in the past, but they also are set within a general discourse that emphasized social and regional 13 As will be discussed below, Ehud Ben Zvi opposes the idea of a Book of the Twelve, and rather works with the prophetic corpus as individual books. See Ehud Ben Zvi, “‘Twelve Prophetic Books’ or ‘The Twelve’: A Few Preliminary Considerations,” in Forming Prophetic Literature: Essays in Honor of John DW Watts, ed. James W. Watts and Paul R. House (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 125–56; Ehud Ben Zvi, “Is the Twelve Hypothesis Likely from an Ancient Reader’s Perspective?,” in Two Sides of a Coin: Juxtaposing Views on Interpreting the Book of the Twelve, ed. James D. Nogalski and Ehud Ben Zvi (Piscataway: Gorgias, 2009), 2–13. 14 Ben Zvi, “The Concept of Prophetic Books and Its Historical Setting,” 73–74. 15 Ibid., 83. Significantly, Ben Zvi also indicates that “… the early … Persian period not only is the time of the crystallization of the concept of the prophetic book but also the time of the composition / ​promulgation of the Torah” (Ibid., 86). He therefore hints that Torah scholarship and nebi’im scholarship can potentially benefit from interacting with one another. This is a similar point to the one I made above in § 8.3.1 about interaction with Chronicles scholarship. 16 Ben Zvi, “The Concept of Prophetic Books and Its Historical Setting,” 75.

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cohesion in the form of central connective concepts such as transtemporal Israel and the re-enacted memory of a kingdom of Judah that involved both Judah and Benjamin.17

Ben Zvi furthermore identifies in the prophetic corpus similar approaches towards other Yahwistic centres in the region, and particularly in the more powerful province of Samaria. He states: One finds both explicit polemics against the long past Northern Kingdom and hidden polemics against Samaria of the Persian period. One also finds the ubiquitous construction of a transtemporal Israel that includes the northerners, which is emphatically reiterated again and again in prophetic literature. At the same time, the prophetic books shape a world in which the centre of Israel not only is in Judah, but in Jerusalem.18

These remarks therefore highlight phenomena in the prophetic corpus that are very similar to those that I have identified in Chronicles in the present book. Interestingly enough (and differently from my descriptions in Chapter 7 above), Ben Zvi does not detect enough “critical mass” among the literati in Jerusalem of the early Persian period for them to assume strongly opposing ideologies in this community. He indicates: [R]econstructions of the historical setting of the composition of prophetic literature that seem to have been influenced … by the social matrix of the Late Second Temple must be rejected. These reconstructions envision the existence of Jerusalemite parties, strongly opposed ideologies, and socially separate groups in tension with one another. Not only is there a lack of critical mass among the literati to allow for the existence of any serious social, long-term fragmentation, but the restricted size and resources of Jerusalem could have only enhanced the ability of the Jerusalemite centre to control the creation and interpretation of texts among the few Jerusalemite (and Jerusalem-centred) literati.19

Ehud Ben Zvi is therefore intensely aware of the fact that “[p]rophetic books construed memories of a shared past, primarily the monarchic past and its immediate aftermath. By doing so, they contributed to social cohesion and a sense of self-identity among the rereaders since the past was about ‘them’.”20 It is clear that this direction of nebi’im scholarship shows remarkable convergence with the study undertaken on Chronicles in the present book. This convergence could potentially form the basis for comparative studies of prophetic and historiographical books of the Persian period, and could lead to the refinement of the models of description of the literature from this period. 17 Ibid.,

83–84. 84. 19 Ibid., 85–86. Ben Zvi bases his view on the assumption that “[i]t is easier to control textual interpretation within a small group of literati who are, for the most part, socialized in the same manner than in either larger groups or more importantly, multiple groups who are socialized in their own particular ways” (Ibid., 86). In my opinion, Ben Zvi under-estimates the complexity of the post-exilic Jerusalemite community, which consisted of remainees and returnees, and probably also interacted with the diaspora community. 20 Ben Zvi, “The Concept of Prophetic Books and Its Historical Setting,” 75. 18 Ibid.,

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Another area in recent nebi’im scholarship that might be enriched by a multi-levelled description of the identity negotiation processes in the Persian period is the so-called Book of the Twelve scholarship. A wealth of publications in recent years has started investigating the redactional processes behind the formation of a unitary and possibly coherent Book of the Twelve from individual minor prophetic writings.21 Redditt indicates that: [S]cholars have attempted to answer the challenge to demonstrate coherence in the Twelve that validates the claim the book was edited to be read straight through, and doing so yields valid results not obtainable otherwise. These scholars have demonstrated the presence of literary, perspectival, structural, and thematic evidence in support of this claim. In doing so, they have appealed often to the work of redactors.22

Redditt indicates that the corpus of the Twelve has been investigated to expose the redactional techniques used for creating thematic coherence in the corpus. These techniques include “the quotation of or allusions to other texts and the use of catchwords, themes or motifs, and framing devices. Other redactional techniques include the use of designs (e. g., a chiasmus) and of rhetorical devices.”23 Redditt summarises the results of this research as follows: In summary, the Twelve exhibits a series of redactional techniques that shape it. The superscriptions and incipits delineate twelve prophetic individuals around whom the materials are shaped and according to whose dates the traditions are arranged chronologically. Indeed, the superscriptions of Hosea, Amos, Micah, and Zephaniah show a similar style that has caused scholars to speak of them as a collection that served as the first precursor to the Twelve. Catchwords appear in the seams between some or all of the books and sew them together; quotations and allusions form thematic unity; and inclusion devices frame the whole with the theme of the love of God. The books of Nahum and Habakkuk form a chiasmus, and interrogatives tie together Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, both techniques tying together two more possible precursors to the Twelve.24

21 For an overview of scholarship in this field, see Paul L. Redditt, “The Formation of the Book of the Twelve: A Review of Research,” in Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve, ed. Paul L. Redditt and Aaron Schart (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2003), 1–26. As further examples of publications, see James Nogalski, Literary Precursors to the Book of the Twelve (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1993); Paul L. Redditt and Aaron Schart, eds., Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2003); Rainer Albertz, James D. Nogalski, and Jakob Wöhrle, eds., Perspectives on the Formation of the Book of the Twelve: Methodological Foundations – Redactional Processes – Historical Insights, BZAW 433 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012). For a counter-position, see Ben Zvi, “‘Twelve Prophetic Books’ or ‘The Twelve’: A Few Preliminary Considerations”; Ben Zvi, “Is the Twelve Hypothesis Likely from an Ancient Reader’s Perspective?” Ben Zvi does not deny the redactional processes that formed the canonical set of a Book of the Twelve, but he disputes views which see a thematic coherence in these books. See also David L. Petersen, “A Book of the Twelve?” in Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve, ed. James A. Nogalski and Marvin A. Sweeney (Atlanta: SBL, 2000), 3–10. 22 Redditt, “The Formation of the Book of the Twelve: A Review of Research,” 12. 23 Ibid. 24 Ibid., 15.

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After discussing the theories of numerous scholars (including James Nogalski, Aaron Schart, Burkard Zapff, Rainer Albertz, Byron Curtis and Edgar Conrad),25 Redditt summarises the different positions on the redactional stages in the formation of the Twelve as follows: Though scholars have not agreed on the number of stages in the growth of the Twelve, four seems to be the minimum. They have also seen evidence for four possible precursors: the Deuteronomistic corpus26 (with or without Zephaniah). A seventh-century corpus consisting of Nahum and Habakkuk (with or without Zephaniah), a Joel-Obadiah corpus, and a post-exilic precursor consisting at least of Haggai-Zechariah 1–8 and possibly even the whole of Haggai through Malachi. The growth of the Twelve consisted of a series of additions of previously existing corpora and / ​or individual collections to an ever-growing corpus. The multiplication of “prophets” ended when the number reached Twelve, though Zechariah 9–14 may well have entered later.27

The relationship of the Book of the Twelve to other (prophetic) textual corpora in the Hebrew Bible has prompted scholars to reflect more deliberately on the socio-historical context(s) within which this literature emerged. Ehud Ben Zvi’s criticism of the theory of the Book of the Twelve is based on inter alia the perspective that one should not work from the assumption that there were various (ideological) groups in (post-exilic) Jerusalem standing behind the different prophetic books, but rather that more or less the same groups developed the prophetic literature in the Persian period. On account of this debate various suggestions have been made on how the emergence of a corpus of prophetic books related to the socio-historic circumstances of the post-exilic period and to groupings of the time. In this context, and related to the present study, Erhard Gerstenberger’s view on this issue is thought-provoking. Redditt summarises Gerstenberger’s contribution as follows:28 Erhard S. Gerstenberger posits a post-exilic date for the final stages of all prophetic literature and points to psalmic passages interwoven in the Twelve as evidence that at the time and in the books of the Chronicler the prophet is merging into the Levitical singer. Hence, the single act of “singing hymns and prophesying is about the same demonstration of Yahweh’s will (1 Chron 25:1–3). That means: Congregations at the time of the Chronicler (4th century B. C. E.?) did identify liturgical with prophetic activity.” In other words, the presence of hymns throughout the Twelve (and Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel as well) suggests that it was the retroprojection of the late community set in worship rituals.29

It is at this point that the present study can potentially contribute to deepening the investigations into the Book of the Twelve. Although it should be appreciated 25 For

bibliographic references, see Redditt, “The Formation of the Book of the Twelve: A Review of Research.” 26 Referring to Hosea, Amos and Micah. 27 Redditt, “The Formation of the Book of the Twelve: A Review of Research,” 19. 28 For bibliographic references, see ibid. 29 Ibid., 20.

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that Ben Zvi and others have called attention to the socio-historic dynamic of the context(s) from which the prophetic literature emerged, it seems that this discussion had been taken up into nebi’im scholarship in a fairly superficial way. The fact that the majority of studies on the Book of the Twelve concentrate on literary and redactional issues, without embedding them in socio-historic developments, is open to criticism. The much more nuanced approach to the socio-historic context which was suggested by Ben Zvi (as discussed above in this subsection) has in my view not been taken up sufficiently in nebi’im scholarship. The present study, with its distinctions between multi-levelled socio-historical contexts and identity negotiation processes, could potentially strengthen Ben Zvi’s line of argumentation in nebi’im scholarship. This remark does not mean that I would necessarily come to the same conclusions about the possible existence of a Book of the Twelve as Ben Zvi does. However, a more complex socio-historical model of reflecting on the post-exilic Persian period might open new avenues to theorise about the Book of the Twelve. Instead of necessarily distinguishing among different groupings responsible for the different prophetic corpora, one could consider the possibility that there might have been different modes of discourse within the same grouping, depending on which socio-historical context was being addressed. Without formulating any theory on the redactional processes behind the Book of the Twelve here, one might consider whether these stages did not participate in discourses functioning on different socio-historical levels, namely within the Jerusalem cult, in interaction with the northern (Israel / ​Samaria) political and religious sphere, or in response to the imperial context.

8.3.3 Ketubim Scholarship Because of the great variety of literature in the third main part of the Hebrew Bible, namely the ketubim, one cannot really speak of any coherent scholarship on this corpus as a whole. I will therefore rather focus on research on two blocks of material within the ketubim which could potentially benefit from the approach followed in the present study. The first is Psalm studies, and the second Wisdom scholarship. The publishing of Gerald Wilson’s book The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter in 1985 introduced a new era in Psalm scholarship.30 Whereas previous scholarship on Psalms mainly followed form-critical approaches in which the typical Gattungen of individual psalms were described, as well as the (cultic) life-settings (Sitz-im-Leben) within which they typically functioned and communicated, Wilson’s work emphasised the shape and the shaping of the Psalms collection 30 Gerald

H. Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (Atlanta: SBL, 1985).

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as a whole. In a recent survey volume of Psalms scholarship, the editor provides a brief summary in an introductory essay of Wilson’s theory about the Psalter:31 Wilson gives particular attention to the closing psalms of each of the Psalter’s five books, maintaining that the psalms at the “seams” of the Psalter hold significant clues to its overall shaping. Wilson argues that the Psalter’s five books evince purposeful editing and that they tell a “story” to the ancient Israelites – a story about their past history, their present situation, and their hope for the future. That story, he maintains, narrates the rise of ancient Israel under the leadership of Kings David and Solomon in books 1 and 2; the demise of the northern kingdom of Israel, the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians in book 3; the exile in Babylon in book 4; and the return from exile, the rebuilding of the temple, and the restoration of worship in book 5.32

Wilson therefore did not only approach the book of Psalms in a holistic fashion, but also saw some “purposeful editing” behind the book that took place over different historical periods, reflecting the dynamics of each particular period. In this way, the liturgical material in Psalms bridged the experiences of Israel from the monarchical, through the exilic, to the post-exilic period. The final editing of the book as a whole, and the addition of superscriptions, are therefore products of the Persian period and beyond.33 Although the Sitz-im-Leben perspective of past form-critical scholarship also emphasised the historical contexts within which the psalms functioned, the focus in that scholarship was particularly on individual psalms and their individual embeddedness in general socio-cultural environments. The new trend in Psalms scholarship introduced by Gerald Wilson shifted the historical interest to the socio-historical circumstances – not of individual psalms – but of the formation of the Psalter as a whole. Recent scholarship therefore shows how later phases of formation re-interpreted earlier phases, and that the Psalter’s formation reflects a hermeneutical inner dynamics that interacted with the various circumstances of its development. It might therefore be worthwhile to investigate whether some of the trends of re-interpretation observed in the Psalter are also witnessed in other literature of 31 Nancy L. DeClaissé-Walford, ed., The Shape and Shaping of the Book of Psalms: The Current State of Scholarship (Atlanta: SBL, 2014). This volume can also be consulted for further bibliographical references to Psalms / ​Psalter scholarship of recent years. See also J. Clinton McCann, ed., The Shape and Shaping of the Psalter, JSOTS 159 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993). 32 Nancy L. DeClaissé-Walford, “The Canonical Approach to Scripture and the Editing of the Hebrew Psalter,” in The Shape and Shaping of the Book of Psalms: The Current State of Scholarship, ed. Nancy L. DeClaissé-Walford (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 2. 33 I have indicated in previous publications that there are good reasons to believe that the addition of some of the superscriptions in Psalms might have been Levitical activity from the late Persian period. See Louis C. Jonker, “Revisiting the Psalm Headings: Second Temple Levitical Propaganda?” in Psalms and Liturgy, ed. Dirk J. Human and Cas J. A. Vos (London: T & T Clark, 2004), 102–22; Louis C. Jonker, “Another Look at the Psalm Headings: Observations on the Musical Terminology,” Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 30/1 (2004): 65–85.

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the time (probably the late Persian period and beyond).34 Comparative studies might therefore be in order. However, following the direction suggested in the present book, it might also open new avenues of research on the formation of the Psalter if a differentiated description of the socio-historical context were to form the backdrop. One example will illustrate this point. Many scholars agree that a movement in the composition of the Psalter can be seen from (disillusionment with) human kingship (in the earlier parts of the Psalter) to Yahweh’s kingship 34 Jacobson (“Imagining the Future of Psalms Studies,” in The Shape and Shaping of the Book of Psalms: The Current State of Scholarship, ed. Nancy L. DeClaissé-Walford [Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 236–237]) criticises Wilson’s dating of the Psalter as follows: “Wilson dates the final form of the Psalter rather late – toward the end of the first century C. E. or later. Yet, as I noted earlier, he argued that the editorial shape of the Psalter was a response to the problems of the exile. To me it seems that there is a rather obvious question that needs to be asked: If the Psalter’s final form is dated to about 100 C. E., why should one construe the final form of the Psalter as an ‘answer’ to the theological crisis of the fall of Jerusalem and the failure of the Davidic monarchy more than 650 years earlier? I am quite skeptical. Based on the great temporal gap, this seems a problematic argument to me. If that is truly the date of the Psalter’s final formation, why not search in the first century for some catalytic event that may have caused the Psalter to be shaped into its final form? Most scholars do not follow Wilson’s late dating of the Psalter. But even for those who might date the final redaction to sometime in the fourth or third century B. C. E., the temporal distance between the failure of the monarchy in 587 and the final shaping of the Psalter remains a problem. North American scholarship often seems to frame the problem that the Psalter is wrestling with as a failure of the monarchy. Does this framing of the problem square with the best theories about when and where and under whom the final form of the Psalter was shaped?” Jacobson continues to summarise some other approaches to the dating of the formation of the Psalter. He describes another influential theory, that advanced in the commentary by Rank-Lothar Hossfeld and Erich Zenger, as follows: “Zenger and Hossfeld offer a reconstruction of the process by which the Psalter reached its final form. Using very broad brush strokes, I will briefly recreate the picture that they paint of the Psalter’s development. They discern that ‘at the beginning of the fifth century a Psalter beginning with Ps 2 concluded with Ps 100 and the whole composition can be called the YHWH is king Psalter.’ Then, Pss 101–106, offering ‘the perspective of Moses’ were added, sometime ‘in the middle of the fifth century.’ Psalms 107–136 as a sequence were then developed so that there came into existence a Psalter consisting of: ‘Pss 2–136, within which a clear Zion horizon is constituted by Pss 113–118 and 120–134, 135–136, one may call the Psalter of Pss 2–136 the Psalter of Zion. It was created around 400 B. C. E. by (Levitical) Temple singers through the addition of Pss 107–136 (sometimes using existing individual psalms or groups of psalms).’ A ‘Davidic Psalter (138–145)’ was added later, with theme [sic] of ‘wisdom and Priestly language and concepts, here appearing in a synthesis of wisdom and universal space and restricted time. The suggested dating is at the end of the Persian period, therefore near the close of the four [sic] century B. C. E.’ Finally, Ps 1 was added as prologue to the whole Psalter and other internal changes occurred, such as inserting Ps 137 and Ps 86, and appending the last five psalms. ‘We can imagine this redaction taking place between 200 and 150 B. C. E., in the context of the struggle against the Seleucids, but it could have been completed as early as the third century.’” If the finalization of the Psalter took place later than the end of the Persian period (that is, after 332 B. C. E.), it will not alter the multi-levelled socio-historical model presented in this book significantly. The Persian imperial context will then have been replaced by the Seleucid influence, but the multi-levelled dynamics will remain more or less the same as suggested here.

8.3 Potential of Approach for Other Textual Corpora

295

(in the later parts of the Psalter).35 This movement might be interesting to study from the different socio-historical perspectives. Within an inner-Yehudite discourse on kingship in the Persian period this thematic line in the Psalter might have been interpreted differently if the Persian imperial or Seleucid context formed the backdrop. Comparative studies on how kingship was viewed in the literature of the time, and how the theme of kingship was utilised in discourses in the multi-levelled socio-historic existence of the late Persian or Seleucid periods, might open new insights and understandings of the literature of these periods. Studies on the Wisdom literature of the Hebrew Bible, as part of the ketubim, may be another area within which the approach followed in this book might have a constructive impact.36 Recent studies have started emphasising that the different Wisdom books (and wisdom elements in other biblical material) should be understood against the background of the socio-political circumstances of their time of origin. One pertinent advocate of such an approach is Leo Perdue.37 He starts his introduction to the Wisdom literature as follows: [T]he wisdom tradition cannot be understood apart from the larger social history of the cultures in which it took root and flourished and the more particular position that the understandings and roles of sages assumed their shape and changed within different social locations over the centuries. Wisdom was a product of the empires, which required savants to write court annals, teachings of moral virtues to the elite and professionals who held important posts, texts on astrology, cosmology, religion and the gods, nature, science, music, architecture, engineering, and mathematics, and a crafted ideology that provided the legitimation of reigning kings and dynasties. … We can no longer be content simply to reconstruct, translate, and interpret the texts of the scribes outside the domain of social history. Otherwise, we run the risk of oversimplifying the ideas that often reflect our own interests and understandings. … The literature of the sages did not transcend its historical and social setting, but rather was located in a variety of historical events and social circumstances of an evolving nation and its subgroups that reflect different and changing epistemologies, moral systems, views of God, comprehensions of human nature, and religious understandings. Earlier understandings entered into the stream of a people’s tradition that shaped their identity and provided insights for the reconstitution of the self-understandings of later generations.38

In his further discussion of the different Wisdom books, Perdue takes a fairly linear approach by placing the books (or parts of them) in successive periods stretching from the first temple era to almost the Ptolemaic period. He specifical35 See e. g. James L. Mays, The Lord Reigns: A Theological Handbook to the Psalms (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1994); Jim J. M. Roberts, “The Enthronement of Yhwh and David: The Abiding Theological Significance of the Kingship Language of the Psalms,” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 64/4 (2002): 675–86. 36 For an overview of research on the Wisdom literature, see Katherine Dell, “Reviewing Recent Research on the Wisdom Literature,” The Expository Times 119/6 (2008): 261–69. 37 Leo G. Perdue, The Sword and the Stylus: An Introduction to Wisdom in the Age of Empires (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008). 38 Ibid., 1–3.

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ly relates the wisdom psalms to the Persian period, a period in which the Torah as an authoritative set of texts emerged and was related to wisdom traditions. As a suggestion derived from the present study, one could ask whether such a linear description cannot be deepened by the view of multi-levelled socio-historical discourses. It is somewhat artificial to see in the range of wisdom books a linear development, which correlates in a linear fashion with successive socio-political dispensations in Israel’s history. The composite literature of the wisdom corpus more probably reflects growth and re-interpretation over time, but with different discourses overlapping analogously to the multi-levelled socio-historical existence in each period.

8.4 Conclusion With these suggestions for further scholarship we have come to the end of the present study. We set out to develop an approach that takes its point of departure in a multi-levelled description of the socio-historical context of the late Persian period; this provided more sophisticated models for describing the identity negotiations of All-Israel as reflected in the complex literature of the book of Chronicles. After setting the scene in Chapter 1, the study set out in Chapter 2 to explore different methodological approaches that could provide adequate and appropriate concepts and methods for analysing identity negotiation in Chronicles. Chapter 3 presented the backbone of the methodological argument by distinguishing between four levels of socio-historical existence in Yehud in the late Persian period. These four levels were then used consecutively as lenses in Chapters 4 to 7 to reread the literary materials of Chronicles. The present chapter provided a summary and synthesis of the results, and suggested possible applications of the respective models.

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Text Index Hebrew Bible Genesis 1–11 1:1–2:4a 2:4b–25 4 5:1–32 10:1–32 11:10–32 22 23 28 36 36:13b–19 36:40 37–50

35 14, 117, 236 118 118 236 118 118 118 162–163 163 193 152–153 153 153 101

Exodus 1:1–3:15 2:1–10 12 12:6 25:1–7 35:4–9 38:1–8 40:34–38

20–21, 29, 35, 144, 284–285 21, 285 21, 285 187 267 252 252 213 255

Leviticus 21 10:11

285 258

Numbers 1:47–49 2:33 3:2–4 3:21–37 9

208 208 233 246 188

10:7 22 35:2

246 127 230

Deuteronomy 4:37 7:8 7:13 10:8 10:15 12:5–6 13:13–19 16:6 16:18–20 23:5 23:6 31 31:9–13 33:12

144, 243, 274 137 137 137 242 137 207 169 267 144 137 137 128 259 209

Joshua 1 10:29–30 18:15 18:21–24 19:1–9 21 21:1–3 21:5–40 21:9 21:10–19

208, 230–231 128 180 197 167 155 229–230, 232, 236 229 229 231 230

Judges 102, 209 1:21 18:30–31 156 19:10 208 19–21 169

326 Samuel-Kings

Text Index

4–6, 9, 53, 128, 138, 167, 199

1 Samuel 199–202 4–6 238 5:2 203 9:1 194 9:1–2a 198 14:49 198 31 198–200 31:1–13 5, 200 2 Samuel 5 5:1–3 5:6 5:6–10 5:7 5:11–25 5:17–25 5–6 6 6:1–23 6:12 6:12a 6:12–19a 6:13 6:15 6:16 6:17 6:19b 6:19b–20a 6:20b–23 6:19–23 6:20b–23 6:23 8:1–14 7 7:15 10:1–19 15:24–29 20:25 21:18–22 23 24 24:1 24:16–25

240 157, 238 157, 239–240 135 208, 239 208 238–239 159 237 205, 238–239, 241–242 238 242 238 238 242 242 204 242 205 238 238 205 205 205 159 129 204 159 204 244 159 157 123, 126–127, 208–209 122 209

Kings

2–3, 12, 54, 137, 146, 163, 165–167, 170, 173, 181, 184, 186, 189, 212, 220–221, 253, 272, 287

245, 252 1 Kings 1–2 131, 211–212 2 212 2:12b 212 2:35 245 2:46b 212 3 212 212 3:4–15 4:2 271 4:21 138 5:1–12 135 5:27–32 160 5:30 160 6–7 162 8:1 242 8:1–11 253 254 8:3 8:6 242 8:10 253 8:10–11 253 8:12–13 253 8:62–9:1 255 10 137 10:9 135–137 10:26–29 137, 212 12 193 12:1–20 220 221 12:21 12:21–24 220 12:23 215, 221 12:21–24 220–221 12:29 156 12:31–33 257 13 193 14:21–31 220 14:25–28 220 167 15:1–8a 15:3 167 15:9–24 139, 172, 216 15:11–15 139 18 153 22 143–144 22:1–35 142

327

Text Index

2 Kings 2 193 3:1–27 174 8 173 8:16 174 173 8:17–19 8:19 174 8:20–22 173, 180 8:24 173 14:7 181–182 14:8–14 182 14:17–20 182 14:21–22 183 15 262 183 15:1 15:1–7 183 15:4 183 15:5 183, 262 15:32–38 184 16 169 16:10–16 170 17 193 18 263 18:1–3 186 18:4 187, 217–218 186 18:4–7 18:13 186 18:17–37 186 19:35–37 186 20:1–21 186 22 273 22:3–7 272 22:4 219, 272 22:4–7 272 22:7 273 12 22–23 25:1–26 139 25:27–30 139 35, 291 Isaiah Deutero-Isaiah 75 Jeremiah

119, 147, 291

Ezekiel

23, 274, 291

Hosea 290–291

Amos 290–291 Micah 290–291 Joel 291 Obadiah 291 Jonah

25

Nahum

61, 290–291

Habakkuk 290–291 3:7 141 Zephaniah 290–291 Haggai 1:1–15 2:3 2:6–9 2:11

71, 75, 147, 245, 290–291 147 163 163 259

Zechariah 1–8 3:1 3:1–10 6:8 7:3 9–14

39, 127 290–291 123 111 241 259 291

Malachi 291 2:7 259 Psalms 2–136 101–106 107–136 113–118 120–134 135–136 138–145

292–295 294 294 294 294 294 294 294

Proverbs 31:10–31

53

Ruth 61

328

Text Index

Esther 1:8

105, 133 145

Daniel 8:2

133

Ezra-Nehemiah 9, 17, 19–20, 22–23, 68, 71, 75, 86, 89, 110, 146, 196, 233 Ezra

41, 54, 76, 99, 110, 145, 146 146 1:1–3 1:5 215 1–6 110 2 20 2:41 248 3:12–13 163 4:1 215 4:4 86 6:19–21 20 7:2 233 8 20 87 8:33–34 9–10 20 10 17 10:9 215 Nehemiah 20, 121 133 1:1 2:8 133 7 20 7:44 248 8:7 259 9 118 9–10 20 10 20 10:29–30 20 20, 121, 235 11 11:3 235 11:3–19 121, 248 11:4 235 11:10–11 233 11:10–14 235 11:11 233 11:15–18 235 12 20 17, 20 13

13:10–13 13:13 1 Chronicles 1:1–27 1:34–54 1–9 2:1–2 2:3–4:23 4:24–5:26 5:27–6:66 5:34 6:38 7:1–40 8:1–40 9:1a 9:1–34 9:35–44 10:1–14 10–29 11:1–12:41 11:2 11:4–9 12:1 12:2 12:20 12:24 12:29 12:30 13:3 13–16 14:8–17 15:11 15:29 16:37–43 16:39 17:13 18:1–13 19:1–19 20:4–8 21:1 21:15–22:1 22:7–10 23:25–26 23–27 26:28

111 87 117–121 152–154 1, 117–122, 152–157, 194–198, 228–237 154–157 194–197 154–157 228–233 233–235 233–235 154–157 194–197 154–157 121–122, 235–236 197–198 198–203 1, 122–131, 157–160, 198–211, 237–252 157–159 203–205 208–211 203–205 203–205 203–205 203–205 244–246 203–205 203–205 237–244 159–160 244–246 203–205 205–208 244–246 203–205 159–160 159–160 159–160 122–127 208–211 127–131 246 246–252 203–205

329

Text Index

28:2–3 29:1–9 29:22 2 Chronicles 1:2–13 1:18–2:17 1–9 2:10 2–7 3:1 5:2–14 7:6 9:8 9:26 10–36 11 11:1 11:3 11:10 11:12 11:13–17 11:23 13:1–20 13:10–11 13:23b–16:14 15:2

127–131 252 244–246 211–215 160–162 131–138, 160–164, 211–215, 252–256 135–137 131–135 162–164 252–255 255–256 135–137 137–138 138–148, 164–190, 215–223, 256–273 219–223 215–219 215–219 215–219 215–219 256–257 215–219 167–177 257–258 139–142 215–219

15:8 15:9 15:8–9 17:7–9 17:10–11 19:4–11 20:14–17 20:1–30 21:2–22:1 21:8–11 21:16–17 25:5 25:5–10 25:13–16 26:6–8 26:16–21 27:5 28:5b–15 28:17–19 29:3–36 30:1–27 31:1 31:2–19 34:8–13 34:9 35:1–19 35:17–19 36:22–23

215–219 215–219 167–177 258–259 177–186 142–146, 259–260 260–261 177–186 167–177 177–186 177–186 215–219 177–186 177–186 177–186 261–263 177–186 167–177 177–186 263–267 186–190, 267–271 215–219 271–272 272–273 215–219 267–271 186–190 146–148

Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions CMa

81

CMb

81

CMc

81

DB Aram Bab I IV § 6 §§ 60–61 § 70

79, 84 83 83 24–27, 79 52–59, 82–84 84 83 83

DNa 1–8 § 3

79 79 84

DNb 1–5 5–21

79–80 79 79

DPe § 2

84

DSe § 3

84

330 XPh § 3 28–41

Text Index

93 84 93

Jewish texts 4QSama 6 Josephus Ant. 10.152

98 233

Ant. 10.153 Soudaios 233 Jewish Antiquities 118

Greek texts Diodorus

141

1 Esdras 2:8 5:66 9:5

215 215 215

Herodotus 3.89–95 III

85 141

Author Index Abernethy, A. T. ​35 Abrams, D. ​59 Albertz, R. ​15, 20–22, 65, 76, 87, 96, 98, 100, 112, 154, 285–286, 290–291 Albright, W. F. ​68, 143 Amit, Y. ​51, 103, 105, 199 Assis, E. ​152–153 Assmann, J. ​45–46, 49, 51 Auld, A. G. ​5–6, 103, 143, 166, 199, 212, 230 Barker, J. R. ​147 Barr, J. ​124–125 Barrick, W. B. ​173–174 Barstad, H. M. ​49–52 Bartlett, J. R. ​182 Barton, J. ​26, 61 Becking, B. ​20, 34, 96, 112, 123, 161, 163 Bedford, P. R. ​88, 108 Begg, C. T. ​175 Ben Zvi, E. ​6–8, 19–20, 37, 39, 41, 49, 52–54, 61, 68–71, 92, 135–137, 139, 171, 189, 230, 287–292 Berge, K. ​21, 285 Berquist, J. L. ​15, 18–19, 35–36, 39 Blenkinsopp, J. ​15, 41, 104–108, 213, 247, 257 Blum, E. ​7, 21, 25, 145 Boda, M. J. ​1, 37, 40, 42, 132, 242 Bodner, K. ​238 Boer, R. ​34–38, 41, 88, 232 Bolin, T. M. ​112 Bosman, H. L. ​20, 35, 284–285 Bosman, J. P. ​61 Brett, M. G. ​10,17,35 Breytenbach, C. ​123 Briant, P. ​76, 95, 141 Brooke, G. J. ​109

Brooks, S. S. ​199 Brosius, M. ​76, 78, 90–92, 94, 132–133 Burchell, B. ​56 Campbell, A. F. ​238 Carter, C. E. ​15, 55, 68–69, 106 Cataldo, J. W. ​20 Chavel, S. ​188 Cody, A. ​108, 257 Cool Root, M. ​74, 132 Cornelius, I. ​92, 97, 218 Crowell, B. L. ​29–30,34 Dandamaev, M. A. ​76, 145–146 Davies, P. R. ​50–52, 54, 103, 107–108, 199, 247, 257 Day, P. L. ​123 Dearman, J. A. ​182, 213 Deboys, D. G. ​167 DeClaissé-Walford, N. L. ​293–294 DeLamater, J. ​56 Dell, K. ​295 Diebner, B. J. ​175 Dillard, R. B. ​141 Dirksen, P. B. ​1, 14, 116, 123, 158, 199, 206, 208, 210, 228–229, 231, 242, 250 Doan, W. ​241 Dozeman, T. B. ​21, 29, 287 Drijvers, J. W. ​74 Duke, R. K. ​2, 28, 66 Dyck, J. E. ​10, 15, 17 Edelman, D. V. ​19, 39, 41, 50, 52–53, 61, 68, 112, 147, 152, 182, 213, 263–264, 287 Erll, A. ​43–44, 51 Eshel, E. ​100–101, 161 Eskenazi, T. C. ​20, 205, 239, 243 Esler, P. F. ​20

332

Author Index

Etz, D. V. ​173 Evans, P. ​39, 105, 120, 122–123, 126–127, 157, 208 Faust, A. ​102–103 Finkel, I. ​90 Finkelstein, I. ​69, 102–103, 106, 263 Fraser, C. ​56 Frei, P. ​21, 145 Frevel, C. ​14, 20, 197 Frey, J. ​96 Fried, L. ​86, 105 Gabriel, I. ​129 Gates-Foster, J. ​75, 81–82 Gerstenberger, E. S. ​71, 76, 291 Gese, H. ​248 Giffone, B. D. ​102–103, 105, 107, 193, 203, 215, 224 Giliomee, H. B. ​7 Gilovich, T. ​56 Grabbe, L. L. ​50, 55–56 ,62–63, 65–66, 68, 71–72, 76, 99, 104–105, 107–111 Graham, M. P. ​6–7, 18, 37, 118, 135, 177–178, 197, 201, 213, 241 Granerød, G. ​79–80, 82–83, 113 Gruen, E. S. ​89 Gunneweg, A. H. J. ​108 Halbwachs, M. ​44–45, 49 Hanson, P. D. ​55, 108, 124 Harrison, T. ​72, 91, 94 Hauser, A. J. ​27 Henkelman, W. ​74 Hentschel, G. ​199 Hepner, G. ​21,285 Herrenschmidt, C. ​93 Hewstone, M. ​56,59 Hicks, J. M. ​1, 170 Ho, C. Y. S. ​5, 200 Hogg, M. A. ​59–60 Hoglund, K. ​7, 177 Horsley, R. A. ​108–109 Hunt, A. ​111, 233 Jackson, B. S. ​143 Jacobson, R. A. ​294 Japhet, S. ​3–5, 9–10, 12, 88, 116–118,

123–124, 133, 141, 144, 146, 152, 154, 163, 172, 178, 206, 209–211, 213, 217–221, 231, 242, 247, 253, 256, 259–260, 262–263, 268 Jarick, J. ​161–162, 193 Johnstone, W. ​161–162, 193 Jokiranta, J. ​61 Jones, G. H. ​167 Jonker, L. ​1, 5, 9, 11–12, 14, 16, 19, 25, 35, 50, 52, 61, 67, 73, 78, 81, 86, 88, 92, 97, 105, 115–117, 120, 122, 127, 129–130, 134–135, 138–139, 141–147, 154, 165, 167, 169, 172–173, 179–181, 183–186, 188–189, 198, 200, 203, 208, 212, 218–219, 223, 229, 236–237, 240–241, 247–248, 253, 256, 263, 267–268, 270, 285, 293 Jursa, M. ​85, 88 Kalimi, I. ​7, 66, 163–164, 170 Kansteiner, W. ​43 Kartveit, M. ​14, 96, 117, 153 Kessler, J. ​147 Kirk, A. K. ​49 Klein, R. W. ​1, 6–7, 10, 14, 67, 116, 118, 120–121, 123, 128–129, 137, 141, 143, 146, 153–154, 156, 158–159, 163, 165, 167, 169–170, 172, 174, 178, 185, 195–197, 199–200, 203–204, 206, 208–210, 212–213, 216–218, 220–222, 229, 234, 239–240, 242–245, 247, 250, 252–253, 255–262, 267–268, 271, 273 Kleinig, J. W. ​1–2 Kloner, A. ​100, 154 Knauf, A. ​99 Knoppers, G. N. ​1–2, 6–7, 10, 12–15, 19–22, 54, 65, 67, 76, 87, 96–100, 104, 108, 112, 116–118, 121–124, 128, 141, 143–144, 154, 156–158, 169, 176–177, 194–203, 205–211, 229, 233–234, 236–237, 242, 244–245, 247–248, 250–251, 258, 274–275, 286 Knowles, M.  D. ​20 Knuteson, R. E. ​175 Kofoed, J. B. ​45, 54 Kratz, R. G. ​21, 80, 112, 145 Kuberski, P. ​199 Kuhrt, A. ​74, 76, 90, 94

Author Index

Laato, A. ​228–229 Labahn, A. ​110, 228, 235, 240, 247–248, 259–262, 264–266, 268–270, 272, 275 Langgut, D. ​89 Lau, P. H. W. ​61 Lawrie, D. G. ​25 Lemaire, A. ​87–88, 100–101, 161 Leuchter, M. ​108 Levin, Y. ​52–53, 92, 100, 103, 139, 153–154, 199 Levinson, B. ​21–22 Lipschits, O. ​14–15, 19–20, 65, 69, 76, 85–87, 89, 96, 98, 100, 104–107, 112, 153–154, 199, 213 Lynch, M. ​132–133, 161 Magen, Y. ​98 Maruyama, M. ​48 Mayes, A. D. H. ​55 Mays, J. L. ​295 Mbenga, B. ​7 McCann, J. C. ​293 McKenzie, S. L. ​1, 6–7, 18, 25, 37, 67, 116, 119–120, 123–124, 135, 141, 143– 144, 146, 166, 168, 170–172, 178, 197, 199, 201, 205, 208, 220, 229, 241–242, 246, 255 Meyer, E. E. ​21, 247, 285 Milevski, I. ​104 Miller, M. ​54 Miller, P. D. ​238 Mitchell, C. ​201, 203 Mobley, G. ​199 Moffat, D. P. ​20 Moore, S. D. ​33 Môr, M. ​96 Naʼaman, N. ​103, 189 Nehring, A. ​30, 34 Ngwa, K. ​21, 285 Nogalski, J. ​288, 290–291 Nora, P. ​46 Noth, M. ​3, 247 Nurmela, R. ​108 Oeming, M. ​4, 14–15, 19–20, 65, 69, 87, 98, 100, 105, 112, 117–119, 152–153, 199, 230

333

Olick, J. K. ​43–45, 47–49 Olojede, F. ​20, 284 Otto, E. ​21, 25, 285 Peltonen, K. ​66–67 Perdue, L. G. ​295 Perrin, A. B. ​109 Person, R. F. ​5 Petersen, D. L. ​108, 290 Porten, B. ​112 Porter, S. E. ​26 Punt, J. ​33 Redditt, P. L. ​290–291 Ristau, K. ​6, 14, 19–20, 122, 189 Rivera, M. R. ​32–33 Roberts, J. J. M. ​295 Rogerson, J. W. ​55 Rollinger, R. ​72, 75, 78 ,80, 82–83, 85 Rom-Shiloni, D. ​23 Römer, T. ​21, 145, 285, 287 Rosenberg, S. G. ​112 Rost, L. ​238 Roth, F. A. ​21, 285 Ruffing, A. ​129–130, 141 Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H. ​74, 94 Sanderson, C. A. ​56 Sayer, A. ​57 Schaper, J. ​87–88, 108, 110–111, 233, 248 Schicklberger, F. ​238 Schmid, K. ​96 Schmitt, R. ​79, 82, 93 Schunck, K.  D. ​102 Schwartz, B. ​45, 47, 49 Schweitzer, S. J. ​37–42, 120, 157, 191 Segovia, F. ​33–34 Shotter, J. ​58–59 Siedlecki, A. ​18, 178 Ska, J.-L. ​22, 285–286 Smith, M. S. ​51 Snyman, G. F. ​20, 197 Southwood, K. E. ​20 Sparks, J. T. ​14, 117, 194–195, 230 Spencer, F. S. ​170 Stainton-Rogers, R. ​58 Steins, G. ​4

334 Stern, E. ​98 Stern, I. ​100, 154 Stokes, R. E. ​122, 127 Strange, J. ​173 Street, J. M. ​238 Sugirtharajah, R. S. ​29, 32–34 Tal, O. ​15, 23, 59–60, 97 Tate, W. R. ​25 Tebes, J. M. ​152 Thatcher, T. ​49 Theißen, G. ​26 Thiessen, M. ​20 Thompson, J. A. ​141 Tielesch. ​30, 34 Tiňo, J. ​133 Tucker, J. B. ​61 Tuell, S. S. ​1, 141, 178, 209, 242 Turner, J. B. ​59–60 Ussishkin, D. ​69, 106 Utzschneider, H. ​25 Van de Mieroop, M. ​72 Van den Eynde, S. ​243 Van der Merwe, C. H. J. ​246 Van der Spek, R. J. ​75, 89–91 Vanderhooft, D. ​15, 85–86 Vosloo, R. R. ​50

Author Index

Wagner, D. ​199 Washington, H. C. ​20 Waters, M. W. ​76, 80, 83–84, 91, 94 Watts, J. W. ​21, 145, 288 Weinberg, J. ​107 Wellhausen, J. ​1, 3, 143, 286 Welten, P. ​217 Weor, J. ​20, 285 West, G. O. ​16, 33–34, 88, 232 Whitelam, K. ​143 Wiesehöfer, J. ​21, 73–77, 80–81, 84, 87, 145 Willi, T. ​1–4, 7, 9, 14–15, 67, 116, 118, 199, 256–257 Williamson, H. G. M. ​3–4, 8–10, 123, 141, 143, 157–158, 162–163, 170, 195, 217, 247, 256–257, 267 Wilson, G. H. ​292–294 Wilson, R. R. ​55 Wright, J. L. ​20 Wright, J. W. ​1, 177, 205, 238–239, 246–248, 257 Yee, G. A. ​29–32, 34–35 Zalcman, L. ​182 Zerubavel, E. ​47–48, 52 Zsengellér, J. ​96 Zulu, E. ​21, 285

Subject Index Aaron ​111, 168, 230–231, 234, 244, 249–250, 265, 271, 290–291 Aaronide ​111, 168, 230, 233, 249–250, 274 Aaronides ​230, 234, 244, 249–251, 258 Aaronites ​111 Abi ​135 Abiathar ​244–245, 250 Abiatharites ​111 Abijah ​167–169, 171, 173, 180, 184, 257–258 Abijam ​167 Abner ​205 Abraham ​118–119, 149, 152, 162–163, 179, 182, 187 Abschlussphänomen ​4 Achaemenes ​92 Achaemenid(s) ​14, 18–21, 65, 69–70, 72–78, 80–84, 87–88, 90–92, 94–95, 97–98, 100–101, 104, 107–108, 110–112, 122, 125, 132–133, 144–146, 194, 233 Achämenidenreich ​15 Adam ​117–118, 121, 147, 149, 152–153 administration ​15, 36, 69, 78, 83–89, 96–100, 104–106, 115, 122–123, 133–134, 144, 148, 193, 210, 213–214, 224, 227, 234, 245, 247, 260, 271–272, 278–279, 283 Africa ​7, 11, 20–21, 31, 33–35, 110, 284–285 Africans ​31 agency ​31–32, 87–88, 134, 232 agrarian ​86, 88, 91, 115, 188, 229 Ahab ​143, 167, 170, 174–176, 179, 181 Ahabite ​174, 176 Ahaz ​167, 169–171, 173, 185, 263–265 Ahaziah ​173–174, 181 Ahimelech ​244, 249–251

Ahitub ​233, 244 Ahmadinejad ​90 Ahuramazda ​78–80, 82–83, 91–95, 113, 125–126, 130–132, 134, 148 Akkad ​89–90 Akkadian ​125 Alexander the Great ​66–67, 75–76, 95, 141 allegiance ​93, 103, 132, 134, 148–149, 195 allegory ​2, 97 alliance ​81, 108, 151, 179 allocation ​194, 229, 231 allotment ​155, 172, 229 allusion ​122, 181, 218, 246, 279, 290 altar ​111, 163, 170, 209–210, 212–213, 217–218, 250, 262, 265, 274 alteration ​161, 208, 220, 253 altorientalisch ​22, 78, 145 alttestamentlich ​7, 19–20, 61, 75, 92, 103, 167, 182, 199, 243, 248 Amalekites ​205 Amariah ​233, 260 Amaziah ​169, 181–183, 185, 215, 217, 223 ambiguity ​12, 37, 142, 151, 157, 167, 169, 177–178, 181, 190, 197, 203 ambivalence ​31, 134, 148, 213, 269 Ammon ​99, 159, 179–180, 190 Ammonites ​143, 177, 179, 183–186, 205, 260 Amos ​100, 154, 290–291 Amram ​234 Amurru ​90 anachronistic ​75, 80, 91, 95, 116 Anahita ​91–92, 125–126 analogy ​55, 83, 110, 127, 141, 169, 171, 249, 296

336

Subject Index

analysis ​4, 8, 15–16, 19, 24–28, 30, 34–35, 39, 41, 52, 62, 122, 127, 141, 188, 239, 241, 248, 284 Anathoth ​111, 245 ancestor ​45, 81, 111, 118, 155–156, 162–163, 166, 179, 187, 193, 201–202, 216–217, 228, 249–251, 260 anepigraphic ​83 angel ​125–127 animals ​207, 255, 266 annals ​2, 295 annexation ​23 anointed ​127, 157, 170, 245 Ansgar ​43–44 Anshan ​76, 89 Antalcidas ​81 antecedent ​56, 257–258, 267 anthropology ​42, 48, 55, 63, 152, 268 antiquity ​2, 68, 80, 91, 98, 112, 118, 207 Apadana ​80 apartheid ​11, 16, 110 Aphrodite ​92 apocalyptic ​55, 108, 124 apologetic ​213 apostasy ​156, 166, 168, 170–171, 185, 192, 262 appointment ​206, 210, 240–241, 247 appraisal ​3, 5, 22, 67, 76, 135, 270 appreciation ​149, 268, 284 Aqeda ​163 Arabia ​99–101, 190 Arabian ​99 Arabs ​173, 175–178, 181, 183–186 Aram ​83, 140, 159 Aramaic ​82–83, 100–101, 112, 161 Araunah ​162–163, 209, 224 archaeology ​3–4, 14–15, 17, 20, 64, 68, 71–73, 85–86, 89–90, 97–98, 100, 102–104, 106–107, 112, 141, 202, 213, 273 archenemy ​72, 127 archives ​34, 47, 112 areas ​15, 45, 59, 72, 76–78, 82–83, 92, 95, 97, 100–102, 105, 151, 153–161, 178, 183, 189, 191–192, 202, 211, 214, 216, 218, 224, 232, 262, 271, 273, 278–280, 282–284, 287 āreṣ ​86

argumentation ​4, 21, 24, 28, 64, 66, 71, 103, 132, 153, 202, 229–230, 236, 239, 292 aristocracy ​86, 109 Aristotle ​27–28 ark ​129, 165, 180, 204–207, 210, 212–214, 237–246, 252–254, 262, 269, 279–280 Arses ​77 arta ​79 Artaxerxes ​67, 76–77, 83, 91–92, 125–126 artistic ​27–28, 80, 82, 97–98, 238, 282 Asa ​130, 139–142, 169, 172–173, 175, 181, 215–217, 223 Asaph ​206, 229, 241, 248, 253, 261, 265–266, 270 Asaphite ​261 Ashdod ​184 Asher ​88, 154, 156, 158, 187, 231 asherim ​218 Ashkelon ​99 Ashur ​90 Asia ​74, 77, 81 aspirations ​10, 35, 283 assessment ​3, 54, 109, 153, 175, 202, 264 assimilate ​22, 26, 60, 167, 172–173, 176–177, 286 association ​35, 44, 68, 70, 103, 130, 145, 152, 157, 199, 208, 240, 246, 249, 257 assumption ​18, 40, 44, 57–58, 62, 91, 272, 289, 291 Assyria ​35, 80, 155, 185 Assyrian ​30, 75, 89–91, 95, 132, 156, 164, 190 astrology ​295 asymmetry ​30, 62, 64, 115–116, 281, 283 Athaliah ​165, 174 Athens ​77, 81 atonement ​165, 230, 265 Attic ​66 attitude ​49, 56, 134, 171, 179, 204–205, 271–273 audience ​7, 27, 38, 42, 65, 81, 115, 123, 129, 131–132, 139, 147, 169, 172, 180, 241, 252, 260, 272, 275 Auramazdā ​79, 82, 93 Auslegung ​7, 15, 256

Subject Index

Ausübung ​110, 228, 235, 240, 247–248, 259–262, 265, 268, 270, 272, 275 authentic ​4, 143, 213 authorial ​9, 67–68, 71, 73, 194, 227, 229 authorisation ​7, 10–11, 21–22, 37, 39, 41, 52–53, 145–146, 149, 213, 285–286, 296 Autorität ​269–270 Avesta ​91 awareness ​7, 11, 23, 102, 109, 112, 190, 277 Azaliah ​272 Azariah ​140, 172, 184, 216, 262, 271 baal ​184 Baba Bathra ​68 Babylon ​8, 15, 30, 35, 68, 75–76, 79, 82–91, 93–95, 101, 103–107, 109–110, 119, 132, 141, 145, 153, 161, 164, 193–194, 213, 293 backbone ​195, 278, 296 backdrop ​71, 116, 118, 131, 148, 164, 194, 208, 294–295 Bagoses ​112 Balaam ​127 Bashan ​231 bearers ​70, 154, 241, 243, 273 Bedouin ​141 Beersheba ​187 behaviour ​30, 45, 57, 60, 80, 177, 262 Behistun ​145 beliefs ​29, 32, 60, 78 Ben-Hadad ​140 beneficial ​151, 228–229, 231–232, 258 Benjamin ​14, 72, 101–107, 114, 120, 122, 140, 154–156, 158–159, 162, 172, 191, 193–195, 197–199, 202–203, 205, 208–209, 211, 213, 215–225, 230–231, 235, 256, 267, 272–274, 277–281, 283, 288–289 Benjaminite ​102–106, 167, 193–194, 197–199, 201–202, 204, 206–209, 211–212, 214–215, 219, 223–225, 235, 245, 278–280, 283 Berossus ​92 Bethel ​111, 193, 257 Bibelhermeneutik ​26, 30, 34

337

biblical ​1–5, 7–11, 13–14, 16–17, 19–37, 39, 41, 44–47, 49–56, 59, 61–66, 68– 73, 75–78, 86, 88–89, 96–97, 102–105, 108–109, 111–112, 115–117, 121–123, 125, 128–129, 132, 141, 143–145, 154, 161–164, 166, 174–175, 177, 182, 188, 191, 193, 195–196, 198–199, 205, 208, 215, 219, 229, 232–233, 236, 238, 241–242, 246–248, 257, 261, 274, 276–277, 284–285, 287, 291–292, 295 bîrâ ​83 Bisitun ​79, 82–83 blessing ​90, 189, 205, 207, 211, 269 blossoming ​1, 3, 5, 7–9, 125 blurring ​167, 174, 176–177, 255, 259, 261 border ​22–23, 33, 49, 77, 84, 86, 90, 100–102, 112, 137–138, 142, 147, 151, 153–154, 161, 163, 167, 169, 176, 183–185, 211, 255, 286 Botenformel ​147, 260 Brandopfer ​264 brethren ​114, 164, 168, 188, 206 building ​94, 104, 161 Bürger ​107 Bürgerlisten ​118 burial ​173 Byzantium ​80 Cain ​236 Caleb ​231 Callias ​81, 130 calves ​168, 257 Cambyses ​78, 84, 89–90, 161 camels ​136 campaign ​94, 142–143, 167, 184, 220 Canaan ​101, 117, 232 Canaanite ​124, 188, 219 cannibals ​31 canon ​22, 68 captivity ​110, 147, 170–172, 188 caravan ​136 categorisation ​1, 7, 12, 14–19, 21, 23, 36, 42, 55, 59–62, 64, 75, 82, 85, 108, 176–177, 187, 196, 225, 238, 247, 249, 251, 277, 280, 283–284 cathedrals ​47 cattle ​255

338

Subject Index

cedars ​135 celebration ​12, 89, 129, 158, 172–173, 186–190, 205, 212, 217, 239–240, 253, 263, 265–271, 280 census ​122–127, 160–161, 208–211, 249–250 centralization ​21, 58, 70, 188–189, 191, 207, 228, 263, 278 ceremony ​133, 150, 214, 253–254 characterisation ​9, 12, 15–16, 31, 57, 63, 67–68, 70–71, 91, 105, 107, 136, 157, 168, 190, 236, 247, 254, 258, 268–270, 283 chariot ​83, 140 charter ​234 chiasm ​158–159, 195, 257, 290 Christianity ​31, 49, 124–125 Chronicler ​2–3, 5–15, 17–19, 28, 37, 39, 41–42, 61, 66–68, 78, 81, 87, 99, 102, 105, 111, 114, 117–150, 152–225, 227–248, 251–276, 278–284, 291 Chronicles ​1–19, 23–24, 26–28, 36–42, 52–54, 61, 63–71, 73, 75–76, 88, 92, 101, 105–106, 108, 113–139, 141–149, 151–175, 177–181, 183–189, 191–224, 227–275, 277–278, 280–286, 288–289, 296 chronistic ​53, 118, 130, 141, 144, 166, 210, 256 chronology ​2, 29, 35, 121, 157–159, 290 citadel ​133 citizens ​93, 132, 213 clan ​103, 230 clergy ​70, 72, 111, 228, 232, 235, 240, 244, 248, 257–259, 262–263, 268–269, 274 climax ​131, 160, 188, 194, 253, 267 coalition ​143, 175 coastal ​99 codification ​21, 26, 61, 145 cognition ​43, 47–48, 56, 59 coherence ​44, 55, 59, 118, 139, 172, 191, 213, 290, 292 coinage ​97–98 collection ​29, 35, 37, 43, 51–53, 67, 85, 96, 111–112, 273, 290–292 collectivity ​20, 43–47, 49, 51, 56, 60, 62, 68, 158, 197

colonialism ​17, 20, 23, 29–34, 36, 62, 109, 112, 115–116, 134, 151, 283 communality ​16, 18, 23, 53, 161, 163, 235 communication ​12, 26–28, 43–46, 49, 67, 77, 83, 87, 114–116, 127, 135, 150, 241 communities ​47–48, 50, 54, 56, 62, 64, 82, 87, 96–97, 109, 148, 176, 189, 287 complexity ​14, 19, 26–27, 36, 63, 196–197, 273, 282, 289 composite ​246, 286, 296 composition ​2–3, 5, 13, 34, 118, 144, 157, 166, 198, 207, 210, 215, 219, 235–236, 238–239, 247, 284, 286, 288–289, 294 Conaniah ​271 concept ​2, 6, 9, 17, 23, 25, 28–29, 31–33, 36, 43–44, 46–49, 51–54, 57–58, 68, 70, 80, 116, 127, 132, 134, 140, 152, 160, 166, 191, 209–210, 225, 255–256, 264, 287–289, 294, 296 configuration ​16, 29–30, 33, 58, 60, 144, 283 connection ​18, 22, 44, 48, 68, 79, 93, 130, 171, 175, 194, 209, 215, 228, 230, 232–233, 239, 243, 257, 261, 286, 289 connotation ​13, 28, 37, 218, 221, 232 conquer ​75–76, 78, 82, 91, 95, 109–110, 117, 141–142, 145, 150, 161, 179–180, 184–186, 192, 229, 232 conscription ​160–161, 219 consecrate ​168, 189, 244, 253–254, 264–266, 271, 275 consolidation ​15, 44, 86, 157, 220, 222, 245, 256 constellation ​58, 63–64, 95, 140 constitute ​19, 36, 47, 61, 63, 67, 108, 116, 132, 196, 201, 210, 234, 243, 256, 274, 294 construction ​8, 13–14, 17, 20–21, 38–40, 46, 52, 54, 57, 117–118, 120–121, 129, 152, 154, 156, 158, 163, 166, 187, 195, 197–198, 201, 206, 210–212, 223, 228, 238–239, 241, 252, 255, 257, 261, 274, 278, 285, 289 constructionism ​57, 60 constructions ​15, 18, 35, 39, 50, 54, 109, 195

Subject Index

constructivist ​13, 18–19, 56–58, 63, 281 contemporaries ​9, 46, 132, 157, 204 context ​7, 11–14, 16, 18, 20, 23–25, 28–30, 32–36, 40–42, 44–45, 47–52, 54, 62–64, 67, 71–73, 75–78, 81, 86, 92–95, 97–98, 100, 102–103, 105–106, 108, 112–116, 118–120, 122–128, 130–131, 133, 137–138, 144, 147–149, 151, 159, 161, 163–164, 170–171, 189–191, 193–194, 198, 201, 203–204, 210, 214, 216, 219, 223–224, 227, 231–232, 234, 236–237, 240–242, 244, 251–252, 258–260, 262–263, 265, 268–269, 273–275, 277–282, 285–288, 291–296 contextuality ​11–12, 16, 23, 27, 34, 41, 65, 121, 134, 277 continuity ​7, 10, 13, 15, 23, 36, 40, 67, 74–75, 99, 104, 118, 120–121, 132, 149, 163, 165, 171, 176, 191–192, 201, 225, 232, 236–237, 249, 255, 281 convergence ​43, 66, 287, 289 conviction ​50, 60, 137, 179, 182, 218 cooperation ​21, 173, 224, 250, 258, 285, 287 coronation ​157–159, 212, 239–240 corpus ​3, 16, 19–20, 24, 53, 61, 76, 79, 82, 86, 90, 244, 276, 284–285, 287–293, 295–296 cosmology ​295 counsellors ​249–251 covenant ​129, 147, 154, 165, 168, 174–176, 204–206, 210, 214, 237–238, 240, 242–244, 246, 254, 262, 264, 279–280 craftsman ​135, 160, 196 creation ​12–13, 41, 57, 79, 84, 92, 100, 113, 118–119, 124, 153, 237, 284, 289 Crete ​68 cult ​12, 21, 38, 41, 72–73, 78, 91–94, 96, 100, 102, 104–112, 114, 119–122, 124, 129, 131–132, 139, 147–148, 151, 156, 165–166, 168–169, 172, 187–188, 190–193, 205–209, 211–214, 218–219, 223–224, 227–230, 232–240, 242, 244, 246, 248–260, 262–266, 268, 270, 272–283, 285, 287, 292 cultus ​169, 274

339

cuneiform ​76 Cushan ​141 Cushite ​139–142, 172 cymbals ​253 Cyprus ​77 Cyrus ​66–67, 75–79, 81, 84, 89–91, 94–95, 101, 116, 119–120, 138–139, 141, 146–149, 175, 181, 280 dahyāva ​84–85 daiva ​93–95, 125–126 Damascus ​170 Dan ​133, 154, 156, 158, 187 Daniel ​16, 23, 59, 107 Darius ​76–85, 88, 91, 94, 131, 140, 145 dāta ​145 David ​5, 9, 15, 19, 27, 61, 66, 69, 85–86, 103, 105, 121–129, 131, 135, 138, 143, 152–153, 157–163, 165–168, 174–176, 181, 186, 191–195, 197–214, 219, 223–224, 229–230, 237–241, 243–254, 256, 265–266, 269, 278–279, 290, 293, 295 Davidic ​134, 148, 164, 166, 169, 171, 173, 176, 181, 196, 201, 204, 213, 224, 237–238, 240, 247, 249, 251, 256, 282, 294 Davidide ​168, 174 decolonisation ​29, 33 deity ​53, 78–80, 91–93, 97, 123, 125– 127, 132, 147, 165, 182, 263–264, 288 demography ​14–15, 77, 106–107 demons ​93–94, 123, 125 descent ​14, 89, 110, 117–118, 152, 155, 168, 179, 195, 197, 228, 230, 233–234, 248, 265 Deuteronomic ​5, 110, 142–145, 150, 166, 187–188, 207, 211, 236, 243, 280 Deuteronomist ​6, 124, 136, 142–146, 165–166, 170–171, 180, 183, 187, 198, 221, 236, 262, 264, 272 Deuteronomistic ​1, 4–7, 11–12, 35, 52–53, 64, 111, 117, 134, 136, 138–140, 144–146, 155–157, 165–167, 169, 181–184, 187–188, 193–194, 199, 201, 203–205, 211–215, 217, 219–223, 236–237, 252, 254–255, 262, 264, 272, 280–281, 287, 291

340

Subject Index

Deuteronomy ​128, 137, 144, 243, 274 development ​1, 4–5, 8, 10, 15–17, 21–23, 25, 29, 33, 35–36, 43–45, 50, 56, 58–59, 70, 75, 77, 91, 96, 101, 115, 121, 124–127, 142–143, 145, 148, 152–153, 163, 188, 194, 196, 233, 243, 248, 285, 288, 292–294, 296 devil ​122, 124, 127 diachronic ​25, 198, 259 dialectic ​36, 241 Dialogism ​201, 203 diarchic ​245 diaspora ​20, 98, 112, 161, 189, 282, 289 dictatorship ​116 didrachm ​88 differentiation ​60, 73, 85, 151, 176–177, 190–191, 206, 222, 250–251, 257–258, 267–268, 270, 273–274, 279, 285–287, 294 dignity ​118, 120 dimorphic ​99 Diodorus ​141 diplomacy ​80–81, 139 discontinuity ​29, 39–41, 76, 165, 191, 201, 225, 281 discourse ​32, 52, 58–59, 63, 78, 91, 121, 130–131, 160, 176, 193, 248, 251, 254, 263, 288, 292, 295 discursive ​58–59, 63–64, 74 discussions ​6, 14, 28, 37, 54, 59, 73, 76, 80, 84, 94, 107, 112–113, 115–116, 125, 145, 155–156, 158, 162, 172, 180, 186, 198, 201, 205, 212, 228, 233, 237–238, 251–252, 260, 269, 282, 284–285 disease ​140, 175–176, 183, 262 disillusionment ​6, 294 disloyalty ​80, 283 distinctiveness ​7–8, 15–16, 29, 32, 34, 37, 43, 45–46, 48–49, 59–60, 62, 78, 94–96, 98, 105, 108, 127, 132, 154, 166, 174, 177, 179, 188, 190, 207, 221, 228, 234, 236, 245–246, 248, 250, 257, 261, 274, 284, 292 diversity ​11, 14, 19, 43, 66, 75, 81–82, 89, 99, 112–113, 118, 196

divine ​2, 51, 78, 97, 111, 122–123, 126–127, 132–133, 138, 166, 171, 200, 202, 209–210, 243, 253, 255 Diviners ​55–56, 63, 108, 111 divisions ​8, 109–110, 248–250, 254, 269, 272 dominance ​28–31, 34–35, 75, 78–79, 82, 91, 103, 105, 108, 179, 192, 234, 274 donor ​229, 231–232 doorkeepers ​206, 272–273 drachma ​88 drainage ​91 drauga ​79–80 dualism ​124–126 duties ​92, 132, 230, 233, 235, 245–246, 249–252, 255–260, 262–263, 267, 269–270, 274–275 dynamics ​11–12, 29, 36, 43, 55, 58, 61–62, 64, 67, 70, 72, 80, 101, 107, 113, 140, 165, 178, 281, 288, 293–294 dynasty ​90, 92, 111, 148, 166, 169, 213, 221, 263, 295 dystopia ​37–39, 41 earth ​79, 91, 119, 123–124, 128, 135, 137, 140, 147, 149, 171 Ecbatana ​115, 131, 133 economy ​110, 164, 190, 232, 275 edict ​76, 139, 147 editor ​9, 22, 27, 45–46, 52, 55–56, 68, 224, 229, 285, 293–294 Edom ​99–101, 152–154, 159, 182, 205–206 Edomite ​152–153, 173, 177, 180–182, 185 Egyptian ​45, 51, 77, 86, 101, 125, 132, 161 Einzelfallgerechtigkeit ​21, 145 Elam ​86 Elamite ​82 Eleazar ​229, 234 Eleazarides ​234 election ​110, 119, 171 Elephantine ​82–83, 98, 100, 112, 142, 161, 189, 207 elevation ​31, 78, 91, 125–126, 134, 234, 259–260 Elijah ​173, 175–176, 181

Subject Index

Elishama ​258 elite ​30, 33, 38, 68, 70, 81, 84, 88, 97–98, 104, 109–111, 115, 142, 177, 197, 227, 229, 243, 249, 295 Elohim ​112, 208–209, 241, 263 Elohistic ​144 embed ​54, 58, 62, 64, 85, 91, 102, 149, 151, 190–191, 195, 227–228, 237, 241, 277, 292–293 emissary ​127 emperor ​137, 146–147, 149 emphasis ​4, 6, 9, 12, 15, 17–19, 30, 38–39, 41, 44, 58, 63, 82, 96, 109, 119, 121, 130, 133, 136, 138, 140, 147, 158, 168–169, 186, 192, 196, 201–202, 205, 210, 212, 217, 219, 224–225, 227, 230, 235, 237–238, 241–243, 246, 250–251, 255, 257, 278–279, 292–293, 295 empire ​21–22, 30–31, 33–35, 39, 41, 66–67, 72, 74–78, 80–87, 89–95, 101, 108–109, 112–113, 115–116, 119–120, 124, 130–134, 137, 140–142, 145, 147–151, 190, 193, 225, 228, 264, 279–284, 286, 295 employment ​15, 179, 261 enemy ​123–124, 128–129, 131, 164, 178, 185 Enneateuch ​287 Enoch ​41 entextualization ​58 enthronement ​219, 295 entourage ​92, 126, 250 Ephraim ​98, 103, 156, 158, 170, 172, 187, 189, 216–218, 231, 235, 267–268, 272–273 Ephraimite ​102, 170, 235 Ephron ​163 epigraphy ​3–4, 64, 87–88, 97, 161, 196 episode ​95, 119, 136, 139, 143, 160, 162–163, 170, 172, 179, 181, 203, 211, 214, 239, 241, 252, 254 epistemology ​25–26, 48–50, 57, 61–63, 295 epitome ​2–3, 50, 92, 170 equality ​48, 72, 151, 195, 222–224, 239, 274, 283 Erinnerung ​45–46 Erinnerungsfiguren ​46

341

Erweiterung ​259, 269 Esau ​118, 152–153, 182 eschatology ​38, 42, 55, 108, 120, 124–125, 134 Eshnunna ​90 Esra ​2, 21, 145 essentialism ​13, 18, 23, 45, 56–57, 82 Esther ​100–101, 105, 133, 145 estrange ​116, 190, 225, 279 eternal ​148, 165, 168, 175, 246 Ethan ​229, 248 ethics ​16–17, 50, 61, 196 ethnicity ​15, 17–21, 23, 30, 60, 75, 81, 100, 166, 285 Ethnogenesis ​100, 154, 161 ethnography ​122 Euphrates ​84, 137–138, 279 Eupolemus ​66 eutopia ​37 excavation ​4, 92, 96, 98, 104, 141 exclusion ​9, 16–17, 20, 25, 27–28, 59, 63, 111, 124, 165–166, 191, 196, 209, 215, 223–224, 234, 258 exegesis ​7, 12, 16, 19, 21, 25–26, 34, 37, 61–63, 67, 88, 116, 141, 167, 199–200, 285 exile ​8, 11–12, 14–15, 20, 22–23, 29, 33, 35, 39–41, 50, 52, 61, 66–68, 72–73, 75–77, 86, 89–91, 95, 97, 102, 104–106, 110–111, 113, 117, 119–121, 124–127, 132, 138–139, 145–148, 154–156, 158, 161, 164, 166, 169–171, 175–176, 181, 186, 188–190, 193, 195, 197–198, 202, 207, 212–213, 216, 220, 224, 227–230, 233–237, 245, 248, 265, 273–274, 278–280, 282–283, 286, 289, 291–294 Exodus ​20–21, 29, 35, 144, 187, 252, 284–285 Exogamy ​14, 197 expansion ​30, 36, 77, 141, 153, 161, 164, 167, 186, 196 explanation ​27, 35, 50, 57, 59, 123–124, 135, 141, 145, 156, 197–198, 208–211, 232, 239, 259, 286 Ezekiel ​23, 111, 274, 291

342

Subject Index

Ezra ​9, 17, 19–20, 22–23, 41, 54, 68, 71, 75–76, 86–87, 89, 99, 110–111, 145–146, 163, 196, 215, 233, 248 faction ​108–110, 213, 227, 235, 248, 254–255, 274–275, 278–279, 287 facts ​1, 3, 5, 46–47, 51, 55, 74, 103–104, 106, 123 failure ​202, 294 faith ​10, 25, 35, 80, 187, 209, 230, 271, 273 falsehood ​79 fame ​137, 150, 183–184, 214–215, 262 families ​47, 56, 103, 110, 196–197, 206– 207, 221–222, 228, 231–232, 245–246, 249, 253, 265, 271, 273, 275 famine ​101 fate ​60, 96, 106, 151, 171, 176 feast ​172, 188–189, 267–268, 271 Feldzugstagebuchs ​73 fertility ​91 festival ​21, 94, 172, 188–189, 257, 285 fiction ​31, 36–37, 40 Filistia ​97 firstborn ​174 flourishing ​42, 55, 196, 282, 295 fluidity ​19, 32, 102–103, 132 foothold ​107 footstool ​129 forefather ​167 forehead ​262–263 foreigners ​18, 23, 110, 178 foremen ​160 formation ​10, 13, 15, 17–20, 22–24, 26, 29–30, 34–36, 48–49, 52–53, 61–64, 92, 97, 102–103, 167, 177, 179, 228– 229, 238, 254, 257, 277, 281, 284–287, 290–291, 293–294 formula ​129, 147, 175, 220, 253, 260 formulate ​5, 19, 21, 30, 35, 44, 53, 58, 62, 107, 120, 122–123, 144, 168, 184, 218, 234, 243, 247, 264, 266, 275 fortification ​77, 81, 83, 85, 93, 98, 104, 107, 142, 153, 174, 183, 222 foundation ​1, 44, 89, 130, 132, 237, 281, 290 fourfold ​117, 249, 276 freedom ​3

Friedenstheologie ​130 frontier ​77, 100, 142, 153 fruitful ​31, 46, 133 fulfilment ​108, 119, 147, 176, 232, 237, 280 functionalism ​18 functionaries ​138 Gad ​154–155, 158, 231–232, 265 gap ​6, 10, 55, 121, 163, 294 garrison ​83, 101 gatekeepers ​111, 206, 235, 240–241, 247, 249–251 gates ​75, 81–82, 111, 247 Gath ​184 Gathas ​91 Gattungen ​292 Gaza ​99–101, 190 Gedächtnis ​45–46 Gedaliah ​104 gender ​30, 57 genealogy ​4, 9, 14, 19–20, 25, 38–39, 63, 66, 88, 111, 115, 117–122, 141, 152–158, 166, 173, 176, 191, 194–199, 205, 209, 223, 228–237, 244, 252, 265, 271, 274, 278 generation ​10, 45–46, 51, 166, 233, 261, 295 Genesis ​2, 14, 21, 35, 101, 117–118, 152–153, 162–163, 236–237, 285, 287 genocide ​57 genre ​7, 12, 25, 37, 63, 130, 287 gentilic ​208, 217 geography ​4, 18, 30, 39, 67, 84, 93, 95– 97, 103, 175, 182, 195, 209, 216–218, 222, 224, 232–233 geopolitical ​197, 216, 219 Gerar ​141 Gerizim ​96, 98–100, 112, 151, 161, 163–164, 177, 190, 218 Gershom ​229–230 Gershomite ​231 Gershon ​21, 249, 285 Gershonites ​234, 265, 273 Geschichte ​3, 7, 46, 73–74, 76, 102, 108, 217, 248 Gibeah ​104

Subject Index

Gibeon ​104, 194, 197, 205–207, 209– 214, 218–219, 223–224, 234, 240–241, 245, 278, 280, 283 Gibeonite ​194, 197, 207, 213, 280 gifts ​81, 130–131, 136, 204–205, 271 Gilead ​103, 143, 179, 199 glory ​237, 253, 255, 282–283 gloss ​206, 217 goddess ​91–92 gods ​75, 80, 89–92, 94, 120, 137, 155, 168, 171, 183, 199, 259, 269–270, 295 golah ​105, 213 government ​11, 30, 86, 88, 91, 99, 107, 110–112, 132, 146 governor ​33, 83, 87, 93, 99, 107, 109, 112, 115, 132, 148, 245, 260, 272 grandson ​89 greatness ​104, 107, 150 Greeks ​45, 73, 81, 141 groupings ​9, 45, 60, 73, 111, 159, 251, 254–255, 264, 269–270, 273, 275, 291–292 Großreich ​75, 78, 80 Gruppenidentität ​275 Gruppenmitglieder ​275 Gruppenporträt ​259 Gruppenprofil ​275 Habakkuk ​290–291 Hadad ​152 Haggai ​71, 75, 147, 245, 290–291 Hagrites ​155 Halikarnassiers ​74 Ham ​118, 152 Hanani ​140 haplography ​233, 258 happiness ​79, 90 harbinger ​89 harmony ​242 harps ​180 Hasmonean ​111 heaven ​79, 123–124, 126, 135, 147, 149, 170, 175, 179, 189, 269 Hebrew ​1–3, 8–9, 16, 20, 23–24, 26–27, 29–30, 33–35, 37–40, 49–50, 52–55, 61, 66, 68–70, 73, 78, 85–86, 96–97, 106, 111, 123, 128–129, 132, 135, 152, 155, 159, 162, 169, 177, 181–182, 184,

343

191, 196, 200, 203, 208, 214–215, 222, 232–233, 246, 261, 264, 276–277, 284, 287, 291–293, 295 Hebron ​100, 153, 157–158, 203–204, 234, 244 hegemony ​30–32, 34, 134, 144 heir ​36, 119, 169, 174, 180, 202 Hellenistic ​14, 22, 25, 38, 40, 47, 52–53, 66–67, 75, 79, 86, 89, 92, 98, 100, 104–107, 153–154, 161, 201, 236, 285 Hellespont ​81 Heman ​206, 229, 248, 253, 265 Henneateuch ​287 Henoch ​175 heritage ​47, 229, 247, 257 hermeneutics ​11–12, 16–17, 20, 28, 33–35, 50, 53, 61, 138, 293 Herodot ​73–74, 76, 85, 94, 141 Herrschaft ​110, 199, 228, 235, 240, 247–248, 259–262, 265, 268, 270, 272, 275 Heterogenität ​275 Hexateuch ​3, 287 Hezekiah ​142, 173, 186–190, 215, 217–218, 223, 239, 263–272 hierarchy ​33, 72–73, 116, 274 hierocratic ​108 Hierodules ​108, 247–248, 250–251, 258, 275 highlands ​103 Hilkiah ​218, 272 Hiskia ​268–269 historian ​3, 7, 12, 50–52, 55, 63, 66, 71–74, 177, 219 historiography ​2–8, 10–12, 14, 16, 19–21, 23–24, 27–28, 30, 33–36, 38–40, 42–46, 49–56, 58–69, 71–77, 79, 81, 83, 85–87, 89, 91, 93, 95, 97, 99–101, 103, 105–111, 113–114, 116, 118, 120, 122–125, 133, 136, 138–143, 145–153, 155, 157, 161, 164–165, 167, 169, 171, 173–175, 177, 180, 182, 186, 188, 191, 195, 199, 202, 206, 208, 213–214, 220, 223–224, 227–228, 230, 234, 236, 238–240, 244, 247–248, 254, 256, 263–264, 273–274, 277–279, 281–282, 284–296 Hittite ​125

344

Subject Index

Hochkulturen ​45–46 holiness ​180, 275 homeland ​20, 99, 282 homes ​104, 205, 257 homogeneity ​17, 57 horizon ​119, 218, 287, 294 Hosea ​290–291 hostility ​21, 102, 176, 178, 181, 285 humanity ​18, 26, 43–45, 118–122, 147, 149, 235, 253, 278 Hur ​213 Huram ​135–137, 149, 160 hybridity ​13, 17, 31–32, 113, 116, 134, 148–150, 225, 277 hymn ​241, 253, 291 hypothesis ​18, 65, 92, 100, 113, 238, 277, 281, 286, 288, 290 iconography ​72, 92, 97 idealisation ​12, 37–38, 57, 61, 94, 97, 109, 131–132, 134, 138, 158, 160, 169, 186, 191, 220, 235, 295 identification ​63, 70, 108, 116, 151, 155, 163, 191, 193, 209, 228, 259, 264–265, 275 identity ​13, 15, 18–19, 21, 29–30, 32, 35, 45–46, 48–49, 57–59, 61, 75, 81–82, 97, 102–103, 113, 134, 173, 180, 225, 275, 279, 282, 285 ideology ​3, 5–6, 8–10, 15, 17–18, 26–27, 29, 32, 37–38, 41–42, 55, 70, 72–73, 78, 80–83, 90–91, 95, 113, 116–117, 120, 123, 130–132, 140, 145, 149, 152, 159, 166, 169, 171, 180, 197, 211, 225, 227–229, 236, 263–264, 279, 283, 287–289, 291, 295 idolatry ​169, 218, 256 Idumea ​77, 96–101, 112, 124, 151, 153–154, 160–161, 180, 182, 185, 190, 278 illness ​141, 173, 275 imperium ​21–22, 29–36, 39, 62, 69, 72–73, 75–78, 80–88, 100–101, 105, 107–109, 113–116, 118–120, 122, 124, 126–128, 130–134, 136–138, 140, 142, 144–151, 164, 176, 185, 196–198, 224–225, 227, 232, 252, 258, 260,

277–280, 283, 285–286, 288, 292, 294–295 implication ​7, 17, 24, 48, 53, 93, 98–99, 106–107, 123, 126, 138, 142, 146, 153, 189, 236, 259, 264, 269, 271, 285 imposition ​92, 146, 151 impression ​15, 40, 71, 73, 81, 85–86, 147, 156, 210, 222, 235, 253, 264, 266, 270, 275, 278–279 impurity ​262–263 Inarus ​77 incense ​207, 258, 262, 266 inclusion ​20, 23, 60, 82, 95, 121, 146, 154–156, 158, 160, 172, 187, 189–191, 196, 216, 218, 224, 255, 258–259, 267, 278, 290 incorporation ​13, 75, 82, 196 Indians ​31 indigenous ​17, 30, 73, 97, 109–110 individualism ​45–48, 57–58, 196, 228, 281, 290 industrial ​104 inferior ​31, 134, 163 influential ​7, 10, 23, 25, 30–31, 33–34, 78, 93, 113, 139, 151, 167, 202, 227, 274, 277, 284, 287, 294 inhabit ​41, 66, 69, 81, 90, 102, 104, 106, 110, 118, 121, 154, 164, 194, 198, 218–219, 225, 271–272, 281 innocence ​50 innovation ​7, 38, 118, 156 inscription ​71–72, 76, 78–84, 89, 91–97, 125–126, 131, 145 insertion ​34, 181–182, 185, 209, 211, 235, 242–243, 273 insight ​13, 15, 26, 28, 31–33, 39, 43, 51, 61, 63–64, 75, 85, 96, 100, 108, 222, 258, 268, 282, 290, 295 insignificance ​84, 194 insinuation ​142, 147, 162, 184, 251 institution ​10, 16, 22, 30, 32, 56–57, 61, 74, 88, 94, 108, 129, 132–133, 145–146, 161, 169, 177, 202, 218, 228, 275 instrumentalisation ​12, 61, 147, 246, 251, 253, 255, 261, 266, 268, 273 integration ​15, 26, 34, 51, 81, 104, 139, 144, 275, 281

Subject Index

intellectual ​30, 43, 71–72, 108, 257, 288 intention ​12, 17, 52, 63–65, 71, 73, 82, 89, 116, 136, 146, 158, 171, 199, 248, 264, 273, 275 interaction ​13, 17–19, 21, 23, 26, 43, 45–46, 56–58, 60, 74, 101–102, 115, 122, 125, 178, 277–278, 281, 285–288, 292 interdependence ​32, 60 interdisciplinary ​19, 33, 43–44, 50, 63–64, 167 intergroup ​59–60 interlude ​155–156, 158, 182, 195, 239, 241, 249 intermarriage ​14, 19–20, 196–197 intermediary ​122, 126–127 interpretation ​1–4, 7–8, 11, 13–17, 20–21, 24–29, 33–34, 39–42, 45–47, 49, 55–56, 61, 63, 75–76, 92–95, 100–101, 106, 110, 112, 118, 124–125, 138–141, 147, 158–159, 161, 171, 173, 175, 178, 199–202, 207, 209, 218, 221, 234, 242–243, 245–247, 257, 260, 277, 285, 289, 293, 296 interrelationship ​30–31, 109, 113, 139 intersubjectivity ​63 intertestamental ​126–127 intervention ​77, 220 intolerance ​93 intragroup ​59 intuition ​26, 61–62 invasion ​141, 220 invincible ​141, 150 invocation ​179 Ionian ​90 Iranian ​74, 77–78, 91, 93, 124–125, 145 ironic ​43, 159, 166, 169–170, 176, 181–182, 200 Isaiah ​35, 75, 291 Ishmael ​152 Islam ​80–81 island ​37–38, 82, 112 Israelite ​1, 3–4, 7, 10, 14, 17, 19–20, 53, 55, 61, 102, 108, 111–112, 117–119, 121, 135, 137, 148, 152, 160–162, 165, 168–171, 174, 177, 182, 185, 188–189, 194, 196–197, 204, 207–208, 213, 219,

345

225, 230, 233, 235–236, 247, 256, 263, 271, 280, 293 Issachar ​154, 156, 158, 189, 231, 268 Ithamar ​234 Ithamarides ​234 Jabesh ​199 Jabneh ​184 Jahwekrieg ​130, 141 Jahwekriegstexten ​130, 141 Janitors ​108, 247–248, 250–251, 258, 275 Japheth ​118, 152 Jeb ​112 Jebus ​105, 122, 208, 211, 223, 234 Jebusite ​162, 208–211 Jeduthun ​206, 248, 253, 265 Jehaziel ​143, 179, 260–261 Jehoiachin ​139 Jehoiada ​244 Jehoram ​19, 61, 167, 173–177, 180–181, 185, 258 Jehoshaphat ​130, 142–146, 167, 169, 173–175, 178–181, 185, 223, 258–260 Jehud ​15, 67 Jeiel ​197 Jeielite ​198 Jephunneh ​231 Jeremiah ​20, 119, 147, 280, 291 Jericho ​170–171 Jeroboam ​36, 167–169, 171, 180, 219, 221, 256–258 Jerome ​2 Jerusalem ​9, 15, 33, 41, 66–70, 72–73, 83, 85, 87–90, 93, 96–100, 102–115, 121–122, 127, 131–134, 136–139, 141–142, 146–151, 153–154, 160–165, 170, 172–173, 175–177, 180–181, 183, 186–191, 193–194, 196, 198, 201, 204–215, 218–221, 223–224, 227–230, 232–246, 248, 250–254, 256–258, 260, 262, 264–268, 270–283, 287–289, 291–294 Jerusalemite ​69–70, 176–177, 207, 213, 228, 280, 288–289 Jeshua ​245 Jesse ​200, 206 Jezebel ​174

346

Subject Index

Jezreel ​172 Joab ​205, 208–209 Joachim ​87, 108, 110–111, 233, 248 Joahaz ​272 Joash ​130, 169, 181 Joel ​59, 107, 291 Jonah ​25 Jonathan ​10, 17, 20, 285 Joram ​173 Joseph ​15, 41, 101, 103–108, 154, 156, 199, 247, 257 Josephus ​98, 118, 233 Joshua ​128, 155, 180, 197, 208, 229–232, 236 Josiah ​11–12, 110, 119, 129–130, 138, 142, 186–190, 215, 218–219, 223, 240, 258, 267–270, 272–273 Jotham ​184–186 joy ​89, 180, 239 Jubilee ​143 Jubilees ​126 Judaean ​6, 14–15, 18–20, 22, 51, 65, 69, 76, 79, 83, 86–88, 96–98, 100–101, 104–105, 112, 132–133, 148, 154, 176, 182, 196, 199, 201, 207, 213, 248, 286 Judah ​5, 7–9, 14–15, 18–20, 22, 35, 39, 52–54, 65, 67–70, 72, 76–77, 84, 86–88, 95–108, 110–112, 119–122, 130–131, 138–143, 145, 147, 149, 153–155, 158–159, 162, 164–181, 183–197, 199, 202, 205–207, 209, 211, 213, 215–225, 228–231, 233, 235, 239, 256–265, 267–275, 277–278, 280–281, 283, 286, 289 Judahite ​14, 18, 70, 76, 102–103, 105, 130–131, 148–149, 154–155, 159, 165–168, 170–171, 174, 178, 182, 185, 192, 194–197, 206–207, 211, 214–216, 222–225, 235, 237, 280 Judaism ​15, 18, 21–22, 35, 49, 65, 71–72, 76, 79, 99, 107, 110–112, 124–125, 172, 247, 257, 285 Judea ​106, 108–109 judgment ​207, 210, 260 judicial ​78, 87, 116, 143–145, 150, 260, 280 judiciary ​143–144, 259–260 Jüdisch ​15, 108, 164

jurisdiction ​169, 283 justice ​2, 17, 80, 91, 118, 144 justification ​22, 159, 169 juxtaposition ​171, 216 Kedar ​101 keeper ​249, 271 Kennzeichnung ​268–269 Ketubim ​292, 295 Keturah ​152 kingdom ​3, 72, 78–80, 84, 95–96, 99, 101–103, 119, 134, 136, 138–139, 141–143, 145, 147, 149, 151, 154–158, 164–175, 177, 179–181, 183, 185, 187–191, 193, 195, 199–202, 204, 206, 211–212, 215–222, 235, 243, 247, 256–257, 259, 261, 263–265, 267, 269, 271, 273, 279–280, 282–283, 289, 293 kings ​2–6, 9, 12, 19, 53–54, 61, 78, 81–82, 90–92, 116, 128, 130, 135–138, 140, 142–144, 146, 148–149, 152–153, 156, 160, 162–163, 165–167, 169–170, 173–175, 177, 179–184, 186, 189–192, 194–196, 199, 202, 206, 212, 215–217, 219–221, 223, 225, 237, 239, 245, 252–256, 262–263, 272–273, 275, 280, 287, 293, 295 kingship ​9, 78–79, 89–90, 92, 126, 129, 131–132, 135–137, 150, 152, 157, 161, 165–166, 168–169, 173–174, 196, 200, 202–204, 212, 223–224, 240, 243, 249, 294–295 kinship ​170, 185, 202–204, 206, 266 Kish ​198, 203–204 Kleinasien ​21, 145 Knum ​161 Kohath ​229–230, 249 Kohathite ​230–231, 249, 265, 273 Kontext ​30, 74, 153, 264 Kore ​271 Kozuh ​75, 94 Kult ​108, 111, 233, 248, 264–266, 269–270 Kultur ​7, 45–46 Kulturwissenschaft ​30, 34, 45 labourers ​219 Lachish ​83, 100

Subject Index

Ladeerzählungen ​238 laity ​267 lamb ​189, 267–269 lamp ​48, 258 Landtheologie ​14, 117, 153 languages ​31, 82, 206, 293 lawful ​80, 138 laypeople ​1 leadership ​8, 77, 90, 108, 112–113, 115, 128, 131, 141, 163, 167–168, 170, 192, 195, 203–204, 207, 212, 219, 227, 234, 237, 244–245, 257, 260, 272, 288, 293 legislation ​264 legitimacy ​10–11, 31, 38–39, 46, 70, 79, 82, 110, 113, 130, 163–164, 168, 174, 197, 199, 207, 213–215, 228–230, 232, 246, 251, 256–257, 262, 265, 295 length ​10, 12, 96, 102, 110, 142, 264 lens ​22–24, 127, 224, 274, 277, 284, 296 leprosy ​183, 262 Levant ​76–77, 95, 115, 124, 141, 147 Levi ​39, 102, 120, 154–155, 158–159, 194, 208–209, 211, 224, 228–229, 232, 244, 249 Leviathan ​124 Levite ​14, 41, 70, 87, 106, 108, 110–111, 121, 133, 143, 154, 168, 178–180, 186, 189, 194, 206–208, 218, 220, 227–275, 278, 280, 283, 291, 293–294 Leviticus ​21, 285 liberation ​32, 34–35, 146–147, 181 liberty ​121 Libnah ​180 Libnite ​180–181, 185 library ​17, 34–35, 37, 39, 191 Libyan ​77, 140–141 liminal ​32 limitation ​24, 210 lineage ​14, 39, 121–122, 152, 194, 196–198, 201–202, 228–230, 234, 237, 254 linear ​13, 33, 63, 117–118, 194, 282, 295–296 lingua franca ​82–83 literacy ​68–70 literary ​3, 5–9, 11–13, 25, 27–31, 35–42, 44, 51, 54, 63–64, 67, 69, 114, 122, 130, 136, 145, 147–148, 153, 171, 188,

347

198, 205–206, 210, 212, 217, 220, 228, 236, 238–239, 243, 256, 259, 261, 267, 279, 281–282, 284, 286–287, 290, 292, 296 literati ​52–53, 68–71, 83, 106, 113, 142, 148, 164, 190, 197, 227, 234, 277, 288–289 literature ​2, 6–9, 11–15, 19–20, 22–30, 32, 34–42, 44, 46–50, 52–54, 56, 58, 60–64, 68–73, 76–78, 86, 93, 97, 103, 105–106, 108–109, 113, 118, 122, 125–127, 135, 141–143, 147–148, 188, 195–196, 205, 238, 241, 246–247, 264, 277, 281–282, 284, 286–289, 291–293, 295–296 liturgy ​168, 179–180, 251, 253, 291, 293 location ​15, 22, 37, 94, 109, 153, 158, 162–164, 175, 191, 207, 212–214, 280, 295 Lokalautonomie ​21, 145 Lokalisierung ​153 loyalty ​98, 115, 149, 193, 204, 283 Lüge ​73 Lydian ​90 Maaseiah ​272 Macedonian ​141 Machpelah ​163 Macht ​30, 275 magnanimity ​89 majority ​5, 10–11, 52, 65–66, 68, 97, 117, 141, 143, 185, 192, 194, 223, 230, 242, 246, 292 maker ​43, 127, 135 Makkedah ​100, 161 Malachi ​291 Manasseh ​92, 103, 138, 155–156, 158, 170–172, 187, 189, 204, 216–218, 231, 235, 267–268, 272–273 Manassites ​235 Mandela ​11, 110 manipulation ​43, 273 Marduk ​89–90, 94, 120 Mareshah ​100–101, 161 margins ​18, 32–33 marriage ​14, 20, 197, 202 Marxism ​38, 88, 143, 232 Marzeah ​112

348

Subject Index

Masoretic ​121, 199 mathematics ​18, 295 maximalists ​50 media ​25, 43–44, 56, 90, 274 mediation ​45–46, 59, 67, 83, 126–127, 236–237 medinah ​67 membership ​8, 11, 22, 46–47, 59–60, 92, 97, 119, 197, 271 memoir ​20, 51 mémoire ​46 memories ​43–48, 50–52, 54, 64, 103, 289 Menschheit ​15, 45, 119 Merari ​229–230, 249 Merarite ​231–232, 234, 265, 273 mercenary ​77, 83, 141, 181 mercy ​174 Meshullam ​233 Mesopotamia ​68, 75–76, 95 messenger ​146, 175, 209–210, 280 metaphysics ​124 methodology ​6, 11–13, 16–19, 24–30, 34, 36–37, 39, 42–43, 52–56, 61–63, 67, 71–74, 109, 148, 167, 200, 276–278, 280–282, 284, 286, 288, 290, 292, 294, 296 Meunites ​177, 179, 183–186, 260 Micah ​290–291 Micaiah ​143 Michal ​204–205 midrash ​3, 163, 167 mimicry ​31–32, 116, 133–134, 149, 236, 277, 283 mindscape ​47–49, 52–54, 62, 64, 71–72, 78, 87, 101, 106, 112, 165, 178, 281–283 minimalists ​50 minority ​100, 110, 154 minting ​87, 97 minuses ​121, 200 miracle ​118, 140 mistic ​194 Mithra ​91, 125–126 Mizpah ​83, 103–105, 193, 214, 224 Moab ​14, 99, 159–160, 179–180, 190, 197 Moabites ​143, 177, 179, 185, 260 mockery ​139, 142, 149, 280

monarchy ​78, 102–103, 133–137, 143, 146, 149–150, 161–162, 165–166, 169, 174–176, 187, 190–191, 193, 196, 198–199, 201–202, 233, 237, 247, 253, 263–264, 279, 289, 293–294 monetary ​85, 88 monist ​124 monotheism ​45, 132–133, 161 monuments ​46–47, 74, 81, 92 Mordecai ​105 Moriah ​162, 164, 191, 280 Mosaic ​144 Moses ​5, 21, 45, 51, 66, 128, 166, 189, 212, 229, 244, 252, 267–269, 285, 294 Mosethora ​21, 145 motif ​83, 97–98, 207, 230, 253, 290 motivation ​29, 56, 60, 170, 174, 180, 185, 195, 210, 232, 246, 252, 266 motive ​14, 60, 75, 117, 153, 171 movement ​29, 31, 37, 55–57, 61, 172, 197, 236, 242, 257, 273, 294–295 MT ​6, 199–200, 208, 258 multicultural ​75 multidimensional ​16, 25, 33, 63 multidirectional ​13 multiethnic ​75 multilingualism ​82–83 museum ​47, 76 musicians ​245, 249–251, 253, 261 Musik ​261 muster ​123, 159, 181, 220 myth ​44, 46, 51, 124, 284 Nabateans ​182 Nabonidus ​90, 101 Nabu ​89–90, 161 Nahum ​61, 290–291 Nama ​20, 35, 285 Naphtali ​154, 156, 158, 231 Naqsh-i Rushtam ​79, 83, 92–93 narrative ​7–9, 11–12, 20–21, 35, 38–39, 42, 51, 54, 63, 101–103, 105, 119, 121–127, 129–131, 133, 135–145, 147, 153, 155, 157, 159–191, 195, 197–211, 213–224, 229–230, 232, 237–249, 251–263, 265–272, 274–275, 278–281, 284–285, 293 Nathan ​129, 204, 266

Subject Index

349

Natinim ​111 nations ​8, 30, 47, 75, 79, 81–82, 89–91, 95, 118–120, 147, 159–160, 165, 176–181, 183, 185–186, 190–192, 261, 282 Nazi ​57 Nebat ​168, 219 nebi ​287–290, 292 Nebuchadnezzar ​85, 88, 110 Neco ​119, 149 negation ​49, 140, 238 Negev ​99, 101, 153 negotiation ​11, 13, 15, 19, 21–22, 24, 26, 30, 34, 36, 39, 42, 48, 50, 52–54, 56, 58–59, 62–65, 73, 76–78, 86, 97, 110, 113–114, 120, 145, 148–149, 177, 190–192, 215, 223–225, 234, 273, 275, 277–285, 287, 290, 292, 296 Nehemiah ​2, 9, 17, 19–20, 22–23, 41, 54, 68, 71, 75, 86–87, 89, 104, 107, 110–111, 118, 121, 146, 185, 196, 233, 235, 248 Nehushtan ​218 neighbour ​100, 151, 153–154, 168, 170, 176–177, 181, 184, 210, 220 neocolonialism ​30, 34 neurosciences ​43–44 Nile ​112 Noah ​117–118 nobility ​92, 132 norms ​10, 36, 60, 132, 145 northerners ​160, 168–169, 279, 289 novel ​36–37, 101, 140, 179, 235, 263 novelty ​75, 113 nuance ​3, 15, 22, 24, 42, 57, 73–74, 116, 219, 232, 274, 277, 292 Nubian ​141 numismatics ​87–88, 97, 142

officeholders ​83 officer ​249, 271 officials ​19, 61, 83–87, 97, 115–116, 132, 134, 137–138, 142, 144, 148, 178, 196, 205, 218, 227–229, 247, 249–251, 258–260, 265 officiate ​93, 132, 207, 234 Oholiab ​213 omission ​11, 138, 153, 156, 166, 208–209, 254 onomasticon ​100, 161 Opfer ​164, 264–265 opposition ​21, 36, 38–39, 51, 99, 151, 167–169, 171, 173, 178, 180, 185, 190–192, 213, 263 oracles ​147 oral ​5, 27, 63, 103, 166 organisation ​18, 21, 47, 56, 67, 73, 78, 84, 86, 95, 121, 140, 145, 186, 196, 229, 241, 248, 251, 254, 266, 279, 285 Orient ​72–76, 79, 82, 85, 94, 125 origin ​5, 9–10, 17, 20–21, 24–25, 27–28, 35–36, 38, 42, 51, 55, 61–62, 64–66, 68, 71–73, 76, 78, 91, 96, 98, 100, 103, 105, 122, 127, 163, 170–171, 188, 195–196, 213, 227, 229–230, 233, 236, 246–247, 251, 257, 259, 282, 284–287, 295 Ornan ​126, 163, 208–210 orthography ​85 Osorkon ​141 ostraca ​100–101, 154, 161 OT ​55, 126–127 outgroup ​177 overinterpretation ​109 overlords ​213 oversimplification ​72–73, 105, 295 overstate ​121, 222, 269

oath ​172–173 Obadiah ​291 Obed ​205–206 obedience ​171, 182, 185, 220 objectivity ​50 Ochus ​77 offerings ​88, 111, 205–207, 245–246, 252, 255, 258, 264, 266–267, 270–271, 280

Pahlevi ​90 palace ​47, 80–81, 86–87, 89, 92, 131–134, 138, 149, 160, 279, 283 paleography ​85 palynology ​89 papyrus ​112, 161 parable ​170–171 paradigm ​34, 48, 130, 140, 150 paradise ​89, 92, 138

350

Subject Index

paraeneses ​144 Paraleipomenon ​2, 146, 236, 285 parenthetic ​204, 209–210, 213, 222 particularism ​39 Pasargadae ​81 Passa ​270 Passover ​12, 129, 186–190, 217–218, 239–240, 263, 267–271, 280 patriarch ​152, 193, 237, 280 Pax Achaemenidica ​80–81, 130, 140, 227 Pax Persica ​125, 130, 279 peasants ​109 Pentateuch ​3, 5, 11, 14, 20–22, 25, 117–118, 145–146, 196, 213, 236, 258–259, 267, 270, 284–287 perception ​48, 56, 73, 91 periphery ​32, 74, 76, 115–116, 134, 246–247 Persepolis ​79–81, 85, 93, 115, 131–133 Perserreich ​21, 73, 145 Perserzeit ​15, 71, 76, 266 Persia ​21, 35–36, 66–67, 71–77, 79–81, 83–84, 86, 89, 91–92, 94–95, 119, 122, 131, 133, 138–139, 142, 146–147, 149, 151, 185, 196, 280 Persian ​9, 12–15, 18–22, 24–26, 28, 30, 32–38, 40, 42, 44, 46–48, 50, 52–54, 56, 58, 60, 62–102, 104–116, 118–120, 122, 124–128, 130–134, 137–142, 144–151, 153–154, 156, 158–159, 161, 163–164, 166, 169, 176–178, 180, 182, 190–194, 196–199, 201–202, 208–209, 213–214, 223–225, 227–229, 232–237, 240, 245, 247, 251–252, 258–260, 263, 273, 275, 277–296 personification ​123–125 personnel ​68, 229, 248, 252, 255, 258, 279 perspective ​5, 7, 16, 18–21, 25, 28, 33–39, 41–42, 44–45, 47–48, 52–55, 59, 61–63, 70, 74, 76, 84, 86, 88–89, 101, 108, 115–116, 118, 120, 132, 134, 136–137, 147–148, 151–152, 161, 164, 172, 176, 186, 190, 195, 224, 228, 236–237, 263, 274–275, 277, 280–283, 285–286, 288, 290–291, 293–295 persuasion ​27–28 Peshitta ​2, 208

pharaoh ​78, 119, 141, 149 Philistia ​160, 185 Philistine ​102, 137, 159, 164, 173, 175–178, 181, 183–186, 204–205, 240 Phoenicia ​86, 99 Phoenician ​99–100 phratries ​248 pilgrimage ​20, 188, 218, 245 pillar ​154, 194–195, 197–198, 217, 223, 274, 278 pious ​137, 167, 169 plotline ​12, 138 plunder ​170, 182 pluses ​200 poetry ​241 polemic ​20, 105, 119–120, 137, 141–142, 148–150, 153–154, 162–164, 193, 199, 243, 256, 258, 269–270, 278–279, 282–284, 288–289 policies ​70, 75, 89–91, 94, 109, 146 politics ​21, 30, 45–46, 56, 74, 145, 164, 193, 202, 215 polytheism ​126 portray ​9, 18, 38, 41, 67–68, 72, 91, 93– 94, 102, 119, 126–127, 129–135, 138, 140–141, 144, 147, 149, 151, 154–155, 158–159, 162, 165, 167, 169–171, 173, 176–179, 181–182, 185–186, 190–191, 193–194, 197–199, 201, 208, 211, 214, 223–225, 232, 243–244, 248, 251, 254–255, 258–259, 261, 263, 266–267, 269–270, 274–275, 278–280, 283 positivism ​4, 6, 40, 49–50, 54, 74 possession ​69, 133, 230, 235, 252, 255 postbiblical ​124 postcolonial ​15, 18, 20–21, 28–36, 62, 64, 108, 115–116, 134, 225, 277, 281, 285 postcolonialism ​29–30, 34–35 postmodern ​18, 30–31, 50, 58 prayer ​63, 118, 143, 179, 189, 253, 255, 260, 268–269 predecessor ​78, 81, 84, 112, 116, 203, 283 preference ​29, 34, 194–195, 236, 242 prehistory ​164, 197, 214, 218 premonarchical ​221, 280

Subject Index

preparation ​34, 127, 129, 131, 160, 187, 210, 239–240, 247, 252, 267, 269–270, 272 prescribe ​32, 189, 227, 265, 267 presence ​14, 69, 83, 90, 104, 115, 121, 124, 162–163, 193, 198, 203, 212–213, 243–244, 251, 255, 263, 290–291 presentation ​1, 24, 28, 41, 76, 82, 134, 143, 152–153, 161, 165, 176, 181, 194–196, 199, 202, 206–207, 228, 230–231, 234, 274–275 presuppose ​5, 9, 18, 27, 40, 69, 121, 201, 203 pride ​183, 261–262 priesthood ​12, 21, 38, 41, 55–56, 63, 68, 70–71, 87, 92, 104, 106, 108–113, 118, 121, 132–133, 144, 161, 168, 179, 186, 188–189, 206–208, 211, 218, 220, 227–230, 232–237, 240–241, 243–275, 278–280, 283, 285, 294 primordial ​56, 124 procession ​241 proclamation ​10, 14–15, 67, 69, 79, 81–82, 93, 95, 105–106, 147, 175, 181, 253, 282 production ​19, 51, 53, 68, 88, 197, 232, 287 profile ​173, 261, 269–270, 272, 274 progeny ​152, 196 programmatic ​82, 144, 180, 264–265 proliferation ​44 prominence ​7–8, 14–15, 17, 19–20, 25–26, 34, 42, 45, 57, 63, 68, 74, 78, 81–82, 89–92, 110–111, 120–121, 130–131, 133, 143, 151, 156, 166, 170, 173, 176–177, 181, 187, 193–194, 198–200, 202, 204, 207, 212, 214, 219, 223, 225, 228, 230, 232, 237–238, 240–241, 246, 248, 253–254, 259, 264, 266, 271–274, 284 promulgation ​21–22, 79, 83, 119, 285–286, 288 propaganda ​79, 83, 130, 293 prophecy ​3, 21–23, 25, 37, 39, 52–53, 55–56, 63, 68, 70–71, 108, 111, 119, 140, 143–144, 147, 168, 170–173, 175–176, 179, 182–183, 185, 189, 213,

351

216, 220–221, 246, 257, 260–261, 266, 270, 274, 280, 285, 287–292 prosperity ​99, 141, 150, 186, 222 providence ​147 province ​13–15, 22, 36, 65, 67, 69–70, 72, 78, 81, 83–87, 93–101, 103–107, 112–115, 132, 134, 138, 141, 145–146, 148, 150–154, 156–160, 162, 164–166, 168, 170, 172, 174, 176, 178, 180, 182, 184–186, 188, 190–192, 213, 224–225, 252, 258, 277–284, 286–287, 289 proximity ​102, 126, 133, 161, 254 psalms ​63, 118, 241, 291–296 Psalter ​241, 253, 292–295 psychology ​42, 44–45, 56, 58–59, 61–62 Ptolemaic ​295 Pul ​155 purification ​12, 218, 267–269, 272 purity ​20–21, 139, 284 purposes ​7, 28, 34, 39, 53, 67, 120, 122, 157, 159, 206, 208, 243, 293 Qohath ​234 Qohathite ​234 qualification ​48, 105, 171, 262, 269 queen ​135–137, 149 quest ​4, 15, 26, 36, 59 quietness ​128–130 Qumran ​6–7, 61 quotation ​45, 79, 99, 147, 241, 266, 290 rabbinic ​2, 68 racial ​31, 57 racist ​31 Ramat Rahel ​15, 83, 85, 88–89, 115, 132–133, 137, 141–142, 148, 193 Ramoth Gilead ​143, 179 rams ​168, 178 Räucherkästen ​266 Räucheropfer ​264, 266 reader ​5, 13, 16, 20, 25–26, 33, 39, 42, 61–63, 101, 121–122, 131, 136–137, 146, 148, 155–156, 160, 162, 182, 189, 195, 199, 201–202, 216, 219, 228, 236, 239, 248, 253, 262, 277, 281, 283, 285, 288, 290 readings ​24, 34, 37, 39, 50, 52, 73, 77, 86, 97

352

Subject Index

Realgeschichte ​73 rebellion ​77, 80–81, 94, 101, 116, 124–126, 153, 166, 168, 173, 180–181, 185, 219, 227 rebuilding ​20, 104, 107, 111, 146–147, 227, 293 reception ​11, 25, 43, 129, 186, 240 Rechtsgeschichte ​22, 145 reconciliation ​80–81, 220, 254–255, 275 reconstruction ​1, 3, 5, 7, 11, 21–22, 38, 50–51, 53–55, 64, 71–72, 100, 102–104, 109–112, 129–130, 142, 145, 148, 163, 183, 189, 198, 207, 235, 253, 262, 273, 282, 285, 288–289, 294–295 redaction ​6, 21, 53, 86, 127, 195, 206, 210, 218, 236, 247, 251, 274–275, 286–287, 290–292, 294 rededication ​186, 263, 265 redefinition ​8, 228 reductionism ​27–28, 30, 50, 57, 64, 165, 282 reflections ​4, 11, 16, 29, 31, 50, 63–64, 76, 88, 115, 129, 138, 143, 186, 188–189, 229, 240–241, 252, 267–268, 281 reform ​11–13, 15, 61, 85, 88, 110, 140, 142–144, 172, 178, 186, 216–218, 260, 263, 272 reformulate ​6, 10, 12, 53, 139, 216, 218 refutation ​5, 200, 234 regent ​104 regime ​11, 75, 78, 83, 95, 109–110, 147, 232 regions ​70, 91, 95, 97, 99, 178, 190, 222, 286, 288 Rehoboam ​138, 168–169, 181, 215–216, 219–223, 256–258 Reichsautorisation ​22, 145 Reichsgesetz ​21, 145 Reichsidee ​21, 145 Reichsorganisation ​21, 145 reinterpretation ​13, 126, 129, 218 rejoicing ​89–90, 268 relations ​6, 12, 20, 23, 27, 30–34, 36, 40, 42–43, 49, 51–52, 54–55, 59–60, 65, 72–73, 77–78, 80, 87–88, 95–96, 101–103, 105, 108–109, 113, 115–116, 121–124, 134, 136, 142, 144, 151, 167,

169–171, 173–175, 177–178, 180, 185, 193, 198, 202–205, 212, 214, 222, 224, 227–228, 233, 236, 243, 250–252, 257, 266, 273, 277–283, 286, 288, 291 relevance ​10, 43, 60, 73, 77–78, 169, 234, 277 reliability ​3–5, 52, 90, 188, 206 relief ​80–81, 92 religions ​89–90, 92, 95, 132 Religionskontakte ​21, 145 Religionswissenschaft ​34 remainee ​105, 110–111, 273, 289 remembrance ​51, 288 reminder ​133, 160, 237 reminiscent ​169, 180–181, 266 remnant ​219, 272 renewal ​3–4, 8, 10–11, 113, 134, 213, 218, 265, 278 renovation ​144, 218, 264 reorganising ​101, 121, 138, 149, 230, 259 repetition ​121, 157, 233, 273 representation ​43, 54, 80, 82, 93, 120, 130, 132, 137, 185, 213 reputation ​69, 116, 136, 141–142, 160 rereaders ​288–289 rereading ​20, 52–53, 284 resemblance ​180, 195, 198, 255, 262, 270 resettle ​66, 104, 110, 121 residence ​83, 89, 132–133 resistance ​211, 288 resources ​58, 69–70, 74, 87, 117, 127, 150, 181, 289 response ​6, 18, 27, 40–42, 108, 111, 120, 136, 153, 179, 205, 210, 220, 236, 260, 263–265, 292, 294 responsibility ​17, 80, 87, 166, 233, 240–241, 251, 274 rest ​128 restoration ​90, 104, 119, 134, 137, 139, 145–147, 158, 175, 208, 213, 218–219, 224, 265, 272–273, 293 retribution ​166, 171, 271 retrojection ​81, 103, 291 returnee ​20, 105, 110–111, 273, 289 Reuben ​154–155, 158, 231–232 revisit ​22, 30, 53, 58, 96–98, 104–105, 125, 176–177, 198, 200, 203, 209, 213, 223, 241, 277, 293

Subject Index

reworking ​13, 126–127, 186, 214, 217, 236, 274–275, 279, 286 rewriting ​2 rhetoric ​8, 12–13, 19, 21, 26–28, 42, 61–62, 64–65, 76, 127, 144, 168, 203, 208, 214, 219, 242, 248, 282, 285, 290 righteousness ​142 ritual ​1, 10, 47, 92, 143, 150, 164, 188–189, 253, 268, 291 rivalry ​22, 96, 99, 105, 112, 144, 151, 163–164, 190, 193–194, 196, 198, 200, 202, 204, 206, 208, 210, 212–214, 216, 218, 220, 222, 224, 227, 234, 251, 286 rivers ​84, 91, 95 roasting ​270 roles ​15, 58, 70, 126–127, 171, 179, 228–229, 245, 247, 256, 261, 267, 270, 273–274, 295 roots ​55, 74, 108, 124, 162, 165 rulership ​30, 78, 80, 83–84, 89, 99, 116, 119–120, 138, 140, 148–150, 202, 283 Sabbath ​21, 138, 147, 285 sacerdotal ​144 sacred ​88, 91, 163–164, 169, 207, 217, 232, 263, 269 sacrificial ​207, 255, 266 sage ​55–56, 59, 63, 108, 111, 257, 295 Samaria ​22, 67, 72, 85, 95–99, 101–103, 112, 114, 142, 151, 157, 161, 164, 170, 176, 182, 185, 190, 218–219, 257, 265, 280, 283, 286–287, 289, 292 Samarian ​96–98, 102, 164, 176–177 Samaritan ​22, 96, 98, 163–164, 170, 286 Samuel ​4–6, 9, 53, 122–123, 126–129, 138, 157, 159, 167, 189, 198–205, 208–209, 212, 237–242, 244 sanctified ​10, 209, 244, 262, 267 sanctity ​163, 169, 262 sanctuary ​89–90, 94, 98–100, 112–113, 134, 148, 161–163, 166, 177, 188–190, 204, 206–207, 212–215, 218–219, 223, 229, 234, 243, 245, 249, 254, 263, 265, 273, 275, 279, 282 sandals ​170 Sardis ​81 Sasanian ​80–81 satan ​122–127

353

śāṭān ​123–124, 127 satrapy ​77, 80–81, 84–86, 92–93, 95, 97, 115, 132, 138, 228 Saul ​54, 102–103, 105, 143, 157, 193–194, 197–206, 223–224, 278 Saulide ​193, 199, 213 scene ​33, 81, 99, 110, 120, 126, 136, 185, 211, 252, 265, 296 Schichten ​14, 117, 153 Schilderung ​261, 269 schism ​138, 169, 219–220, 257 Schlachtung ​270 scholarship ​1, 3–21, 23–24, 26–29, 32–37, 40, 42, 50–55, 58, 62, 66–68, 71–75, 77, 84–86, 88–89, 92–94, 96–98, 100–103, 105, 107–108, 113, 116–118, 121–125, 128, 130, 141, 143–144, 146, 152–154, 157, 161, 170, 172, 174, 182, 188, 193, 197–198, 201, 206, 209, 213, 229–230, 233–234, 236–238, 247–248, 251, 263, 273–274, 277, 284–294, 296 Schrift ​45–46, 259, 265, 269 Schuld ​199 scientific ​16, 25–26, 37, 42–44, 55, 57, 59, 62–63, 199 scorn ​1, 187 scribe ​3, 5, 14, 22, 33, 83, 86, 103, 108–109, 166, 209–210, 229, 246, 250, 257, 273, 295 scriptures ​2, 20, 27, 31, 37–38, 40, 66, 69, 106, 141, 152, 293 seals ​67, 72, 83, 97 seams ​290, 293 Sebaot ​263–264 secretaries ​273 seer ​204, 266 Seir ​152, 179–180, 182–183 Seleucid ​294–295 sensitivity ​30, 62, 64, 149, 224 sentiment ​21, 95, 101, 176, 213, 253, 266, 270, 278, 285 Septuagint ​2, 121 sermon ​34, 167–168 servants ​121, 235 settlement ​15, 69, 72, 90, 99, 102–104, 107, 155 Shah ​90

354

Subject Index

Shaphan ​272 Sheba ​135–137, 149 Shechem ​161 Shem ​118, 152 Shemaiah ​168, 220–221 Shephelah ​86, 99, 101, 153 Shimei ​271 Shishak ​220 Shoshenq ​141 shrine ​90, 98, 111, 206, 253 Siegelkultur ​14 significance ​10, 12, 20, 52, 59, 61, 67, 121–122, 127, 137–138, 159, 208, 238–241, 253, 278, 295 signify ​5, 76, 93, 132, 139, 159, 185, 194–195, 216, 242, 282 Siloam ​4 Simeon ​154–155, 158–159, 172, 188, 216, 231 Simeonites ​155 similarity ​6, 12, 29, 31, 55, 60, 77, 97–98, 158, 168, 170, 177, 190, 220, 228, 253 simultaneity ​12, 16, 31, 41, 70, 72, 93, 120, 126, 131–132, 134, 149, 152, 176, 180, 190–191, 224, 256, 277, 281, 283 Sinai ​56, 99, 248 singer ​111, 206, 229, 240–241, 245, 248, 253, 265, 291, 294 Sinngebung ​269 Sinnkonstruktion ​259, 270 Sira ​66 Sitz-im-Leben ​292–293 skill ​13, 28, 135, 217, 273 slaughter ​170, 207, 266–270 slavery ​219 socialization ​47, 53–54, 57–58, 281, 289 societies ​7, 20, 30, 51, 55, 59, 61–62, 69, 148 sociology ​13, 17, 23–24, 29, 36–37, 42–44, 47–48, 55–57, 63, 107–108, 124, 145 sojourners ​172 soldiers ​81, 170, 181 solidarity ​283 Solomon ​9, 67, 121, 127–138, 148, 150, 160–161, 163–166, 168–169, 186, 194–196, 201, 206, 210–215, 219–221,

223–224, 237–239, 242, 245, 247–248, 252–253, 255–257, 269, 271, 279–280, 293 Sondergut ​105, 122, 127, 129–130, 141, 144, 155, 163, 175, 179, 181, 198, 200, 203–205, 208, 222–223, 233, 237, 241–242, 244–246, 252, 260 sons ​56, 72, 101, 117–118, 121, 152–154, 156, 168, 173, 175, 181, 199, 201–202, 206, 222, 228–231, 234, 248, 256, 261, 271 sophistication ​24, 36, 69, 85, 87, 144, 277, 284, 286, 296 sovereignty ​8, 89, 119, 165, 263 Sozialgeschichte ​108, 111, 233 Sparta ​77, 81 spatiality ​32, 37, 39, 162 spear ​80, 140 specialisation ​17, 48, 55–56, 63, 68, 74, 108, 111, 113, 117, 161, 287 speculation ​125–126, 160, 245 speech ​20, 27–28, 63, 127–128, 135, 137, 140, 168–169, 251–253, 258, 264, 269, 272 spices ​100, 136 splendour ​133, 165, 169, 179 sprinkling ​267, 270 staircase ​81 Stammesgebiet ​153 statues ​92 status ​25, 32, 38–39, 67, 69, 72, 77, 83, 92–93, 103–104, 107, 111, 122, 132, 145, 190, 193, 202–203, 207, 211, 230, 234, 244–245, 251, 254, 258, 270, 274, 278, 283, 285 stereotyping ​31, 57, 60, 134 storehouses ​104, 249, 271 stories ​5, 9, 103, 118, 163, 243 strategies ​20, 23, 30, 35, 77, 99, 109, 140 strength ​36, 80, 169, 181–182, 184 strife ​131, 167, 177, 190, 194, 216, 227 stronghold ​83, 158, 182 structural ​14, 109, 194, 290 subdue ​82, 129, 169 subjectivity ​47, 72 subjugation ​79, 81, 134, 149 submission ​185 subordination ​30, 250

Subject Index

substitution ​125, 169, 176, 218 subtle ​89, 116, 119–120, 124, 131, 133, 137, 139, 141–142, 150, 153, 159, 190, 218, 223, 279–280, 282–283, 288 success ​60, 80–81, 140, 183–184, 186, 262, 274 succession ​66, 75, 77, 80, 139, 210, 234 Sumer ​89–90 superiority ​4 superpowers ​197 superscriptions ​290, 293 supremacy ​119, 133–134, 142, 164 surroundings ​47, 72, 95–96, 99, 101, 106–107, 151, 160, 178, 185–186, 190–192, 261, 273, 278, 280–281, 284 Susa ​86, 90, 115, 131, 133 sword ​174, 209–210, 295 symbol ​32, 46–47, 92, 97, 207, 214, 242–243, 246, 263 Synchrony ​25 syncretistic ​170, 183 synthesis ​24, 28, 44, 53, 61, 63, 65, 74, 109, 113, 148–149, 190–191, 202–203, 223, 225, 234, 273, 275–278, 280, 282, 284, 286, 288, 290, 292, 294, 296 systems ​29, 32, 38, 42, 91, 97, 145, 295 tabernacle ​161, 165, 168, 206–207, 209–210, 212–214, 224, 233, 241, 245–246, 252, 255, 280 tablets ​56, 85, 243 Talmud ​68 Targum ​208 taxation ​85, 87–88, 99, 109 technique ​23, 55, 63, 217, 236, 267, 290 Teispes ​72, 75, 78, 80, 83, 89 temple ​9, 12, 14, 19–20, 35, 38–39, 41, 52–53, 61, 65, 68–72, 76–77, 87–88, 90, 92–94, 97–100, 105, 107–113, 115, 118, 120–123, 126–135, 139, 146–150, 157, 160–166, 168–169, 171, 176–177, 179–180, 186–189, 191, 193, 197, 204, 206–211, 213–214, 218–219, 223, 227–228, 232, 235, 237, 239–240, 242, 245–248, 250–255, 257–258, 262–269, 271–275, 279–283, 287, 289, 293–295 temporal ​29, 37, 126, 139, 162, 186–187, 203, 263, 265, 294

355

tension ​37–38, 102, 105, 109–111, 149, 177, 217, 227, 289 terminology ​13, 31, 44, 130, 168, 175, 184, 188, 223, 242–243, 270, 293 territory ​32, 91, 98, 102–103, 105–106, 138, 153, 161, 172, 177, 183–184, 197, 206, 209, 213, 222, 224, 253 textuality ​6, 12, 15–16, 18–19, 24, 37, 53–54, 56, 58–59, 61, 63, 68, 71, 83, 90, 121, 153, 157–158, 163, 173, 178, 180, 188, 190, 200–201, 222, 229, 233, 239, 241–242, 247–248, 270, 274, 276, 278, 282, 284–285, 287, 289, 291, 293, 295 themes ​2, 9, 38, 116, 139, 149, 156, 176, 181, 190, 199, 224, 239–240, 274–275, 290, 295 theocracy ​10, 15, 17, 134, 229 theologian ​7, 12, 118, 197 theology ​2, 4, 7–9, 11, 16, 20–21, 27, 30, 33–34, 44, 55, 61, 70, 109, 119–120, 122–124, 126–127, 130, 135, 139–141, 143, 147, 156, 159, 163–164, 167, 169–170, 172, 174–176, 180, 185, 187–188, 199–201, 204, 208–210, 213, 219–220, 230, 232, 237, 241, 246–248, 259, 264, 269, 285, 294–295 theophany ​208, 253, 255 theophoric ​100 theory ​3, 7, 17–19, 21, 23, 25–26, 29–32, 36–40, 42–44, 48, 51, 55–56, 59–62, 74, 87, 98, 107–108, 117, 121, 125, 153, 158, 166, 171, 188, 225, 232–234, 236, 243, 281–282, 291–294 thinkers ​45 thousands ​85, 110, 140, 159, 170 threat ​80, 95, 163, 260, 263 throne ​77, 80, 90, 98, 128, 136–138, 165, 213, 238 Tigris ​84, 90 Tilgath-Pilneser ​155 tithes ​111, 271 Tiv ​21, 285 tolerance ​80, 89, 91, 95 tomb ​79, 83, 92 topography ​33

356

Subject Index

Torah ​21–22, 143–145, 171, 178, 199, 206–207, 218, 258–259, 267–268, 271, 274, 284–286, 288, 296 totality ​28, 44, 95, 97, 112, 175, 216–219 towns ​103, 107, 121, 169, 182, 193, 196, 207, 213, 229–230, 235, 271 Traditio ​238 tradition ​2, 5–6, 11–14, 22–23, 27, 36, 41–44, 46, 49, 51, 56, 62, 64, 68, 74, 82, 102–105, 108, 111, 118, 127, 130, 142, 144–146, 149–150, 152, 156, 158, 161–163, 165, 169, 172, 182, 187–188, 193, 196, 199, 207, 211, 213–214, 220, 223, 229–230, 233–234, 236–237, 251, 255, 257–258, 266–267, 270, 279–281, 283, 290, 295–296 transcend ​47, 144, 295 transdisciplinary ​43 transform ​11, 13, 19, 36, 43, 46, 86, 92, 131, 243 transgression ​33, 155–156, 167, 175, 262 Transjordan ​99, 101, 155–158, 164, 186, 191, 278, 282 translation ​1–2, 9, 34, 45, 66, 79, 82, 90, 93, 116, 128, 153–154, 157, 174, 194, 197, 212, 229, 242 transportation ​8, 171, 241 transtemporal ​289 trauma ​51 treasury ​85, 87–88, 205, 249–250 treaty ​81 tribe ​9–10, 39, 72, 101–103, 105, 114, 120, 122, 154–159, 164, 166, 169, 172, 186–187, 189–191, 193–200, 202–204, 206–224, 229–232, 235, 244, 248, 256, 273–274, 277–278, 280–283 tribute ​51, 67, 85, 88, 90, 103, 115, 138, 148, 165, 184–185, 189, 227, 232 Trinity ​29, 55, 108 troops ​89–90, 158, 168, 181–182, 221 truth ​26, 79 turmoil ​76, 93, 107 typology ​86, 200 Tyre ​99, 135, 137, 149, 160 Tyrian ​136, 161 Überlieferungsgeschichte ​3 Ugarit ​132

Ugaritic ​125 unclean ​268 unfaithfulness ​121, 187, 200, 230, 262, 264 unity ​9, 118, 122, 146, 216–217, 219, 221–222, 224, 229, 239, 282–283, 290 univeralist ​39, 48, 117–121, 147, 149, 152, 194, 235, 278, 283 universe ​81, 89, 288 Unleavened Bread ​188–189, 268, 271 Uri ​213 Urkunde ​259 Ursprung ​46 Uruk ​86 utopianism ​28, 36–42, 62, 64, 120, 156–157, 191, 235, 275, 278, 281–282 Uzza ​161 Uzzah ​253, 262 Uzziah ​169, 183–185, 261–263 variety ​7, 16–17, 25, 27, 44, 48, 57, 59, 61, 68, 82, 91, 97, 100, 163, 196, 215, 217, 220, 236, 274, 282, 292, 295 Vergangenheit ​15, 45–46 vernacular ​31, 44, 83 versions ​4, 82–83, 121, 129, 136, 146, 160, 174, 195, 198, 208–209, 239, 286 victory ​140, 153, 155, 167–169, 171, 180–182, 192 villages ​185 vineyards ​183 virtues ​105, 169, 178, 295 vision ​37, 39, 41–42, 82, 108–109, 133–134, 144, 155, 175, 180, 187, 218, 278, 282–283 Vorhalle ​4, 14, 117, 153, 230 Vorlage ​5, 11, 122–123, 126–128, 135, 137, 140, 153, 157, 159, 172, 177, 186, 189, 199–201, 208–209, 213–214, 216, 219–221, 242, 262–263, 274 Vulgate ​208 Wadi Daliyeh ​97 walls ​81, 147 warfare ​18, 91, 178 warrant ​56, 133, 156, 209 warrior ​80, 129, 170, 212, 244 watershed ​5, 104, 214

Subject Index

wayyiqtol ​160 wealth ​97, 100, 107, 133, 136–137, 164–165, 212, 214, 290 weaponry ​83, 142 Weltgeschichte ​75 Weltmetapher ​130, 141 Weltreich ​76, 85 winemaking ​104 Wirklichkeitsentwurf ​275 Wirklichkeitskonstruktion ​275 wisdom ​79, 136–137, 150, 211, 214, 280, 292, 294–296 Wissenschaft ​3, 20, 61, 75, 92, 103, 167, 182, 199, 243 workers ​161, 196, 249, 273 Worldview ​189 worship ​9, 90–95, 97, 131, 161, 163, 191–193, 207, 211–212, 218, 224, 253, 255–256, 266, 291, 293 writer ​5, 7–8, 13, 23, 68, 71–72, 101, 116, 121, 126, 131, 139, 141, 144, 155–157, 164–165, 171, 175, 177–178, 186, 198–200, 223, 234, 250, 262, 274, 282, 288 writings ​3, 13, 17, 36, 50, 62, 69, 71, 75–76, 86, 88–89, 104–105, 112, 127, 141, 150, 196, 236, 282, 290 Xerxes ​74, 76–78, 84, 93–95, 125 Yaho ​100 Yahu ​161 Yahweh ​5, 23, 99–100, 112, 119–120, 123–127, 129–131, 133–137, 139–143, 145–150, 161–162, 165–181, 183–192, 200, 204–206, 209–216, 220, 223–224, 229, 232, 238, 240–246, 249, 251–256, 258–260, 262–269, 271–272, 275, 277, 279–280, 282–283, 287, 291, 294 Yahwism ​93, 95–96, 98–100, 112–113, 118–119, 131–132, 134, 149–150, 161, 163–164, 177, 186, 191, 207, 273, 279–280, 282–283, 289 Yehud ​9, 13–15, 18–20, 35–37, 52–54, 64–72, 74, 76–78, 80, 82–88, 90, 92, 94–102, 104–110, 112–116, 118–120, 122, 124–125, 127, 131, 133–134, 138–139, 141–142, 145–146, 148–151,

357

153–154, 157, 159–161, 163–165, 169, 176–178, 182, 190–191, 193, 195, 197, 202, 207–208, 213, 215–216, 219, 223–225, 227, 229, 232, 234, 237, 252, 277–283, 286–288, 296 Yehudite ​96, 106, 108–110, 112, 130, 149–150, 164, 176–177, 189, 280, 282–283, 295 YHWH ​9, 97, 111, 123–124, 127, 133, 136, 143–144, 171, 199, 201–202, 207, 243, 288, 294–295 yoke ​76, 86, 89, 219 Yoruba ​20, 284 YWH ​161 Zadok ​111, 206, 213, 233–234, 244–245, 249–251, 271 Zadokite ​110–111, 113, 207, 227, 233– 234, 245–246, 251, 254–255, 273–274, 278, 280, 283 Zebulun ​154, 156, 158, 187, 189, 231–232, 268 Zechariah ​39, 123, 127, 183, 241, 290–291 Zentralgewalt ​21, 145 Zephaniah ​290–291 Zerah ​140–141 Zerubbabel ​163, 245 Ziklag ​158, 203 Zion ​107, 207, 248, 294 Zoroastrianism ​91, 125

Greek words/phrases ἐν ταῑς ἐφημερίαις αὐτῶν ​258 και Ιεβους ​208

Hebrew words/phrases ‫​ אהבת יהוה את־עמו‬136 ‫​ איש מנוחה‬128 ‫​ אלהים‬119 ‫​ ארון ברית־יהוה‬242–243 ‫​ ארון ברית־האלהים‬242 ‫​ ארון־יהוה‬242 ‫​ ארון־האלהים‬242

‫‪Subject Index‬‬

‫‪ ​250‬ליד־בני אחרן‬ ‫‪ ​258‬למד‬ ‫‪ ​260‬למשפט יהוה‬ ‫‪ ​200‬לשאול‬ ‫‪ ​259‬מבינים‬ ‫‪ ​216‬מכל־יהודה ובנימן‬ ‫‪ ​175‬מכתב‬ ‫‪ ​203‬מלך‬ ‫‪ ​187, 200, 262, 264‬מעל‬ ‫‪ ​246‬משכן‬ ‫‪ ​261‬נבא‬ ‫‪ ​140, 169, 175–176‬נגף‬ ‫‪ ​128, 140, 180, 246‬נוח‬ ‫‪ ​230, 232‬נתן‬ ‫‪ ​205–206‬סבב‬ ‫‪ ​160‬ספר‬ ‫‪ ​178, 259‬ספר תורת יהוה‬ ‫‪ ​181‬עבר‬ ‫‪ ​147‬עור‬ ‫‪ ​168, 170, 180, 264‬עזב‬ ‫‪ ​184‬עזר‬ ‫‪ ​250‬על־יד‬ ‫‪ ​268‬על־לב‬ ‫‪ ​264‬עלה עולה‬ ‫‪ ​267‬עלות‬ ‫‪ ​180‬פחד אלהים‬ ‫‪ ​178‬פחד יהוה‬ ‫‪ ​158‬קבץ‬ ‫‪ ​265–266‬קדש‬ ‫‪ ​261‬קהל‬ ‫‪ ​262, 264–266‬קטר‬ ‫‪ ​266‬קטרים‬ ‫‪ ​264‬קטר קטרת‬ ‫‪ ​179, 260‬רוח יהוה‬ ‫‪ ​200‬שאול‬ ‫‪ ​203‬שאול מלך‬ ‫‪ ​187–188, 205‬שוב‬ ‫‪ ​267–269‬שחט‬ ‫‪ ​126–127‬שטן‬ ‫‪ ​260‬שטרים‬ ‫‪ ​246‬שכן‬ ‫‪ ​128‬שלום‬ ‫‪ ​128‬שלמה‬ ‫‪ ​130, 140–141, 169‬שען‬ ‫‪ ​128, 180‬שקט‬ ‫‪ ​258‬שרים‬ ‫‪ ​206‬שרת‬ ‫‪ ​271‬תרומה‬

‫‪358‬‬

‫‪ ​222‬ארצות‬ ‫‪ ​221‬את־כל־בית יהודה ואת־שבט בנימן‬ ‫‪ ​221–222‬ביהודה ובבנימן‬ ‫‪ ​83‬בִי ְרתָא‬ ‫‪ ​133‬בירא‬ ‫‪ ​221‬בית‬ ‫‪ ​221‬בית יהודה ובנימן‬ ‫‪ ​129‬בית מנוהח‬ ‫‪ ​258‬במלאצת‬ ‫‪ ​154‬בני ישראל‬ ‫‪ ​179, 256‬בקש‬ ‫‪ ​242–243‬ברית‬ ‫‪ ​271‬בתורת יהוה‬ ‫‪ ​160‬גרים אשר בארץ ישראל‬ ‫‪ ​172‬גרים‬ ‫‪ ​2‬דברי הימים‬ ‫‪ ​130, 140, 166, 172, 179, 183, 189,‬דרש‬ ‫‪200, 204, 213‬‬ ‫‪ ​204‬ההקדיש‬ ‫‪ ​254‬הכהנים הלוים‬ ‫‪ ​254‬הכהנים והלוים‬ ‫‪ ​259‬המבינים‬ ‫‪ ​200‬המלוכה‬ ‫‪ ​268‬המשכילים שכל־טב ליהוה‬ ‫‪ ​260‬הנגיד לבית־יהודה‬ ‫‪ ​219, 221‬העם‬ ‫‪ ​221‬ואל־כל־בית יהודה ובבנימן‬ ‫‪ ​208‬והיבוסי‬ ‫‪ ​160‬ויספר‬ ‫‪ ​160‬ויעל המלך שלמה מס מכל־ישראל‬ ‫‪ ​221‬ויתר העם‬ ‫‪ ​260‬ושטרים הלוים לפניכם‬ ‫‪ ​174, 182, 184, 212, 262, 266,‬חזק‬ ‫‪271–272‬‬ ‫‪ ​214‬חסד‬ ‫‪ ​112‬יהו‬ ‫‪ ​147, 175, 260‬כה אמר יהוה‬ ‫‪ ​147‬כה אמר כורש מלך פרס‬ ‫‪ ​260‬כהן הרוש‬ ‫‪ ​189, 212, 265, 271‬כון‬ ‫‪ ​217, 219, 222–223‬כל‬ ‫‪ ​212‬כל־הקהל‬ ‫‪ ​14, 25, 154, 157, 186, 191,‬כל־ישראל‬ ‫‪212–213, 216, 218, 221, 227–228, 255,‬‬ ‫‪259, 265‬‬ ‫‪ ​169, 187‬כנע‬ ‫‪ ​140–141‬לא דרש‬ ‫‪ ​168‬לא עזב‬