Centralizing the Cult: The Holiness Legislation in Leviticus 17-26 (Forschungen Zum Alten Testament) 9783161576850, 9783161576867, 3161576853

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Forschungen zum Alten Testament Edited by

Konrad Schmid (Zürich) · Mark S. Smith (Princeton) Hermann Spieckermann (Göttingen) · Andrew Teeter (Harvard)

134

Julia Rhyder

Centralizing the Cult The Holiness Legislation in Leviticus 17–26

Mohr Siebeck

Julia Rhyder, born 1987; studied Liberal Arts at the University of Melbourne, and Theology at the University of Divinity, Melbourne, Australia; 2018 Dr. theol. from the University of Lau­ sanne, Switzerland; currently Swiss National Science Foundation senior researcher (Hebrew Bible) at the University of Basel, Switzerland. orcid.org/0000-0002-3146-0662

ISBN 978-3-16-157685-0 / eISBN 978-3-16-157686-7 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-157686-7 ISSN 0940-4155 / eISSN 2568-8359 (Forschungen zum Alten Testament) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2019 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com 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 and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed on non-aging paper by Gulde Druck in Tübingen, and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Preface The present study is a revised version of my PhD dissertation, completed at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies at the University of Lausanne under the direction of Christophe Nihan. It was conducted as part of the Swiss National Science Foundation Project no. 153029, and examined in June 2018 by a panel consisting of Thomas Römer (chair), Christian Frevel, Sarianna Metso, Christophe Nihan (director), and James W. Watts. I wish to express my sincere gratitude to Prof. Nihan for his role as my doctoral supervisor. He provided me with an exceptional training environment at Lausanne, which enabled me to gain knowledge and competencies in a variety of new areas. I have benefited greatly from our many discussions over the years, as well as from Prof. Nihan’s comments on various drafts of my dissertation. I wish also to express my particular thanks to Prof. Nihan for his assistance during my relocation from Australia to Switzerland with my husband, Timothy Rhyder, and for all that he did to make us feel welcome in Lausanne. Special thanks are also due to the members of my doctoral panel, who provided me with many valuable comments on various aspects of my research, as well as suggestions for improving the thesis for publication. I am particularly grateful for their willingness to travel to Lausanne for the public defense of my dissertation, which enabled me to benefit from a dynamic, face-to-face discussion. I also wish to thank Konrad Schmid, Mark S. Smith, Hermann Spieckermann, and David Andrew Teeter for accepting the present study into the series Forschungen zum Alten Testament. Several sections of this study were initially presented as papers at various academic meetings. The discussions of ritual and temporal standardization in chapters 4 and 6 were presented in different forms at the graduate student meeting of the Faculties of Theology of Berlin, Göttingen, and Lausanne held in Lausanne in May 2016, at an international conference organized by the Faculty of Theology in Lausanne that same month, and at the European Association of Biblical Studies (EABS) Annual Meeting held in Helsinki in August 2018. The issue of Judean bias in the priestly traditions, addressed in chapter 4, was presented in a different form at an international conference hosted by the Protestant Institute of Theology at Montpellier in December 2018. The discussion of the high priest’s vestments in chapter 4 also builds on research undertaken for a coauthored paper (with Christophe Nihan) presented at the EABS

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Preface

Annual Meeting held in Leuven in July 2016. Certain elements of chapter 5 were presented at an international conference hosted by the Faculty of Arts at the University of Geneva in May 2014, at a colloquium hosted by the Collège de France in May 2018, and at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Denver in November 2018. My research on the 4QReworked Pentateuch C manuscript, presented in chapter 6, was also delivered in a different version at the EABS graduate student meeting held in Leuven in March 2015. Finally, the discussion of the sabbath in chapter 7 was presented in modified form at the graduate student meeting of the Faculties of Theology of Basel, Göttingen, and Lausanne held in Basel in May 2018. I received many valuable comments at these various conferences and workshops, which were of great benefit to the present study. This book could not have been completed without the support of colleagues, friends, and family members. I revised the manuscript while working as a postdoctoral researcher in a team led by Sonja Ammann at the Faculty of Theology of the University of Basel. I am grateful to Prof. Ammann for her support, advice, and kindness throughout this process, as well as for the friendship of my colleagues Helge Bezold and Stephen Germany at the University of Basel. I am also grateful to the various members of the Biblical Studies Institute at the University of Lausanne for their support during my doctoral studies, especially to my colleagues Anna Angelini, Aurélie Bischofberger, Hervé Gonzalez, Priscille Marshall, and Katharina Pyschny. I wish also to thank Anna Angelini, Mark Brett, Jordan Davis, and Benedikt Hensel for their feedback on drafts of select chapters of the study, Angela Roskop Erisman for her careful copyedit of the manuscript, and Joan Beaumont, Anita Dirnberger, Timothy Rhyder, and Garry Tongs, who provided valuable assistance with matters of indexing and proof reading. Special mention should be made of Rotem Avneri Meir, who proof read the entire manuscript and also assisted me in navigating the Modern Hebrew of certain secondary sources that were important for this study. Any remaining mistakes in the manuscript are my sole responsibility. This study involved the particular challenge of relocating from Australia to Switzerland. I am grateful to my family and friends in Australia for their support and encouragement during this process. I wish to particularly mention my parents, Joan Beaumont and Oliver Beaumont, my stepmother, Pamela Bowen, and my sisters, Diana Beaumont and Caroline Beaumont, for their continued love and support. My mother, Joan, deserves a particular word of thanks for the model of academic excellence that she has always demonstrated in her work as a historian, and for her encouragement as I pursued my own academic interests. Finally, I am, above all, thankful to my husband, Tim, whose support during the writing of this book has known no limits. I dedicate this study to him with gratitude and affection. Basel, May 2019

Julia Rhyder

Table of Contents Preface ............................................................................................................ V List of Tables and Figures ...........................................................................XIII List of Abbreviations .................................................................................... XV

Chapter 1 Introduction: The Holiness Legislation and Cultic Centralization .............................................................................. 1 1.1 Methodology ........................................................................................ 4 1.2 Key Concepts ....................................................................................... 6 1.2.1 Centralization ................................................................................ 8 1.2.2 Center and Periphery ................................................................... 11 1.2.3 Discourse .................................................................................... 15 1.2.4 Social Memory ............................................................................ 17 1.3 Outline of the Study ........................................................................... 22

Chapter 2 The Holiness Legislation in Context .......................................... 25 2.1 Recent Trends and Debated Issues ..................................................... 25 2.2 Structure, Scope, and Dating of the Holiness Legislation .................. 36 2.2.1 Leviticus 17–26(27) as a Structural Unit..................................... 36 2.2.2 H as a Late Priestly Stratum ........................................................ 45 2.2.3 H as a Persian Period Composition ............................................. 59 2.3 Conclusion.......................................................................................... 64

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Chapter 3 The History of Cultic Centralization and the Priestly Traditions .................................................................................. 65 3.1 Centralization in the Persian Period ................................................... 66 3.1.1 Questioning the Classical Account of Cultic Centralization ....... 67 3.1.2 Central Sanctuaries at Gerizim and Jerusalem ............................ 70 Excursus: Imperial Funding of the Jerusalem Temple? ................... 75 3.1.3 Evidence of Cultic Diversity ....................................................... 81 3.1.4 Toward a New Appraisal of Centralization and Persian Period Biblical Traditions ....................................................................... 87 3.2 Centralization and the Priestly Traditions .......................................... 90 3.2.1 Classical Approaches to the Priestly Traditions and Centralization .............................................................................. 90 3.2.2 Challenges to the Classical Approaches ...................................... 93 3.3 H and Centralization in the History of Research .............................. 101 3.3.1 The Laws of Slaughter and Sacrifice in Lev 17 ........................ 101 3.3.2 The Festal Calendar of Lev 23 .................................................. 104 3.3.3 Other Legislative Themes ......................................................... 108 3.4 Conclusion........................................................................................ 111

Chapter 4 Centralizing Discourse in P: Sanctuary, Ritual, and Priesthood ................................................................................ 112 4.1 Unifying Sanctuary Space ................................................................ 113 4.1.1 Central Shrine and Communal Unity ........................................ 114 4.1.2 Hierarchies in the Construction of the Central Sanctuary ......... 124 4.1.3 A Nonmonarchic Space ............................................................. 129 4.2 Standardized Ritual Practice ............................................................. 136 4.2.1 Setting a Ritual Standard in Lev 1–16 ....................................... 137 4.2.2 Guarding and Maintaining the Centralized Cult: Reconfiguring Royal Roles ............................................................................... 148 4.3 Centralized Priestly Competence ...................................................... 152 4.3.1 The Priestly Garments and the Centralized Priesthood ............. 153 4.3.1.1 Monopolizing the Sanctuary .............................................. 154 4.3.1.2 Manifesting the Deity to the Community ........................... 157 4.3.1.3 Representing a Unified Israel............................................. 159 4.3.1.4 Establishing an Aaronide Priesthood ................................. 161 4.3.2 Aaron and the Tribe of Judah in Late Priestly Materials ........... 163

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4.4 The Priestly Discourse of Centralization in Historical Context ........ 166 4.4.1 The Central Sanctuary: Place and Cultic Compromise.............. 168 4.4.1.1 Accommodating Cultic Diversity in Early Texts? ............. 170 4.4.1.2 Later Strata within the Priestly Traditions: The Issue of Judean Bias ........................................................................ 174 4.4.1.3 Reimagining Central Sanctuary Space for a Postmonarchic Context .............................................................................. 175 4.4.2 Ritual Standardization: Discourse and Practice ......................... 177 4.4.3 The Priesthood and Cultic Legitimacy ...................................... 182 4.5 Conclusion........................................................................................ 188

Chapter 5 The Centralization of Slaughter and Sacrifice in Lev 17 .......... 190 5.1 The Structure of Lev 17 and the Importance of Blood Disposal ....... 193 5.2 The Centralizing Discourse of Lev 17 .............................................. 203 5.2.1 Leviticus 17:3–7 and the Prohibition of Local Slaughter .......... 203 5.2.1.1 Interpreting the Scope of the Law in vv. 3–4 ..................... 203 5.2.1.2 Wild Goats and the Rationale in vv. 5–7 ........................... 205 5.2.2 Leviticus 17:8–9 and the Centralization of Blood Sacrifice ...... 214 5.2.3 The Blood Prohibition and Sanctuary Monopolies.................... 218 5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions ....................... 223 5.3.1 Leviticus 17 and Deut 12 .......................................................... 224 5.3.2 Leviticus 17 and P ..................................................................... 238 5.4 Discourse and Practice ..................................................................... 249 5.4.1 The Issue of Practicability ......................................................... 250 5.4.2 Leviticus 17 and Its Possible Context ....................................... 254 5.5 Conclusion........................................................................................ 258

Chapter 6 Temporal Symmetry: Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar and Laws for Regular Offerings (Lev 23:1–24:9) .... 260 6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23 .......................... 263 6.1.1 Structure and Theme ................................................................. 266 6.1.2 Questions of Coherence in the Festal Calendar ......................... 271 6.1.3 Leviticus 23 and the Standardization of Festal Programs .......... 277 6.1.4 Standardization and Centralization in Lev 23 ........................... 290

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6.2 A Shared Calendar in “All Your Settlements”.................................. 293 6.2.1 References to the Settlements in Lev 23 ................................... 294 6.2.2 The Settlements in H-Like Texts outside Lev 23 ...................... 298 6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9 .................... 304 6.3.1 Sanctuary Time and Ritual Centralization................................. 304 6.3.2 New Insights from 4QReworked Pentateuch C 23 .................... 314 6.4 Strategies of Centralization in the Persian Period: Fixed Festal Dates and the Evidence from Elephantine ........................................ 320 6.5 Conclusion........................................................................................ 328

Chapter 7 Holiness as Hegemony: The Centralizing Logic of Communal Sanctification............................................................................ 331 7.1 The Distinctive Concept of Holiness in H ........................................ 333 7.1.1 Comparing Holiness in P and H ................................................ 335 7.1.2 Holiness, Obedience, and Centralization ................................... 340 7.2 Holiness and Soliciting Consent ....................................................... 345 7.2.1 Hierarchies of Holiness ............................................................. 346 7.2.2 The Parenetic Framework of Lev 18–22 ................................... 350 7.2.2.1 Othering and Standardization ............................................ 351 7.2.2.2 Collective Loyalty ............................................................. 356 7.2.2.3 Protecting the Central Shrine ............................................. 359 7.2.3 Sabbath and Sanctification ........................................................ 364 Excursus: Exodus 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 ........................................ 369 7.3 Holiness and Land ............................................................................ 371 7.3.1 Slaves on the God’s Temple Estate ........................................... 371 7.3.2 Economics and Centralization in the Persian Period: Generating Consent ................................................................... 380 7.4 Conclusion........................................................................................ 385

Chapter 8 Conclusion: Reframing Cultic Centralization ......................... 388 8.1 Summary .......................................................................................... 388 8.2 Key Findings and Implications ......................................................... 398 8.2.1 Centralization and the Pentateuchal Traditions ......................... 398 8.2.2 Strategies of Centralization in the Persian Period ..................... 401 8.2.3 Conceptualizing Centralization ................................................. 405

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Bibliography ............................................................................................... 409 Index of Ancient Sources ............................................................................ 451 Index of Modern Authors ........................................................................... 471 Index of Subjects ........................................................................................ 479

List of Tables and Figures Table 4.1: Divine Promises in Gen 17:7, Exod 6:7, and Exod 29:45–46 ..... 118 Table 4.2: Comparing Exod 28:12 and 28:29 .............................................. 159 Table 5.1: Correspondences between Lev 17:11 and 17:14 ......................... 201 Table 5.2: Blood Prohibitions in Gen 9:4; Lev 17:11, 14; Deut 12:23 ........ 228 Table 5.3: Items to Be Brought to the ‫מקום‬: Deut 12:6, 11b, 17, 26 ............ 237 Table 6.1: The Expression ‫ מועדי יהוה‬in Lev 23 .......................................... 267 Table 6.2: Comparing Lev 2:14–16 and Lev 23:10aβ–b, 13–14a ................ 288 Table 6.3: References to the Settlements in Lev 23 ..................................... 295 Table 6.4: Occurrences of the Expression ‫ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬outside Lev 23 .... 299 Table 6.5: Similar Language in Exod 12:16 and Lev 23:7–8....................... 301 Figure 2.1: Lev 17–22: Communal Holiness ................................................. 40 Figure 2.2: Lev 23–25: Temporal Holiness ................................................... 42 Figure 4.1: The Organization of the Tribes around the Tent of Meeting ..... 127 Figure 4.2: The Genealogy of Phinehas in Exod 6:13–27 ........................... 165 Figure 5: The Structure of Lev 17 ............................................................... 202 Figure 6.1: The Structure of Lev 23 ............................................................ 270 Figure 6.2: The Standardized Festal Scheme of Lev 23 .............................. 284 Figure 7: The ‫ אני יהוה‬+ ‫ מקדשׁ‬Formula in Lev 21–22 ................................ 362

List of Abbreviations The titles of biblical books and ancient sources are abbreviated according to The SBL Handbook of Style, 2nd ed. (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2014). Unless otherwise stated, all translations of the biblical text and secondary sources in this book are my own. ÄAT AB ABD ABRL ABS AcBib ADPV AHw AIL AnBib ANE AnOr AOAT AOS ANET AsJT ATANT ATD BA BAR BARIS BBB BBET

Ägypten und Altes Testament Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman. 6 vols. New York, NY: Doubleday, 1992 Anchor Bible Reference Library Archaeology and Biblical Studies Academia Biblica Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Akkadisches Handwörterbuch. Wolfram von Soden. 3 vols. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1965–1981 Ancient Israel and Its Literature Analecta Biblica Ancient Near East Analecta Orientalia Alter Orient und Altes Testament American Oriental Series Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by James B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969 Asia Journal of Theology Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments Das Alte Testament Deutsch Biblical Archaeologist Biblical Archaeology Review BAR (British Archaeological Reports) International Series Bonner biblische Beiträge Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie

XVI BBR BCH BDB BEATAJ BETL BGBE BHS BHT Bib BibInt BibSem BJSUCSD BKAT BM BN BWA(N)T BZ BZABR BZAW CAD CahRB CAP CAT CBC CBET CBQ CC CHANE ConBOT COS CSHJ

List of Abbreviations

Bulletin for Biblical Research Bulletin de correspondance hellénique Brown, Francis, S. R. Driver, and Charles A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentums Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium Beiträge zur Geschichte der biblischen Exegese Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia Beiträge zur historischen Theologie Biblica Biblical Interpretation The Biblical Seminar Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament British Museum Biblische Notizen Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten (und Neuen) Testament Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtgeschichte Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1956–2006 Cahiers de la Revue biblique Cowley, Arthur E. Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century B.C. Oxford: Clarendon, 1923 Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament Cambridge Bible Commentary Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology Catholic Biblical Quarterly Covenant Code Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Coniectanea Biblica: Old Testament Series The Context of Scripture. Edited by William W. Hallo. 3 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1997–2002 Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism

List of Abbreviations

CUSAS D DBAT DCH DDD

DJD DMOA DSD Dtr EA

EBR ETR FAT FIOTL FRLANT GELS GMTR H HALOT

HAT HBAI HCOT HCS HKAT

XVII

Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sumerology Deuteronomic Code Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament und seiner Rezeption in der Alten Kirche Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Edited by David J. A. Clines. 9 vols. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 1993–2014 Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by Karel van der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. van der Horst. Leiden: Brill, 1995. 2nd rev. ed. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999 Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Documenta et Monumenta Orientis Antiqui Dead Sea Discoveries Deuteronomistic El-Amarna tablets. According to the edition of Jørgen A. Knudtzon. Die el-Amarna-Tafeln. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1908–1915. Repr., Aalen: Zeller, 1964. Continued in Anson F. Rainey, El-Amarna Tablets, 359–379. 2nd rev. ed. Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1978 Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception. Edited by Hans-Josef Klauck et al. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009– Etudes théologiques et religieuses Forschungen zum Alten Testament Formation and Interpretation of Old Testament Literature Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint. Takamitsu Muraoka. Leuven: Peeters, 2009 Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record Holiness legislation The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Ludwig Koehler, Walter Baumgartner, and Johann J. Stamm. Translated and edited under the supervision of Mervyn E. J. Richardson. 4 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1994–1999 Handbuch zum Alten Testament Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel Historical Commentary on the Old Testament Hellenistic Culture and Society Handkommentar zum Alten Testament

XVIII HR HSM HThKAT HTR HUCA IBC ICC ITC JA JAJ JANESCU JAOS JBL JESHO JGRChJ JHebS JNES JNSL JPS JSJ JSJSup JSOT JSOTSup JSP JSS JTS KAR KHAT KHC KTU

List of Abbreviations

History of Religions Harvard Semitic Monographs Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching International Critical Commentary International Theological Commentary Journal Asiatique Journal of Ancient Judaism Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Jewish Publication Society Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts. Edited by Erich Ebeling. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1919–1923 Kurzgefasstes exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit. Edited by Manfried Dietrich, Oswald Loretz, and Joaquín Sanmartín. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013. 3rd enl. ed. of KTU: The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani, and Other Places. Edited by Manfried Dietrich, Oswald Loretz, and Joaquín Sanmartín. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1995

List of Abbreviations

LD LHBOTS LXX MdB MT MTZ MUSJ NCBC NEchtB NICOT NovT NRTh NSKAT Numen OBO OCM Or OTG OTL OTM OTR OTS OS P PEQ Qad QC QD RA RB RBS RevQ RevScRel RGG RTC RTL SAA SAAB SAACT

XIX

Lectio Divina The Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Septuagint Le Monde de la Bible Masoretic Text Münchener theologische Zeitschrift Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph New Cambridge Bible Commentary Neue Echter Bibel New International Commentary on the Old Testament Novum Testamentum La nouvelle revue théologique Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar, Altes Testament Numen: International Review for the History of Religions Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Oxford Classical Monographs Orientalia (NS) Old Testament Guides Old Testament Library Old Testament Message Old Testament Readings Old Testament Studies Oudtestamentische Studiën Priestly source Palestine Exploration Quarterly Qadmoniot Qumran Chronicle Quaestiones Disputatae Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale Revue biblique Resources for Biblical Study Revue de Qumran Revue des sciences religieuses Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Edited by Hans Dieter Betz et al. 4th ed. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998–2007 Recueil des tablettes chaldéennes. François ThureauDangin. Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1903 Revue théologique de Louvain State Archives of Assyria State Archives of Assyria Bulletin State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts

XX SBAB SBLDS SBS SCS Sem SFSHJ SHBC SJ SJLA SNTSMS SP SR SSN STDJ StPohl SWBA TAD

TDOT

ThT ThW TLZ Transeu TRu TS TSAJ TynBul UCPNES VF VT VTSup Vulg. WAW WBC WC WMANT

List of Abbreviations

Stuttgarter biblische Aufsatzbände Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Septuagint and Cognate Studies Semitica South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary Studia Judaica Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Samaritan Pentateuch Studies in Religion Studia Semitica Neerlandica Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Studia Pohl Social World of Biblical Antiquity Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt: Newly Copied, Edited, and Translated into Hebrew and English. Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni. 4 vols. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1986–1999 Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G. Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. Translated by John T. Willis et al. 8 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974–2006 Theologisch tijdschrift Theologische Wissenschaft Theologische Literaturzeitung Transeuphratène Theologische Rundschau Texts and Studies Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Tyndale Bulletin University of California Publications, Near Eastern Studies Verkündigung und Forschung Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Vulgate Writings from the Ancient World Word Biblical Commentary Westminster Commentaries Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament

List of Abbreviations

WO WUNT ZA ZABR ZAW ZBK ZDPV ZTK

XXI

Die Welt des Orients Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für Assyriologie Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zürcher Bibelkommentare Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

Chapter 1

Introduction: The Holiness Legislation and Cultic Centralization Few issues have attracted more attention in scholarship on the Hebrew Bible than cultic centralization. The topic has generated a wealth of literature from Wilhelm M. L. de Wette’s 1805 doctoral thesis, to the seminal 1878 treatise by Julius Wellhausen, until today.1 Cultic centralization has typically been understood as restriction of the sacrificial cult of the god Yhwh to a very small number of sanctuaries in ancient Israel. By the Hellenistic period at the latest, two main cultic centers are thought to have been operating. For Judeans, the temple in Jerusalem was identified as Yhwh’s chosen cultic center. For Samarians, by contrast, the temple on Mount Gerizim served as the central cultic institution prior to its destruction by John Hyrcanus in the late second century BCE. Scholars do not imagine that these two temples exerted a totalizing cultic monopoly; it is known that a small number of shrines operated in the diaspora, such as the second-century temple at Leontopolis mentioned by Josephus.2 However, the majority view is that the number of local Yahwistic shrines radically decreased by the end of the first millennium; by this time, control over the sacrificial cult was largely concentrated in a limited number of temple institutions. Wilhelm M. L. de Wette, “Dissertatio critica-exegetica qua Deuteronomium a prioribus Pentateuchi libris diversum alius cuiusdam recentioris auctoris opus esse monstratur” (PhD diss., University of Jena, 1805) did not employ the term “centralization.” So far as I am aware, the first publication in biblical studies to employ the term “centralization” was J. Orth, “La centralisation du cult du Jéhovah,” NRTh 4 (1859): 350–60 (see further §3.2.1). Several recent monographs have been devoted to the topic of cultic centralization, or the idea of the “chosen place”; see Eleonore Reuter, Kultzentralisation. Entstehung und Theologie von Dtn 12, BBB 87 (Frankfurt am Main: Hain, 1993); Pekka Pitkänen, Central Sanctuary and Centralization of Worship in Ancient Israel: From the Settlement to the Building of Solomon’s Temple (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2003); Melody D. Knowles, Centrality Practiced: Jerusalem in the Religious Practice of Yehud and the Diaspora in the Persian Period, ABS 16 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2006); Rannfrid Irene Thelle, Approaches to the “Chosen Place”: Accessing a Biblical Concept, LHBOTS 564 (London: T&T Clark, 2012); and Jeffrey G. Audirsch, The Legislative Themes of Centralization: From Mandate to Demise (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2014). 2 J.W. 1.33; 7.426–36; Ant. 12.388; 13.62–73, 285. See further §3.1.3. 1

2

Chapter 1: Introduction

A question of enduring scholarly interest is how these processes of cultic centralization might have taken root in earlier periods. Biblical researchers have long held that the establishment of the centralized cult was strongly connected to the composition of the Pentateuch. Much of past scholarship focused on the origins of the book of Deuteronomy, particularly on the obligation to perform sociocultic duties at a central ‫‘ מקום‬place’. The first version of this book is classically dated to the reign of the Judean king Josiah (ca. 640–609 BCE). According to the account of 2 Kgs 22–23, Josiah found a ‫ספר התורה‬ ‘book of the law’ in the temple and used this to justify establishing the temple in Jerusalem as the only sanctuary in Judah. In his thesis, de Wette identified this book of the law with a first version of Deuteronomy, which, he suggested, was written to provide the legislative foundations of Josiah’s policies of cultic centralization.3 Today, many scholars would question whether we can draw such a direct link between Deuteronomy and the book of the law mentioned in 2 Kgs 22–23 (see §3.1.1). The date of the core Deuteronomic Code (Deut 12– 26 + 28 [D]) is also a matter of debate, although most scholars would still support a Neo-Assyrian core of the legislation.4 However, despite these qualifications, almost all scholars would agree that the composition of Deuteronomy was a watershed in the transition to a centralized cult, insofar as it provided the conceptual underpinning for restricting key sociocultic practices to a central place in ancient Israel. In this study, I do not deny the importance of Deuteronomy in the history of centralization. However, I query why the strong focus on Deuteronomy in previous research has not been matched by an appropriate interest in how other pentateuchal traditions might also have advanced the case for a centralized cult. Most notably, the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch have so far received remarkably few detailed treatments from the perspective of cultic centralization. The prevailing assumption since Wellhausen has been that the priestly traditions inherit Deuteronomy’s concept of centralization rather than articulate their own case for how the Israelite cult and community should be unified and centralized (see §3.2.1). They therefore are assumed to have little to contribute to the study of cultic centralization, because they simply tease out the consequences of Deuteronomy’s mandate of centralization for the organization of the cult and its associated priestly hierarchies. This view has occasionally faced de Wette, “Dissertatio,” 164–65 n. 5. On the debates concerning the date of D, see the histories of scholarship offered by Peter Altmann, Festive Meals in Ancient Israel: Deuteronomy’s Identity Politics in Their Ancient Near Eastern Context, BZAW 424 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 8–36 and Eckart Otto, Deuteronomium 1–11, HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2012), 62–230, esp. 146–230. They both confirm the ongoing support that a Neo-Assyrian date of a core version of D continues to enjoy among the majority of researchers. For a noteworthy challenge to this view, in favor of a later date for D, see esp. Juhla Pakkala, “The Date of the Oldest Edition of Deuteronomy,” ZAW 121 (2009): 388–401. 3 4

The Holiness Legislation and Cultic Centralization

3

critique but has so far not been the subject of a dedicated study (see §3.2.2). To rectify this imbalance in the history of research, this book offers a detailed analysis of cultic centralization in one of the key priestly traditions; namely, the Holiness legislation of Lev 17–26 (H).5 The Holiness legislation is an excellent entry point for research on centralization and the priestly traditions. As will be discussed in greater detail below, the study of H has been invigorated by the recognition that Lev 17–26 were not transmitted as a discrete legal code but are part of a compositional stratum that supplemented the Priestly narrative of origins (see §2.1). In addition, there is a growing recognition that the scribes who produced H coordinated diverse traditions, including not only the earlier Priestly materials but also D, the Covenant Code of Exod 21–23 (CC), and various prophetic materials when crafting their legal rulings (see §2.2.2). H therefore has a heightened potential to illuminate the ways in which earlier literary materials, especially Deuteronomy, might have been considered determinative in shaping how cult centralization was conceived in the priestly traditions. The focus on H also has the potential to advance our understanding of the importance of the Persian period (ca. 538–333 BCE) in the emergence of a centralized cult in Yehud and Samaria. While the traditional focus of scholars of centralization has been on the monarchic era, especially in relation to the reign of Josiah in the seventh century BCE, various studies in recent decades have begun to explore processes of cult centralization during the Persian period (see §3.1.4). Yet, despite this growing scholarly interest, studies of centralization in the Persian period have rarely considered the role that the writing of ritual legislation, such as that found in H, might have played in negotiating these processes. The date of H has been a matter of debate, but I maintain, with the majority of scholars, that there are strong grounds to situate the composition of Lev 17–26 sometime during the early to mid-Persian period (see §2.2.3). These chapters therefore provide a rich source for exploring the ways in which the promotion of normative ritual practice and its associated priestly hierarchies might have assisted in the concentration of sociocultic power and authority during the Persian period. By adopting this focus, this study offers a more critical conceptualization of the very idea of centralization for the study of the Pentateuch and for the history of ancient Israel. Surprisingly, given the widespread recognition that centralization is an important legislative theme in biblical studies, few attempts have been made to articulate a conceptual framework for understanding the 5 The term Heiligkeitsgesetz was coined by August Klostermann, “Ezechiel und das Heiligkeitsgesetz,” in Der Pentateuch. Beiträge zu seinem Verständnis und seiner Entstehungsgeschichte (Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1893). It reflects the particular interest in holiness which characterizes the laws of Lev 17–26, and especially their focus on the sanctification of the Israelite community; see Lev 19:2; 20:7, 26.

4

Chapter 1: Introduction

dynamics of this concept. This omission can be attributed at least in part to the tendency of scholars to adopt a fairly wooden understanding of centralization in Deuteronomy – as the concentration of sociocultic practices and resources to a chosen ‫ – מקום‬as the core definition of the centralized cult in ancient Israel. However, while the issue of where the Israelites worshipped is of undeniable importance, it is too limiting to understand centralization exclusively in terms of the choice of a central place. If we are open to reconceptualizing the term “centralization,” it becomes clear that other factors assisted in normalizing the concentration of resources and power that is inherent in centralization. This study employs the insights of contemporary social theorists about “center” and “centralization” in order to argue that cultic centralization in ancient Israel should not be understood narrowly as a process of limiting certain behaviors to a particular locale. On the contrary, centralization can be reconceptualized as a dynamic and multifaceted network of processes that includes activities such as standardizing ritual practice, restricting cultic authority to a monopolistic priesthood, funneling economic resources to a central sanctuary institution, and reconceptualizing central authority in the wake of the ideological crisis that followed the downfall of the Judean monarchy.

1.1 Methodology This study employs a range of approaches in its analysis of H and its discourse of centralization. The methodology consists primarily of a detailed analysis of relevant texts of Lev 17–26 using the classical methods of historical-critical exegesis. In addition to philological analysis, particular emphasis is placed on textual criticism; the study thus reviews select evidence of the Reworked Pentateuch manuscripts found at Qumran, especially the lengthy addition to Lev 23:1–24:9 in 4QRP C frg. 23 (4Q365 23). The attention paid to textual criticism stems from the conviction that the transmission of Lev 17–26, as well as that of the texts on which their authors relied, provides valuable insights into how H’s discourse of centralization was understood in antiquity, and how it was developed to serve new discursive aims. When relevant, evidence of the reception of H’s centralizing discourse in Second Temple traditions such as the Temple Scroll will be considered. The study will also include a literary-critical investigation of the place of Lev 17–26 within priestly tradition. In particular, it will offer a detailed discussion of the likely scope of P at the time H was composed, an issue of particular importance for determining the extent to which H builds on a discourse of centralization already established by P and the extent to which it moves beyond these earlier materials in articulating a new centralizing logic. The analysis of H will also employ source and redaction criticism in order to justify treating the ideas about centralization found in Lev 17–26 as part of an

1.1 Methodology

5

intentional compositional strategy rather than the haphazard result of multiple literary stages. The issue of texts outside Lev 17–26 that share strong phraseological and thematic correspondences with these chapters – what I refer to as “H-like” materials – will also be addressed when such texts are relevant. Furthermore, this study will explore H’s reliance on other pentateuchal traditions by means of innerscriptural exegesis. This method, although conceived in different ways by different scholars, will here be treated as the identification of lexical, syntactic, and sequential correspondences between two or more texts, correspondences that might be interpreted as evidence of the reception of one text by the other.6 This study will apply rigorous standards when assessing what might constitute a suitably strong correspondence as to warrant postulating that H is dependent on an earlier tradition. These standards will be discussed in particular detail when assessing the degree to which H’s discourse of centralization borrows from D or draws primarily on the earlier P materials. I also position the analysis of Lev 17–26 within a comparative approach in which H’s discourse of centralization is understood against a broader background of relevant ANE textual sources. This will be particularly relevant when assessing the significance of the absence of a royal figure from P and H, as well as their depictions of the centralized cult; the emphasis in Lev 23 on a fixed calendar for the entire community; and the image in Lev 25 of the land as Yhwh’s estate and the Israelites as his slaves. In addition, the centralizing discourse of Lev 17–26 will be considered in light of historical evidence pertaining to the social, political, economic, and cultic situation of Yehud and Samaria in the Persian period, as well as the Judean diaspora at Elephantine and other locales. For this purpose, I also draw on archaeological, epigraphic, and textual documentation when relevant for illuminating H’s discursive strategies and how these might be situated historically. Finally, as already mentioned, my reading of H’s discourse will draw on a range of social science methodologies that can assist us in the task of conceptualizing centralization. Social theories are employed as a supplement to the close reading of Lev 17–26 which is the focus of this book; they are introduced only when their different conceptual lenses enhance our understanding of the issues raised by the text itself. Discourses about centralization are widely recognized to be inherently about power dynamics and the attachment of significance and meaning to sociocultic practices in order to affirm a particular sociopolitical order (see below §1.2.1). The H materials thus share many fundamental similarities to more recent textual and oral traditions in which centralizing values and behaviors are promoted. Hence, it is appropriate to be sensitive to the arguments of many social theorists that discourse in social

See Michael A. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985). 6

6

Chapter 1: Introduction

domains, including ancient ones, is never value-free, and to integrate such theories of power relations into the study of centralization and H. These various methodologies and theoretical insights, then, will be combined to provide a multimodal approach to the analysis of the Holiness legislation and its discourse of centralization. The term “multimodal” refers to the decision taken in this study to avoid employing any one of the methodologies described above in isolation, or to confine a particular approach to a specific chapter in the analysis of Lev 17–26 and their literary and historical context. It is only in combination that these methodologies and theories work most effectively to help untangle the complex issues of interpretation inherent in the issue of centralization.

1.2 Key Concepts Any study of centralization and the pentateuchal traditions immediately encounters the question of definition. This relates, in the first instance, to the scribal and authorial categories that scholars routinely employ. The terms “priestly,” “P,” and “H” are constructs of modern scholarship, and the composition of each raises interpretative issues concerning profile, scope, date, sequence, and intersection with other traditions. These issues will be explored in detail in chapter 2, but some initial words of clarification are in order. In the analysis that follows, I employ the adjective “priestly” when referring to the texts in Genesis–Numbers that were first identified by Theodor Nöldeke and are still affirmed (with adjustments) by the majority of scholars today as sharing a distinctive stylistic, narrative, and thematic profile that distinguishes them from other materials in these books.7 These shared characteristics and concerns suggest that the priestly texts stemmed from closely related traditions that might have originated within a common institutional setting; namely, the priesthood in Jerusalem (see §4.4, §5.4.2, §6.4, §7.3.2). I do not consider all Theodor Nöldeke, Untersuchungen zur Kritik des Alten Testaments (Kiel: Schwers’sche Buchhandlung, 1869), 7–93. Nöldeke’s list of priestly texts in Genesis–Numbers includes Gen 1:1–2:4; 5:1–29a, 30–32; 6:9–22; 7:6–7, 11, 13–16a, 18–21, 24; 8:1–2a, 3b–5*, 13a, 14–19; 9:1–17, 28–29; 10:1–7*, 20, 22–23*, 31–32; 11:10–27, 31–32; 12:4b–5; 13:6, 11b– 12*; 16:1a, 3, 15–16; 17:1–27; 19:29; 21:1b–5; 23:1–20; 25:7–11a, 12–17, 19–20, 26b; 26:34–35; 27:46; 28:1–9; 31:18*; 33:18; 35:6a, 9–13, 15, 22b–29; 36:1–14; 37:1–2; 41:46a; 46:6–7; 47:27b–28; 48:3–6; 49:1a, 28b–33; 50:12–13; Exod 1:1–5, 7, 13–14; 2:23–25; 6:2– 15 (16–27), 29–30; 7:1–13, 19–20a*, 22; 8:1–3, 11–15; 9:8–12; 11:9–10; 12:1–23 (24–27), 28, 37a, 40–51; 13:1–2, 20; 14:1–4, 8–9, 10*, 15–18, 21*, 22–23, 26, 27*, 28–29; 15:27; 16; 17:1; 19:2a; 24:15–18b; 25–31; 35–40; Lev 1–27; Num 1:1–10:28; 13:1–17a, 21, 25, 32*; 14:1–10, 26–38; 15; 16:3–11, 16–24, 35; 17–19; 20:6–11, 22–29; 21:10–11; 22:1; 25– 27 (28–29); 30–31; 32:2–6*, 16–32; 33:1–49; 34–36. In present research, the issue of priestly materials in Deuteronomy is controversial. See §2.2.2. 7

1.2 Key Concepts

7

the priestly traditions to form part of a single source, redaction, or layer. However, I do subscribe to the majority view that a core set of priestly materials originally circulated as a discrete document, which was only later combined with the non-priestly traditions (see §2.2.2). When I refer specifically to the Priestly document or source, I will employ the uppercase term “Priestly.” The earliest core of this document will be referred to as “Pg” (short for Priestergrundschrift). I will generally refrain from entering into the complex debates about the scope of Pg and the thorny issue of how to locate its original ending.8 The focus of this study is on the priestly texts that can be said with some confidence to have existed at the time Lev 17–26 were written rather than what might have been the shape of the Priestly narrative at the time of its inception. Use of the term “P” is limited in this study to the Priestly source materials in the books of Genesis, Exodus, and Leviticus that are presupposed in Lev 17–26 (see §2.2.2). Other scholars have defined P in different ways and may question my comparatively limited focus on Numbers. However, I argue that the vast majority of the priestly texts in Numbers can be reasonably assumed to postdate the composition of Lev 17–26 and are therefore unlikely to have informed the legislation within these chapters (see §2.2.2). Selected priestly traditions in Numbers (e.g., Num 1–10; 28–29) are of interest in this study primarily for the evidence they provide as to how the priestly logic of centralization developed in later materials. The same pertains to other texts, such as Exod 6:13–27 and Lev 10, that likely postdated the composition of Lev 17–26. I use the term “H” (the common shorthand for “Holiness legislation”) only when referring to Lev 17–26. When discussing texts outside these chapters that share with them strong linguistic, stylistic, and thematic parallels, I adopt the term “H-like.” This term leaves open the possibility that, although these texts evince a strong dependence on Lev 17–26, they might not have stemmed from precisely the same compositional stage as the core H materials (see §2.2.2). Although Lev 17–26 do contain late additions and supplements, as well as traces of earlier source materials, they are characterized by a high degree of structural integrity, thematic coherence, and linguistic distinctiveness that justifies treating them as a discrete subsection of legislative materials, with the descriptor H (see §2.2.1). Beyond these matters of terminology, a second problem besets the study of centralization; namely, what is meant by the term “centralization” and how might it be applied to the study of ancient texts such as the pentateuchal traditions. In the case of Deuteronomy, the concept of the chosen ‫ מקום‬is an important anchor for the study of its centralizing discourse. However, for the priestly traditions – including Lev 17–26, the subject of this study – there is no comparable term or expression that so distinctly frames its centralizing discourse. This absence adds a further layer of complexity to the consideration of 8

On these debates, see §2.2.2.

8

Chapter 1: Introduction

which legislative themes within these materials might shed light on their discourse of centralization. Social theories developed by scholars in other disciplines are thus particularly valuable in framing this study of centralization and H. Such theory should not be employed in a procrustean fashion to impose externally generated conclusions upon the text. The text must determine the utility of theoretical insights, rather than the reverse. However, used with appropriate care, social theories can provide a necessary and illuminating conceptual framework for a more nuanced and multidimensional understanding of centralization, and especially the critical relationship between textual discourses and historical processes of centralization. I therefore turn now to a description of how social theories shape my understanding of the key terms and concepts that will inform the analysis that follows; namely, centralization, center and periphery, discourse, and social memory. 1.2.1 Centralization “Centralization” can be defined as simply the process of bringing activities together but, as social theorists have argued, these processes are rarely without some political and ideological underpinning. Centralization is therefore better understood as the structuring of power relations and social processes so that authority, decision making, and material resources are concentrated rather than dispersed.9 Inherent in the process of centralization is the “progressive subordination” to central loci of power.10 Such subordination, of course, is rarely, if ever, absolute. The manner and extent to which power is concentrated or dispersed within a given group or society is always a matter of contestation and fluctuation; even if a center attains control over certain procedures or resources, control does not always entail monopolistic action. Centralization involves “a variety of mechanisms of control.”11 Some of these may even 9 Royston Greenwood and C. R. (Bob) Hinings, “Centralization Revisited,” Administrative Science Quarterly 21, no. 1 (1976): 151; Joseph Rogers Hollingsworth and Robert Hanneman, Centralization and Power in Social Service Delivery Systems: The Cases of England, Wales, and the United States, International Series in Social Welfare 3 (Boston, MA: KluwerNijhoff, 1984), 8; and Vivien Ann Schmidt, Democratizing France: The Political and Administrative History of Decentralization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 12. 10 Humberto González Chávez, “The Centralization of Education in Mexico: Subordination and Autonomy,” in State and Society: The Emergence and Development of Social Hierarchy and Political Centralization, ed. John Gledhill, Barbara Bender, and Mogens Trolle Larsen; trans. Victoria Forbes Adam; One World Archaeology 4 (London: Routledge, 2005), 316. 11 Karen Barkey, Bandits and Bureaucrats: The Ottoman Route to State Centralization, The Wilder House Series in Politics, History, and Culture (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994), 231.

1.2 Key Concepts

9

concede a degree of autonomy to peripheral groups in order to ensure longterm compliance with central authority. Overlapping processes of centralization and decentralization can simultaneously cohabit within different sectors of society.12 Archaeologists and historians have taken particular interest in the connection between centralization and processes of state formation, including in ancient Israel.13 The emergence of the state is widely understood as characterized by the organization of populations into consolidated territories and the integration of military, economic, and bureaucratic powers into a central government. Such processes typically produce or consolidate new centralized institutions and, with them, new elites who control these institutions and the procedures of governance. However, processes of state formation are far from linear or monolithic; many states remain tolerant of regional diversity and discretion or may place little emphasis on the need for central powers to exert control over the whole population. Nevertheless, the political and economic benefits that centralization can bestow through processes such as taxation or military service

12 Alberto Diaz-Cayeros, Federalism, Fiscal Authority, and Centralization in Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 10 n. 9. 13 The literature on centralization and state formation is vast; see, with further studies, Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, trans. Ephraim Fischoff et al. (Berkley: University of California Press, 1978); David Nugent, “Building the State, Making the Nation: The Bases and Limits of State Centralization in ‘Modern’ Peru,” American Anthropologist 96, no. 2 (1994): 333–69; Marcella Frangipane, “The Development of Administration from Collective to Centralized Economies in the Mesopotamian World,” in Cultural Evolution: Contemporary Viewpoints, ed. Gary M. Feinman and Linda Manzanilla (New York, NY: Kluwer Academic, 2000), 215–32; Frangipane, “Centralization Processes in Greater Mesopotamia: Uruk ‘Expansion’ as the Climax of Systemic Interactions among Areas of the Greater Mesopotamian Region,” in Uruk Mesopotamia and Its Neighbors: Cross-Cultural Interactions in the Era of State Formation, Advanced Seminar (Oxford: School of American Research, 2001), 307–48; John Gledhill, Barbara Bender, and Mogens Trolle Larsen, eds., State and Society: The Emergence and Development of Social Hierarchy and Political Centralization; One World Archaeology 4 (London: Routledge, 2005); Michael Mann, A History of Power from the Beginning to A.D. 1760, vol. 1 of The Sources of Social Power, 4 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); and Scott F. Abramson, “The Economic Origins of the Territorial State,” International Organization 71, no. 1 (2017): 97–130. On state formation in ancient Israel, see, among others, Frank S. Frick, The Formation of the State in Ancient Israel: A Survey of Models and Theories, SWBA 4 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1985); John S. Holladay, “The Kingdoms of Israel and Judah: Political and Economic Centralization in the Iron IIA–B (ca. 1000–750 BCE),” in The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land, ed. Thomas Evan Levy (London: Leicester University Press, 1998), 368–98; Daniel M. Master, “State Formation Theory and the Kingdom of Ancient Israel,” JNES 60, no. 2 (2001): 117–31; and Israel Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman, “Temple and Dynasty: Hezekiah, the Remaking of Judah and the Rise of the Pan-Israelite Ideology,” JSOT 30, no. 3 (2006): 259–85.

10

Chapter 1: Introduction

mean that it is a strategy employed by a great variety of states to consolidate power and resources. The interest of other social scientists in centralization, meanwhile, has commonly been at the substate level. This interest ranges from the study of systems that are small – such as the family, the business, or communities – to larger organizational structures, including the welfare state. The focus of these studies, which need not be rehearsed in detail here, has reflected the disciplinary interests of scholars; economists, for example, are concerned with the causes and impact of the centralization of economic resources, political scientists with the political concentration of power, and sociologists with the inequalities associated with particular forms of centralization. All, however, recognize that centralization as a process is rarely, if ever, value-free or dissociated from power structures. One of the strategies employed in centralization, one that we will encounter often in this study focused on the centralization of cultic practice, is standardization. Like “centralization,” “standardization” can be defined with a limited technical meaning, as the process of implementing and developing technical standards that maximize compatibility, interoperability, safety, repeatability, or quality. But standardization also has associations with societal control and power dynamics. Standardization is by nature inimical to diversity – that is, it reduces individual discretion in favor of conformity. Hence, as the Flemish sociologist Mark Elchardus puts it, processes of standardization “are always closely related to issues of inequality and power,” because they aim to produce “a standard by which people can be compared, discriminated, classified in a hierarchical way.”14 Pierre Bourdieu, using elements of Marxist sociology, also notes the extent to which issues of diversity and standardization are intertwined with issues of power, inequality, and class.15 He focuses on the centralizing effect of standardization when used to define official forms of knowledge or customs – in the specific case of his research, the establishment of a “standard” French language (see further §4.4.2). By setting sociocultural standards that align with particular sets of expertise, cultural elites reinforce their privileged position within society, while marginalizing those who operate according to different norms or customs. Standardization, then, is much more than a technical process. As later chapters in this study will show, it can also be a device for developing norms and scripts which regulate behavior within a community for which the standardized 14 Mark Elchardus, “Diversity and Standardization: Concepts, Issues, and Approaches,” in Diversity, Standardization, and Social Transformation: Gender, Ethnicity, and Inequality in Europe, ed. Max Koch, Lesley McMillan, and Bram Peper (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011), 19. 15 Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, trans. Gino Raymon and Matthew Adamson (Oxford: Polity, 1991).

1.2 Key Concepts

11

phenomena become “not only predictable, but also understandable.”16 Recognizing the importance of standardization for the normalization of centralized systems proves especially relevant to the study of cultic centralization and the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch. The priestly discourse, as we shall see, manifestly standardizes ritual practice as a strategy of focusing communal attention on a central authority. In effect, P, and later H, elevates its preferred set of prescribed practices and processes to a position of discursive superiority in the hope of securing the Israelites’ compliance with and acceptance of a centralized standard for how the Yahwistic cult must operate. In this way, collective deference to the central authorities who control that standard and rejection of the local differentiation that is inherent to decentralization, is promoted and normalized. In the case of H, this form of standardization moves beyond ritual practices to the manner in which the Israelites conceive their daily lives in all manner of social, agricultural, and economic settings, and therefore calls on the community to conceptualize its obligations both within and outside the central shrine in an essentially centralized way. 1.2.2 Center and Periphery The term “centralization,” of course, assumes the existence of a “center,” a concept that itself raises important issues of definition. So, too, does its opposite, “periphery.” Relations between center and periphery have been the subject of growing interest in the study of the Hebrew Bible, as signaled by the recent volume edited by Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin, Centres and Peripheries in the Early Second Temple Period.17 Studies like this one have explored how scholars might move beyond physical interpretations of center and periphery – interpretations that have commonly infused traditional discussions of centrality and place in biblical texts – to view them as elements within a social system in which power is distributed unequally. From such a perspective, a center becomes a focal point that receives more attention, deference, or resources than other elements in a given society, while a periphery receives significantly less attention, deference, or resources. It is important to note that periphery, as the Latinist Alessandro Barchiesi points out, is not the same as a boundary, which marks the beginning of what is considered to be outside the norms of a given group, or what is considered to lie beyond a group’s territory.18 Rather, the

Elchardus, “Diversity,” 14. Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin, eds., Centres and Peripheries in the Early Second Temple Period, FAT 1/108 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016). 18 Alessandro Barchiesi, “Centre and Periphery,” in A Companion to Latin Literature, ed. Stephen Harrison (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005), 395. 16 17

12

Chapter 1: Introduction

periphery remains an integral part of the social collective.19 Even while it occupies a position that has reduced authority or fewer resources than those enjoyed by the center, the periphery is by no means devoid of power or agency.20 Moreover, while peripheral social agents may not always be able to deny the legitimacy of central institutions or resist the concentration of resources and authorities in the latter’s hands, they can generate a climate of social unrest that may lead the structures of central power to be reorganized or replaced. “Center” and “periphery” are therefore relative categories and are in a constant state of flux and contestation. How the center and the periphery are each ascribed its status varies from context to context, but notions of center and periphery very often come to be associated with space and place. The spatial dimension of center and periphery is the focus of certain strands of sociology, and, of course, of geography, a discipline for which place remains a foundational concept.21 German geographer Walter Christaller developed “central place theory,” which seeks to explain the distribution – number, size, and location – of human settlements in a residential system and views “central places” as providing services to surrounding areas.22 However, this functional geographical understanding of place is too limiting for the purposes of this study. Rather, we need, with French sociologist Henri Lefebvre, to consider center and periphery as particular types of spaces, and thus as inherently “political and ideological” – that is, as means of organizing the way social actors experience the world, and as devices by which particular individuals, groups, processes, and activities come to be seen to be more important than others.23 In the words of human geographer Tim Cresswell, space is implicated in the creation and maintenance of the ideologies that sustain centers because it “is both a socially constructed arrangement of things and the 19 Liah Greenfeld and Michel L. Martin, “The Idea of the ‘Center’: An Introduction,” in Center: Ideas and Institutions, ed. Liah Greenfeld and Michel L. Martin (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1988), viii−xxii. 20 David Martin, “The Religious Politics of Two Rival Peripheries: Preliminary Excursus on Center and Periphery,” in Center: Ideas and Institutions, ed. Liah Greenfeld and Michel L. Martin (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 29–42 and Joel S. Migdal, State in Society: Studying How States and Societies Transform and Constitute One Another (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 45. 21 On sociology, see, e.g., Robert E. Park, Ernest W. Burgess, and Roderick D. McKenzie, eds., The City, Heritage of Sociology (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1968). 22 Walter Christaller, Central Places in Southern Germany, trans. Carlisle W. Baskin (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1966); see further Keith S. O. Beavon, Central Place Theory: A Reinterpretation (London: Longman, 1977) and James H. Bird, Centrality and Cities (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1977). 23 Henri Lefebvre, “Reflections on the Politics of Space,” in Radical Geography: Alternative Viewpoints on Contemporary Social Issues, ed. Richard Peet, trans. Michael J. Enders (Chicago, IL: Maaroufa Press, 1977), 341.

1.2 Key Concepts

13

medium of all these historical arrangements.”24 The control of space and the way in which individuals access, use, conceptualize, and imagine the spaces that surround them therefore has a major impact on the way in which the social order is itself conceived, as well as the position of individual actors within that social order.25 Space also assists in the maintenance of ideologies that sustain the unequal distribution of power and resources, as well as in the practice of deferring to collective centers. Apart from differentiating the elements that make up a society, it makes those differences appear neutral and objective. This is what Lefebvre termed “the realistic illusion” of space.26 By appearing externally determined, spaces naturalize the social relations that they in fact engender and embody, allowing certain interpretations of what is central to the world to be perceived as inherently privileged.27 As Cresswell explains, spaces “appear to have their own rules, not the rules constructed for them.”28 Sacred space is a particularly striking example of this phenomenon, because the sanctity of a given space can appear to have been decreed and sanctioned not just by political or social elites but also by external, transcendent forces. Masked as standing somehow beyond human activity, sacred space appears as an absolute category, full of ultimate significance.29 Consequently, those who enjoy privileged access to these spaces, or whose participation in the space is claimed to be necessary to its sacred status, themselves come to function as a kind of “exemplary center.”30 The privileged position, for example, of priests is itself perceived as essential to the order of the world despite its inherently constructed character. Closely related to this understanding of space is the role that ritual process plays in the formation of centers and peripheries. While there are many ways 24 Tim Cresswell, In Place – Out of Place: Geography, Ideology, and Transgression (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 152. 25 David Chidester and Edward Tabor Linenthal, introduction to American Sacred Space, ed. David Chidester and Edward Tabor Linenthal, Religion in North America (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), 10. 26 Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991), 29. 27 See Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972–1977, ed. Colin Gordon; trans. Colin Gordon, et al. (New York, NY: Pantheon, 1980), 149. 28 Cresswell, In Place, 159. 29 As argued by Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion, trans. Williard R. Trask (New York, NY: Harper Torchbook, 1961); Eliade, Images and Symbols: Studies in Religious Symbolism, trans. Philip Mairet (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991); and Gerardus van der Leeuw, Religion in Essence and Manifestation, trans. Ninian Smart and John Evan Turner (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986). 30 Clifford Geertz, Islam Observed: Religious Development in Morocco and Indonesia (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1971), 36; see further Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York, NY: Basic Books, 1973), 220–29.

14

Chapter 1: Introduction

to define the term “ritual,” it is arguably most helpful to view it primarily as a particular type of spatial practice. “Ritualization,” as Catherine Bell terms it, creates a space in which the distinctions and hierarchies by which certain roles, personnel, and the ideas that inform them might be set apart as central and others as peripheral.31 It does this by creating contrasts, which allow ritual participants to internalize the hierarchies that are intrinsic to the authorized construction of center/periphery. Because ritual participation enables reality to be conceptually organized in a manner that privileges those elements that are most dominant in the ritual, the ritual actor comes to perform in his or her body the oppositions and hierarchies that enable certain spaces, groups, activities, and ideas to be deemed deserving of attention and deference. Ritual performance is thus described by the historian of religions Jonathan Z. Smith as a “focusing lens,” which directs attention to and marks particular acts, objects, gestures, and personnel as being of central significance.32 Centers and peripheries, in the sense just described, are therefore testament to the broader power dynamics by which social groups are constituted and negotiated. Notions of what is central and peripheral within a given society and their mappings in spatial practice play a key role in legitimating societal and political propositions about how benefits should be distributed, and about the value of those institutions of authority which will then occupy the dominant position.33 As we shall see in the analysis of H, and the earlier P materials on which it depends, such interpretations of center and periphery facilitate a more multifaceted and intellectually compelling understanding of how such materials direct ancient readers to sociocultic centers in ancient Israel. The detailed description of the sanctuary space in the priestly traditions should be read not merely in terms of what it might reveal about the number of cultic sites deemed permissible in the ancient Israelite cult, but also in terms of how the priestly scribes use the description of space to solicit support for the cultic elites who claim an exclusive right to officiate within Yhwh’s sacred sanctuary, as well as for the ritual practices they consider legitimate within the Yahwistic cult. Moreover, the detailed ritual prescriptions in the priestly materials, even when not directly addressing the issue of where the Israelites must worship, are integral to constructing notions of what is central and peripheral to the Israelite cult and community, and to normalizing the hierarchies that are essential to negotiating centralization.

31 Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), xv. 32 Jonathan Z. Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 54. 33 Edward Shils, The Constitution of Society (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 95.

1.2 Key Concepts

15

1.2.3 Discourse At the core of my analysis of centers, peripheries, and centralization is the text of Lev 17–26 itself. Although I will consider the historical implications of this text for ancient Israel as far as this can be ascertained from the limited sources, this study is fundamentally a critical analysis of discourse, that is, of the manner in which the H materials create a case for a centralized cult that arises from their own inherent logic, and of what we can conclude from these materials about the ideological motivations of the scribes who compiled them, their idealized vision of the cult and community, and the power structures and collective behaviors they sought to promote. At one level, the study of discourse attempts to explain how language and thought are given structure, in terms of internal organization, argumentation, and language choice.34 Again, however, the present study of H’s discourse requires a definition that goes beyond this. Discourse concerns not only the rules for structuring thoughts or statements, but also the social production and circulation of knowledge. To cite the linguist Norman Fairclough, we need to see discursive practices within “wider social and cultural structures, relations and processes; to investigate how such practices…arise out of and are ideologically shaped by relations of power and struggles over power.”35 Or, in the words of discourse theorist Reiner Keller, we need “to ‘liberate’ discourse analysis from the specific linguistic issues” to examine discourse within the “social relations and politics of knowledge” that construct and define social reality.36 This interpretation of discourse as a form of power is closely associated with the work of the influential French philosopher and social theorist Michel Foucault.37 To Foucault, discourse is a way of mediating meanings and dictating practices in order to define the reality of the social world, as well as the people, ideas, and objects that inhabit it. Discourse typically emerges from institutions that seek, by defining what can be reasonably thought and said about the world, to determine which thoughts and actions are truthful or right for society, and which are threatening or deviant. As Foucault understands it, discourse is a

34 Norman Fairclough, Critical Discourse Analysis: The Critical Study of Language (London: Longman, 1995); Teun A. van Dijk, ed., Discourse as Structure and Process, Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction, 2 vols. (London: Sage, 1997); and Gilbert Weiss and Ruth Wodak, Critical Discourse Analysis: Theory and Interdisciplinarity (New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 35 Fairclough, Critical Discourse Analysis, 132. 36 Reiner Keller, “The Sociology of Knowledge Approach to Discourse (SKAD),” Human Studies 34, no. 1 (2011): 46 and 43, respectively. 37 On the significance of Foucault’s work for subsequent studies of discourse, see Reiner Keller, “Analysing Discourse: An Approach from the Sociology of Knowledge,” Forum: Qualitative Sozialforschung 6, no. 3 (2005), doi:10.17169/fqs-6.3.19.

16

Chapter 1: Introduction

practice of “normalizing judgment.”38 It provides the mechanisms through which certain groups and individuals are imagined as having a right to greater authority, resources, or privilege, and others as requiring discipline and punishment. In this way, discourse becomes essential to the circulation of power; rather than asserting power in a vertical, or top-down, manner, discourse ensures that social agents will continue to reproduce the power dynamics that maintain the social system, because such dynamics are accepted as right and proper.39 Foucault’s analysis of discourse resonates with aspects of the notion of “hegemony” as developed by the Italian communist intellectual Antonio Gramsci. Gramsci argues that there is a foundational distinction between force and consent as mechanisms of social power and insists that coercion is not enough to ensure a viable form of society. Instead, the social system must be consolidated around ideas, values, and beliefs that normalize power relations in order to solicit “consent.”40 This consent is what Gramsci calls “hegemony”; namely, the willingness of social actors to conform to the norms of a social system in which power is distributed unequally. This consenting behavior is secured, in Gramsci’s view, when social agents subscribe to certain core elements of the social system and thereby consider the demand for conformity to be “more or less justified and proper.”41 Hegemony thus manifests itself as “common sense”; it is the set of foundational assumptions that guides our expectations of the world, and that produces the kind of “moral and political passivity” that ensures collective participation in social systems which distribute resources in unequal ways.42 Hegemony thus ensures that social actors view their place within the social hierarchy, along with all its associated rites and responsibilities, as natural and appropriate. At the same time, hegemony normalizes the collective attention and deference that central institutions receive, and thus their right to control the distribution of resources. For the purposes of this study, it is particularly important to note that, for both Gramsci and Foucault, a key role in constructing and defining the world, and thereby producing and sustaining power relationships, is played by media, including texts and other expressions of language. Discourse does not simply reproduce or mirror the power relations which are endemic in a given society; Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan, 2nd ed. (New York, NY: Pantheon, 1995), 177. 39 Foucault, Power/Knowledge, 98. 40 Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, trans. Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith (New York, NY: International, 1971), 12. 41 Joseph V. Femia, Gramsci’s Political Thought: Hegemony, Consciousness, and the Revolutionary Process (Oxford: Clarendon, 1987), 38. See also Mark C. J. Stoddart, “Ideology, Hegemony, Discourse: A Critical Review of Theories of Knowledge and Power,” Social Thought & Research 28 (2007): 201. 42 Gramsci, Selections, 325 and 333, respectively. 38

1.2 Key Concepts

17

it enables such relations to emerge. In the case of an ancient text like H, our ability to understand the function of such discursive dynamics is constrained by our hazy knowledge of the institutional powers that might have stood behind the authors, as well as the scope of their ancient audience. As will be discussed in greater detail below, scholars continue to debate whether H promotes the interests of a central institution such as the temple in Jerusalem, or perhaps both Jerusalem and Gerizim, or the more marginal interests of rural communities or local shrines (see §3.3). Such debates stem in part from disagreements about how to interpret the concern in H to legislate activities that take place in everyday contexts, away from the sanctuary center. The concept of communal holiness, which is perhaps the most distinctive theme of Lev 17–26, has also been read as suggesting a potentially “democratic” thrust of the H materials, an impulse that would not align with a drive towards hegemonic power.43 However, it will be argued that, when viewed from the perspective of Foucauldian discourse analysis or Gramsci’s theory of hegemony, an interest in everyday actions and behavior of the community writ large does not signal a concern to undermine the power of central elites or a centralized sociocultic system. To the contrary, this study contends that what makes H’s discourse of centralization so powerful is its dual focus on the activities of the center and the periphery: H normalizes the concentration of sociocultic authority in a central shrine, its priesthood, and ritual and legal standards by stipulating several ways in which the Israelites’ everyday experience must refer to these central authorities. H’s discourse of centralization thereby normalizes the values of a centralized cult by presenting deference to central spaces, processes, personnel, and authorities as essential to all aspects of the daily life of the imagined community of Israel. 1.2.4 Social Memory When seeking to analyze the discursive strategies of Lev 17–26, this study begins by recognizing that these chapters describe the cult and community of an idealized past. They form part of a priestly account of origins, which stretches from the creation of the world to the establishment of Yhwh’s sanctuary dwelling among his chosen community.44 Yet this priestly “history” cannot be seen 43 Robert A. Kugler, “Holiness, Purity, the Body, and Society: The Evidence for Theological Conflict in Leviticus,” JSOT 76 (1997): 25 n. 50; Robert A. Kugler and Patrick Hartin, An Introduction to the Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2009), 86; and Bryan D. Bibb, Ritual Words and Narrative Worlds in the Book of Leviticus, LHBOTS 480 (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2009), 2. 44 On P as a history of origins, see Karl Elliger, “Sinn und Ursprung der priesterlichen Geschichtserzählung,” ZTK 49, no. 2 (1952): 121–43; Erhard Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch, BZAW 189 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 331; Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT 2/25

18

Chapter 1: Introduction

as “history” in the sense that professional historians would define that form of scholarship today. The priestly history of origins is not the result of an empirically researched analysis that, while necessarily informed by the historian’s interpretation and subjectivity, aspires to be as accurate a record of past events as the surviving evidence allows. Nor is it a simple chronicle that lists a sequence of important or historical events in the order of their occurrence. Instead, it is more usefully understood as a form of social memory. The narrative constructs a shared past for the imagined ethnic group “Israel,” which in turn defines the core characteristics or identity of the members of that group, the “Israelites.” To appreciate the discursive potential of this type of text, it is fruitful to employ the now rich field of memory studies, in particular those theories developed by Barry Schwartz, Jeffrey Olick, and Barbara Misztal.45 Central concerns in this field of scholarship are the role that collective or social memory plays in the formation of group identity and the processes by which these constructions of the past are formed. It is axiomatic among contemporary memory theorists that all memories, but particularly those at the collective level, are “highly selective, inscriptive rather than descriptive, serving particular

(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 20; Konrad Schmid, “Genesis and Exodus as Two Formerly Independent Traditions of Origins for Ancient Israel,” Bib 93, no. 2 (2012): 187–208; and Simeon Chavel, Oracular Law and Priestly Historiography in the Torah, FAT 2/71 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014). 45 Barry Schwartz, “The Social Context of Commemoration: A Study in Collective Memory,” Social Forces 61, no. 2 (1982): 374–402; Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System: Abraham Lincoln and World War II,” American Sociological Review 61 (1996): 908– 27; Schwartz, Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2000); Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, “Social Memory Studies: From ‘Collective Memory’ to the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices,” Annual Review of Sociology 24, no. 1 (1998): 105–40; Jeffrey K. Olick, The Politics of Regret: On Collective Memory and Historical Responsibility (New York, NY: Routledge, 2007); Jeffrey K. Olick, Vered Vinitzky-Seroussi, and Daniel Levy, “Introduction,” in The Collective Memory Reader, ed. Jeffrey K. Olick, Vered Vinitzky-Seroussi, and Daniel Levy (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2011), 3–62; and Barbara A. Misztal, Theories of Social Remembering (Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2003). See further, e.g., Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Neil Jarman, Material Conflicts: Parades and Visual Displays in Northern Ireland (Oxford: Berg, 1997). See also Jan-Werner Müller ed., Memory and Power in Post-War Europe: Studies in the Presence of the Past (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Eviatar Zerubavel, Time Maps: Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2003); Jan Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory, trans. Rodney Livingstone (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006); Astrid Erill, “Literature, Film, and the Mediality of Cultural Memory,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook, ed. Astrid Erill and Ansgar Nünning, Memory and Cultural Memory 8 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008), 389–99.

1.2 Key Concepts

19

interests and ideological positions.”46 The choice of what is remembered, or alternatively forgotten or deselected, is shaped not so much by what happened in the past as by the values and norms of the particular social context in which the agents of memory are operating. The construction of a shared imagination of communal origins can therefore serve to normalize the values of elites such that not only these values but also the institutions, spaces, and practices that embody them are seen as essential for the ongoing survival of the social group. In this way, images of the past play a key role in the mnemonic legitimation of the present social order and its associated hierarchies and power constellations. In these processes of memory formation, it is common for particular sites or episodes of the past to become focal points of collective attention. These “sites of memory” (lieux de mémoire, to use Pierre Nora’s now classic term) are recognized by memory theorists to be often physical – a geographical space such as a temple, battlefield, or site of political agitation or massacre – but also constructs of the cultural life of a community.47 Figures such as Moses, David, or Isaiah, for example, are widely recognized to be instances of such sites of memory in the Second Temple period; they seemed to have been regularly recalled at that time as part of the construction of a shared sense of ancient Israelite identity.48 Moreover, even when physical sites of memory cease for whatever reason to have this presence, their symbolic and cultural mnemonic dimensions can continue to be powerful, thanks to the narratives constructed around them, the ritual practices associated with them, and the commemorative behaviors of those collectives and elites whose authority is associated with them. So it is with the priestly traditions. Their description of the past serves to promote a collective social memory in which central figures, spaces, institutions, and practices are considered core to the identity of the Israelite community and thus as deserving of mnemonic attention from all its members. The priestly traditions present a constellation of sites of memory – figures such as Abraham and Moses, and spaces such as the wilderness sanctuary and Sinai – John R. Gillis, introduction to Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity, ed. John R. Gillis (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 4. 47 Pierre Nora, ed., La République, vol. 1 of Les Lieux de mémoire (Paris: Gallimard, 1984). 48 For Moses, see Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997). For David, see Diana Edelman, “David in Israelite Social Memory,” in Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination, ed. Diana Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 141–57. For Isaiah, see Ehud Ben Zvi, “Isaiah, a Memorable Prophet: Why Was Isaiah so Memorable in the Late Persian/Early Hellenistic Periods? Some Observations,” in Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination, ed. Diana Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 365–83. 46

20

Chapter 1: Introduction

as the “main characters and central places” in the formation of “Israel” and its patron-client relationship with its national god, Yhwh.49 These various sites of memory are interdependent and mutually reinforcing. Together, they function as what Ben Zvi terms “mnemonic nodes,” in that they serve “as magnets that attract and eventually embody that which was considered central to the community.”50 In this social memory of the foundations of Israel, the wilderness sanctuary and its associated ritual cult and priestly personnel are positioned as particularly important mnemonic nodes. The narrative of Yhwh’s creation of the world and the choice of Israel as his client reaches a “highpoint” with the arrival of the Israelites at Mount Sinai and the establishment of Yhwh’s habitation, the wilderness sanctuary, in the midst of the Israelites.51 The climactic nature of this event is signaled by a number of verbal allusions to Gen 1:1–2:4 in the account of the revelation of the sanctuary’s design to Moses (Exod 24:16–18) and the completion of the construction project by the Israelites (Exod 39–40).52 As a result of these terminological overlaps, the priestly traditions build a large inclusion around Gen 1–Exod 40, such that the construction of the sanctuary is construed as a fitting complement to the deity’s creative works initiated during

Ehud Ben Zvi, “Chronicles and Social Memory,” Studia Theologica – Nordic Journal of Theology 71, no. 1 (2017): 75. 50 Ben Zvi, “Chronicles,” 73 and 75, respectively. 51 Jeffrey Stackert, “Holiness Code and Writings,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Law, ed. Brent Strawn (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2015), 389. 52 Notably, Exod 24:16–18 state that the cloud of Yhwh’s ‫‘ כבוד‬glory’ settled on Mount Sinai for six days, and then, ‫‘ ביום השׁביעי‬on the seventh day’, Yhwh called out to Moses and told him to ascend the mountain and receive the ‫‘ תבנית‬pattern’ (Exod 25:9, 40) for the sanctuary and its furniture. As has long been noted by scholars, the timing of the appearance of Yhwh’s ‫ כבוד‬on the mountain and the revelation of the sanctuary ‫ תבנית‬to Moses echoes the pattern observed in the creation account of Gen 1:1–2:4; see Alan Hugh McNeile, The Book of Exodus, WC (London: Methuen, 1908), 155 and Arnold B. Ehrlich, Josua, Richter, I. u. II. Samuelis, vol. 3 of Randglossen zur hebräischen Bibel, 7 vols. (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1909), 365. In the latter passage, the god is said to undertake the works of creation across six days, before ceasing ( ‫ )שׁבת‬work ‫‘ ביום השׁביעי‬on the seventh day’ and sanctifying it. Further links between Gen 1:31–2:4 and the sanctuary building account can be observed in Exod 39:32, 43, and 40:33. Note in particular the references to the completion ( ‫ כלה‬qal in Exod 39:43; ‫ כלה‬piel in Exod 40:33) of the sanctuary construction work ( ‫ עבדה‬in Exod 39:32; ‫ מלאכה‬in Exod 39:43; 40:33) by Moses and the Israelites, which echoes the description of the completion ( ‫ כלה‬piel) of the work ( ‫ )עבדה‬of creation in Gen 1:39–2:4. See also the mention in Exod 39:43 of how Moses saw ( ‫ ירא‬qal) the completed works and blessed ( ‫ ברך‬piel) them, which bears striking resemblance to the report in Gen 1:31 that the god saw ( ‫ ירא‬qal) everything he had created, and to the report in Gen 2:3 that he blessed ( ‫ ברך‬piel) the seventh day. 49

1.2 Key Concepts

21

the time of creation.53 The sanctuary is thereby affirmed in the priestly materials as being of paradigmatic importance in Yhwh’s plan for his created world. This social memory, it will be argued in this study, infuses the discourse of centralization developed within the priestly materials, including Lev 17–26. The core elements of the foundational narrative – the unity displayed by the Israelites in their worship at the wilderness sanctuary, the monopolistic authority of the Aaronide priesthood that serves there, and the legislative conformity displayed by the community as individuals contribute to its ritual cult – all provide the discursive context within which the concentration of resources and standardization of ritual practice is justified. By invoking the imagined past, the priestly materials can legitimate an intense centrality for the sanctuary cult, an ideal collective unity of the Israelites, and a communal life shaped by legislative standards set by the sanctuary. Like all social memory, the priestly traditions speak to contemporary issues and imperatives as much as to the past. It is difficult, given the paucity of historical sources, to be confident about the precise context in which this social memory was constructed. However, this study will contend that there are compelling reasons to assume it was primarily the Jerusalem temple in the Persian period, although without necessarily excluding the perspective of the central temple at Gerizim. As will be argued in detail, the memory established by P and further developed by H normalizes the idea of all Israel worshipping together as a united community, singular in its purpose to serve a central sanctuary and willing to devote the materials necessary for the ongoing survival of a sanctuary in which Judean interests are subtly positioned as predominant (see esp. §4.4). Such a memory arguably says little about the actual dominance of Judean cultic authorities at the time of writing, but it speaks to a perceived need on the part of priestly scribes to use the powerful medium of discourse to promote a logic whereby the Jerusalem temple could assert its claim to significance: its claim to lead the unified community of Israel in centralized worship, and to gain a degree of control over economic resources that would be warranted only by its sociocultic authority. 53 As noted, e.g., by Joseph Blenkinsopp, “The Structure of P,” CBQ 38 (1976): 280–81; Blenkinsopp, The Pentateuch: An Introduction to the First Five Books of the Bible, ABRL (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1992), 218; Erich Zenger, Gottes Bogen in den Wolken. Untersuchungen zu Komposition und Theologie der priesterschriftlichen Urgeschichte, SBS 112 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1983), 171; Bernd Janowski, “Tempel und Schöpfung: Schöpfungstheologische Aspekte der priesterschriftlichen Heiligtumskonzeption,” in Gottes Gegenwart in Israel, ed. Bernd Janowski, Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1993), 223–24; Benjamin D. Sommer, “Conflicting Constructions of Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle,” BibInt 9 (2001): 43; William H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 2B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2006), 675–76; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 54–55.

22

Chapter 1: Introduction

1.3 Outline of the Study Working within the methodological and theoretical framework described above, this study examines the discursive strategies of centralization in Lev 17–26 whereby H compels the Israelites to unify in service to their patron god Yhwh by deferring to central spaces, processes, and authorities. It begins in chapter 2 by examining the current state of research on H. It reviews and accepts the evidence that Lev 17–26 are relatively late legislative materials within the priestly traditions, which were composed most probably in the Persian period when these traditions had already reached a fairly advanced state of composition. Chapter 3 goes on to review current scholarly research on the importance of the Persian period in the negotiation of cultic centralization, the relationship between the central sanctuaries at Jerusalem and Mount Gerizim, and the evidence of continued cultic diversity, both within Yehud and Samaria and in the diaspora. It then turns to explore why the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch remain marginal in the discussion of centralizing discourse stemming from that period. It provides a comprehensive overview of the dominant view that H, like P before it, assumes the centralizing mandate of D, while also reviewing those studies that have challenged this view of P and/or H in the research on centralization. Chapter 4 contextualizes the study of H that follows by considering the question of centralization in P. In contrast to much of the current scholarship on P, the chapter demonstrates that these traditions promote their own discourse of centralization that goes far beyond simply presuming D’s centralizing mandate. While not ruling out the possibility that P was written after a core version of Deuteronomy, this chapter argues that P promotes a social memory of the foundation of the cult and community that is distinctive in its centralizing logic. In particular, the chapter analyzes the construction account in Exod 25– 31, 35–40 and Lev 8–9 (cf. Num 7), the ritual legislation of Lev 1–16, and the depiction of the Aaronide priesthood in Exod 28–29 and related passages in order to argue that P advances a three-pronged discourse of centralization: collective unity in constructing and maintaining a shared sanctuary space, standardization of ritual practice in accordance with Yhwh’s revelation to Moses, and the concentration of priestly competence in the hands of a monopolistic priesthood. The chapter also explores how this priestly discourse of centralization might have negotiated processes of cultic centralization in the Persian period by convincing those who considered themselves part of “Israel” to assume the role of chief sponsors of a central sanctuary in lieu of a royal patron, to defer to a central set of ritual norms as a sign of sociocultic unity, and to restrict their attention to a centralized priestly institution led by a single high priest. The core of the study comprises chapters 5, 6, and 7, each of which considers one aspect of H’s discourse of centralization. Chapter 5 offers a close reading of the laws of Lev 17 dealing with the proper disposal of blood. The chapter

1.3 Outline of the Study

23

argues that the impracticability of the prohibition of local slaughter in Lev 17:3–9 does not undermine a centralized reading of H but reveals H’s strategic intent to express a ritualized ideal in which all pragmatic considerations are displaced and ritual hierarchies ideally configured in favor of the total centralization of the handling of livestock. Contrary to the classical view, this ideal shows little influence from Deut 12 on H’s thinking; the focus on blood disposal has little resonance with D’s program of centralization, and the evidence of verbal and conceptual borrowings from Deut 12 in Lev 17 is too scant to establish the latter as the key source of inspiration for H’s centralizing mandate. Instead, the phraseology and thematic continuities with the earlier P materials in this chapter suggest that H’s discourse is dependent on P rather than D, even as H moves beyond P by explicitly forbidding extrasanctuary slaughter and sacrifice and introducing harsh sanctions for those Israelites who fail to defer to the central sanctuary. Chapter 5 also explores the possible historical context of such a focus on blood sacrifice in the centralized cult, and the benefits which such a ritualized ideal might have afforded the temple in Jerusalem by claiming the exclusive right to butcher Israelite livestock. In addition, it explores the possibility that a similar logic might inform the Elephantine correspondence (TAD A4.8, 9, 10), that both Lev 17 and the Elephantine correspondence might be read to indicate a narrowing focus on the centralization of sacrifices involving blood, while nonblood sacrifices, such as the ‫‘ מנחה‬cereal offering’, are considered less controversial. Chapter 6 discusses the contribution to H’s discourse of centralization of its calendar in Lev 23 and its laws regarding regular rites at the shrine in Lev 24:1– 9. Drawing on historical analyses of fixed calendars in antiquity, I explore whether H’s concern to devise a fixed, immutable program for the Israelite festal year, singular in its normativity and authority ‫‘ מושׁבתיכם‬in all your settlements’, might be read as a means to ensure conformity to stipulated ritual practice through a centralized means of time reckoning, and to assert the right of central sanctuary authorities to dictate practices in the periphery. In addition, by assigning to the local settlements new domestic activities that can be performed without requiring a shrine, H’s festal calendar has the effect of denying the need for local sanctuaries and prohibiting the decentralized worship and splintering that such sites entail. Chapter 6 then discusses the appendix to the festal calendar in Lev 24:1–9 and argues that these verses, with their focus on fixed rituals at the central shrine at daily and weekly intervals, reveal the linkage between the standardization of time and the concentration of material resources and cultic authority to the central shrine and its exclusive priesthood. These ideas are given fresh expression in a ritual addition, preserved in 4Q365 23, which effectively merges the interests of Lev 23 and 24:1–9 by adding two new festivals in which all twelve tribes must travel to a central ‫‘ בית‬temple’ in the land to present the raw materials needed for its upkeep. The chapter then concludes by exploring how H’s interest in centralized time might have been a

24

Chapter 1: Introduction

strategy to achieve temporal symmetry across a geographically dispersed diaspora in the Persian era: it integrates all the Israelites, regardless of location, into a centrally managed temporal system, while asserting the rights of the central shrine and its priesthood to receive donations from the entire community. Chapter 7 broadens the scope to address the significance of the concept of holiness for H’s centralizing discourse. Unlike P, which restricts holiness to the sanctuary, its paraphernalia, and priesthood, H extends it to the community as a whole, and even to their activities outside the sanctuary precinct. The chapter argues that this extension reveals H’s attempt to align everyday practice with central norms associated with the sanctuary. It thus explores how holiness reinforces a hegemonic discourse of centralization that is aimed at normalizing the reach of the temple into extrasanctuary domains through the aid of the law, and that seeks to solicit the Israelites’ conformity with the law not just through coercion but also through consent. The chapter also explores how H’s interest in the sabbath and in the Israelites’ life on the land furthers this attempt to construct all activities – in social, agricultural, and economic domains – as integral to the Israelites’ shared obligations to defer to central sanctuary authorities. It concludes by assessing how this might have bolstered the claims of temple authorities to economic centrality in the Persian period, in that they required not only ongoing, material support in the form of offerings and donations, but also recognition as an authority in agricultural and socioeconomic domains. The study then closes with a brief discussion summarizing the main conclusions and findings, as well as their broader relevance for the study of centralization and the pentateuchal traditions.

Chapter 2

The Holiness Legislation in Context Over the past two decades, the study of the Holiness legislation has experienced substantial renewal. Once considered “a peculiar little collection of laws,” haphazardly assembled and later attached to the Priestly source, Lev 17–26 spent much of the twentieth century in the wings of pentateuchal scholarship.1 This situation has now changed almost completely. The 1995 landmark study by Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence, was a catalyst for H’s reentry onto the stage as a major topic in the study of the priestly traditions and the formation of the Pentateuch more generally.2 Reviewing key issues in current debates (§2.1), this chapter will highlight those aspects of recent research on H that inform my approach to Lev 17–26 in the chapters that follow: the nature of Lev 17–26 as a subunit of priestly legislation (§2.2.1); the arguments in favor of viewing H as presupposing a well-developed set of priestly narrative and legislative materials (§2.2.2); and the probable Persian period date of the H materials (§2.2.3).

2.1 Recent Trends and Debated Issues It has long been argued in pentateuchal research that the legal materials found in Lev 17–26 have a different profile from Lev 1–16, and from the Priestly source more generally. This idea was first proposed in 1886 by Karl Heinrich Graf in Die geschichtlichen Bücher des Alten Testaments. Here Graf observed that Lev 18–26 seem to have a different linguistic profile to the rest of the Priestly source.3 For instance, these chapters are formulated as direct address by Yhwh to Moses that includes first person statements by Yhwh rarely found outside these chapters. There is frequent repetition of the closing formulae ‫אני‬ ‫‘ יהוה‬I am Yhwh’, ‫‘ אני יהוה אלהיכם‬I am Yhwh your god’, and ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫מקדשׁם‬/‫‘ מקדשׁכם‬I am Yhwh who sanctifies you/them’. Other nineteenth1 Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel, trans. John Sutherland and Allan Menzies (New York, NY: Meridian, 1957), 51. 2 Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1995). 3 Karl Heinrich Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher des Alten Testaments. Zwei historischkritische Untersuchungen (Leipzig: T. O. Weigel, 1866), 75–83.

26

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

century scholars added to Graf’s observations by noting the high density of words derived from the root ‫ קדשׁ‬and a distinctive concern in these materials with holiness, which is particularly evident in the unique exhortation to the Israelites in Lev 19:2 ‫‘ קדשׁים תהיו כי קדושׁ אני יהוה אלהיכם‬you shall be holy, for I Yhwh your god am holy’.4 The use of motive clauses and exhortations, such as the frequent references to the exodus from Egypt as a rationale for law observance and the repeated threat of being ‘cut off’ (‫ )כרת‬from the community if certain statutes are not upheld, was also noted as contributing to the unique rhetoric of these chapters. These linguistic peculiarities led classical scholars to wonder if at least Lev 18–26 preserve traces of a once independent legal code that was taken up by the scribes responsible for the Priestly source and incorporated into their narrative of origins.5 The Holiness Code was formed, in the view of Julius Wellhausen, via a process of cobbling together an assortment of laws to form a somewhat unruly legal corpus, lacking in overarching logic.6 Importantly, Wellhausen was the first to decisively argue that Lev 17, not Lev 18, must have constituted the original introduction to this collection of laws.7 While the root ‫ קדשׁ‬is not found in Lev 17, this chapter has a similar linguistic profile to Lev 18–26 on account of the ‫ כרת‬formula (vv. 4, 9, 10, 14) and the specification that the law in vv. 3–7 be considered ‫לדרתם‬...‫‘ חקת עולם‬an eternal statute…throughout their generations’. Wellhausen also noted that Lev 17 frames the H materials with a structure similar to that of other legal collections in the Pentateuch, opening the collection with a law on sacrifices and then, in ch. 26, closing with an exhortation to obedience.8 Leviticus 17 thus logically serves, in Wellhausen’s view, as the introduction to an originally discrete code, equivalent to the Covenant Code of Exod 20–23 (CC) and the Deuteronomic Code of Deut 12–26 + 28 (D). Furthermore, the Holiness Code was written by scribes who knew and critically engaged with both these earlier legislative codes, especially the D materials. This view was corroborated by Bruno Baentsch who 4 See, e.g., Abraham Kuenen, An Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch, trans. Philip H. Wicksteed (London: Macmillan, 1886), 88–91; Julius Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 4th ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963), 149–72; August Klostermann, “Ezechiel und das Heiligkeitsgesetz,” in Der Pentateuch: Beiträge zu seinem Verständnis und seiner Entstehungsgeschichte (Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1893), 406–45; and Samuel Driver, An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament, 9th ed., International Theological Library (New York, NY: Meridan, 1956), 49–50. 5 Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher, 91–92 already excluded Lev 27 from H, arguing that it formed a later appendix to the book of Leviticus. On the arguments that support this view, see §2.2.1. 6 Wellhausen, Die Composition, 149–72. 7 Wellhausen, Die Composition, 149–52. 8 Wellhausen, Die Composition, 167–69; see also Driver, Introduction, 48.

2.1 Recent Trends and Debated Issues

27

in 1903 provided a detailed comparison of D and H and argued that Lev 17–26 show a heavy dependence on D as a legislative source.9 The view that Lev 17–26 form a legal code that predated the Priestly source had a significant impact on the study of H for much of the twentieth century, but new interpretations have emerged in recent decades.10 First, scholars have questioned Wellhausen’s characterization of H as an assortment of various independent laws, stitched together in a haphazard way. In the 1960s and 1970s, scholars such as Christian Feucht and Alfred Cholewiński revived an earlier argument by Baentsch that the H laws had already been assembled in thematic units (e.g., Lev 18–20, 21–22) prior to their compilation to form the Holiness Code.11 As they saw it, the redactor of H brought together large blocks of material, each of which had its own internal logic, rather than an assortment of disparate sources. A different approach was spearheaded by Karl Elliger and Rudolf Kilian.12 Both argued that H was not edited by a single scribe but was composed via a series of complex redactions, although they did not agree on their precise scope.13 Since the 1990s, however, scholars have tended to question both the idea that Lev 17–26 were composed of a mix of originally independent sources (whether large or small), as well as the alternative theory that H was composed in a series of successive redactions. Klaus Grünwaldt, Eckart Otto, and 9 Bruno Baentsch, Das Heiligkeits-Gesetz Lev. XVII–XXVI: Eine historisch-kritische Untersuchung (Erfurt: H. Güther, 1893), 76–80. For later studies of H’s dependence on D, see Alfred Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Deuteronomium. Eine vergleichende Studie, AnBib 66 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1976); Eckart Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26,” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and HansWinfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Bodenheim: Philo, 1999), 125–96; Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT 2/25 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 401–545; Jeffrey Stackert, Rewriting the Torah: Literary Revision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation, FAT 1/52 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). 10 For detailed histories of research on H scholarship in the twentieth century, see Henry T. C. Sun, “An Investigation into the Compositional Integrity of the So-Called Holiness Code (Leviticus 17–26)” (PhD diss., The Claremont Graduate School, 1990), 1–43 and Klaus Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26. Ursprüngliche Gestalt, Tradition und Theologie, BZAW 271 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 5–22. For more recent histories of research, see Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 4–11 and Paavo N. Tucker, The Holiness Composition in the Book of Exodus, FAT 2/98 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 18–28. 11 Christian Feucht, Untersuchungen zum Heiligkeitsgesetz (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1964) and Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz. For Baentsch’s earlier observation, see Baentsch, Das Heiligkeits-Gesetz. 12 Karl Elliger, “Heiligkeitsgesetz,” RGG 3:175–76; Elliger, Leviticus, HAT 4 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1966); and Rudolf Kilian, Literarkritische und formgeschichtliche Untersuchung des Heiligkeitsgesetzes, BBB 19 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1963). 13 For a similar approach, see Sun, “Investigation.”

28

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

Christophe Nihan, among others, have argued in detail that the number of independent sources used by H is far fewer than traditionally assumed, and that the redactional models proposed by Elliger, Kilian, and others are also unnecessary.14 Traces of earlier source materials can still be identified in select passages of Lev 17–26, as, for instance, in the two lists of prohibited sexual unions in Lev 18 and 20.15 Additions were also certainly made to Lev 17–26 in a late compositional stage, the episode of the blasphemer in Lev 24:10–23 being one such important example (see further discussion of the blasphemer episode in §2.2.1). Nevertheless, these scholars insist that H can generally be read as a well-structured literary unit, organized around the central theme of holiness.16 A second but related change in the study of H has been the rejection of the premise that Lev 17–26 originated as an independent code prior to the writing of the Priestly source.17 Beginning with a dictionary entry by Elliger in 1959, followed by his commentary in 1966, scholars have gradually come to question whether Lev 17–26 can be read without reference to (at least) the Priestergrundschrift (Pg).18 In trying to reconstruct what might have been the state of the Holiness Code prior to its redaction by the Priestly scribes, classical scholars were required to treat all the references to the Priestly narrative from Lev 17–26 as secondary additions. However, bracketing out these secondary elements significantly disrupted the logic of H’s laws. Leviticus 17–26 frequently mention the narrative setting of the Priestly narrative, including Moses, Aaron, the Israelite ‫‘ מחנה‬camp’, Mount Sinai, the exodus, and the promised entry into the land of Canaan.19 If all these references to the Priestly narrative context are

14 Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz; Eckart Otto, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17– 26 in der Pentateuchredaktion,” in Altes Testament – Forschung und Wirkung. Festschrift Henning Graf Reventlow, ed. Peter Mommer and Winfried Thiel (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1994), 65–80; Otto, Theologische Ethik des Alten Testaments, ThW (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 237–43; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 395–45. 15 See, among others, Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 430–59. 16 See further Jan Joosten, People and Land in the Holiness Code: An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26, VTSup 67 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 5–7; Andreas Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Priesterschrift. Literaturgeschichtliche und rechtssystematische Untersuchungen zu Leviticus 17,1–26,2, FAT 1/26 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 79–134. On the literary structure of Lev 17–26, see further §2.2.1. 17 Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz is an important exception to this trend. Grünwaldt has maintained the original independence of the Holiness Code, even though he has accepted Elliger’s core insight that it was most likely composed with knowledge of the Priestly document. 18 Elliger, “Heiligkeitsgesetz,” 175 and Elliger, Leviticus, 14–20. 19 For references to Moses, see Lev 17:1; 18:1; 19:1; 20:1; 21:1, 16, 24; 22:1; 22:17, 26; 23:1, 9, 23, 26, 33, 44; 24:1, 11, 13, 23; 25:1; 26:46. For references to Aaron, see Lev 17:2; 21:1, 17, 21, 24; 22:2, 4, 18; 24:3, 9. For reference to the camp, see Lev 17:3; 24:10, 14, 23. For references to Sinai, see Lev 25:1; 26:46. For references to the exodus, see Lev 18:3;

2.1 Recent Trends and Debated Issues

29

removed from H, it is difficult to explain why the laws of Lev 17–26 were ever conceived as divine speech delivered by Yhwh that included such formulas as ‫ אני יהוה‬and ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬.20 In addition, Lev 17–26 contain occasional references to the Priestly primeval history, such as the allusion to Gen 9:3–7 in the wording of Lev 17, as well as to the Priestly patriarchal narrative, such as the mention of the covenant with Jacob, Isaac, and Abraham in Lev 26:42. Elliger surmised that Lev 17–26 might have been written as a series of redactional expansions that were added to Pg before any other ritual materials had been added to that narrative (Ps materials, “s” being for sekundär).21 Although this argument was largely ignored at first, it gained greater acceptance in German-speaking scholarship following Cholewiński’s 1976 monograph, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Deuteronomium. Cholewiński followed Elliger in arguing that Lev 17–26 comprise redactional additions to Pg.22 However, it was with the work of Knohl, as well as that of Jacob Milgrom, in the 1990s and early 2000s, that the idea of Lev 17–26 as a late priestly stratum gained widespread acceptance.23 By comparing Num 28–29 (which both assigned to the Priestly materials that pre-date H [P]) and Lev 23, these scholars argued that the H legislators were not only familiar with P narrative materials but ritual texts as well, which they sought to revise from a distinct theological perspective. Moreover, Knohl and Milgrom moved beyond comparing Lev 23 and Num 28–29 to systematically identify points of difference and tension between earlier priestly ritual materials and the laws of Lev 17–26. The most striking of these concerned the application of the holiness category. In P, holiness is a category that becomes operational insofar as it is applied to the sanctuary and associated personnel and paraphernalia, and perhaps also to the day of the sabbath. But in H the non-priestly members of the Israelite community are permitted to attain holiness through their observance of the law (see further §7.1.1). Furthermore, Knohl and Milgrom contended that the phraseology of Lev 17– 26 is characterized by an important number of variations and misuses of P terminology, which suggest that Lev 17–26 were written by a later scribal school that was mimicking the language of the P materials. They concluded on these 19:34, 36; 22:33; 23:43; 25:38, 42, 55; 26:13, 45. For references to the entry into Canaan, see Lev 18:3, 24–26; 20:22–26; 26:3–45. 20 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 395–401. 21 Elliger, “Heiligkeitsgesetz,” 176. 22 Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz. See also Walter Kornfeld, Levitikus, NEchtB 6 (Würzburg: Echter, 1983), 6 and Reinhard G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, trans. John Bowden (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 105–6. 23 Israel Knohl, “The Priestly Torah versus the Holiness School: Sabbath and the Festivals,” HUCA 58 (1987): 65–117; Knohl, Sanctuary; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, AB 3A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1991), 13–42; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, AB 3B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2000), 1327–39; and Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, AB 3C (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2001).

30

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

grounds that H was never intended to be read independently of the P narrative or ritual materials but was always conceived as a supplement to P, one that drew upon and critically revised the earlier “Priestly Torah.”24 This reading of Lev 17–26 was subsequently taken up and developed by Baruch J. Schwartz, who argued that the character of H as a legislative stratum suggests that scholars should abandon the name “Holiness Code” altogether. Instead, Lev 17–26 should be referred to as the “Holiness legislation,” since these materials never existed as an independent law code but originated as a redaction of the Priestly source.25 A further important aspect of Knohl’s work on H was his solution for an important problem in pentateuchal research: why select priestly passages outside Lev 17–26 evince strong linguistic, stylistic, and thematic parallels to the H materials.26 These texts were already a problem in classical scholarship, given that the Priestly document was thought to have been written after the Holiness Code. (Why would only very specific Priestly passages have evinced such strong parallels with Lev 17–26, while the rest of the Priestly source seems not to engage with H language or ideas?) These passages were classically explained by positing that Lev 17/18–26 preserve only part of a more extensive law code, fragments of which were inserted by a redactor into other sections of the Priestly ritual legislation.27 Yet this suggestion remained necessarily speculative, because it was unable to explain how these passages fit within the original code. Already in the 1950s Henri Cazelles and Pierre Grelot noted that the passages outside Lev 17–26 that evince H-like language or ideas constitute late interpolations to earlier Priestly laws.28 They therefore surmised that these texts were added as part of a very late redaction of the Pentateuch that was intended to align certain laws within the priestly traditions with the language and ideology of Lev 17–26.29 However, this theory left unresolved why H specifically was chosen as the legal collection on which these later insertions were to be based. Like Cazelles and Grelot, Knohl argued that the texts that evince parallels with H were written as part of a larger redactional project that postdated the For the term “Priestly Torah,” see Knohl, Sanctuary, 6. Schwartz, Holiness Legislation, 17–24. 26 Classically, this list was limited to texts such as Exod 12:14–20, 43–49; 31:12–17; 35:1–3; Lev 11:43–45; 16:29–34a; and Num 15. However, Knohl expanded the list to include a much larger number of priestly texts; see Knohl, Sanctuary, 104–6. 27 See Klostermann, “Ezechiel,” 377–79; Heinrich Holzinger, Einleitung in den Hexateuch (Freiburg: Mohr [Siebeck], 1893), 411–13; and Driver, Introduction, 48–50. 28 Henri Cazelles, “La mission d’Esdras,” VT 4, no. 2 (1954): 113–40; Pierre Grelot, “Le Papyrus pascal d’Eléphantine et le problème du Pentateuque,” VT 5, no. 3 (1955): 250–65; Grelot, “La dernière étape de la rédaction sacerdotale,” VT 6, no. 2 (1956): 174–89. 29 Cazelles, “La mission,” 126–28; Grelot, “Le papyrus,” 257–58; and Grelot, “La dernière étape.” 24 25

2.1 Recent Trends and Debated Issues

31

composition of the Priestly document. However, he differed from Cazelles and Grelot in his view that the scribal school responsible for these late additions to P was also responsible for Lev 17–26. By this means, Knohl explained why these late additions shared a linguistic or ideological affinity with Lev 17–26 specifically. They were all, in Knohl’s view, the work of a “Holiness School” (HS); that is, they were written by successive generations of scribes writing after P was composed, all of whom were trained in a particular ideology and compositional style, the clearest articulation of which is found in Lev 17–26. In addition, Knohl suggested that HS was active in composing and editing an exceedingly large number of texts, which he identified on the basis of stylistic features and theological notions that he considered to be exclusive to HS. Because the HS texts he identified were not confined to the priestly materials but were also added to select non-priestly texts, Knohl concluded that HS was responsible for editing the Pentateuch as a whole. Knohl’s essential argument – namely, that the composition of Lev 17–26 led to a series of updates to the earlier P materials – made a significant contribution to how subsequent scholars conceptualized the H-like passages found outside Lev 17–26. His theory of a specific scribal school standing behind the H materials of the Pentateuch has also been embraced by many scholars, especially in North American and Israeli academic contexts.30 However, several scholars have queried the manner in which Knohl confidently identified the work of HS See, e.g., David P. Wright, “Holiness in Leviticus and Beyond: Differing Perspectives,” IBC 53, no. 4 (1999): 351–64; Saul Olyan, Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 15; Stackert, Rewriting; Jeffrey Stackert, “Compositional Strata in the Priestly Sabbath: Exod 31:12–17 and 35:13,” JHebS 11 (2011): 2–20, doi:10.5508/jhs.v11.a15; Jeffrey Stackert, “Holiness Code and Writings,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Law, ed. Brent Strawn (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2015), 389–96; Yairah Amit, “Narrative Analysis: Meaning, Context and Origins of Genesis 38,” in Method Matters: Essays on the Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Honor of David L. Petersen, ed. Joel M. LeMon and Kent Harold Richards, RBS 56 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2009), 271–91; Bill T. Arnold, “Genesis 1 as Holiness Preamble,” in Let Us Go up to Zion: Essays in Honour of H. G. M. Williamson on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. Iain Provan and Mark Boda, VTSup 153 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 331–43; Arnold, “The Holiness Redaction of the Primeval History,” ZAW 129, no. 4 (2017): 483–500; Bennie H. Reynolds, “The Expression ‫ ביד רמה‬in the Hebrew Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Legacy of the Holiness School in Essene Legal Texts,” JBL 132, no. 3 (2013): 589–92; Mark G. Brett, “Natives and Immigrants in the Social Imagination of the Holiness School,” in Imagining the Other and Constructing Israelite Identity in the Early Second Temple Period, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman; LHBOTS 456 (London: T&T Clark, 2014), 89–104; Megan Warner, “The Holiness School in Genesis?” in Current Issues in Priestly and Related Literature: The Legacy of Jacob Milgrom and Beyond, ed. Roy E. Gane and Ada Taggar-Cohen, RBS 82 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2015), 155–74; and Dany Nocquet, La Samarie, la Diaspora et l’achèvement de la Torah: territorialités et internationalités dans l’Hexateuque; OBO 284 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 29–30. 30

32

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

in numerous materials.31 Knohl’s criteria for separating H texts from their surrounding (usually priestly) context often relied on the presence of very few linguistic or thematic parallels with Lev 17–26.32 It led him to assign to HS a number of priestly passages that seem to play an integral role in the progression of the P narrative, such as Exod 6:2–8 and 29:43–46.33 Other scholars offered a more serious critique of the idea of a Holiness School or an HS redaction of the Pentateuch, arguing that it relies on circular reasoning: having identified the linguistic and thematic profile of Lev 17–26 by comparing these chapters to P, Knohl then used that profile to identify texts within P that must be separated as part of an alleged H redaction.34 While Knohl was developing his theory of a Holiness School, Otto was advancing a distinctive model for the composition of the H materials and the role that their scribal authors played in shaping the Pentateuch. This model, introduced in two studies from 1994, not only focused on the evidence that Lev 17– 26 postdate the P narrative and ritual materials, but also gave important weight to the evidence that H knows and develops D.35 Both Knohl and Milgrom argued that the majority of Lev 17–26 was written prior to the composition of D, although they admitted that certain H materials must have been added in a postD compositional stage. By contrast, Otto argued that H exhibits a highly developed technique of innerscriptural exegesis, in which its scribes consistently 31 Already Jacob Milgrom, “H in Leviticus and Elsewhere in the Torah,” in The Book of R Leviticus: Composition and Reception, ed. Rolf Rendtorff and Robert A. Kugler, VTSup 93 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 26–40 opted for a stricter set of criteria for identifying H’s handiwork, such that he assigned a radically smaller number of texts to H outside Lev 17–26. He therefore avoided the term “Holiness School” and instead spoke of a “Holiness Redactor” (HR) who he surmised could simply have been a single scribe who used H texts to craft additions during the late editorial stages of the Pentateuch. 32 See, e.g., Knohl, Sanctuary, where he argues that the expression ‫ אני יהוה‬is a telltale sign of H redactional activity (169), or that the use of first-person address by the god is unique to H material (170–72). 33 Subsequent studies have also employed Knohl’s methodology to assign an even greater amount of P material to HS, including the creation account at Gen 1:1–2:4; see Yairah Amit, “Creation and the Calendar of Holiness,” in In Praise of Editing in the Hebrew Bible: Collected Essays in Retrospect, trans. Betty Sigler Rozen, Hebrew Bible Monographs 39 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2012), 3–23; Edwin Firmage, “Genesis 1 and the Priestly Agenda,” JSOT 82 (1999): 97–114; Bill T. Arnold, Genesis, NCBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 12–18; Arnold, “Genesis 1”; and Arnold “The Holiness Redaction of the Primeval History,” ZAW 129, no. 4 (2017): 483–500. See further the discussion at §5.3.2. 34 See, notably, Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 564; Erhard Blum, “Issues and Problems in the Contemporary Debate Regarding the Priestly Writings,” in The Strata of the Priestly Writings: Contemporary Debate and Future Directions, ed. Sarah Shectman and Joel S. Baden, ATANT 95 (Zürich: TVZ, 2009), 34–36; and Suzanne Boorer, The Vision of the Priestly Narrative: Its Genre and Hermeneutics of Time, AIL 27 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2016), 44–46. 35 Otto, Theologische Ethik and Otto, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz.”

2.1 Recent Trends and Debated Issues

33

take up the language and themes of both the priestly and the non-priestly traditions – especially D – in fashioning new legal rulings.36 This legislative concern to balance the different pentateuchal traditions, he argued, reveals Lev 17–26 as a post-P and post-D composition that was fashioned by a pentateuchal redactor who sought to produce a document in which priestly and non-priestly legislative traditions could be more or less accommodated and law observance positioned as the chief determinant of Israelite identity.37 Although Otto’s model echoed Knohl’s theory in certain respects – both scholars argued that the H scribes were post-P pentateuchal redactors – he did not posit a scribal school working over successive generations. He rather situated Lev 17–26 within a relatively contained late phase in the development of the Torah. Since the 2000s, scholars of Lev 17–26 have largely adopted approaches that combine insights from Knohl and Otto insofar as they have focused on the sophisticated strategies of innerscriptural exegesis that characterize the H materials, as well as the evidence that H scribes intervened in the composition of passages outside Lev 17–26. In his 2007 monograph, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, Nihan sided with Otto in arguing that the scribes responsible for Lev 17–26 consistently engaged not only with P, but also with D and CC when formulating their legal rulings. However, he argued that this does not mean that H scribes were necessarily responsible for redacting the Pentateuch as a whole. Rather, Nihan considered it more probable that H was written after a first version of the Pentateuch had already been compiled and aimed to articulate and harmonize its diverse legislative traditions.38 In another 2007 study entitled Rewriting the Torah, Jeffrey Stackert likewise argued that the H laws comprise sophisticated rulings that blend earlier legal precedents from P, CC, and D. However, he differed from Nihan in arguing that H was added to P when the latter was transmitted as a separate document that had not yet been combined with the non-priestly traditions. In his view, H engaged non-priestly materials in the hope that the updated Priestly document (P + H) would form a “super law” that would render the non-priestly legislation wholly redundant.39 H therefore enshrines, according to Stackert, the scribal techniques used to marginalize and replace older traditions in ancient Israel.

36 See esp. Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese” and, more recently, Otto, “The Holiness Code in Diachrony and Synchrony in the Legal Hermeneutics of the Pentateuch,” in The Strata of the Priestly Writings: Contemporary Debate and Future Directions, ed. Sarah Shectman and Joel S. Baden, ATANT 95 (Zürich: TVZ, 2009), 135–56. 37 See also Reinhard Achenbach, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz und die sakralen Ordnungen des Numeribuches im Horizont der Pentateuchredaktion,” in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, ed. Thomas Römer, BETL 215 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 145–75. 38 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 401–545. 39 Stackert, Rewriting, 225.

34

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

A middle road was advocated by David M. Carr in 2011.40 While he considered it most probable that H was added to P when the latter was still an independent document, he argued that H’s interest in coordinating priestly and nonpriestly materials makes it unlikely that its authors sought to marginalize and replace the non-priestly traditions. Instead, H is an important example of the conciliatory strategies that were eventually instrumental in the process of grouping varying traditions in the formation of the Pentateuch. “[E]ven if it happens that the Holiness materials were added to a separate form of P,” Carr remarked, “they anticipated the combination of P and non-P materials through the occasional ways in which they build on non-P models and/or modify nonP legal instructions.”41 One stream of research has diverged significantly from that spearheaded by Knohl and Otto. An important minority of scholars has argued that the continuity between Lev 17–26 and the earlier P materials in Gen 1–Lev 16* suggests that H is actually an integral part of P, rather than a redactional stratum. Already in 1974, Volker Wagner wrote a seminal article in which he examined the strong legislative and thematic connections between Lev 17–26 and Lev 1– 16, especially the purity materials in Lev 11–16, and argued that Lev 17–26 are a logical progression of the P legislation of Lev 1–16 that extend the focus on the Israelites’ obligations to maintain purity and holiness. He therefore questioned the legitimacy of positing a diachronic distinction between the first and the second halves of Leviticus and instead proposed that Lev 17 constitutes merely “a subdivision” (eine Untergliederung) that introduces a new section of the Priestly material that comprises the book.42 This view was subsequently taken up and developed by Erhard Blum in his 1992 monograph, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch.43 Blum argued that Pg did not originate as a separate document that was subsequently updated with significant blocks of supplementary material, such as Lev 17–26. Rather, it is better understood as a “P composition” (P Komposition, or KP) that blends originally independent sources and new redactional material with what Blum terms the D-Komposition (KD).44 Leviticus 17–26 are integral to KP, because 40 David M. Carr, “Scribal Processes of Coordination/Harmonization and the Formation of the First Hexateuch(s),” in The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research, ed. Thomas B. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, and Baruch J. Schwartz, FAT 1/78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 72–73 and Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2011), 301. 41 Carr, Formation, 301. 42 Volker Wagner, “Zur Existenz des sogenannten ‘Heiligkeitsgesetzes’,” ZAW 86, no. 3 (1974): 315. 43 Erhard Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch, BZAW 189 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 318–32. See further Blum, “Issues.” 44 The notion that Pg never circulated at any point as part of a discrete document was also advanced by Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge: Harvard

2.1 Recent Trends and Debated Issues

35

they advance its overarching theme of the “closeness of God” (Gottesnähe) and Yhwh’s continued efforts to ensure that his close proximity to the Israelites can be sustained.45 Hence, Blum concluded not only that the distinction between P and H is misguided, because Lev 17–26 are an integral part of P, but also that it is fruitless to consider the possibility that Lev 17–26 could have formed part of a separate P document, because the priestly traditions were always conceived as supplements to KD. Blum’s ideas have significantly influenced a number of subsequent studies of P and H, including those of Frank Crüsemann, Andreas Ruwe, and Alfred Marx.46 Sharing the view that H is simply a subsection of the P compositional layer of the Pentateuch, each has stressed the continuity between Lev 17–26 and the Priestly narrative as a whole. A somewhat distinct development of Blum’s ideas has recently been advanced by Paavo Tucker in his 2017 monograph, The Holiness Composition in the Book of Exodus. Tucker agrees with Blum that Lev 17–26 are integral to the development of the overarching theme of P in Gen 1–Lev 16* rather than a distinct compositional unit. However, he has gone beyond Blum in arguing that Lev 17–26 are of such profound significance that, in effect, all the P materials in Gen 1–Lev 16* “serve the purpose of establishing foundations for observing the Holiness Code.”47 As such, he has suggested that the “P composition” should be renamed the “H composition,” because “every section of the PG narrative” prepares for “the proclamation and call to holiness addressed to all Israel in the Holiness Code.”48 For all the complexity of the history of this scholarship just summarized, certain points of commonality among scholars can be identified. There is now a virtual consensus that Lev 17–26 were not transmitted as a separate code, a consensus that this study does not seek to challenge. Schwartz’s term “Holiness legislation” is therefore to be preferred to that of “Holiness Code,” because it makes clear that Lev 17–26 were always intended to form part of the priestly traditions rather than function as a stand-alone document. It is also beyond question that Lev 17–26 presuppose a Priestly narrative and cultic regulations, although the precise scope of these is open to discussion. More substantial questions remain, however, concerning the precise relationship between Lev University Press, 1973), 293–325, who views P as a redaction of the non-priestly materials. See also Marc Vervenne, “The ‘P’ Tradition in the Pentateuch: Document and/or Redaction? The ‘Sea Narrative’ (Ex 13,17–14,31) as a Test Case,” in Pentateuchal and Deuteronomistic Studies, ed. Christianus Brekelmans and Johan Lust, BETL 94 (Leuven: Peeters, 1990), 67– 90. 45 Blum, Studien, 287. 46 Frank Crüsemann, The Torah: Theology and Social History of Old Testament Law, trans. Allen W. Mahnke (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 277–82; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz; and Alfred Marx, Lévitique 17–27, CAT 3b (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2011), 10–16. 47 Tucker, Holiness Composition, 185. 48 Tucker, Holiness Composition, 189.

36

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

17–26 and P, in particular whether these chapters form a distinct unit that was added either to a Priestly document or to a combined Pentateuch with the intention of developing new discursive aims, or whether they are better considered as part of a larger Priestly composition, one that introduces certain new themes but is largely continuous with the ritual and purity materials of Lev 1– 16. The identification and interpretation of materials outside Lev 17–26 that share H-like features also remain an important point of debate.

2.2 Structure, Scope, and Dating of the Holiness Legislation The decision in this study to focus on Lev 17–26 as a case study in centralization does not hinge on a definitive resolution of all questions that remain outstanding or in dispute in the current state of research. Certain issues are, however, critical if we are to situate H’s centralizing logic among the pentateuchal traditions and also relate it to the history of ancient Israel and its cult. The first is the evidence that Lev 17–26 can be considered a subsection of priestly legislation. This, I contend, shows that they can usefully serve as a case study of how the theme of centralization was conceptualized in a subset of legislative materials of the Pentateuch, even if scholars cannot agree as to exactly when in the development of the priestly traditions Lev 17–26 might have originated or what their precise relationship with other pentateuchal traditions might have been. The second key issue is the evidence that supports treating Lev 17–26 as a stratum that was composed when the priestly traditions were in a fairly advanced stage of development. Finally, I will address the question of the time period in which Lev 17–26 might have been composed and the evidence that favors a Persian period dating of the H materials. 2.2.1 Leviticus 17–26(27) as a Structural Unit Even as the scholarship on H diverges on key issues, scholars commonly observe that Lev 17–26 evince, to a greater or lesser degree, a structural and thematic coherence that warrants their being treated as a distinct section vis-à-vis the ritual and narrative materials of Lev 1–16. One of the key indicators that Lev 17–26 form a legislative subsection is the manner in which Lev 17 signals a major point of division within the Leviticus materials.49 First, it opens in Lev 17:1–2a with a distinctive speech introduction whereby Moses is ordered by Yhwh to speak ‫‘ אל־אהרן ואל־בניו ואל כל־בני ישׂראל‬to Aaron and to his sons and to all the Israelites’. This command formula is found nowhere in Lev 1–16. It does, however, find a direct equivalent within Lev 17–26 in Lev 22:18aα, and only in this text. This connection between Lev 17:2aα and 22:18aα is especially 49

This is acknowledged by Blum, Studien, 325 and Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 82–83.

2.2 Structure, Scope, and Dating of the Holiness Legislation

37

significant given the thematic correspondences between the legal sections they introduce: both are concerned with the offering of sacrifices by the Israelite community.50 In this way, Lev 17:2aα and 22:18aα appear to form an inclusion around chs. 17–22 that gives particular weight to the sacrificial obligations incumbent on the community.51 A second indicator that Lev 17 signals a point of division in the priestly materials in Leviticus is the way in which its focus on the legislative theme of sacrifice conforms to structural conventions evident in the introductions to other legal codes. As Wellhausen already observed, CC and D commence with laws on sacrifices, in Exod 20:22–26 and Deut 12, respectively. This structural similarity between Lev 17 and the opening of CC and D does not necessarily signal that Lev 17–26 originated as an independent legal corpus, as Wellhausen argued. It does suggest that these chapters were structured to form a distinct legislative section that resembled other legal codes, and that begins with Lev 17.52 The possibility that Lev 17–26 might have been structured to mimic the nonpriestly legal codes is strengthened by the relationship between Lev 17 and Lev 26. The latter chapter contains a lengthy list of exhortations to obedience that is strikingly similar to the warnings in Deut 28 of punishments that will befall the Israelites if they do not keep the law.53 It also mimics familiar patterns of Hittite and Assyrian vassal treaties, which frequently conclude with lengthy warnings of the curses that will befall all those who fail to uphold what the treaties stipulate.54 Moreover, when Lev 17 and 26 are taken together, they seem to perform a similar structural role to Deut 12 and 28, insofar as they 50 Hans-Peter Mathys, Liebe deinen Nächsten wie dich selbst. Untersuchungen zum alttestamentlichen Gebot der Nächstenliebe (Lev 19,18), OBO 71 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986), 82. 51 See further Otto, Theologische Ethik, 77 and Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 82–83. 52 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 550. 53 As shown in detail by, e.g., Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 310–19 and Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 348–65. 54 For Hittite treaties that end with curses, see, e.g., COS 2.17A; 2.17B; 2.18. For blessings and curses, see, e.g., the epilogues of the law code of Lipit Ishtar (ANET, 161) and Hammurabi (ANET, 178–180). For Neo-Assyrian vassal treaties that conclude with curses, see treaties 1–6 and 8–12 in Simo Parpola and Kazuko Watanabe, Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths, SAA 2 (Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1988), 4–62, 64–73. For comparisons of Lev 17, 26, and Deut 28 with ANE treaties, see, e.g., M. C. A. Korpel, “The Epilogue to the Holiness Code,” in Verse in Ancient Near Eastern Prose, ed. Johannes C. de Moor and Wilfred G. E. Watson, AOAT 43 (Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker and NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener-Verlag, 1993), 123–50; Hans Ulrich Steymans, Deuteronomium 28 und die adê zur Thronfolgeregelung Asarhaddons. Segen und Fluch im Alten Orient und in Israel, OBO 145 (Freiburg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995); Steymans, “Verheißung und Drohung. Lev 26,” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and Hans-Winfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Bodenheim: Philo, 1999), 270–71.

38

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

bookend their respective legislations with sacrificial regulations and exhortations to obedience. This adds significant weight to the argument that Lev 17– 26 form a legislative section that stands somewhat apart from Lev 1–16. Yet, even as Lev 17 signals a point of division within the Leviticus materials, we must acknowledge that this chapter shares important points of connection with the immediately preceding regulations in Lev 16. Scholars have often noted that these two chapters employ common expressions and motifs, and that they share an interest in blood manipulation.55 Leviticus 16 also shares with Lev 17 a particularly strong focus on the wilderness context, as both chapters refer to the ‫‘ אהל מועד‬tent of meeting’ (16:7; 17:4–6, 9), and activities that take place within the ‫( מחנה‬16:26; 17:3) and outside it (16:27; 17:3). This wilderness emphasis is largely missing from the rest of Lev 18–26: the ‫ אהל מועד‬is mentioned only in 19:21 and 24:3, and the camp appears only in the blasphemer episode of 24:10–23 (see specifically 24:10, 14, 23). This emphasis on the wilderness context positions Lev 17 in close proximity to Lev 16 and at a relative distance from the remainder of H, apart from ch. 24. In addition, the two chapters make reference to creatures associated with wilderness and desolate places: ‫‘ עזאזל‬Azazel’ in 16:8, 10, and 23; ‫‘ שׂעירם‬wild goats’ in 17:7. Finally, the linguistic connection between the two chapters is strengthened by a late addition in Lev 16:29–34a, which shares with Lev 17 a reference to the ‫‘ גר‬immigrant’ and the ‫‘ אזרח‬native’ (16:29; 17:15), as well as the expression ‫הגר‬ ‫‘ הגר בתוככם‬the immigrant who lives among you’ (16:29; 17:10, 12, 13, 15).56 Noting these linguistic and conceptual parallels between Lev 16 and 17, Erich Zenger, Benedikt Jürgens, and Thomas Hieke suggest that the two chapters were intended to be read as an integrated section within the book of Leviticus.57 55 Both chapters mention blood in connection with its ‫ כפר‬function, with the root ‫ כפר‬and the phrase ‫ כפר על‬featuring in both chapters (see esp. Lev 16:19, 34; 17:11). There are only two occurrences of the root ‫ כפר‬in Lev 18–26 (19:22; 23:28), and in neither case does it refer to blood. On the linguistic parallels between Lev 16 and 17, see further, e.g., Erich Zenger, “Das Buch Levitikus als Teiltext der Tora/des Pentateuch. Eine synchrone Lektüre mit diachroner Perspektive,” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and Hans-Winfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Bodenheim: Philo, 1999), 65–67, 71–73; Benedikt Jürgens, Heiligkeit und Versöhnung. Leviticus 16 in seinem literarischen Kontext, Herders biblische Studien 28 (Freiburg: Herder, 2001), 126–86; and Thomas Hieke, Levitikus, 2 vols., HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2014), 2:557–639. 56 The secondary character of Lev 16:29–34a is widely recognized; see, e.g., Bruno Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, HKAT 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1903), 380; Elliger, Leviticus, 207; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1064–65; Knohl, Sanctuary, 27–28; Corinna Körting, Der Schall des Schofar. Israels Feste im Herbst, BZAW 285 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 131–34; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 346–50; and Yitzhaq Feder, “On kuppuru, kippēr and Etymological Sins that Cannot be Wiped Away,” VT 60, no. 4 (2010): 582. 57 Zenger, “Das Buch Levitikus,” 71–73; Jürgens, Heiligkeit; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:558–59.

2.2 Structure, Scope, and Dating of the Holiness Legislation

39

However, this reconstruction can be questioned on a number of grounds. To begin with, much of the detail of the two chapters, such as the ritual actions outlined in Lev 16 or the blood prohibition in Lev 17:10–14, is not mirrored in the other. Hence, while the two chapters certainly have striking similarities, these do not necessitate that they be read as a structural pair. Second, the two chapters are headed by different speech command formulae, which emphasizes their structural distinctiveness. The introduction in Lev 16:1–2 is unique within the book, while the introduction in Lev 17:1–2a is found nowhere else in Leviticus besides Lev 22:18aα. The compliance formula at Lev 16:34b (‫ויעש‬ ‫‘ כאשר צוה יהוה את משה‬And he did as Yhwh had commanded Moses’) also signals a significant break between the material of ch. 16 and that of ch. 17. Thus, for all the thematic and linguistic links between the two chapters, it is overstraining the evidence to view Lev 16 and 17 as forming part of an integrated section. Leviticus 17 seems rather to signal a new structural unit within the priestly materials of Leviticus, one which, while maintaining strong continuity with the earlier ritual instructions of Lev 1–16, looks toward the new interests of Lev 18–26. The possible reason why such strong links to Lev 16 can be observed in the laws of Lev 17 will be discussed in detail in chapter 5.58 Further support for the view that Lev 17 begins a new structural unit that stretches to Lev 26 resides in the structural coherence of Lev 17–26 when considered as a whole. As Otto, Ruwe, and Nihan have convincingly argued, Lev 17–26 can be neatly divided into two interrelated sections that address the overarching topic of holiness.59 The first, from Lev 17–22, deals specifically with the holiness of the community. It is framed by the instructions in Lev 17 and 22:17–30, which share a distinctive commission formula (‫אל־אהרן ואל־בניו ואל‬ ‫ )כל־בני ישׂראל‬and stress the Israelites’ collective responsibility to handle their sacrifices in a manner that does not compromise their sanctity. They must present and consume them (in the case of the well-being sacrifice) in ways that ensure the proper disposal of their blood; they must also select animals for sacrifice that are not blemished (Lev 22:17–25), refrain from slaughtering a mother and its young on the same day (Lev 22:26–28), and be sure to eat the ‫‘ זבח תודה‬thanksgiving sacrifice’ on the day that it is killed (Lev 22:29–30). These two texts dealing with sacrifice form a frame around Lev 18–21, which addresses two interrelated aspects of the community’s holiness (see Figure 2.1): the holiness of the non-priestly members of the community (Lev 18–19) and the holiness of the priests, which in turn ensures the holiness of the sanctuary and its related sancta (Lev 21:1–22:16).60

See esp. §5.3.2. Otto, Theologische Ethik, 242–43; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 242–43; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 98–99. 60 On the overarching theme of Lev 22:1–22:16, see further §7.2.2.3. 58 59

40

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

Lev 17 – Proper handling of sacrificial donations: issues of blood disposal Lev 18 – Holiness of non-priests: sexual relations Lev 19 – Central treatise on communal holiness Lev 20 – Holiness of non-priests: sexual relations Lev 21:1–22:16 – Holiness of the priests, the sanctuary, and its sancta Lev 22:17–30 – Proper handling of sacrificial donations: blemishes and other issues Figure 2.1: Lev 17–22: Communal Holiness

The second half of Lev 17–26, for its part, addresses the topic of holy times.61 Leviticus 23 commands the Israelites to keep the sabbath (23:3) and establishes a fixed program of annual festivals (23:4–43). Leviticus 24:1–9 then concern donations made to the sanctuary at daily or weekly intervals: oil for the sanctuary candelabrum (24:2–4) and twelve loaves to be displayed on the golden table in the sanctuary (24:5–9). Leviticus 25, meanwhile, addresses the timing of agricultural practices, as well as the redemption of the land and of indentured servants. It commands a year of rest for the land every seventh year (25:4; see further vv. 1–7) and then a ‫‘ יובל‬jubilee’ every seventh sabbath year (vv. 8– 55).62 The jubilee is both a fallow year for the land (25:11) and the occasion when Israelite bound servants must be freed (25:40–41) and all Israelites permitted to return to their traditional land holdings (25:10, 13). It thus forms a major regulating device in the exchange of land and persons, with the sale of property and slaves being relative to the fifty-year cycle (see further §7.3.1). The episode of the blasphemer in Lev 24:10–23 does not fit well with the focus on sacred times that characterizes Lev 23–25 in that it concerns 61 This is widely recognized; see, e.g., Wagner, “Zur Existenz,” 314–15; Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. D. W. Stott, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 334; Zenger, “Das Buch Levitikus,” 65–70; Leigh M. Trevaskis, “The Purpose of Leviticus 24 within Its Literary Context,” VT 59, no. 2 (2009): 295–312; Marx, Lévitique 17–27, 141; James W. Watts, Leviticus 1–10, HCOT (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 18– 20; Hieke, Levitikus, 2:871–73; and Stackert, “Holiness Code.” 62 The precise meaning of the term ‫ יובל‬is disputed. Its primary meaning is often thought to be ‘ram’ (see, e.g., ‫יוֵֹב ל‬, HALOT 2:398). Six times in the Hebrew Bible ‫ יובל‬is used in association with a term referring to the blast of a horn or trumpet (Exod 19:13; Josh 6:4–6, 8, 13), which could suggest that it refers to a ram’s horn. Scholars have often assumed that the term ‫ יובל‬occurs in Lev 25 because the year of release began with the sounding of such a horn; see, e.g., Elliger, Leviticus, 352; Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation, JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 172; John H. Hartley, Leviticus, WBC 4 (Dallas, TX: Word, 1992), 434. However, it is noteworthy that LXX always translates ‫ יובל‬with ἄφεσις ‘sending away’ or ‘sending back’, with the exception of Lev 25:15 where it is rendered σηµασία ‘proclamation’. While the choice of the term σηµασία is consistent with the idea of a proclamation via the blowing of a ram’s horn, the term ἄφεσις would seem to offer little evidence that ‫יובל‬ was understood to mean ‘ram’ by the Greek translator. For the purposes of the present study, however, the precise meaning of the term ‫ יובל‬can be left open.

2.2 Structure, Scope, and Dating of the Holiness Legislation

41

blasphemy of the divine name. It is also “anomalous in Lev 17–26, being the only narrative unit preserved in the corpus.”63 Scholars have thus long suspected that Lev 24:10–23 constitute a late addition to the legislation of Lev 17– 26.64 This conclusion is supported by the evidence that the three other oracular novellae in the Pentateuch (Num 9:6–15; 15:32–36; 27:1–11) are late introductions to their respective literary contexts.65 Yet, despite its secondary status, the placing of the episode of the blasphemer at this point in Lev 17–26 is not Sun, “Investigation,” 428. See, e.g., Wellhausen, Die Composition, 163–64; Kuenen, Historico-Critical Inquiry, 90; Alfred Bertholet, Leviticus, KHC 3 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1901), 84–85; Elliger, Leviticus, 329–35; Wagner, “Zur Existenz,” 314–15; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 98– 100; Sun, “Investigation,” 436–38; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 75; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 92–94; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 56–57, 70–71; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 99, 512–13; Reinhard Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora. Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch, BZABR 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), 168–71; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:955. Simeon Chavel, Oracular Law and Priestly Historiography in the Torah, FAT 2/71 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 23–92, 261–63 offers a thoughtful analysis of Lev 24:10–23 that challenges the majority view that these verses are secondary to H. Chavel makes a strong case for viewing Lev 24:10–23 as forming a coherent composition that builds on earlier H texts (e.g., Lev 18) to provide a new justification for capital punishment in instances of blasphemy. However, these points of continuity between Lev 24:10–23 and other materials in Lev 17–26 do not necessitate that the former narrative was written in the same compositional phase as the core H materials. Chavel admits that Lev 24:10–23 are dissonant with the surrounding laws of Lev 23–25, since they do not share their interest in sacred time (Oracular Law, 88). To explain why H would have included a text that disrupts the thematic continuity of Lev 23– 25, Chavel argues that the blasphemer narrative of Lev 24:10–23 might constitute the original end of the Holiness Code, with Lev 25:1–26:46 stemming from a different compositional phase in the development of the H materials (Oracular Law, 92). Chavel acknowledges, however, that there is little evidence to support assigning Lev 25:1–26:46 to a later redaction, beyond the reference in 25:1 to Yhwh speaking to Moses ‫בהר סיני‬, which he reads as conflicting with Lev 1:1. (For an alternative interpretation, see p. 42 n. 67 below.) In light of this absence of evidence in favor of the secondary character of Lev 25:1–26:46, Chavel seems to backtrack when he cautions that we should not “jump to the conclusion…that the text that begins in Lev 25:1 was composed subsequent to the Holiness Code and under, as it were, its influence, and not contemporaneously or, for that matter, even beforehand with closely related ideas and expressions at hand” (Oracular Law, 92 n. 240). The result is a somewhat conflicted picture of the compositional history of Lev 23–26, which could be greatly simplified if Lev 24:10–23 were considered secondary. A further issue with Chavel’s argument for the originality of Lev 24:10–23 is that it does not engage Achenbach and others’ detailed exegetical arguments for the late character of the oracular novellas of Num 9:6– 15; 15:32–36; 27:1–11 (see p. 41 n. 65). The close links between Lev 24:10–23 and these novellas, which Chavel himself repeatedly underscores, favor the view that the blasphemer episode is also a relatively late priestly text, which was inserted into Lev 17–26 secondarily. 65 For discussion of these episodes, see Chavel, Oracular Law, 88 et passim; cf. Michael A. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 98–104, 236–37. On their late status, see Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 521–25, 547–49, 567–72. 63 64

42

Chapter 2: The Holiness Legislation in Context

without a certain logic. As noticed by Nihan, the major topic of Lev 24:10–23 is blasphemy of the divine name: and “the divine Name is, with the Sabbath, the only major sanctum outside the sanctuary and its belongings which can be desecrated by the Israelites.”66 The episode of Lev 24:10–23 may thus form a complement of sorts to the focus in Lev 23–25 on sacred time, even though it was probably added to H in a late stage (see Figure 2.2). Lev 23 – Sabbath and annual festivals Lev 24:1–9 – Daily and weekly donations to the sanctuary Lev 24:10–23 – Secondary issue: the holiness of the divine name Lev 25:1–7 – Sacred times for the land: the sabbatical year Lev 25:8–54 – Sacred times for the land and indentured servants: the jubilee Figure 2.2: Lev 23–25: Temporal Holiness

The two main sections of Lev 17–26 thus exhibit a high degree of structural integrity that is consistent with the theory that they form a subsection within the priestly material of Leviticus. This conclusion finds further support in Lev 26, where a final exhortation to obedience concludes both subsections (Lev 17–22 and 23–25). This chapter consists of a series of promises to the Israelites of collective benefits in the event that they uphold Yhwh’s laws, as well as a series of dire punishments should they fail to do so. In this, it parallels the conclusion to D in Deut 28 and mimics the typical conclusions found in ANE treaties. The nature of Lev 26 as the conclusion to the subsection of chs. 17– 26 is further signaled by v. 46, which refers to the foregoing legislation as the totality of what Yhwh revealed to Moses at Sinai: ‫אלה החקים והמשפטים והתורת‬ ‫‘ אשר נתן יהוה בינו ובין בני ישראל בהר סיני ביד משה‬These are the statutes, ordinances and instructions that Yhwh established between himself and the Israelites at Mount Sinai, by the authority of Moses’.67 A question, however, remains concerning the place of the final chapter of Leviticus – Lev 27 – in relation to both Lev 1–16 and 17–26. Scholars generally agree that Lev 27 is a late addition to the book of Leviticus, because it falls outside the subscription at Lev 26:46; this placement necessarily positions Lev 27 as a supplement to the main legislation, because 26:46 purports to conclude

Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 99. Note the singular ὁ νόµος in the LXX, as opposed to ‫ התורת‬in MT/SP. On the translation of the preposition ‫ ב‬in the expression ‫ בהר סיני‬as ‘at Mount Sinai’, see Blum, Studien, 313– 14; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 54–55; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 263– 64. Such a reading resolves the problem of how Lev 25:1 and 26:46 might be read together with Lev 1:1, where it is said that Yhwh called to Moses ‫‘ מאהל מועד‬from the tent of meeting’. Since the tent of meeting is understood to be stationed at Sinai at the time Moses receives the laws of Leviticus, there is no conflict between the statements if the ‫ ב‬is translated in these two verses as ‘at’ rather than ‘on’. 66 67

2.2 Structure, Scope, and Dating of the Holiness Legislation

43

‫ החקים והמשפטים והתורת‬revealed at Sinai.68 Yet, despite its secondary status, the addition of Lev 27 seems to play an important structural role within the book of Leviticus as a whole. As argued by Mary Douglas, Rodney Ashcock, and Thomas Römer, among others, Lev 27 concludes the book with regulations that return to and complete the theme with which it began: the consecration of items or persons to Yhwh.69 In Lev 1 and following, this concerns the dedication of animals or nonanimal products (such as cereal and frankincense) upon Yhwh’s altar. In Lev 27, by contrast, the focus shifts to the processes by which persons and animals (vv. 1–13), houses and fields (vv. 14–25), or firstlings and tithes (vv. 26–33) dedicated to Yhwh’s sanctuary might be effectively redeemed through the payment of appropriate monetary compensation. Hence, Lev 27 plays an important function in closing the book of Leviticus but should nonetheless be treated as standing somewhat outside the subsection comprising Lev 17–26, which seems to conclude at Lev 26:46. Finally, the presence of a “parenetic framework” (paränetisches Rahmenstück) that structures these chapters and affirms the obligatory force of their laws is further evidence of the structural integrity of Lev 17–26 as a subsection within the priestly materials in Leviticus. The framework, which stretches from Lev 18:2–26:2, consists of a series of exhortations that exhibit a sermonic style rarely found in Lev 1–16.70 These exhortations often introduce 68 Recent discussions of the secondary nature of Lev 27 include Levine, Leviticus, 192; Mary Douglas, Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 244; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 128; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1365–366; Milgrom, “HR,” 2401–402; Rodney O. Ashlock, As the Lord Commands: Narrative Endings and Closure Strategy in Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers (Waco, TX: Baylor University, 2002), 115–55; Thomas Römer, “De la périphérie au centre: Les livres du Lévitique et des Nombres dans le débat actuel sur le Pentateuque,” in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, ed. Thomas Römer; BETL 215 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 21–22; Christophe Nihan, “Leviticus 26:39–46 and the Post-Priestly Composition of Leviticus,” in The Post-Priestly Pentateuch: New Perspectives on Its Redactional Development and Theological Profiles, ed. Federico Giuntoli and Konrad Schmid, FAT 1/101 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 329. 69 Douglas, Leviticus, 244; Ashlock, As the Lord Commands, 115–55; and Römer, “De la périphérie,” 21–22. 70 The parenetic framework is found in Lev 18:2b–5, 24–30; 19:2–4, 19aα, 36b–37; 20:7– 8, 20–22; 22:31–33; 25:18–19, 38, 42a, 55; 26:1–2. Scholars have traditionally considered these verses to form a redactional frame around the legal source materials that were combined to make the Holiness Code. Some scholars have suggested that they were the work of the editor who was responsible for compiling Lev 17–26; see, e.g., Wellhausen, Die Composition, 153–59, 166–67 and Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 391–93. Others have suggested that they might have been added by the successive redactors responsible for smaller units within these materials; see, e.g., Elliger, Leviticus, 231–35; Kilian, Literarkritische und formgeschichtliche Untersuchung, 33–35, 173–74; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 34–41; Kornfeld, Levitikus, 69. However, there is little reason to view the exhortations as secondary. While the parenetic framework has a distinctive character on account of its sermonic style, all the laws of Lev 17–26 are presented as an extended speech

44

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and conclude lengthy speeches concerning specific topics such as illicit sexual unions in Lev 18 and 20 or the treatise on holiness in Lev 19, and explain why it is imperative that the Israelites obey Yhwh’s instructions.71 Each exhortation (with the exception of Lev 19:2) reprises the claims of earlier statements within the framework; together they produce a repetitious and therefore intensified call to collective obedience.72 In particular, they frequently build upon the critical theme of the link between sanctification and law observance, repeating the need to ‘keep’ (‫ )שׁמר‬and ‘practice’ (‫ )עשׂה‬Yhwh’s ‫‘ חקת‬statutes’ (Lev 18:26, 29; 19:37; 20:8, 22, 23) and ‫‘ משׁפטים‬judgments’ (Lev 18:5; 19:37; 20:22; 25:18, 28). Many of the exhortations stress the significance of Yhwh’s decision to lead the Israelites out from Egypt as an explanation for why the Israelites must be sanctified. They are also marked by the repetition of the god’s assertion of its patronage of Israel via statements such as ‫אני יהוה‬, ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬, and ‫מקדשׁם‬/‫אני יהוה מקדשׁכם‬. This parenetic framework thereby plays a key role in structuring the core legislation of Lev 17–26 in order to enhance its rhetorical impact. It does not just explain why individual laws should be followed but provides an overarching rationale for why the Israelites must commit to obeying Yhwh’s statutes and what will be the collective benefits accruing from such obedience. Its sermonic style, combined with its high concentration of distinctive linguistic features, brings coherence to the laws of Lev 17–26 and underscores their overarching theme of holiness through obedience to the law, which is brought to a climax with the final exhortation of Lev 26 and its summary statement in v. 46. Thus, a mix of reasons justifies treating Lev 17–26 as a legislative subsection that exhibits structural integrity and is distinct from the materials of Lev 1–16: Lev 17–26 are framed by a distinctive speech introduction linking Lev of Yhwh to Moses, meaning that the exhortations are a fitting extension of H’s overarching concern to present its legal materials as the god’s authoritative revelation. Furthermore, the notion that the parenetic framework is secondary is heavily influenced by the classical reflex to consider all references to the wilderness narrative in H as secondary or redactional. Finally, many of the typical expressions of the parenetic frame are found scattered throughout H. For instance, the ‫ אני יהוה‬formula is found outside the parenetic framework in Lev 18:6, 21; 19:12, 14, 16, 18, 28, 30, 32, 37; 21:12; 22:2–3, 8; 22:30; 26:2 and the ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬ formula occurs in Lev 19:2–4, 10, 25, 31, 34; 21:8, 15, 23; 22:9, 16; 23:22, 43; 24:22; 25:17, while references to Yhwh’s ‫ חקת‬can be found in Lev 17:7; 23:14, 21, 31, 41; 24:3; 25:18; 26:15, 43, Yhwh’s ‫ משׁפטים‬are also mentioned in Lev 24:22; 26:15, 43, 46, and the root ‫קדשׁ‬ occurs repeatedly in Lev 21–22 in the rules for priestly conduct, as well as in Lev 23, in the festal calendar of holy days. While these formulaic expressions or terms tend to be clustered in the exhortations of the parenetic framework, the mere presence of such expressions within these exhortations cannot be used to argue that the parenetic framework is secondary to the H laws. 71 For illicit sexual unions, see Lev 18:2b–5, 24–30; Lev 20:7–8, 22–26. For the treatise on holiness, see Lev 19:2, 36b–37. 72 See further Crüsemann, Torah, 301–6 and Otto, Theologische Ethik, 237–43.

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45

17:1–2a with 22:17–18, they are styled to imitate a legal code (in that they open with instructions on sacrifices and close with exhortations to obedience), and they evince a high degree of structural and thematic coherence around issues of holiness, which is enhanced via the parenetic framework. Hence, despite the presence of later additions and glosses, which will be discussed on a case-bycase basis in the exegesis of Lev 17–26 to follow, the structural coherence of Lev 17–26 suggests that these chapters can be justifiably isolated as a point of focus for the analysis of centralization in one subsection of legislative materials in the priestly ritual legislation preserved in the book of Leviticus. 2.2.2 H as a Late Priestly Stratum It is also possible to go beyond this conclusion and argue that Lev 17–26 must have been written at a time when the priestly narrative and ritual materials had reached a relatively advanced compositional stage. Hence, they come relatively late in the development of priestly tradition. As Elliger convincingly demonstrated and various scholars have subsequently confirmed, it is impossible to read Lev 17–26 without presupposing a version of the P primeval history, the patriarchal narratives, the exodus from Egypt, and the establishment of the cult at Sinai.73 Several indicators also suggest that Lev 17–26 presuppose a detailed 73 There is little scholarly consensus as to which materials beyond the Sinai episode might be included in the core Priestly account of origins. Much pentateuchal research has understood Pg to conclude with Moses’s death in Deut 34:1, 7–9, and perhaps to extend into the book of Joshua. However, a growing number of scholars now question whether any texts in Deuteronomy or Joshua might be identified as endings to Pg. In the case of Joshua, scholars writing in the mid-twentieth century already note that the priestly materials in this book seem to stem from a later redactional phase, in which priestly and non-priestly language and ideas were freely combined; see, e.g., Martin Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien. Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Halle: M. Niemeyer, 1967), 182–90; Otto Eissfeldt, The Old Testament: An Introduction, trans. Peter R. Ackroyd (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974), 251–52; Gerhard von Rad, The Theology of Israel’s Historical Traditions, vol. 1 of Old Testament Theology, trans. D. M. G. Stalker (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1962), 159–60. Concerning a possible ending for Pg in Deut 34, Lothar Perlitt, “Priesterschrift im Deuteronomium?” ZAW 100, no. 1 (1988): 65–88 argued persuasively that the purportedly Pg materials in this book are actually post-priestly. This study has led an increasing number of scholars to situate Pg’s end somewhere in the account of Israel’s journey to Mount Sinai. The majority looks to the book of Exodus, the most common suggestions being Exod 40:16–17a, 33b; see, e.g., Thomas Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift. Beobachtungen zur Literarkritik und Traditionsgeschichte von Pg, WMANT 70 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1995), 213–349, esp. 298; Kratz, Composition, 102–4 (he includes 40:34); Albert de Pury, “The Jacob Story and the Beginning of the Formation of the Pentateuch,” in Die Patriarchen und die Priesterschrift/Les Patriarches et le document sacerdotal. Gesammelte Studien zu seinem 70. Geburtstag/Recueil d’articles, à l’occasion de son 70e anniversaire, ed. Jean-Daniel Macchi, Thomas Römer, and Konrad Schmid, ATANT 99 (Zürich: TVZ, 2010), 161. Some take it as far back as Exod 29:42b–

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description of the space of the wilderness sanctuary in Exod 25–31, 35–40 and a well-developed description of its ritual cult in Lev 1–16. Key evidence of this is the mention in Lev 19:21 of the ‫‘ אשׁם‬reparation offering’ in the law concerning the case of a man who has sexual relations with a slave. This reference almost certainly indicates H’s dependence on the instructions for the reparation offering found in Lev 5:14–26 MT = 5:14–6:7 LXX.74 Because the instructions in Lev 5 are widely agreed to complement the commandments for the ‫‘ חטאת‬sin offering’ in Lev 4:1–5:13, it follows that H

46; e.g., Eckart Otto, “Forschungen zur Priesterschrift,” TRu 62 (1997): 35 and Achenbach, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz,” 145 n. 1. An alternative view is that the Pg materials might have continued into the book of Leviticus with the account of the inauguration of the sanctuary cult at Lev 9; see, e.g., Erich Zenger, “Die Bücher der Tora/des Pentateuch,” in Einleitung in das Alte Testament, ed. Erich Zenger, Kohlhammer Studienbücher Theologie 1/1 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1995), 95; Matthias Köckert, “Leben in Gottes Gegenwart. Zum Verständnis des Gesetzes in der priesterschriftlichen Literatur,” Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 4 (1989): 29–61; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 379–82. Still others have proposed that a possible ending might be found in the book of Numbers. Otto Kaiser, Die erzählenden Werke, vol. 1 of Grundriss der Einleitung in die kanonischen und deuterokanonischen Schriften des Alten Testaments, 3 vols. (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1992), 58–59, for example, prefers Num 10:9, while Bernd Janowski, “Tempel und Schöpfung. Schöpfungstheologische Aspekte der priesterschriftlichen Heiligtumskonzeption,” in Gottes Gegenwart in Israel, ed. Bernd Janowski, Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1993), 224, 231, 243–44 and Jean-Louis Ska, Introduction to Reading the Pentateuch, trans. Pascale Dominique (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 147–51; Angela Roskop Erisman, “Transjordan in Deuteronomy: The Promised Land and the Formation of the Pentateuch,” JBL 132, no. 4 (2013): 769–89 and Erisman, “For the Border of the Ammonites Was…Where? Historical Geography and Biblical Interpretation in Numbers 21,” in The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel, and North America, ed. Jan Christian Gertz et al. (FAT 1/111; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 761–76 prefer Num 27:23. Yet those scholars who maintain that Pg extends into the book of Numbers, typically attribute only a small number of texts in that book to Pg. The question of which text might constitute the end of Pg is not directly pertinent to the present study, since I argue that Lev 17–26 were written at a time when Pg had already undergone a series of updates and therefore included various Ps materials. While a comprehensive analysis of every Ps text presupposed in Lev 17–26 is beyond the scope this study, the possible shape of Exod 25–31, 35–40 and Lev 1–16, as well as the priestly material in Numbers, will be discussed below. 74 The dependence of Lev 19:20–22 on Lev 5:14–26 was traditionally taken as evidence that vv. 20–22 are secondary to Lev 19; see, e.g., Baentsch, Das Heiligkeits-Gesetz, 27–30; Rolf Rendtorff, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz formgeschichtlich untersucht, WMANT 6 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1961), 73–74; Sun, “Investigation,” 212–13; and Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 44–45. However, once it is acknowledged that Lev 17–26 presuppose P, dependence on Lev 5 is no longer a relevant criterion for separating vv. 20–22 from the earlier H materials in the chapter.

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47

must also have known a first version of Lev 4.75 Both Lev 4 and 5 have long been thought to stem from a late stage in the composition of the Priestly ritual materials, postdating not only the sacrificial instructions in Lev 1–3 but also the account of the inauguration of the cult in Lev 8–9.76 In support of this, it has been noted that when Aaron offers a ‫ חטאת‬during the dedication of the sanctuary in Lev 8–9, there is no reference to the requirements laid down in Lev 4:3–12 for the blood of the ‫ חטאת‬to be dashed seven times against the veil in the inner sanctum and applied to the horns of the incense altar. In addition, when Lev 8–9 recount Aaron’s actions in presenting the ‫חטאת‬, they seem to have no awareness of the distinction between the two main types of sin offering described in Lev 4:1–5:13. This lack of awareness strongly suggests that at least a first version of the account of Lev 8–9 predated the composition of the ritual instructions in Lev 4–5. The relatively late character of Lev 4 is further suggested by the references in this chapter to ‫‘ מזבח קטרת הסמים‬the altar of fragrant incense’. This wording is strongly reminiscent of Exod 30:7a, where Moses is commanded to construct an incense altar, which Aaron will use to offer ‫‘ קטרת סמים‬fragrant incense’. Leviticus 4:6–7 and 17–18 also presuppose the precise location of the incense altar as it is described in Exod 30:6; namely, before the ‫‘ פרכת‬veil’ in the outer sanctum. Leviticus 4, then, seems to have been written with knowledge of the instructions for the incense altar in Exod 30:1–10. This is significant given that the incense altar passage of Exod 30:1–10 is widely agreed by scholars to be a late addition to the instructions of Exod 25–29.77 These allusions therefore On the relationship between Lev 4 and 5, see, e.g., Elliger, Leviticus, 64–67; Christophe Nihan, “The Institution of the Priesthood and the Beginning of the Sacrificial Cult: Some Comments on the Relationship between Exodus 29 and Leviticus 8,” in Basel und Bibel: Collected Communications to the XVIIth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, ed. Matthias Augustin and Hermann Michael Niemann; BEATAJ 51 (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2004), 50; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 198, 237–56; Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 229–303; and Hieke, Levitikus, 1:278. 76 See already Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 51; Driver, Introduction, 43; Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 320–21; and Bertholet, Leviticus, 27. 77 See, e.g., Wellhausen, Die Composition, 137–41; Heinrich Holzinger, Exodus, KHC 2 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1900), 145–47; Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 219– 20, 59–61; Alan Hugh McNeile, The Book of Exodus, WC (London: Methuen, 1908), 195; Gerhard von Rad, Die Priesterschrift im Hexateuch literarisch untersucht und theologisch gewertet, BWA(N)T 65 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1934), 61; Martin Noth, Exodus, trans. John S. Bowden, OTL (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster, 1962), 234–35; Volkmar Fritz, Tempel und Zelt. Studien zum Tempelbau in Israel und zu dem Zeltheiligtum der Priesterschrift, WMANT 47 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977), 112–14; John I. Durham, Exodus, WBC 3 (Waco, TX: Word, 1987), 353; Blum, Studien, 308–9; William H. Propp, Exodus 19–40: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 2B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2006), 369; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 31–33. The first indication of the secondary status of Exod 30:1–10 is that the instructions for the incense 75

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strengthen the conclusion that Lev 4, together with its pair in Lev 5, are themselves relatively late passages within priestly tradition. Some scholars admittedly view these allusions to Exod 30:1–10 in Lev 4 as secondary, inserted in an effort to incorporate the incense altar into an earlier instruction for the ‫ חטאת‬from which it was thought to be missing.78 However, this position lacks critical support. There are few literary indications that Lev 4:7 or 14 – the verses that most heavily refer to the incense altar – are later insertions; they accord with the surrounding description of the rites that must be performed when the high priest (4:3–12) or the congregation (4:13–21) errs unintentionally.79 The references to the incense altar are therefore more reasonably viewed as an integral part of Lev 4, and the chapter as a whole as postdating the composition of Exod 30:1–10. This conclusion has import for how we understand which priestly materials are presupposed in Lev 17–26. If Lev 17–26 show knowledge of Lev 4–5 in their description of the reparation offering, it might be assumed that they were written with knowledge of a version of Lev 1–16 that had already been updated with secondary ritual instructions such as those of the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫אשׁם‬. Leviticus altar come much later than the instructions to build the other items of furniture that are to be placed in the wilderness sanctuary (Exod 25–27); as Propp, Exodus 19–40, 369, has noted, they appear as something of an “afterthought.” Second, the incense altar instructions come after the exhortation at Exod 29:43–46, which seems to function as the conclusion to Yhwh’s directions for the construction of the wilderness sanctuary. This again gives the impression that Exod 30:1–10, along with the entire set of instructions in Exod 30–31, were appended to the sanctuary instructions. Third, the variations among the ancient witnesses to Exod 25– 31 suggest that ancient scribes perceived a problem in the placement of the instructions to build the incense altar at Exod 30:1–11 and took steps to remedy it. While MT, LXX, and Vulg. all place the command to make the incense altar at Exod 30:1–10, SP and one Qumran ms (4QpaleoExodusm = 4Q22) shift the instructions for the incense altar so that they appear immediately after Exod 26:35. This position is much more logical because this item is now mentioned immediately after Yhwh’s command to set up the table and the sanctuary light in the outer sanctum. This evidence challenges the suggestion that the placement of instructions for the incense altar at the end of the sanctuary instructions would not have been considered problematic by ancient audiences, but that it is only modern scholars who misunderstand the logic of its placement, a suggestion made by scholars such as Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 236– 37; Carol Meyers, “Realms of Sanctity: The Case of the ‘Misplaced’ Incense Altar in the Tabernacle Texts of Exodus,” in Texts, Temples and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran, ed. Michael V. Fox et al. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 33–46, and Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 241. 78 See, e.g., Elliger, Leviticus, 57–68; Bernd Janowski, Sühne als Heilsgeschehen. Studien zur Sühnetheologie der Priesterschrift und zur Wurzel KPR, WMANT 55 (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), 196–97; and Christian Eberhart, Studien zur Bedeutung der Opfer im Alten Testament. Die Signifikanz von Blut- und Verbrennungsriten im kultischen Rahmen, WMANT 94 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2002), 130–31. 79 Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 236–37; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 161– 64; and Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 335–37.

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17–26 were thus written at a time when the Priestly source had already undergone a series of redactions with relatively late ritual materials. Furthermore, because Lev 4–5 presuppose the incense altar instruction of Exod 30:1–10, Lev 17–26 must also have been written after the incense altar was added to the account of the sanctuary’s construction, given that these chapters presuppose and develop Lev 4–5. Minor though this last point may seem, it may illuminate the further question of the status of the broader sanctuary construction account found in Exod 25–31, 35–40 at the time of H’s writing. Because H knows a text (namely, Lev 4–5) that assumes the presence of the incense altar in the wilderness shrine, we can safely conclude that Exod 25–31, 35–40 must have undergone expansion to include Exod 30:1–10 (the command to build this item) by the time H was written. We can therefore reasonably assume that Lev 17–26 not only presuppose the ritual instructions of Lev 1–16 in a well-developed form (updated to include Lev 4–5), but also that they know the instructions for the construction of the sanctuary and its associated items in Exod 25– 31.80 Beyond this, H’s knowledge of the incense altar instruction of Exod 30:1– 10 may also signal that it knew a developed version of the building account of Exod 35–40.81 The report of the construction of the sanctuary in Exod 35–40 80 It should be stressed that Lev 17–26 do not necessarily presuppose Lev 1–16 in their entirety. Certain materials appear to have been added to Lev 1–16 at a very late stage, after the composition of H. Leviticus 10 is a key example of this, because it has been shown convincingly to be a very late addition to the Pentateuch that most likely post-dates H; see, e.g., Reinhard Achenbach, “Das Versagen der Aaroniden. Erwägungen zum literarhistorischen Ort von Leviticus 10,” in Basel und Bibel: Collected Communications to the XVIIth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, ed. Matthias Augustin and Hermann Michael Niemann, BEATAJ 51 (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2004), 55–70; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 148–50; Christian Frevel, “‘Und Mose hörte (es), und es war gut in seinen Augen’ (Lev 10,20). Zum Verhältnis von Literargeschichte, Theologiegeschichte und innerbiblischer Auslegung am Beispiel von Lev 10,” in Gottes Name(n). Zum Gedenken an Erich Zenger, ed. Ilse Müllner, Herders biblische Studien 71 (Freiburg: Herder 2012), 130; and Peter Weimar, “Struktur und Komposition der priesterschriftlichen Geschichtsdarstellung,” BN 32 (1984): 85. Its lateness is evident, for example, in the reference to Mishael and Elzaphan as “sons of Uzziel the uncle of Aaron” in Lev 10:4. These figures are only mentioned in two texts in the Hebrew Bible: here in Lev 10:4, and in the genealogy of Moses and Aaron in Exod 6:13–27, as observed by Christian Frevel, “Kein Ende in Sicht? Zur Priestergrundschrift im Buch Levitikus,” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and Hans-Winfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Berlin: Philo, 1999), 94. Lev 10:4 seems to presuppose Exod 6:13–27, because it treats these two figures as known members of Aaron’s extended family, as individuals who have already been introduced via the genealogy. Yet, as will be discussed in §4.3.2, Exod 6:13–27 are widely recognized as a very late addition to the book of Exodus, meaning that Lev 10’s dependence on them signals its own late status. 81 Knohl, Sanctuary, 64–67 argues that Exod 35:4–40:38 should be assigned to HS but offers limited evidence to support this conclusion. From his brief remarks (Sanctuary, 66),

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is widely recognized to contain many late instructions that are difficult to place within the development of the priestly traditions. We know from the complex history of the textual transmission of chs. 35–40 that the introduction of the incense altar to the sanctuary construction account caused a series of disruptions and differences among the ancient versions. MT and SP consistently mention the incense altar at the various points where we would expect to find it; namely, in the summary lists of the completed works and the inventories for raw materials (Exod 35:15; 37:25; 39:38; 40:5, 26). By contrast, the Greek Codex Vaticanus (B) mentions the incense altar less often, at Exod 40:5 and 40:24 LXX. A similar situation is observed in a late fifth- or early sixth-century CE fragmentary palimpsest of the Old Latin version of the Pentateuch (Monacensis) that attests to Exod 36:13 LXX–40:32[38] LXX.82 Monacensis contains only one clear reference to the incense altar, in Exod 40:5, although the state of this manuscript makes it difficult to reconstruct whether the incense altar might have been mentioned elsewhere. The question of which of these versions preserves the earliest witness to Exod 35–40 is much debated, as is the broader set of issues that surrounds the ancient witnesses to these chapters. MT and SP present a more or less similar account, one in which the construction works are undertaken by Moses and the community in much the same order as Yhwh’s instructions in Exod 25–31. However, Codex B attests to a significantly shorter version of the construction works to that which is found in MT and SP, one in which the sanctuary artisans undertake the works in a different order than that attested in MT and SP. Significantly, Monacensis seems to fragmentarily preserve the same order of these materials found in Codex B. Pierre Maurice Bogaert has proposed that Monacensis is the descendant of a Latin translation of a Greek version of Exodus that is older than any preserved his case seems to rest on the idea that P commands Moses to construct the sanctuary and supply the necessary building materials, without mentioning the input of sanctuary artisans or communal donations. All references in Exod 25–31 to collective input in the sanctuary project, and the report in Exod 35:4–40:38 of how this input was put into effect, are therefore secondary and should, in Knohl’s view, be assigned to HS. However, Knohl offers little explanation for why these secondary materials must have been composed by the same scribes who wrote Lev 17–26 specifically. The link between Exod 35:4–40:38 and HS is therefore tenuous. Further to this, Knohl does not discuss the differences among the textual witnesses to Exod 35:4–40:38, which significantly complicate the attempt to assign Exod 35:4–40:38 to a single stratum (namely, H). The textual differences rather suggest that these chapters underwent a complex and protracted process of development. 82 See further Pierre Maurice Bogaert, “L’importance de la Septante et du ‘Monacensis’ de la Vetus Latina pour l’exégèse du livre de l’Exode (chap. 35–40),” in Studies in the Book of Exodus: Redaction, Reception, Interpretation, ed. Marc Vervenne, BETL 126 (Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 399–428; Bogaert, “La construction de la tente,” in L’enfance de la Bible hébraïque, ed. Adrian Schenker and Philippe Hugo, MdB 52 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2005), 62–76.

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LXX manuscript, and thus preserves an older version than MT and SP. The text base of Monacensis therefore constitutes, in his view, the earliest version of Exod 35–40 at our disposal. However, this argument overlooks the evidence that the sanctuary account in Monacensis seems to have undergone several late editorial revisions. Most notably, Monacensis harmonizes the description of the wilderness sanctuary with other biblical texts that describe sanctuary spaces. Specifically, in column 22/2, which preserves the beginning of the description of the inner sanctum in Exod 27 LXX, Monacensis preserves a major variant, found in no other ancient witness to Exodus, in which the inner sanctum is adorned with two seraphim, a clear attempt to align the description of the wilderness sanctuary with the text of Isa 6:2, as Bogaert himself concedes.83 Further aspects of Monacensis, such as the greater equality in the roles of the two sanctuary artisans Bezalel and Oholiab, also bear the signs of late editorial revisions.84 Other scholars have argued that the Hebrew version of Exod 35–40 in MT and SP is the earliest version of the account.85 The variations in Exod 35–40 LXX, then, were due to the creative license of the Greek translators, not a different, and earlier, Hebrew Vorlage behind Codex B. However, it is difficult to understand why the Greek translator responsible for Codex B would have taken different approaches to the translation of Exod 35–40 and the materials of Exod 25–31. In the case of chs. 25–31, the translator seems to have applied a fairly literal approach to his or her Hebrew Vorlage, while chs. 35–40 evince major variation.86 Moreover, why should the construction account in LXX have been reordered by the Greek translator in such a way that it evinces less harmony with Yhwh’s commandments in Exod 25–31 than was the case in its Hebrew Vorlage? Finally, George Brooke has suggested that the Temple Scroll may presuppose a version of Exod 35–40 that stands closer to Codex B than to Bogaert, “L’importance,” 410. On this, see further Julia Rhyder, “Unity and Hierarchy: North and South in the Priestly Traditions,” in Yahwistic Diversity and the Hebrew Bible: Tracing Perspectives of Group Identity from Judah, Samaria, and Diaspora in Biblical Traditions, ed. Benedikt Hensel, Dany Nocquet, and Bartosz Adamczewski, FAT (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). 85 See, e.g., Arthur H. Finn, “The Tabernacle Chapters,” JTS 16, no. 7 (1915): 449–82; David Willoughby Gooding, The Account of the Tabernacle: Translation and Textual Problems of the Greek Exodus, TS 6 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 29–98; John William Wevers, “The Building of the Tabernacle,” JNSL 19 (1993): 123–31; and Susanne Owczarek, Die Vorstellung vom Wohnen Gottes inmitten seines Volkes in der Priesterschrift. Zur Heiligtumstheologie der priesterschriftlichen Grundschrift, Europäische Hochschulschriften. Theologie 625 (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1998), 45. 86 Cf. Anneli Aejmelaeus, “Septuagintal Translation Techniques – A Solution to the Problem of the Tabernacle Account,” in Septuagint, Scrolls, and Cognate Writings: Papers Presented to the International Symposium on the Septuagint and Its Relationship to the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Writings, ed. George J. Brooke and Barnabas Lindars, SCS 33 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1992), 121 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 33. 83 84

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MT or SP.87 This adds additional support to the argument that the Vorlage of Codex B preserves an earlier version of the sanctuary account than that which stands behind MT and SP. On balance, then, it seems reasonable to conclude that Codex B constitutes one of the earliest available versions of the construction account, while the Hebrew texts of MT and SP preserve traces of a later edition that seeks to align the account more closely with Yhwh’s instructions in Exod 25–31. The limited references to the incense altar in Codex B can then be read as important evidence of the secondary nature of this item within the sanctuary account. It hints that the earliest version of Exod 35–40, traces of which are preserved in Codex B and perhaps Monacensis, recounted the construction of the wilderness sanctuary without mentioning the incense altar, presumably because the instructions of Exod 30:1–10 had not yet been composed. Once the incense altar instructions had been appended to Exod 25–29, the text of Exod 35–40 seems to have undergone a series of edits, reflected in MT and SP, which aimed at facilitating the integration of this item into the building account.88 In sum, there are strong reasons to believe that a version of Exod 35–40 predated the addition of the incense altar instruction in Exod 30:1–10. The significance of H’s knowledge of Exod 30 is therefore manifest. If Lev 17–26 were written later than Exod 30:1–10, then H must also have postdated the earlier version of Exod 35–40 that was composed prior to the incense altar instruction. We can thus assert with relative confidence that H knew a fairly advanced version of the sanctuary building account; it included a version of Exod 25–31 that was updated to include at least the incense altar instruction of 30:1–10, as well as a version of the construction report of Exod 35–40. We can surmise, although this is more speculative, that H might have known a version of Exod 35–40 that had already begun to be updated to refer to the incense altar and its associated items. In any case, it is reasonable to conclude that Lev 17– 26 presuppose a version of the priestly description of the foundational wilderness cult in a fairly late stage in its development, a version that included a sizeable portion of Exod 25–31, 35–40 and Lev 1–16. It is also possible to go beyond this conclusion and assert, with the majority of scholars, that Lev 17–26 were secondary to these P materials as part of a George J. Brooke, “The Temple Scroll and LXX Exodus 35–40,” in Septuagint, Scrolls, and Cognate Writings: Papers Presented to the International Symposium on the Septuagint and Its Relations to the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Writings (Manchester, 1990), ed. George J. Brooke and Barnabas Lindars, SCS 33 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1992), 81–106. 88 For this conclusion, see further Bogaert, “La construction,” 65–67 and Christophe Nihan, “Du premier et du second temple: Rôles et fonction du sanctuaire d’Israël selon l’écrit sacerdotal,” in Le roi Salomon, un héritage en question: hommage à Jacques Vermeylen, ed. Claude Lichtert and Jacques Vermeylen, Le livre et le rouleau 33 (Brussels: Lessius, 2008), 174–75. 87

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distinct compositional unit (which itself continued to be updated with later supplements) that extends the Israelites’ cultic and legislative obligations. This conclusion does not rest on a single criterion but is supported by the weight of cumulative evidence. First, the structural coherence of Lev 17–26 and their thematic distinctiveness when compared to the ritual materials of Lev 1–16, especially on the issue of holiness, can be marshaled in favor of this view. Second, their heightened interest in innerscriptural exegesis, which has little counterpart in Lev 1–16 or in P more generally, supports the view that they stem from a relatively late stage in the development of the Priestly traditions. Third, their linguistic profile, which is mimicked in other H-like additions to priestly texts or in very late pentateuchal materials, also supports interpretation of them as a late legislative stratum. To begin with the structural coherence of Lev 17–26, this does not prove that these materials emerged in a separate, later stage compared to the majority of earlier cultic materials in Exod 25–31, 35–40 and Lev 1–16, but it certainly adds weight to the argument. It is difficult to imagine that priestly scribes would have opted to structure the second half of the laws in Leviticus such that they resemble a distinct legal code – opening with a law on sacrifice and closing with an exhortation to obedience – had they been composed at the same time as the ritual materials in the first half of the book. This structural decision seems rather to reflect a strategy of enhancing one of the distinctive features of Lev 17–26 as a legislative unit: its exegesis of earlier priestly and non-priestly traditions (see further below). It establishes these materials as Yhwh’s authoritative legal tradition in which earlier traditions are brought together to form new harmonized rulings to ensure the collective holiness of the Israelite community.89 The thematic coherence of the legislation of Lev 17–26, with its persistent interest in holiness, again does not necessitate that these chapters were written in a compositional stage distinct from Lev 1–16. But, when we consider the evidence that the notion of collective holiness, so central to Lev 17–26, significantly reinterprets the more restricted understanding of holiness found in Lev 1–16, it powerfully suggests a diachronic distinction between them.90 Second, the manner in which Lev 17–26 interact with both P and nonpriestly material in forming new legal rulings offers strong corroborating evidence that they form a distinctive stratum of legislative materials. As shown in particular by Cholewiński, Otto, Nihan, and Stackert, one of the most distinctive features of Lev 17–26 when compared to the earlier P ritual instructions is the consistent concern in these chapters to “collect and distill” various traditions in the composition of their laws.91 Not only are the earlier law codes of Cf. Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 550. This difference will be the subject of extended analysis in chapter 7. 91 Stackert, Rewriting, 225. This point is missed by Tucker, Holiness Composition, 59, who argues that it is only “the presence of Deuteronomic or Deuteronomistic terminology 89 90

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D and CC creatively reinterpreted in light of the distinctive emphases of the P materials, but the laws of Lev 17–26 also coordinate P and non-priestly materials with language and themes drawn from the prophetic traditions, including Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Amos.92 The P cultic materials in Exod 25–31, 35–40 and Lev 1–16, by contrast, do not manifest a comparable interest in innerscriptural exegesis. Particularly striking is their lack of dependence on the nonpriestly legal traditions in CC or D when conceptualizing Israel’s ritual obligations.93 If Exod 25–31, 35–40, Lev 1–16, and 17–26 were written in the same in Lev 17–26” that has been used by scholars to differentiate P and H. It is H’s sophisticated methods of innerscriptural exegesis, which have little to no P counterpart, that have been used to support a diachronic distinction between Lev 17–26 and the earlier P materials, not simply H’s engagement with D. 92 On this see further, e.g., Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 349–51; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 543–45; Reinhard Müller, “A Prophetic View of the Exile in the Holiness Code: Literary Growth and Tradition History in Leviticus 26,” in The Concept of Exile in Ancient Israel and Its Historical Contexts, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin, BZAW 404 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 207–28. 93 As argued, e.g., by Otto, Theologische Ethik, 237 and Ska, Introduction, 152. The only clear correspondence between the priestly ritual instructions of Lev 1–16 and D is the laws concerning pure and impure animals in Lev 11, which has a very close parallel in Deut 14:3– 20. Some scholars have tried to interpret this parallel as attributable to the dependence of P on D, and thus to use it as evidence of the Priestly authors’ concern to engage with their Deuteronomic counterpart; see, e.g., Kuenen, Historico-Critical Inquiry, 85 and, more recently, Timo Veijola, Das fünfte Buch Mose. Deuteronomium (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 296–97. However, such a theory struggles to explain why several passages in Deut 14 (specifically vv. 3, 4b–5, 11, 20) have no parallel in Lev 11. Because there is no easy way to explain why P would have deliberately overlooked such passages when composing Lev 11, it is difficult to imagine that Deut 14 served as the source text used by P; for this argument, see Christophe Nihan, “The Laws about Clean and Unclean Animals in Leviticus and Deuteronomy and Their Place in the Formation of the Pentateuch,” in The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research, ed. Thomas B. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, and Baruch J. Schwartz, FAT 1/78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 415. Others propose the opposite direction of dependence; namely, that Lev 11 was the source for Deut 14; see, e.g., August Dillmann, Die Bücher Exodus und Leviticus, KHAT (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1897), 525; Bernardus D. Eerdmans, Alttestamentliche Studien 4: Das Buch Leviticus (Giessen: Töpelmann, 1912), 61–64; Rolf Rendtorff, Die Gesetze in der Priesterschrift (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1954), 45; and Milgrom, Leviticus 1−16, 698–704. However, this view also struggles to explain why the authors of Deut 14 would have drawn heavily on Lev 11:2b–23 but completely ignored the materials in Lev 11:24–47, which have no parallel in Deut 14. Hence, both the pluses in Deut 14:3, 4b–5, 11, 20 and the lengthy materials of Lev 11:24–47 suggest that neither P nor D drew on the other’s list when composing their dietary prohibitions. Rather, each text probably drew from an earlier source, an independent set of dietary regulations, that each one adapted in different ways. The parallel between Lev 11 and Deut 14 therefore does not provide evidence of P’s engagement with the laws of D. For this argument, see further Bertholet, Leviticus, 33; Samuel Driver, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Deuteronomy, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1902), 163–64; William L. Moran, “The Literary Connection between Lv 11,13–19 and Dt 14,12–

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compositional phase, how would we explain the failure of the priestly authors to equally engage with the non-priestly traditions in the former passages, while concentrating their interactions with other legal and prophetic materials in the latter? Third, as classical scholarship has convincingly shown, the distinctive style and phraseology of Lev 17–26 adds additional support to the view that these chapters were not written as part of the same compositional layer as the cultic materials of Exod 25–31, 35–40 and Lev 1–16. It is again difficult to explain why the priestly scribes would have clustered first person statements of Yhwh, the ‫אני יהוה‬, ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬, and ‫מקדשׁם‬/‫ אני יהוה מקדשׁכם‬formulae, and the ‫ כרת‬threat, to name only a few examples of the distinctive phraseology of Lev 17–26, in such a concentrated subsection of the priestly legislation. In addition, the exhortative style of Lev 17–26 – with its repeated calls to obey Yhwh’s ‫‘ חקת‬statutes’, ‫‘ משׁפטים‬ordinances’, and ‫‘ מצות‬commandments’, and references to Yhwh’s sanctifying actions in the exodus from Egypt – has little counterpart in Exod 25–31, 35–40 and Lev 1–16. Again, why would these rhetorical features have been reserved for Lev 17–26 had these chapters been written at the same time as the surrounding P materials, where they are generally absent? Blum argues that the different phraseology of Exod 25–31, 35–40 and Lev 1–16, on the one hand, and Lev 17–26, on the other, might be explained by positing that the scribes responsible for KP drew on diverse source materials with distinct linguistic profiles. We should therefore not expect that all the priestly legislation would exhibit a unified style; indeed, the presence of H-like passages outside Lev 17–26 demonstrates that the phraseology of Lev 17–26 is not exclusive to these chapters but is occasionally found elsewhere in the priestly traditions. Blum makes a strong case that stylistic and linguistic criteria cannot, on their own, justify a diachronic distinction between Lev 17–26 and the surrounding P materials. Nevertheless, it can be argued that his attempt to explain the presence of typical H phraseology and stylistic features reproduces the classical problems with explaining why certain late additions to the P materials – such as Exod 12:14–20; 31:12–17; Lev 16:29–34a, etc. – so strongly resemble Lev 17–26: his model would require either that these materials also stem from sources comparable to those that undergird Lev 17–26 (per August Klostermann, Heinrich Holzinger, and Samuel Driver), or that later scribes 18,” CBQ 28, no. 3 (1966): 271–77; Andrew D. H. Mayes, Deuteronomy, New Century Bible Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans and London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1981), 237; Hartley, Leviticus, 153–55; Walter J. Houston, Purity and Monotheism: Clean and Unclean Animals in Biblical Law, JSOTSup 140 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 26–67; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 283–93; Nihan, “Laws”; Peter Altmann and Anna Angelini, “Purity, Taboo, and Food in Antiquity: Theoretical and Methodological Issues,” in Food Taboos and Biblical Prohibitions: Reassessing Archaeological and Literary Perspectives, ed. Peter Altmann, Anna Angelini, and Abra Spiciarich, Bible and Archaeology (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming).

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opted to mimic the particular style of Lev 17–26 when adding new legislation for reasons that remain unclear (per Cazelles and Grelot).94 It is much easier to explain these passages if we imagine that they were inserted into texts that had previously been composed without knowledge of the H materials of Lev 17–26, with the aim of achieving greater continuity across the priestly ritual instructions by bringing them into alignment with the new legal rulings of Lev 17–26. The presence of these priestly passages that exhibit a very high number of linguistic and thematic parallels with Lev 17–26 adds weight to the idea that the H materials were added to the priestly traditions at a late stage. They comprise a legislative stratum rather than an independent code insofar as they were always written to supplement P; their composition led to a small number of H-like additions to certain priestly passages outside these chapters. This conclusion does not necessitate that we embrace the theory of a Holiness School. Like other scholars who take a more cautious approach when interpreting H-like texts outside Lev 17–26, I apply the designation “H-like” to a given passage only when the number of linguistic and thematic parallels with Lev 17–26 is very high in number, and when the passage can confidently be identified as a late addition to its literary context. Moreover, I do not automatically assume that such H-like passages were written at precisely the same compositional stage as Lev 17–26, but I remain open to the possibility that H phraseology and motifs influenced priestly texts in multiple phases. As convincingly shown by Nihan, the passages in Exodus and Lev 1–16 that share affinities with H can usually be classified as minor emendations that aimed to achieve greater continuity across the priestly ritual instructions in light of the new legal rulings of Lev 17–26.95 Specific cases of such emendations will be discussed at various points throughout this study, as well as the possible reasons for their addition to specific laws in P.96 The presence of H-like terms and ideas in the ritual laws in the book of Numbers seems to require a different explanation. In these materials, H-like terms and ideas are occasionally concentrated in particular chapters (most notably Num 15) but are more frequently found in small, isolated expressions, in which H-like terminology is mixed with that taken from other priestly and non-priestly traditions.97 This mixing suggests that these materials might stem from a literary stage that postdated the Cazelles, “La mission”; Grelot, “Le papyrus ”; Grelot, “La dernière étape.” Christophe Nihan, “The Priestly Laws of Numbers, the Holiness Legislation, and the Pentateuch,” in Torah and the Book of Numbers, ed. Christian Frevel et al., FAT 2/62 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 109–37. 96 For instance, the Passover instructions of Exod 12:14–20 will be discussed in §5.3.2; the sabbath commandment appended to the sanctuary construction account at Exod 31:12– 17 (cf. 35:1–3) in the Excursus to chapter 7, the secondary ritual instructions of Lev 3:17 and 7:22–27 in §5.3.2; the references to the settlements outside Lev 17–26 in §6.2.2; etc. 97 Cf. Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 568–71. 94 95

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composition of the H materials; that is, at a time when scribes knew H and could freely draw on its legislation but could also combine H ideas and language with those of other traditions when crafting new laws. This last point serves as a reminder that we must not overstate the case for H’s relative lateness. It should not be viewed, as Knohl does, as the last major redaction of the priestly materials. There is ample evidence that many of the priestly materials in the book of Numbers stem from compositional stages that postdate Lev 17–26. This was shown with particular clarity by Reinhard Achenbach in his seminal 2003 study Die Vollendung der Tora, where he argued that many of the priestly materials in Numbers actually form part of a series of very late redactional layers which he terms “theocratic revisions” (theokratische Bearbeitungen) of the Pentateuch. These materials develop a number of themes that have little counterpart in Exodus and Leviticus (including Lev 17–26): the social organization of the wilderness camp, the separation of the Aaronide priesthood from the Levites, and the formation of the Israelites as a military community under Yhwh’s direction. As Achenbach sees it, these materials were the handiwork of priestly scribes working in the fourth century BCE who wished to redefine the Israelites as a theocratic community, one that was organized according to strict sociocultic hierarchies and was to be led by a high priest singular in his authority to interpret the Torah.98 Certain details of Achenbach’s literary-critical and historical model remain open to question, but his study has the merit of explaining the thematic consistency of many of the priestly materials in Numbers, as well as their distinctiveness when compared to Exodus and Leviticus. It also presents a convincing case that many of the traditional Pg materials of the book of Numbers should in all probability be assigned to very late stages in the development of the Pentateuch, which almost certainly postdated the composition of Lev 17–26. This conclusion finds additional support in the evidence that many of the ritual laws in Numbers seem to know and respond to those in Lev 17–26. This issue will be explored in greater depth in chapter 5 in the discussion of the list of festal sacrifices in Num 28–29. These chapters build on and complement the earlier festal instructions found in Lev 23 in order to provide a new set of regulations for the precise sacrifices and offerings that must be presented on the holy days outlined by H. This concern to expand, amend, or clarify earlier rulings is not confined to Num 28–29 but can be observed throughout the priestly laws in Numbers, many of which build specifically on the laws of Lev 17–26 when formulating their new rulings (e.g., Num 9:13–14; 15:15–16, 32–41; 18:20–32). Indeed, as has been noted by both Achenbach and Nihan, the priestly texts of Numbers are frequently characterized by expressions in which H-like terminology is mixed with terminology taken from other priestly and

98

Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 443–628.

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non-priestly traditions.99 This terminological mix is consistent with the theory that these materials stem from a stage in the formation of the priestly traditions that postdated the writing of Lev 17–26; that is, a time when scribes knew Lev 17–26 and could freely draw on these materials, but when they could also combine H ideas and language with those of other traditions when crafting new laws. One final objection to Blum’s idea that Lev 17–26 are an integral part of P should be mentioned before I address the question of when in the history of ancient Israel Lev 17–26 might have been composed. This concerns the overall idea that P is a compositional layer rather than a discrete source, Lev 17–26 being simply one subsection of that compositional layer. The idea that the priestly materials of the Pentateuch were originally intended to supplement the pre-priestly traditions has been convincingly rebutted in numerous studies.100 It sits uneasily with the coherence of the P materials, at least those found in the books of Genesis and Exodus, which offer a more or less complete narrative. In addition, as has often been argued, the presence of doublets and several points of tension between the priestly and non-priestly narratives militate against reading P as a redaction of non-priestly materials.101 Such doublets and tensions strongly suggest that P originated as a discrete document, which was only later combined with the non-priestly materials. Leviticus 17–26 can then be justifiably understood as an addition to P rather than as a layer within a priestly composition or redaction of the non-priestly traditions.

99 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 568–71 and Achenbach, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz.” Cf. more recently Boorer, Vision, 44–46. 100 See, e.g, Norbert Lohfink, “The Priestly Narrative and History,” in The Theology of the Pentateuch: Themes of the Priestly Narrative and Deuteronomy (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 146–47; Erich Zenger, Gottes Bogen in den Wolken. Untersuchungen zu Komposition und Theologie der priesterschriftlichen Urgeschichte, SBS 112 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1983), 35–36; Klaus Koch, “P – kein Redaktor! Erinnerung an zwei Eckdaten der Quellenscheidung,” VT 37, no. 4 (1987): 446–67; Ludwig Schmidt, Studien zur Priesterschrift, BZAW 214 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1993), 1–36; David M. Carr, Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 45–46; Carr, Formation, 292–97; Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Priestly Account of the Theophany and Lawgiving at Sinai,” in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran, ed. Michael V. Fox et al. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 103–34; Jan Christian Gertz, Tradition und Redaktion in der Exoduserzählung. Untersuchungen zur Endredaktion des Pentateuch, FRLANT 186 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 380–88; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 20–21 with n. 3; Joel S. Baden, “Identifying the Original Stratum of P: Theoretical and Practical Considerations,” in The Strata of the Priestly Writings: Contemporary Debate and Future Directions, ed. Sarah Shectman and Joel S. Baden, ATANT 95 (Zürich: TVZ, 2009), 13–29; and Boorer, Vision, 34–47. 101 See, e.g., Koch, “P,” 462–66; Schmidt, Studien, 2–10; Carr, Reading the Fractures, 126–27; Carr, Formation, 292–95; and Boorer, Vision, 34–36.

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For the purpose of this study, however, the issue of whether Lev 17–26 were appended to P as a separate document, or whether they were attached when P had already been integrated into a Pentateuch, can remain open. In either scenario, there remain adequate grounds for regarding Lev 17–26 as a textual unit that postdates the composition of both P and the non-priestly legal materials of CC and D (at least a first version). Moreover, while the scribes of Lev 17–26 were clearly aware of both P and non-P, they arguably remained primarily oriented toward the P account of origins, because Lev 17–26 are designed to be read in tandem with Lev 1–16* and the P history more generally. 2.2.3 H as a Persian Period Composition Having established that H knew an advanced version of the priestly account of Israel’s cultic origins, a further issue on which this study must take a stand concerns the most likely date of the H materials themselves. In the absence of external evidence, it is of course impossible to identify with certitude the historical context in which the H materials emerged. Scholars have therefore adopted a variety of positions on the issue of H’s date, positions that are heavily influenced by how these materials are situated vis-à-vis P and the other pentateuchal traditions, in addition to how scholars relate their key legislative themes to events in ancient Israel’s history. Yet, despite this diversity of scholarly opinion, a number of indications point to the early to mid-Persian period as the most plausible date for H.102 The first of these pertains to relative chronology. Once it is acknowledged that Lev 17–26 were appended to the priestly traditions after these had already reached an advance stage of composition, a date prior to the sixth century BCE

This is the view favored by the majority of scholars; see, among others, Rainer Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period, trans. John Bowden, 2 vols., OTL (London: SCM, 1994), 2:489; Albertz, “From Aliens to Proselytes: Non-Priestly and Priestly Legislation Concerning Strangers,” in The Foreigner and the Law: Perspectives from the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East, ed. Reinhard Achenbach, Rainer Albertz, and Jakob Wöhrle, BZABR 16 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 53–69; Otto, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz”; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese”; Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 434–36; Levine, Leviticus, 279–80; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 379–81; Ska, Introduction, 151– 53; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 572–75; Achenbach, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz,” 147; and Konrad Schmid, The Old Testament: A Literary History, trans. Linda M. Maloney (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2012), 176–77. Cf. Richard J. Bautch, Glory and Power, Ritual and Relationship: The Sinai Covenant in the Postexilic Period, LHBOTS 471 (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2009), 54–57; Esias E. Meyer, “Dating the Priestly Text in the Pre-Exilic Period: Some Remarks about Anachronistic Slips and Other Obstacles,” Verbum et Ecclesia 31, no. 1 (2010): 1–8; and Stephen C. Russell, “Biblical Jubilee Laws in Light of Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Period Contracts,” ZAW 130, no. 2 (2018): 189–203. 102

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(at the earliest) becomes very difficult to sustain.103 Despite minority dissent, most researchers agree that the P history of origins could not have been written earlier than the sixth century.104 As Wellhausen already observed, the priestly 103 Pace Knohl, Sanctuary, 204–24 and Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1361–64, who, despite having argued that H postdates P, maintain that the bulk of Lev 17–26 reflects the sociocultic realities of the Neo-Assyrian period. Such an early date for Lev 17–26 in preexilic times has been widely criticized as implausible because it requires that H was written prior to the composition of D. While Milgrom and Knohl insist that the majority of the parallels between H and D are due to the latter tradition’s dependence on H as a literary source, this view has been appraised in various studies as lacking critical foundation; see, e.g., Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 139–374; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese”; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 395–559; Stackert, Rewriting; and Carr, Formation, 301 with n. 101. Although Knohl and Milgrom try to resolve the difficulty of relative chronology by suggesting that HS continued working into the Persian period and therefore could update earlier H texts with reference to D, such a view is, again, questionable, given that H’s dependence on D is not isolated in a few late interpolations but permeates the legislation as a whole. Beyond this, a preexilic date of H struggles to explain the reference in Lev 26:27–45 to the exile and return to the land. On this issue, see further p. 62 below. 104 See, as a representative sample, Peter Weimar, “Sinai und Schöpfung. Komposition und Theologie der priesterschriftlichen Sinaigeschichte,” RB 95, no. 3 (1988): 337–85; Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift, 331–34; Otto, “Forschungen,” 24–26; Christian Frevel, Mit Blick auf das Land die Schöpfung erinnern. Zum Ende der Priestergrundschrift, Herders biblische Studien 23 (Freiburg: Herder, 2000), 382–87; Carr, Formation, 297–98; and Boorer, Vision, 100–3. Examples of minority dissent from this view include Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 10–12; Avi Hurvitz, A Linguistic Study of the Relationship Between the Priestly Source and the Book of Ezekiel, CahRB 20 (Paris: Gabalda, 1982); Milgrom, Leviticus 1−16, 3–13; Knohl, Sanctuary, 199–204; Jeffrey Stackert, “Political Allegory in the Priestly Source: The Destruction of Jerusalem, the Exile, and Their Alternatives,” in The Fall of Jerusalem and the Rise of the Torah, ed. Peter Dubovský, Dominik Markl, and Jean-Pierre Sonnet, FAT 107 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 219–23; and Benjamin Kilchör, “Wellhausen’s Five Pillars for the Priority of D over P/H: Can They Still Be Maintained?” in Paradigm Change in Pentateuchal Research, ed. Matthias Armgardt, Benjamin Kilchör, and Markus Zehnder, BZABR 22 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2019), 101–13. These studies often place considerable weight on linguistic evidence of P’s alleged preexilic origins. However, the use of linguistic dating to assign pentateuchal texts to the monarchic era has proved inconclusive. For helpful discussions of this complex issue, see, among others, Baruch A. Levine, “Late Language in the Priestly Source: Some Literary and Historical Observations,” in Proceedings of the Eighth World Congress of Jewish Studies. Panel Sessions: Bible Studies and Hebrew Language (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1983), 69–82; Carr, Reading the Fractures, 135–36; Ian Young, An Introduction to Approaches and Problems, vol. 1 of Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts, BibleWorld, 2 vols. (London: Equinox, 2008), 45–142; Erhard Blum, “The Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts: An Approach with Methodological Limitations,” in The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel, and North America, ed. Jan Christian Gertz et al., FAT 1/111 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 305–13.

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materials are not presupposed by the classical prophets, and they exert little influence on the description of the First Temple cult in 1–2 Kings (see the extended discussion in §4.1.3). They are, however, presupposed in late postexilic writings, such as 1–2 Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah. In addition, P exhibits a number of striking similarities with works that date to the Neo-Babylonian or early Persian periods, most notably Ezekiel and Deutero-Isaiah.105 P’s knowledge of a core version of the non-priestly narratives in Genesis also favors a date no earlier than the sixth century BCE on the grounds of relative chronology.106 Beyond this, a growing number of scholars have argued that the political ideology of Pg suggests that it emerged in the initial years of the Persian period (between 535–520 BCE).107 The image of the patriarchs dwelling as ‫‘ גרים‬immigrants’ in the land has been read as mirroring the priestly scribes’ own situation as early returnees from Babylon: they arrived in Yehud to find that it “was not their own land any more,” but was controlled by the Persian empire and inhabited by those who had remained in the land during the exile.108 Additional support for an early Persian date of Pg has been identified in the Table of Nations in Gen 10.109 Here the nations of the earth are divided according to set regions, each with its own language and culture. This concept strongly resembles Persian imperial ideology, “according to which Ahura Mazda, as the 105 These parallels have been widely documented; see, among others, Lohfink, “Priestly Narrative”; Johan Lust, “Exodus 6,2–8 and Ezekiel,” in Studies in the Book of Exodus: Redaction, Reception, Interpretation, ed. Marc Vervenne, BETL 126 (Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 209–24. 106 On this issue, see further Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift, 331–34 and Carr, Reading the Fractures, 114–17. 107 See, recently, Albert de Pury, “Pg as the Absolute Beginning,” in Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque, ed. Thomas Römer and Konrad Schmid, BETL 203 (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 124–26; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 383; Konrad Schmid, “Gibt es eine ‘abrahamitische Ökumene’ im Alten Testament? Überlegungen zur religionspolitischen Theologie der Priesterschrift in Genesis 17,” in Die Erzväter in der biblischen Tradition. Festschrift für Matthias Köckert, ed. Anselm C. Hagerdorn and Henrik Pfeiffer, BZAW 400 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 67–92; Schmid, “Distinguishing the World of the Exodus Narrative from the World of Its Narrators: The Question of the Priestly Exodus Account in Its Historical Setting,” in Israel’s Exodus in Transdisciplinary Perspective: Text, Archaeology, Culture, and Geoscience, ed. Thomas E Levy et al. (New York, NY: Springer, 2015), 331–44; Thomas Römer, “The Exodus Narrative Accoding to the Priestly Document,” in The Strata of the Priestly Writings: Contemporary Debate and Future Directions, ed. Sarah Shectman and Joel S. Baden, ATANT 95 (Zürich: TVZ, 2009), 157–74; Jakob Wöhrle, “The Un-Empty Land: The Concept of Exile and Land in P,” in The Concept of Exile in Ancient Israel and Its Historical Contexts, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin, BZAW 404 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 189–206. 108 Wöhrle, “Un-Empty Land,” 205. 109 See, among others, Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 383; de Pury, “Pg,” 124–26; and Schmid, “Distinguishing,” 337–38.

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god responsible for the order and stability of the world, assigned once and for all a specific location to each nation.”110 Meanwhile, Albert de Pury and Konrad Schmid propose that the highly negative view of Egypt in Pg might reveal its origins between the rise of Cyrus’s empire in 539 BCE and the conquest of Egypt by Cambyses in 525 BCE, a time when Egypt constituted “the only major power to have stayed outside the huge empire Cyrus had just founded.”111 The priestly scribes might therefore have considered Egypt the greatest threat to the world order established by the Persian empire and thus worthy of special condemnation in ancient Israel’s foundational narrative. These arguments in favor of a Persian date for Pg remain open to debate.112 Yet, when they are considered together with the evidence of relative chronology, the case for a mid- to late sixth-century date for Pg gains weight. Moreover, if we reconsider the version of P that was known to H, a version in which the earlier narrative of origins had undergone significant additions of ritual materials, it seems highly improbable that P could have reached such an advanced stage of compositional development prior to the advent of the Persian era. Hence, there are strong grounds to argue that H is a Persian period composition, written perhaps sometime around the sixth or fifth century BCE. A second indication of H’s Persian period origins is the reference in Lev 26:27–45 to the exile and return to the land.113 This text constitutes strong evidence that H presupposed the Babylonian invasion of Judah and the deportation of a significant portion of its population in 587 BCE, as well as the (limited) return of the exiles to Yehud in the early Persian period. To be sure, a minority of scholars has suggested that Lev 26:27–45 might reflect a generalized fear of expulsion by foreign powers rather than an allusion to the Babylonian exile specifically.114 Still others point out that the exile in question might have been that of the Israelites to Assyria during the eighth century BCE.115 However, neither of these explanations stands up to scrutiny, because they ignore the strong parallels between H’s description of the exile and prophetic texts that refer to the Babylonian exile specifically. As Wellhausen already observed, Lev 26 shares numerous parallels with Ezek 34 and other passages that describe the events of the Babylonian exile (e.g., Ezek 11:17; 36:27). This Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 383. de Pury, “Jacob Story,” 166. Cf. Schmid, “Gibt es eine ‘abrahamitische Ökumene’,” 67–92. 112 See, e.g., the discussion of whether Gen 10 might not be original to Pg in Carr, Reading the Fractures, 99–101. 113 Levine, Leviticus, 279–80; Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 409; and Bautch, Glory, 54. 114 Joosten, People, 9–15; Benjamin D. Sommer, “Dating Pentateuchal Texts and the Perils of Pseudo-Historicism,” in The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research, ed. Thomas B. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, and Baruch J. Schwartz, FAT 1/78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 91–94. 115 Knohl, Sanctuary, 204–12, 22–24 and Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2363. 110 111

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strongly suggests that Lev 26 reflects not a generalized fear of exile but H’s knowledge of the events of the sixth century BCE and their literary representation in Ezekiel.116 These literary and thematic parallels support the conclusion that Lev 17–26 were composed after the Babylonian exile and thus most likely date to the early Persian period.117 116 Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 381 and, more recently, Christoph Levin, Die Verheißung des neuen Bundes in ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Zusammenhang ausgelegt, FRLANT 137 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985), 224–26; Baruch A. Levine, “The Epilogue to the Holiness Code: A Priestly Statement on the Destiny of Israel,” in Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel, ed. Jacob Neusner, Baruch A. Levine, and Ernest S. Frerichs (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1987), 9–34; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 349–51; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 93–95; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 543–45; Müller, “Prophetic View,” 208–12; and Carr, Formation, 301 n. 101. 117 An important minority of scholars maintain that H might itself date to the Neo-Babylonian period on the grounds that the reference to the return to the land might be an expression of hope for the future; see e.g., Jared C. Calaway, The Sabbath and the Sanctuary: Access to God in the Letter to the Hebrews and Its Priestly Context, WUNT 2/349 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 51; Carr, Formation, 302. Admittedly, the use of Lev 26:27– 45 to date H to the Persian period is complicated by the present debates that surround the place of vv. 39–45 (the verses which mention return from exile) within the compositional history of H. Some scholars have argued that vv. 39–45 are an integral part of the chapter; see, e.g., Blum, Studien, 327–38 and Nihan, “Leviticus 26:39–46.” But others have suggested that the legislation originally concluded with the threat of exile in vv. 36–38, and that the promise of return in vv. 39–45 is a late addition to the chapter; see, e.g., Elliger, Leviticus, 369; Levine, “Epilogue,” 19; Harold Louis Ginsberg, The Israelian Heritage of Judaism, Texts and Studies of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America 24 (New York, NY: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1982), 80–81; Walter Groß, Zukunft für Israel. Alttestamentliche Bundeskonzepte und die aktuelle Debatte um den Neuen Bund, SBS 176 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1998), 86–87; and Müller, “Prophetic View,” 221–22. These uncertainties suggest that Lev 26:27–45 cannot be used on their own to date H to the Persian period. Rather, these verses add corroborating evidence for a Persian period date of H on the basis of relative chronology. Stackert, “Political Allegory,” 218–23 has recently argued for a Neo-Babylonian date of H by comparing its language with Mesopotamian sources. In particular, he builds on the work of Rachel F. Magdalene, Bruce Wells, and Cornelia Wunsch to suggest that the expression ‫‘ נשא חטא‬bear sin’ that occurs several times in Lev 17–26 (19:17; 20:20; 22:9; 24:15) is a Hebrew equivalent of the Akkadian expression ḫīṭu ša šarri zabālu/šadādu ‘to bear responsibility for the king’s punishment’ used to attribute legal culpability in late Babylonian legal documents. The ḫīṭu expression seems to have been known by Judeans living in exile because it is also attested in two Judean documents from Babylonia that date to the late sixth and early fifth century, respectively. Stackert surmises on this basis that the ‫נשא‬ ‫ חטא‬expression in H adds important evidence in favor of its Neo-Babylonian origins. However, as Stackert acknowledges, all the cuneiform texts that attest the Akkadian legal expression ḫīṭu ša šarri zabālu/šadādu stem from the late sixth and early-to-mid fifth century BCE. The presence in Lev 17–26 of a Hebrew equivalent to this expression is therefore compatible with a Persian period date for the legislation. Indeed, this is precisely the conclusion of Russell, “Biblical Jubilee Laws,” 199, who argues that Stackert’s analysis of ‫ נשא חטא‬presents

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2.3 Conclusion This chapter has provided the foundations for the analysis of H to follow. It has established the justification for considering Lev 17–26 as a well-structured subsection of priestly legislation, which forms part of a late priestly stratum that combines and coordinates a variety of traditions as it offers new legislative rulings on cultic and noncultic matters. This late stratum also includes a limited number of H-like passages that were added to the P materials outside Lev 17– 26. However, this study adopts a cautious approach to identifying such passages and avoids attributing them to a “Holiness School.” The chapter has further explored the issue of the probable state of the priestly traditions at the time of H’s composition, arguing that P must have included a fairly advanced version of the ritual legislation of Lev 1–16 and the sanctuary construction account of Exod 25–31, 35–40 at the time H was composed. This conclusion is supported by H’s knowledge of the ritual instructions of Lev 4–5, which are not only relatively late inserts to Lev 1–16, but also presuppose the secondary instructions for the incense altar in Exod 30. H’s knowledge of Lev 4–5 therefore necessitates that it was composed when the sanctuary construction account of Exod 25–31, 35–40 had already begun to be updated with supplementary materials such as references to the incense altar. Furthermore, this chapter has adopted the majority view in contemporary scholarship that Lev 17–26 should be dated to the Persian period. While the dating of pentateuchal traditions always runs the risk of circularity, the manner in which Lev 17–26 coordinate and harmonize multiple biblical traditions, including D, P, and prophetic materials, strongly supports the contention that the H scribes were active in a Persian period context when such materials were in circulation. Meanwhile, the reference to the exile and return in Lev 26 adds further weight to the arguments for a postexilic date based on relative chronology. As a Persian period composition, then, H has the potential to shed valuable light on the processes by which cultic centralization was negotiated in the early Second Temple period.

strong evidence “that H dates from the postexilic period,” which can be supported by other parallels between Lev 17–26 and late Babylonian legal and administrative documents. In particular, Russell contends that the long-term agricultural lease in Lev 25 has a “clear analogue” in the legal concepts attested in Mesopotamian contracts and administrative records from the late sixth to the fourth centuries BCE, a similarity that is most easily explained if we date Lev 17–26 to the Persian period (197).

Chapter 3

The History of Cultic Centralization and the Priestly Traditions Although there has been renewed scholarly interest in Lev 17–26 in recent decades, relatively little attention has been paid to the issue of what role these materials might have played in promoting the centralization of the ancient Israelite cult. This neglect has continued despite considerable evolution in the scholarship on the question of centralization itself. As mentioned in chapter 1, many of the central tenets of the classical approach spearheaded by Wilhelm M. L. de Wette and Julius Wellhausen, among others, are now beginning to unravel. While the importance of centralization as a core issue in the development of the cult in ancient Israel is not disputed, reservations are mounting about viewing the process involved in centralization as linear. It can no longer be assumed that a centralized cult was achieved, more or less effectively, in the monarchic era, with a dominant Jerusalem temple claiming an exclusive sacrificial monopoly. Our understanding of centralization needs somehow to accommodate the existence of sanctuaries at both Jerusalem and Gerizim in the Persian period and incorporate evidence of a wider cultic diversity both within Yehud and Samaria and also in the diaspora. As I will argue in this study, a more nuanced understanding of centralization requires that we also revisit the biblical materials written in the Persian period. Given the persistence of the classical view that the priestly materials presume the mandate of centralization found in the book of Deuteronomy, it has been widely thought that they made little contribution of their own to the discussion of centralization. However, this assumption is now also challenged, and some scholars even go so far as to question whether the priestly traditions share a concern for centralization at all. This study will argue the contrary: while there may indeed be little positive evidence that priestly traditions simply presume the mandate of centralization in D, they do remain deeply engaged with this issue and, in fact, offer their own distinctive logic of centralization. The challenge, then, is to understand how their iterative composition might have interacted with historical processes of centralization and sociocultic practice. This chapter will continue to set the scholarly context for the analysis that follows by considering both past and current debates about the history of cultic centralization in the Persian period (§3.1). I will then discuss the current

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scholarly positions on whether P (§3.2) and/or H (§3.3) support a centralized cult. Given the predictable diversity among scholars and the extensive secondary literature that the topic of cultic centralization has generated, the discussion provided here cannot be exhaustive. Rather, it will focus primarily on scholarship on centralization in the Persian period, the period of greatest relevance for the study of P and H; the reasons for the relative neglect of P and H in debates about centralization; and the scholarly contributions that have so far attempted to fill this gap.

3.1 Centralization in the Persian Period In classical scholarship, centralization was usually taken to be the historical process by which the sacrificial cult of the god Yhwh was restricted to the temple in Jerusalem. This process was typically thought to have commenced in the Neo-Assyrian period, specifically during the cult reforms of Hezekiah (ca. 715–686 BCE) and/or Josiah (ca. 660–640 BCE) as described in the book of 2 Kings. The reign of the latter monarch was accorded a particularly decisive role: he is reported in 2 Kgs 23 to have defiled and destroyed the high places in Judah and Samaria (2 Kgs 23:8, 13–15, 19–20) and undertaken a series of cult reforms within the temple of Jerusalem itself (2 Kgs 23:4, 6–7, 11–12). As mentioned in chapter 1, 2 Kgs 22 states that these centralizing and reforming measures were inspired by the discovery in the temple of a “book of the law” (2 Kgs 22:8), a book that has been traditionally identified, since de Wette, as the earliest version of the legal code of Deuteronomy.1 This understanding of cultic centralization became paradigmatic in Wellhausen’s 1878 monograph, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels). In this study, he argued that cultic centralization was the key point of differentiation between two major epochs in the history of Israel.2 Prior to the restriction of worship to one central site, ancient Israel had been characterized by free religious practice at multiple shrines. After the centralizing reforms of the seventh century, under the influence of Deuteronomy, a new epoch commenced in which ancient Israelite religion morphed into emerging Judaism, a religion devoid of the authenticity of earlier periods, as it was now controlled by the central sanctuary in Jerusalem and its domineering priesthood. Wellhausen thus established the fundamental contours of the study of centralization in ancient Israel for the late nineteenth 1 Wilhelm M. L. de Wette, “Dissertatio critica-exegetica qua Deuteronomium a prioribus Pentateuchi libris diversum alius cuiusdam recentioris auctoris opus esse monstratur” (University of Jena, 1805), 164–65 n. 5. 2 Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel, trans. John Sutherland and Allan Menzies (New York, NY: Meridian, 1957), 99–112.

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century and much of the twentieth. While later scholars criticized his negative assessment of emerging Judaism and his evolutionary model of ancient Israelite religion, his core idea that the transition from multiple sanctuaries to a centralized cult was essentially linear has remained influential. 3.1.1 Questioning the Classical Account of Cultic Centralization However, in recent decades many scholars have expressed reservations about the classical approach to centralization, especially the division of the history of ancient Israel into two epochs, with the centralized cult being established once and for all during the Neo-Assyrian period. Instead, it is now argued that the centralization of worship was a protracted process that extended into the Persian period and beyond. The idea that this process resulted in the centralization of the cult to a single sanctuary has also been largely abandoned in favor of a more complex model. In the first instance, there are growing questions as to whether the reform accounts of 2 Kgs 18 and 22–23 can be used to reconstruct the history of centralization in the eighth or seventh centuries BCE. The historicity of the account of Hezekiah’s reform has long been questioned, particularly as the references to the destruction of the high places in 2 Kgs 18:4, 22 are commonly regarded as additions modeled on the account of Josiah’s reform.3 Even though the archaeological evidence at select sites (esp. Arad, Beer-sheba, and Lachish) might suggest that the number of Yahwistic sacrificial sites decreased during the eighth century, most biblical scholars doubt that this proves the historicity of Hezekiah’s reforms as they are described in 2 Kgs 18.4 3 See Hans-Detlef Hoffmann, Reform und Reformen. Untersuchungen zu einem Grundthema der deuteronomistischen Geschichtsschreibung, ATANT 66 (Zürich: TVZ, 1980), 149–55; Hermann Spieckermann, Juda unter Assur in der Sargonidenzeit, FRLANT 129 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 174–75; Ernst Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige. 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25, ATD 11/2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 410–13; and Nadav Na’aman, “The Debated Historicity of Hezekiah’s Reform in the Light of Historical and Archaeological Research,” ZAW 107, no. 2 (1995): 181–84. 4 See, e.g., Spieckermann, Juda, 170–75; Lowell K. Handy, “Hezekiah’s Unlikely Reform,” ZAW 100, no. 1 (1988): 111–15; Na’aman, “Debated Historicity,” 193–95; Christoph Uehlinger, “Was There a Cult Reform under King Josiah? The Case for a Well-Grounded Minimum,” in Good Kings and Bad Kings, ed. Lester L. Grabbe, LHBOTS 393, European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5 (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 287–92; Matthias Gleis, Die Bamah, BZAW 251 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997), 149–63; Lisbeth S. Fried, “The High Places (Bāmôt) and the Reforms of Hezekiah and Josiah: An Archaeological Investigation,” JAOS 122, no. 3 (2002): 437–65; Diana Edelman, “Hezekiah’s Alleged Cultic Centralization,” JSOT 32 (2008): 395–434; Reinhard G. Kratz, “The Idea of Cultic Centralization and Its Supposed Ancient Near Eastern Analogies,” in One God – One Cult – One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives, ed. Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann, BZAW 405 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 134; and Juha Pakkala, “Why the Cult Reforms in Judah Probably Did Not Happen,” in One God – One Cult – One Nation: Archaeological

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In the case of Josiah, it is generally accepted that 2 Kgs 23 contains the kernel of a historical account of some kind of reform undertaken by the monarch in the seventh century.5 However, the purpose of this reform is open to debate, whether it was aimed at centralizing the practice of sacrifice to Jerusalem or rejecting aspects of the cult that were associated with Assyrian imperial hegemony.6 In addition, while the archaeological evidence from Judah in the late seventh century suggests that the number of cultic sites operating outside Jerusalem might have been fewer than in earlier periods, there is little to suggest that this is because sites were destroyed at Josiah’s command.7 To and Biblical Perspectives, ed. Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann, BZAW 405 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 201–35. On the archaeological evidence, see Yohanan Aharoni, “Arad: Its Inscriptions and Temple,” BA 31, no. 1 (1968): 2–32; Aharoni, “The Horned Altar of Beer-sheba,” BA 37, no. 1 (1974): 2–6; Aharoni, Investigations at Lachish: The Sanctuary and the Residency (Lachish V), Publications of the Institute of Archaeology 4 (Tel Aviv: Gateway, 1975); Israel Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman, “Temple and Dynasty: Hezekiah, the Remaking of Judah, and the Rise of the Pan-Israelite Ideology,” JSOT 30, no. 3 (2006): 259–85; Ze’ev Herzog, “Perspectives on Southern Israel’s Cult Centralization: Arad and Beer-sheba,” in One God – One Cult – One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives, ed. Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann, BZAW 405 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 169–99; and Benjamin D. Thomas, Hezekiah and the Compositional History of the Book of Kings, FAT 2/62 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 398–401. 5 See, e.g., Norbert Lohfink, “The Cult Reform of Josiah of Judah: 2 Kings 22–23 as a Source for the History of Israelite Religion,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. Patrick D. Miller and Paul D. Hanson (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1987), 459–75; Rainer Albertz, “Why a Reform like Josiah’s Must Have Happened,” in Good Kings and Bad Kings, ed. Lester L. Grabbe, LHBOTS 393, European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5 (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 27–46; Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical, and Literary Introduction (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 55; Marvin A. Sweeney, I & II Kings: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 438–43; Michael Pietsch, Die Kultreform Josias. Studien zur Religionsgeschichte Israels in der späten Königszeit, FAT 1/86 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 471; Thomas, Hezekiah, 414–15; and Christian Frevel, Geschichte Israels, Kohlhammer Studienbücher Theologie 1/2 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2016), 267–69. There remains, however, a number of dissenters; see, e.g., Christoph Levin, “Joschija im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk,” ZAW 96, no. 3 (1984): 351–71; Herbert Niehr, “Die Reform des Joschija. Methodische, historische und religionsgeschichtliche Aspekte,” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung,” ed. Walter Groß and Dieter Böhler, BBB 98 (Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum, 1995), 51; Philip R. Davies, “Josiah and the Law Book,” in Good Kings and Bad Kings, ed. Lester L. Grabbe, LHBOTS 393, European Seminar in Historical Methodology 5 (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 65–77; and Pakkala, “Why the Cult Reforms in Judah Probably Did Not Happen,” 229–30. 6 Cf. Uehlinger, “Was There a Cult Reform,” 287–97 and Rannfrid Irene Thelle, Approaches to the “Chosen Place”: Accessing a Biblical Concept, LHBOTS 564 (London: T&T Clark, 2012), 129–86. 7 Fried, “High Places,” 443–50. On the reduced number of cultic sites, see, e.g., the summary in Frevel, Geschichte, 267–69 and Rüdiger Schmitt, “Diversity and Centralization of

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complicate matters further, there is also no consensus about whether the references to Josiah’s destruction of the high places should be included in the earliest version of the account of 2 Kgs 23 or attributed to a later redactional stage.8 Furthermore, an increasing number of scholars have misgivings about linking the composition of the Deuteronomic Code (D) with the alleged reforms of Josiah. Many now agree that the episode in 2 Kgs 22 describing the discovery of a book of the law was added to the account of Josiah’s reforms in 2 Kgs 23 long after any historical reform in the seventh century.9 Moreover, the differences between Josiah’s reforms and D’s commands have led a number of researchers to question whether 2 Kgs 22–23 can be used to reconstruct the origins of D.10 Hence, while a Neo-Assyrian date for at least a core of D is still widely sustained, the question of how D’s mandate of centralization might have influenced cultic practices in the seventh century is far from settled. Some scholars have even proposed that we should abandon the idea that cultic centralization was ever implemented in the monarchic period and instead situate its application in the period after the downfall of Jerusalem in 587 BCE.11 For instance, Herbert Niehr concludes his analysis of 2 Kgs 22–23 by the Temple Cult in the Archaeological Record from the Iron IIC to the Persian and Hellenistic Period in Judah,” in Text and Ritual in the Pentateuch: A Systematic and Comparative Approach, ed. Christophe Nihan and Julia Rhyder (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, forthcoming). 8 The composition of 2 Kgs 22–23 is a point of considerable debate among scholars and cannot be discussed in detail here. For different reconstructions, cf., e.g., Hoffmann, Reform, 169–270; Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige, 452–66; Levin, “Joschija,” 391–71; Niehr, “Die Reform,” 39–41; Reinhard G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, trans. John Bowden (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 185; and Römer, So-Called Deuteronomistic History, 55–56. 9 See, among others, Levin, “Joschija,” 355 and Römer, So-Called Deuteronomistic History, 56, 177. 10 See Gordon J. Wenham, “Deuteronomy and the Central Sanctuary,” TynBul 22 (1971): 103–18; Gary N. Knoppers, “Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History: The Case of Kings,” CBQ 63 (2001): 413; Bernard M. Levinson, “The Reconceptualization of Kingship in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History’s Transformation of Torah,” VT 51, no. 4 (2001): 511–34; Konrad Schmid, “Das Deuteronomium innerhalb der ‘deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerke’ in Gen–2 Kön.,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk, ed. Eckart Otto and Reinhard Achenbach, FRLANT 206 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 193–211; Lauren A. S. Monroe, Josiah’s Reform and the Dynamics of Defilement: Israelite Rites of Violence and the Making of a Biblical Text (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2011); and Thelle, Approaches, 129–86. 11 See Niehr, “Die Reform”; Davies, “Josiah,” 67–69; Kratz, “Idea,” 137; Reinhard G. Kratz, Historical and Biblical Israel: The History, Tradition, and Archives of Israel and Judah, trans. Paul Michael Kurtz (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 52–53; and Pakkala, “Why the Cult Reforms in Judah Probably Did Not Happen,” 204–6.

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suggesting that the account of Josiah’s reform might have been written by the struggling priesthood of the Second Temple in an attempt to bolster its economic situation. “In the economically difficult period of the sixth and fifth centuries,” Niehr contends, “this [priesthood] had to provide for itself, not having the monarchy as a support” (Diese mußte sich in der wirtschaftlich schwierigen Zeit des 6. und 5. Jahrhunderts selbst versorgen, ohne das Königtum als Stütze im Rücken zu haben).12 By telling how one of Judah’s last kings had commenced a program of centralizing the cult in Jerusalem, the priests at that sanctuary might have sought to justify themselves as the main beneficiary of the community’s financial support and deny the legitimacy of any rival cultic sites. Reinhard G. Kratz likewise argues that 2 Kgs 22–23 might have served the interests of Judeans faced with the dissolution of the monarchy.13 These texts recast the history of Judah’s kings in such a way that the centralized cult and worship of the single god, Yhwh, emerge as the ultimate criteria for measuring the success or failure of the monarchy. As a result, the cult, rather than kingship, emerges as the unifying force in ancient Israel’s history. Even among those scholars who do not wish to abandon altogether the idea that cultic centralization began in the Neo-Assyrian or Neo-Babylonian period, there is still a growing recognition that this process did not produce the seismic rupture in the history of ancient Israel that Wellhausen described. Instead, most scholars now imagine that there was a slow evolution toward a more centralized form of cultic practice, which lasted well beyond the reign of Josiah, into the Persian period and beyond. 3.1.2 Central Sanctuaries at Gerizim and Jerusalem It is also widely acknowledged that this gradual process of cultic centralization did not result in a single sanctuary holding an exclusive monopoly over the Yahwistic cult. Diverse archeological and textual sources suggest that at least two central sanctuaries operated in the Persian period: the Second Temple in Jerusalem and the sanctuary on Mount Gerizim in Samaria. The latter shrine was kept firmly in Jerusalem’s shadow for much of the history of scholarship, in large part due to the fact that Josephus dated the foundation of the Gerizim temple to the late fourth century (ca. 332 BCE). According to his Antiquities, a certain Manasseh, the brother of the high priest in Jerusalem, Jaddua, absconded to Samaria and oversaw the building of the temple on Mount Gerizim during the time of Alexander the Great (Ant. 11.297–347). Scholars have long questioned the historicity of certain aspects of this account, especially the claim that, after visiting Jerusalem, Alexander the Great was convinced to view the new temple at Gerizim in an unfavorable light (Ant. 11.317–45). Because no other historical source reports a trip of Alexander to Jerusalem, Josephus’s 12 13

Niehr, “Die Reform,” 51. Kratz, Historical and Biblical Israel, 52.

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71

account has long been thought to constitute “a historical myth designed to bring the king into direct contact with the Jews” rather than an accurate account of Alexander’s movements and his view of the Samarian temple.14 Yet, despite these doubts concerning certain aspects of Josephus’s account, most scholars traditionally followed him in imagining that a temple was erected on Mount Gerizim only in the Hellenistic period. However, excavations at the site between 1983 and 2006, led by Yitzhak Magen, have seriously challenged this reconstruction by revealing an earlier Persian layer beneath the Hellenistic sacred precinct. On the basis of pottery fragments and coins, Magen dates this to the early fifth century BCE (ca. 480 BCE).15 Other scholars have been more cautious in dating the temple so early in the fifth century. Only one of the published coins found at the site dates to the first half of the fifth century, while all the rest postdate 450 BCE.16 Jurgen Zangenberg has therefore proposed that we should date the temple no earlier than 450 BCE, while Jan Dušek suggests 424–405 BCE.17 Significantly, the temple seems to have served as a site of animal sacrifice already in the Persian period. Charred faunal remains mixed with ash that were found on the southwestern side of the Persian compound – some of which have been dated to the fifth century – seem to confirm this.18 In addition, an Aramaic inscription from the Hellenistic period that was found on the eastern slope of the temple site refers to the offering of livestock ‫‘ בבנית דבחא‬in the house of

14 Victor Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews, trans. Shimon Applebaum (New York, NY: Atheneum, 1959), 45; see also James C. VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress and Assen: Van Gorcum, 2004), 69–85. 15 Yitzhak Magen, “Mt. Gerizim – A Temple City,” Qad 33, no. 2 (2000): 74–118 (Hebrew) and Magen, Haggai Misgav, and Levana Tsfania, The Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, vol. 1 of Mount Gerizim Excavations, trans. Edward Levin and Michael Guggenheimer, 2 vols., Judea & Samaria Publications 2 (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2004), 1–12. 16 Reinhard Pummer, “Samaritan Studies: Recent Research Results,” in The Bible, Qumran, and the Samaritans, ed. Magnar Kartveit and Gary N. Knoppers, SJ 104, Studia Samaritana 10 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 63. 17 Jürgen K. Zangenberg, “The Sanctuary on Mount Gerizim: Observations on the Results of 20 Years of Excavation,” in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2.–1. mill. BCE). Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen (28–30 May 2010), ed. Jens Kamlah, ADPV 41 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 406 and Jan Dušek, Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim and Samaria between Antiochus III and Antiochus IV Epiphanes, CHANE 54 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 3. 18 Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 9; Benedikt Hensel, Juda und Samaria. Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen, FAT 1/110 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 54–58.

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sacrifice’, which almost certainly refers to the sanctuary cult of the shrine at Gerizim.19 The surviving evidence hints that the Gerizim temple served as a major cultic center of Yahwistic worship for those living within Samaria itself, and perhaps also for Samarians in the diaspora. The temple was situated within a large city, although its exact size is debated.20 To judge from inscriptions found at the temple complex that refer to the origins of the worshippers who visited the sanctuary, it appears that the city-temple complex was an important site of pilgrimage, not only for inhabitants from the nearby cities of Samaria (‫ )שׁמרין‬and Shechem (‫)שׁכם‬, but also from other locations, such as Kfar Ḥaggai ‫כפר חגי‬, Yoqmeʿam ‫יקמעם‬, and ʿAvarta or ʿAwarta [‫כפר עבד]תא‬.21 While it is difficult to determine the precise locations of these sites, the variety of place names in the inscriptions suggests that “Gerizim was a temple that had more than just local significance, but was also frequented transregionally.”22 This view is corroborated by two Greek inscriptions from the early Hellenistic period found at Delos, which refer to Gerizim as the site to which Samarians living on the island sent offerings and monetary payments.23 Moreover, Magen, Michael Meersen, and Benedikt Hensel refer to a (unpublished) Greek inscription on a sundial found at Gerizim (dated between the fourth and second centuries BCE) that refers to a certain Ptolemaios in Egypt, who donated the dial as a votive offering.24 From this inscription it would seem that, by the Hellenistic period Inscription no. 199. For photograph, transcription, and translation of the inscription, see Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 171–72. The inscription probably dates to the third or second century BCE; see further Dušek, Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions, 59–60. 20 Most estimates concern the size of the city in the Hellenistic period; cf., e.g., the estimate of forty hectares in Yizhak Magen, A Temple City, vol. 2 of Mount Gerizim Excavations, trans. Edward Levin and Carl Ebert, 2 vols., Judea & Samaria Publications 8 (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2004), 9 and the somewhat smaller estimate of thirty hectares in Benedikt Hensel, “Cult Centralization in the Persian Period: Biblical and Historical Perspectives,” Sem 60 (2018): 235. 21 Inscription no. 8; see Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 171–72 (inscriptions no. 14, 15 for Samaria), 57–58, 75, 78 (inscriptions no. 12, 36, 39 for Shechem), 51–52 (inscription no. 3 for Kfar Ḥaggai), 54 (inscription no. 7, for Yoqmeʿam), and 55 (inscription no. 8 for ʿAvarta). 22 Hensel, “Cult Centralization,” 234. See further Pummer, “Samaritan Studies,” 70 and the proposed site identifications offered by Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 28–30. 23 For photograph, translation, and transcription (in French), see Philippe Bruneau and Pierre Bordreuil, “Les Israélites de Délos et la juiverie délienne,” BCH 106, no. 1 (1982): 473–74. For an English translation, see Magnar Kartveit, The Origin of the Samaritans, VTSup 128 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 216–35. For further discussion of its significance for reconstructing Gerizim’s centrality, see Hensel, “Cult Centralization,” 236. 24 For a photograph of the sundial (albeit no transcription), see Magen, “Mt. Gerizim,” pl. 4. For transcription and translation, see Michael Meerson, “One God Supreme: A Case 19

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73

at least, Gerizim was recognized even outside Samaria as a major cultic site to which offerings should be directed. It also seems probable that the Persian period temple at Gerizim benefitted economically from being located in a relatively strong and populous region.25 Samaria seems to have been largely spared the demographic decline that afflicted Judah in the transition from the Neo-Babylonian period to the Persian period.26 In fact, the Persian period seems to have been a time of significant demographic expansion in Samaria, which can be seen especially in the substantial number of habitation sites in the northern areas of the province.27 Furthermore, archaeologists such as Ephraim Stern and Adam Zertal suggest that the city of Samaria, which served as the center of the Assyrian satrapy in the eighth century BCE, continued to function as an administrative center in the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods and grew to be one of the largest and most important urban areas in Palestine.28 The Samarian temple of Gerizim might therefore have been, already in the fifth century BCE, in an economic and social position that enabled it to exert considerable influence in Yahwistic cultic practice. The question of the relationship between the temple on Mount Gerizim and the temple in Jerusalem in the Persian period is a point of major scholarly debate. Most scholars suggest that the Jerusalem temple was rebuilt between the Study of Religious Tolerance and Survival,” JGRChJ 7 (2010): 45–46. For additional remarks and discussion, see Hensel, Juda, 61–65. 25 Peter Altmann, Economics in Persian-Period Biblical Texts: Their Interactions with Economic Developments in the Persian Period and Earlier Biblical Traditions, FAT 1/109 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 150–55, 303–4. 26 Adam Zertal, “The Pahwah of Samaria (Northern Israel) during the Persian Period: Types of Settlement, Economy, History and New Discoveries,” Transeu 3 (1990): 9–15; Zertal, “The Province of Samaria (Assyrian Samerina) in the Late Iron Age (Iron Age III),” in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Joseph Blenkinsopp (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 377–412; Yitzhak Magen, The Samaritans and the Good Samaritan, trans. Edward Levin, JSP 7 (Jerusalem: Israel Anitiquities Authority, 2008), 7; Gary N. Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans: The Origins and History of Their Early Relations (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2013), 103–9; and Frevel, Geschichte, 244. 27 See e.g., Adam Zertal, “The Heart of the Monarchy: Pattern of Settlement and New Historical Considerations of the Israelite Kingdom of Samaria,” in Studies in the Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Jordan, ed. Amihai Mazar, JSOTSup 331 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2001), 38–64 and Shimon Dar, Landscape and Pattern: An Archaeological Survey of Samaria, 800 B.C.E.–636 C.E., BARIS 308 (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 1986). 28 Ephraim Stern, Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian Period 538– 332 B.C. (Oxford: Aris and Philipps and Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1982), 29– 31; Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods, 732–332 BCE, ABRL 2 (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2001), 424–27; and Zertal, “Province,” 380.

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second and sixth year of the reign of Darius I (521–485 BCE), or 520–515 BCE. This date is based on the literary sources of the Hebrew Bible. Ezra 6:14– 15 claim that the building works for the Second Temple were completed during the sixth year of the Persian king Darius I, or 515 BCE. Haggai 1 and Zech 1– 8 also state that the Second Temple was built during the reign of Darius I but date its completion to a different time; namely, his second year (520 BCE). The historicity of the biblical account is not universally accepted. Diana Edelman argues in detail that it is more probable that the temple was built during the reign of Artaxerxes I (465–425 BCE) and then retrojected back into the reign of Darius I in order to fulfill the prophecy of Jeremiah that the land of Judah would be desolate for seventy years.29 While Edelman offers a thoughtful analysis, the majority of scholars has continued to favor the classical date for the rebuilding of the temple (510–515 BCE) as opposed to her proposed revision, because the latter causes a number of issues for the dating of those traditions that presuppose the existence of the temple in Jerusalem.30 Edelman’s attempt to argue on the basis of genealogical evidence that Zerubbabel and Nehemiah were near contemporaries has also been convincingly refuted by Ralph Klein.31 If we accept that the Second Temple was built in the final decades of the fifth century, its construction took place at a time when various archaeological studies have shown Jerusalem to have been a relatively small town. Some estimates put the population at 1,500, while Israel Finkelstein has suggested that it might have been as low as “a few hundred people – that is, not much more than 100 adult men.”32 The population of Yehud also seems to have been small, as well as impoverished.33 While there is every reason to believe that Jerusalem 29 Diana Edelman, The Origins of the “Second Temple”: Persian Imperial Policy and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem, BibleWorld (London: Equinox, 2005). 30 Apart from Haggai and Zech 1–8, see, e.g., Isa 60–62. 31 Ralph W. Klein, “Were Joshua, Zerubbabel, and Nehemiah Contemporaries? A Response to Diana Edelman’s Proposed Late Date for the Second Temple,” JBL 127, no. 4 (2008): 697–701. 32 Israel Finkelstein, “Jerusalem in the Persian (and Early Hellenistic) Period and the Wall of Nehemiah,” JSOT 32, no. 4 (2008): 514. For the estimate of 1,500, see Charles Edward Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period: A Social and Demographic Study, JSOTSup 294 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999), 201. For alternative estimates, see Oded Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem (Winona Lake, IN: Eerdmans, 2005), 261– 74; 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, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 31–32; Bob Becking, “‘We All Returned as One!’: Critical Notes on the Myth of the Mass Return,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 9–10. 33 Cf. Stern, Material Culture, 31–40; Carter, Emergence, 172–213; Oded Lipschits, “Demographic Changes in Judah Between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries B.C.E.,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Joseph Blenkinsopp

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75

would have gained prestige when the Second Temple was built, even then, it would not necessarily have acquired the status of the capital city of the region of Yehud. Indeed, we know from archaeological evidence that the Persian empire established the imperial governor’s residence at Ramat Raḥel, approximately five kilometers south of Jerusalem.34 Jerusalem might have regained prominence later in the Persian period on account of the rebuilding of its walls in connection with Nehemiah’s governorship (ca. 445 BCE). But there is still little evidence that the city of Jerusalem operated as the administrative or economic center of Yehud or experienced significant growth in population in the fifth century.35 Excursus: Imperial Funding of the Jerusalem Temple? There is some debate, however, as to whether the Persian imperial authorities might have offered financial assistance to the fledgling Second Temple in Jerusalem. According to Ezra 1:7–11, Cyrus II commanded the rebuilding of the temple and supplied it with the vessels that had been forcibly removed by Nebuchadnezzar during the capture or destruction of Jerusalem in the early sixth century BCE (see also Ezra 5:14). Only Ezra 6, however, refers to royal financing of the temple; this text recounts how Darius I discovered Cyrus’s decree that the Jerusalem temple was to be rebuilt and also gave a new command (not found in Ezra 1:7–11) that it be paid for using the finances ‫‘ מן־בית מלכא‬from the king’s house’ (Ezra 6:4b). Ezra 6:8 even says that this funding is to come from ‫‘ מדת עבר נהרה‬the tributes of Beyond the River’; that is, from the regular taxes of the region collected by the Persian empire.36 Finally, imperial support for the temple is asserted in Ezra 7:15–24, which recounts how, some fifty years after the construction of the temple, Artaxerxes I sends Ezra to Jerusalem and commands him to transport silver and gold as donations to the temple from the king and his counselors. Artaxerxes further decrees that the temple staff not only must be exempted from imperial taxation (v. 24), but should also receive payments of silver, wheat, wine, oil, and salt ‫‘ מן בית גנזי מלכא‬from the treasury of the king’ to meet its practical needs (v. 20), a command that is duly fulfilled in Ezra 8:36, when the king’s satraps and governors in Beyond the River offer their financial support to ‫‘ את העם ואת בית האלהים‬the people and the house of god’.

(Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 364–65; Diana Edelman, “Settlement Patterns in Persian-Era Yehud,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, ed. Yigal Levin, LHBOTS 65 (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 54– 62; Avraham Faust, “Settlement Dynamics and Demographic Fluctuations in Judah from the Late Iron Age to the Hellenistic Period and the Archaeology of Persian-Period Yehud,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, ed. Yigal Levin, LHBOTS 65 (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 36–43. 34 Oded Lipschits, Yuval Gadot, and Dafna Langgut, “The Riddle of Ramat Raḥel: The Archaeology of a Royal Persian Period Edifice,” Transeu 41 (2012): 57–79. On the economic ramifications of this, see further §7.3.2. 35 Altmann, Economics, 177–87. 36 Cf. Ezra 1:4, where the temple is said to be financed by free will offerings from the local population.

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However, the historicity of these claims in Ezra 1–8 that the Jerusalem temple received financial assistance from the Persian administration can be challenged. First, while Persian religious policy varied from region to region, there is little evidence to suggest active support of local temples in the manner depicted here. The Persian imperial powers may have promoted local cults, as some scholars suggest, but there is more compelling evidence that they simply tolerated local temples without offering active support.37 This is attested, for instance, in the Trilingual Stele from Xanthus (inscribed in Aramaic, Greek, and Lycian), which preserves the request of the local people to the Persian regime to be permitted to establish a cult to the god Kdwrṣ.38 This request is sent to the satrap, not to the king, and does not suggest that the Persian powers were to provide material support for the cult. Rather, financial backing should be procured from the soldiers stationed at Xanthus who were to worship at the sanctuary.39 In addition, there are various indications that local cults were subjected to levies and taxes from the Persian regime rather than their being the recipients of imperial financial support.40 Hence, while we can assume that the Jerusalem temple, like that at Gerizim, might well have received “indirect royal sponsorship of the temple, in the form of a writ giving authorization” for its rebuilding, it seems unlikely that this would have included “funds and supplies.”41 To quote from Lester L. Grabbe’s insightful analysis, [w]hile many questions cannot be answered with certainty, nevertheless, we must weigh matters in the light of probability. In the light of present information, it seems likely that the Persians allowed the Jews to carry out their religion, including the building of their temple and the establishment of the priesthood when a petition was made to the appropriate authorities (usually local, not directly to the Persian king). From the evidence available (apart from some admittedly propagandistic passages in later Jewish literature) the Persians would not have provided financial support or other imperial resources or granted tax concessions to the Jerusalem temple.42 Thus we could conclude that, although some of the decrees in Ezra might contain the kernel of imperial source texts, their present literary form is heavily influenced by Judean concerns to legitimize the Second Temple. As argued at length by Grabbe and Dirk Schwiderski, the language, orthography, and epistolary style of the decrees strongly suggest that they are intended to recount the extraordinary origins of the Second Temple and its imagined

37 Cf. Joseph Blenkinsopp, “The Mission of Udjahorresnet and Those of Ezra and Nehemiah,” JBL 106, no. 3 (1987): 413–14; Lisbeth S. Fried, The Priest and the Great King: Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire, BJSUCSD 10 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 156–233. 38 For transcription, translation (in French), and discussion of the stele, see Henri Metzger, et al., La Stèle trilingue du Létôon, Fouilles de Xanthos 6 (Paris: C. Klincksieck 1979). 39 Cf. Javier Teixidor, “The Aramaic Text in the Trilingual Stele from Xanthus,” JNES 37, no. 2 (1978): 181–85. 40 Muhammad A. Dandamaev and Vladimir G. Lukonin, The Culture and Social Institutions of Ancient Iran, trans. Philip L. Kohl (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 362–66. 41 Edelman, Origins, 118. 42 Lester L. Grabbe, “The ‘Persian Documents’ in the Book of Ezra: Are They Authentic?” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 541.

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77

significance in the eyes of the Persian imperial powers, rather than to provide an accurate history of the funding of that shrine.43 A further reason to doubt that the Jerusalem temple had strong financial backing from the Persian imperial administration is the evidence of other Second Temple traditions that refer to its economic difficulties. For instance, the practical challenges facing the Jerusalem cult in the Persian period are clearly attested in the story of Neh 13:10–14. Here Nehemiah laments the poor state of the finances of the Jerusalem temple, which he has observed during his second trip to the city. He demands that the officials explain ‫‘ מדוע נעזב בית־האלהים‬why has the house of the god been forsaken?’, and that they redress the absence of tithes with which its Levitical servants might be paid. This prompts the Judean population to bring new tithes to the temple, and Nehemiah to appoint treasurers to oversee the sanctuary’s finances. While we might question the historicity of this episode, the account attests to a memory that the Second Temple faced significant financial challenges in the Persian period.44

Many scholars imagine that a strong rivalry must have existed between the temples of Jerusalem and Gerizim in the Persian period.45 This view has been heavily shaped by the narratives of Ezra-Nehemiah that portray strong tensions between Jerusalem and the Samarians, particularly the opposition of Sanballat, the governor of Samaria, to Nehemiah’s program of reform in Jerusalem (e.g., Neh 2:10, 19; 3:33–35; 4:1; 6:1–9, 12, 14; 13:28). However, scholars increasingly recognize that the emergence of two sanctuaries at Jerusalem and Gerizim speaks to the strong religious traditions in the two regions rather than antagonism and rivalry. In fact, the relationship between the temple communities at Jerusalem and Gerizim was arguably one of collaboration, the two temples coexisting as regional centers of Yahwism that enjoyed “mutual contacts for the time of the 6th–4th century BCE.”46 This collaboration can be discerned in the mounting evidence that the formation of the Pentateuch was not merely a Judean initiative but rather the joint work of scribal groups from Jerusalem and Samaria.47 The pentateuchal texts 43 Grabbe, “‘Persian Documents’,” 531 and Dirk Schwiderski, Handbuch des nordwestsemitischen Briefformulars. Ein Beitrag zur Echtheitsfrage der aramäischen Briefe des Esrabuches, BZAW 295 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000), 381–82. 44 See further, e.g., 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 Language, ed. Mosheh Bar-Anbar, et al. (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007), 9* and Altmann, Economics, 291–92. Cf. Jacob L. Wright, Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah-Memoir and Its Earliest Readers, BZAW 348 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 204–11. 45 For histories of research, see Frevel, Geschichte, 321–22 and Hensel, Juda, 7–28. 46 Hensel, “Cult Centralization,” 241. 47 See, among other studies, Rainer Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period, trans. John Bowden, 2 vols. OTL (London: SCM, 1994), 2:523–33; JeanDaniel Macchi, Les Samaritains: Histoire d’une légende. Israël et la province de Samarie, MdB 30 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1994), 37–38 et passim; Christophe Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and Judah: Shechem and Gerizim in Deuteronomy and Joshua,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 187–223; Adrian

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that are preserved by the two communities “are in large part identical” and are seen by many scholars as representing two “descendants from a common forebear” that was shared by the two communities in Judah and Samaria already in the Persian period.48 As numerous studies have convincingly demonstrated, the emphasis traditionally placed by scholars on the so-called sectarian changes in SP can no longer sustain the notion of a strict separation between MT and SP as witnesses to two distinct versions of the Pentateuch.49 SP and MT seem rather to be parallel adaptations of an older textual tradition that, despite remaining in relative flux, served “as a common literary corpus” for Judeans and Samarians until the second or first century BCE.50 Further evidence for the theory of a common Pentateuch is the textual transmission of the passages in Deuteronomy that concern Yhwh’s choice of a central place. Deuteronomy 27:2–4 SP report Moses’s command to the Israelites to build an altar ‫‘ בהרגריזים‬on Mount Gerizim’ when they have passed over the Schenker, “Textgeschichtliches zum Samaritanischen Pentateuch und Samareitikon,” in Samaritans, Past and Present: Current Studies, ed. Menahem Mor and Friedrich V. Reiterer, SJ 53/Studia Samaritana 5 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 105–21; Ingrid Hjelm, “Samaria, Samaritans, and the Composition of the Hebrew Bible,” in Samaritans, Past and Present: Current Studies, ed. Menahem Mor and Friedrich V. Reiterer, SJ 53, Studia Samaritana 5 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 91–103; Gary N. Knoppers, “Parallel Torahs and Inner-Scriptural Interpretation: The Jewish and Samaritan Pentateuchs in Historical Perspective,” in The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research, ed. Thomas Dozeman et al., FAT 1/78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 530; Knoppers, Jews, 169–216; Stefan Schorch, “The Samaritan Version of Deuteronomy and the Origin of Deuteronomy,” in Samaria, Samarians, and Samaritans: Proceedings of the 7th International Conference of the Société d’Études Samaritaines, Papa (Hungary), ed. József Zsengellér, Studia Samaritana 6 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 23–37; Walter J. Houston, “Between Salem and Mount Gerizim: The Context of the Formation of the Torah Reconsidered,” JAJ 5, no. 3 (2014): 311–34; Magnar Kartveit, “The Place that the Lord Your God Will Choose,” HBAI 4, no. 2 (2015): 205–18; Hensel, Juda, 170–93; and Dany Nocquet, La Samarie, la Diaspora et l’achèvement de la Torah. Territorialités et internationalités dans l’Hexateuque, OBO 284 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 318–21. 48 Direct quotes from Houston, “Between Salem and Mount Gerizim,” 312 and Knoppers, “Parallel Torahs,” 530, respectively. See further Knoppers, “Parallel Torahs,” 510. 49 See, among others, Abraham Tal, “Le Pentateuque samaritain,” in L’enfance de la Bible hébraïque. L’histoire du texte de l’Ancien Testament à la lumière des recherches récentes, MdB 52 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2005), 77–104; Knoppers, “Parallel Torahs,” 511–30; Knoppers, Jews, 188–90; Molly M. Zahn, “The Samaritan Pentateuch and the Scribal Culture of Second Temple Judaism,” JSJ 46, no. 3 (2015): 285–313; and Stefan Schorch, “The So-Called Gerizim Commandment in the Samaritan Pentateuch,” in The Samaritan Pentateuch and the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Michael Langlois (Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 77–97. 50 Knoppers, Jews, 189. Concerning the events that surrounded the rupture between Samarian and Judean groups in the late second and early first centuries BCE and the introduction of sectarian additions to SP, see, e.g., Reinhard Pummer, “Antisamaritanische Polemik in jüdischen Schriften aus der intertestamentarischen Zeit,” BZ 26 (1982): 224–42; Knoppers, Jews, 172–74; and Hensel, Juda, 231–55.

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Jordan river. In Deut 27:2–4 MT, by contrast, the site of the altar is ‫הר עיבל‬ ‘Mount Ebal.’ Scholars classically thought that the SP reading was a sectarian revision by the Samarians of an earlier account of the building of Yhwh’s altar, preserved in MT. However, as Christophe Nihan shows, the reading ‫ גריזים‬is attested in the Old Latin of Deuteronomy (Codex 100 of Lyon) and Pap. Giessen 19 and seems to preserve an older, pre-SP reading tradition.51 From this we might conclude that leaders from Samaria had a strong influence on the formation of the Pentateuch, because they were able to introduce into Deuteronomy a short narrative that described the building of a central shrine on Mount Gerizim in Mosaic times, thus adding significant legitimacy to the Gerizim temple. Similarly, in a 2008 essay, Adrian Schenker demonstrates that the SP’s perfective reading of the verb ‫ בחר‬in the passages of Deuteronomy that refer to Yhwh’s choice of a ‫ – מקום‬a reading that aligns the central cultic site with Mount Gerizim mentioned in Deut 27:2–4 SP – is not specifically sectarian. It is also preserved in some witnesses to the Greek text of Deuteronomy, unrelated to the Samaritan textual tradition, which may in fact reflect the Old Greek of Deuteronomy.52 Crucially, these Greek witnesses suggest that the tradition of identifying the “chosen place” in Deut 12 with Gerizim was not invented in the second or first century by Samarians but rather preserves a well-established reading that relates the centralization command of Deuteronomy to the Samarian sacred center. The centralized cult was not merely the scribal prerogative of Judeans who considered Jerusalem to be the central place but could also include the perspective of Samarians who used the Pentateuch to claim Gerizim as their cultic center. On the basis of this evidence, scholars have surmised that the Pentateuch was a common scribal project that probably involved the collaboration of the priestly families associated with the cults of Gerizim and Jerusalem. Furthermore, these families seem to have shared an interest in centralizing the cult, insofar as they both wished to use the pentateuchal laws to affirm that Yhwh had an interest in establishing a central place of worship. However, given their associations with their respective regional sanctuaries, these priestly families could presumably not reach an agreement on where the central chosen place Nihan, “Torah.” See further Christophe Nihan, “L’autel sur le mont Garizim. Deutéronome 27 et la rédaction de la Torah entre Samaritains et Judéens à l’époque achéménide,” Transeu 36 (2008): 97–124 and Nihan, “Garizim et Ebal dans le Pentateuque. Quelques remarques en marge de la publication d’un nouveau fragment du Deutéronome,” Sem 54 (2012): 185–210. 52 Adrian Schenker, “Le Seigneur choisira-t-il le lieu de son nom ou l’a-t-il choisi? L’apport de la Bible grecque ancienne à l’histoire du texte samaritain et massorétique,” in Scripture in Transition: Essays on Septuagint, Hebrew Bible, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of Raija Sollamo, ed. Anssi Voitila and Jutta Jokiranta, JSJSup 126 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 339– 51. Cf. Knoppers, “Parallel Torahs.” 51

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was located. The processes of cultic centralization among the Persian period Yahwistic cult were thus far more complex than has been traditionally assumed in the classical model: even as priestly families promoted the centralized ideology of Deuteronomy in the Persian period, they also tacitly recognized the existence of more than one central place of worship, because they crafted a common Pentateuch in which it was possible for both sanctuaries to claim the status of Yhwh’s chosen place. This theory of a mutual understanding and even collaboration between the priestly families at the two sanctuaries finds additional support in the literary hints that the Gerizim and Jerusalem priesthoods may even have shared a familial relationship. As mentioned, Josephus’s story of the founding of the temple at Gerizim claims that Manasseh was the brother of the Jerusalem high priest Jaddua. Even though the historicity of this account is questionable, most scholars agree that it probably preserves the kernel of a historical truth; namely, that the high priesthood at Mount Gerizim shared a familial tie to the high priesthood in Jerusalem.53 Additional evidence of this relationship is the story preserved in Neh 13, where the family of the Samarian governor is linked by marriage to the Jerusalem high priestly family. This evidence, however, is somewhat weak, because the Samarian involved is the chief political administrator in Samaria – a political figure, not a priest. In Neh 13:28, we find the brief remark that Nehemiah discovered that ‫ומבני יוידע בן־אלישׁיב הכהן הגדול‬ ‫‘ חתן לסנבלט החרני‬one of the sons of Jehoiada, the son of Eliashib the high priest, was the son-in-law of Sanballat the Horonite’. This son of Jehoiada is imagined to have deep roots in the Jerusalem temple establishment and the Aaronide family line. According to a series of Second Temple texts, Eliashib was the descendant of Jeshua, who was the son of Jehozadak, the last high priest to serve in the First Temple in Jerusalem. Hence, the mention in Neh 13:28 of the son of Jehoiada becoming the son-in-law of one of the highest Samarian elites – the governor Sanballat – suggests that there were close familial ties between the two provinces.54 While the scant nature of the evidence makes it inherently difficult to reconstruct the precise relationship between the priestly families at Gerizim and Jerusalem, we can be confident in assuming that the two sanctuaries probably had both contact and affiliation in the Persian period, the greatest yield of which was a common Pentateuch. The understanding of the centralized cult in the Persian period found in traditional research as one that was centered on the single sanctuary of Jerusalem therefore needs to be rethought. More nuanced models are required for understanding how the cultic value of centralization could be shared by priests at both Gerizim and Jerusalem, as well as the role of the pentateuchal traditions in negotiating this. 53 54

Knoppers, Jews, 190–91. See Magen, Samaritans, 9–10; Knoppers, Jews, 162; and Hensel, Juda, 326–27.

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3.1.3 Evidence of Cultic Diversity These new models of centralization also need to incorporate evidence of cultic diversity that extended beyond these two sanctuaries. The cults of Jerusalem and Gerizim did not exert the kind of religious control in which they could enforce the orthodox form of Yahwism that was sometimes assumed in earlier research.55 Scholarship of the last two decades has shown decisively that the Persian period Yahwistic cult was far from restricted to a single form of religious practice, which was exclusively controlled by (a) cultic center(s). The material cultures of Samaria, Yehud, and nearby regions attest to considerable variation in religious artifacts.56 Persian period terracotta figurines, mostly depicting horses and riders, have been found at Gezer, Ramat Raḥel, En-gedi, Tell en-Naṣbeh, and Jericho.57 Izaak de Hulster proposes that over fifty figurines and fragments of figurines found in stratum 9 of the excavation at Shiloh should be dated to the Persian period.58 Beyond this, Christian Frevel and Katharina Pyschny document various cuboid incense burners found mainly in the province of Ashdod (twelve in Gezer, twenty-five in Tell Jemmeh) and the coastal plain (four from Makmish, six from Tel Michal, one from Ashdod, and ten from Tel Abu Salima) but also in Samaria (two) and other northern sites (one each from Shiqmona, Beth-shean, and Sepphoris), as well as a single example from Yehud, at Mizpah.59 While these served a variety of purposes related to sanitation and repelling insects, many of the burners may also have had a “cultic use” in Yahwistic religious practice.60 Finally, the many Persian 55 This was typically the case in research that concerned Jerusalem’s alleged cultic influence; see, notably, Stern, Material Culture, 182; Ephraim Stern, “The Religious Revolution in Persian-Period Judah,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 199–205. 56 See esp. the various essays in Christian Frevel, Katharina Pyschny, and Izak Cornelius, eds., A ‘Religious Revolution’ in Yehûd? The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case, OBO 267 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014). 57 Rüdiger Schmitt, “Gab es einen Bildersturm nach dem Exil? Einige Bemerkungen zur Verwendung von Terrakottafigurinen im nachexilischen Israel,” in Yahwism after the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era, ed. Rainer Albertz and Bob Becking, Studies in Theology and Religion 5 (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003), 186–98. 58 Izaak de Hulster, “Figurines from Persian Period Jerusalem?” ZAW 124, no. 1 (2012): 80–87. For the excavation report, see the concordance in Donald T. Ariel and Alon DeGroot, “Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985: Volume IV: Various Reports,” Qedem 35 (1996): 318–42. 59 See the discussion in Christian Frevel and Katharina Pyschny, “A Religious Revolution Devours Its Children: The Iconography of the Persian Period Cuboid Incense Burners,” in Religion in the Achaemenid Persian Empire: Emerging Judaisms and Trends, ed. Diana Edelman, Anne Fitzpatrick-McKinley, and Philippe Guillaume, Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 17 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 93–99, including the map at 94. 60 Frevel and Pyschny, “Religious Revolution,” 124.

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period coins that have been found in Samaria and Yehud also attest to how different economic and geographical factors, as well as the influence of local and foreign traditions, produced diverse religious iconography. As Mary Joan Winn Leith and Patrick Wyssmann show, Samarian coins evinced a cosmopolitan and diverse iconography that included the depiction of Persian and Greek deities, while the coins found in Yehud tended to exhibit a “more restrained” style.61 Further evidence of cultic diversity is the small number of Yahwistic shrines dating to the Persian and Hellenistic periods that have been found in regions near Yehud and Samaria. There are strong indications that Jerusalem and Gerizim both enjoyed the status of “supra-regional sanctuaries” in the Persian period, owing to the general absence of other sanctuaries operating within the regions of Samaria and Judah.62 A possible exception is the sanctuary at or near Bethel, which Oded Lipschits and others suggest might have operated until the late Neo-Babylonian period and feasibly could have continued into the early Persian period.63 However, because there is no verified archaeological evidence of a temple at Bethel that operated in the Persian period, and even the evidence of a Neo-Babylonian temple is disputed, it is difficult to know whether and to what extent it might have represented an alternative site of worship once the Second Temple in Jerusalem and the sanctuary at Gerizim were constructed.64 Another Persian period sanctuary might have been located at Lachish. A “solar shrine” uncovered at the site in the 1930s has been dated to 61 Patrick Wyssmann, “The Coinage Imagery of Samaria and Judah in the Late Persian Period,” in A ‘Religious Revolution’ in Yehûd? The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case, ed. Christian Frevel, Katharina Pyschny, and Izak Cornelius, OBO 267 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 255. Cf. Mary Joan Winn Leith, “Seals and Coins in Persian Period Samaria,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman et al. (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000), 691–707; Leith, “Religious Continuity in Israel/Samaria: Numismatic Evidence,” in A ‘Religious Revolution’ in Yehûd? The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case, ed. Christian Frevel et al., OBO 267 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 267–304. 62 Schmitt, “Diversity.” See further Hensel, “Cult Centralization,” 254. 63 Oded Lipschits, “Bethel Revisited,” in Rethinking Israel: Studies in the History and Archaeology of Ancient Israel in Honor of Israel Finkelstein, ed. Oded Lipschits, Yuval Gadot, and Matthew J. Adams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017), 233–46. See further Joseph Blenkinsopp, “The Judean Priesthood during the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Periods: A Hypothetical Reconstruction,” CBQ 60, no. 1 (1998): 25–43; Ernst Axel Knauf, “Bethel: The Israelite Impact on Judean Language and Literature,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 318–19. 64 On evidence for a Neo-Babylonian temple at Bethel, see Israel Finkelstein and Lily Singer-Avitz, “Reevaluating Bethel,” ZDPV 125, no. 1 (2009): 33–48.

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the Persian period by David Usshishkin, although a Hellenistic date is also possible.65 It is debated, however, whether the shrine at Lachish was a Yahwistic site and, if so, what sacrificial capacities it might have had.66 Beyond this, an Idumean “temple of Yaho” (BYT YHW) is mentioned in an Aramaic ostracon (no. 283) published by André Lemaire as part of a private collection and dated by him to the fourth century BCE.67 Lemaire argues that the frequent references to Makkedah in Idumea (the site of modern day Khirbet el-Kôm) in these ostraca suggest that the temple was probably located at that site. However, because the ostraca are unprovenanced, it is unclear to what extent they can be used to reliably reconstruct cultic realities in Persian period Idumea. There are, however, clear indications that a small number of Yahwistic shrines operated in the diaspora throughout the Second Temple period. To name the most prominent cases, a “temple of Yaho” is mentioned in papyri from the fifth century BCE found on the island of Elephantine in the Nile. We will return to consider in detail the evidence concerning this sanctuary in chapters 4 and 5 of this study (§4.4.2 and §5.4.2). Josephus, meanwhile, mentions a temple built at Leontopolis, northwest of Memphis, in the Hellenistic period by Onias III, the son of Simon the Just, who had served as the high priest in 65 David Ussishkin, The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), 5 vols., Publications of the Institute of Archaeology 22 (Tel Aviv: Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology, 2004). See further James Leslie Starkey, “Lachish as Illustrating Bible History,” PEQ 69, no. 3 (1937): 171–72. For a Hellenistic date, see Alexander Fantalkin and Oren Tal, “Redating Lachish Level I: Identifying Achaemenid Imperial Policy at the Southern Frontier of the Fifth Satrapy,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 176. 66 Cf. Aharoni, Investigations; Stern, Material Culture, 61–63; Ephraim Stern, “The Archaeology of Persian Palestine,” in The Persian Period, vol. 1 of The Cambridge History of Judaism, ed. William David Davies, Louis Finkelstein, and Steven T. Katz, 4 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 102–3; Fantalkin and Tal, “Redating Lachish Level I,” 168–77; and Melody D. Knowles, Centrality Practiced: Jerusalem in the Religious Practice of Yehud and the Diaspora in the Persian Period, ABS 16 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2006), 44–47. 67 André Lemaire, Nouvelles inscriptions araméennes d’Idumée du Musée d’Israël, Supplément à Transeuphratène 3 (Paris: Gabalda, 2002), 149–56; 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, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 416–17; and Lemaire, Levantine Epigraphy and History in the Achaemenid Period (539–332 BCE) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 118–19. Cf. Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni, “Why the Unprovenanced Idumean Ostraca Should be Published,” in New Seals and Inscriptions, Hebrew, Idumean, and Cuneiform, ed. Meir Lubetski, Hebrew Bible Monographs 8 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007), 77, 87 fig. 8; Porten and Yardeni, Dossiers 1–10: 401 Commodity Chits, vol. 1 of Textbook of Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), xxi, liii fig. 40; Bob Becking, “Temples across the Border and the Communal Boundaries within Yahwistic Yehud,” Transeu 35 (2008): 49– 52.

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Jerusalem.68 This temple, Josephus claims, was built 343 years prior to its destruction by the Romans in 73 CE (270 BCE), although the reference to Simon the Just suggests that the temple was built in the second century BCE. Inscriptions found at Tell el-Yehudieh attest to the presence of a large Judean population at the site during that time, although the remains of the temple have not been found.69 In addition to Leontopolis, it is also possible that another temple to Yhwh was constructed during the Hellenistic period by Yahwists at Edfu.70 While no physical remains of the temple have been found, an Aramaic text from the beginning of the third century BCE (TAD C3.28) mentions a series of Judean names including “Joḥanan, the priest” (line 85) and “Šlm[ ] the priest” (line 113). Harald Samuel and Sylvie Honigman argue that these suggest the presence of a functioning sanctuary there.71 Finally, a Yahwistic temple among the Judeans exiled in Babylon cannot be ruled out. Certain biblical passages seem to hint at the presence of a temple in the Babylonian diaspora, including the reference to a ‫‘ מקדשׁ מעט‬little sanctuary’ in Babylon in Ezek 11:16b and the ‫‘ בית‬house’ at Shinar in Zech 5:5–11.72 In addition, cuneiform archives that describe life in rural Mesopotamia in the sixth and fifth centuries attest to a flourishing Judean community living at āl Yāḫūdu ‘the town of the Judeans’ in Babylon.73 While the archives do not J.W. 1.33; 7.426–36 and Ant. 12.388; 13.62–73, 285. See further, e.g., Mathias Delcor, “Le Temple d’Onias en Égypte,” RB 75, no. 2 (1968): 188–205 and Jörg Frey, “Temple and Rival Temple: The Cases of Elephantine, Mt. Gerizim, and Leontopolis,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel, Community Without Temple: Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum, ed. Beate Ego, Armin Lange, and Peter Pilhofer, WUNT 1/118 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 171–203. 70 János Harmatta, “Irano-Aramaica: Zur Geschichte des Frühhellenistischen Judentums in Ägypten,” Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 7 (1959): 337–409 and Harmatta, “Zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte des frühptolemäischen Ägyptens,” in Sozialökonomische Verhältnisse im Alten Orient und im Klassischen Altertum. Tagung der Sektion Alte Geschichte der Deutschen Historiker-Gesellschaft vom 12.–17. Oktober 1959, ed. HansJoachim Diesner, Rigobert Günther, and Gerhard Schrot (Berlin: Akademie, 1961), 119–39. 71 Harald Samuel, “Telling Terminology: Kmr and Khn in Hebrew and Aramaic Texts” (paper presented at the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, Baltimore, MD, 23– 26 November 2013) and Sylvie Honigman, “A Judaean Temple in Edfu, Upper Egypt, in the Fourth and Third Centuries BCE?” (paper presented at the Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting, Berlin, 8–11 August 2017). 72 Joong Ho Chong, “Were There Yahwistic Sanctuaries in Babylon?” AsJT 10 (1996): 198–217. 73 For transcription and translation of tablets that concern life in āl Yāḫūdu, see Francis Joannès and André Lemaire, “Contrats babyloniens d’époque achéménide du Bît-abi Râm avec une épigraphe araméene,” RA 90, no. 1 (1996): 41–60; Joannès and Lemaire, “Trois tablettes cunéiformes à l’onomastique ouest-sémitique,” Transeu 17 (1999): 17–34, 2 pls.; and Laurie E. Pearce and Cornelia Wunsch, Documents of Judean Exiles and West Semites in Babylonia in the Collection of David Sofer, CUSAS 28 (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2014), 97– 68 69

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reference a temple or priesthood devoted to Yahweh at āl Yāḫūdu, it is not implausible to imagine that a shrine might have been established by the community who settled there.74 One final issue concerning cultic diversity is the evidence that the community of Yahwists living at Qumran from the second century BCE to the late first century CE might have practiced animal sacrifice. Jodi Magness has revived an earlier argument made by Frank Moore Cross and others that the animal bones found at the site strongly suggest a functioning sacrificial cult.75 Bones of sheep, goats, and cows, mixed with ash and pottery remains, were found at Qumran between large potsherds or inside jars covered with a small amount of dirt.76 The largest concentration of animal bones was found in locus 130 (L130), a triangular, open-air space in the northwest part of the site. Magness argues that, when compared to sacrificial refuse found at ancient sanctuaries, the bones at L130 show the consistent traits of animals that were burned on an altar and then consumed by members of the community.77

188. For further discussion of the evidence, see, e.g., Kathleen Abraham, “An Inheritance Division among Judeans in Babylonia from the Early Persian Period,” in Seals and Inscriptions, Hebrew, Idumean and Cuneiform, ed. Meir Lubetski, Hebrew Bible Monographs 8 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007), 206–21; Abraham, “Negotiating Marriage in Multicultural Babylonia: An Example from the Judean Community in Āl-Yāhūdu,” in Exile and Return: The Babylonian Context, ed. Jonathan Stökl and Caroline Waerzeggers, BZAW 478 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 33–57; Laurie E. Pearce, “New Evidence for Judeans in Babylonia,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 399–411; Wilfred George Lambert, “A Document from a Community of Exiles in Babylonia,” in Seals and Inscriptions, Hebrew, Idumean and Cuneiform, ed. Meir Lubetski, Hebrew Bible Monographs 8 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007), 201–5; Cornelia Wunsch, “Glimpses on the Lives of Deportees in Rural Babylonia,” in Arameans, Chaldeans, and Arabs in Babylonia and Palestine in the First Millennium B.C., ed. Angelika Berlejung and Michael P. Streck, Leipziger Altorientalistische Studien 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2013), 247–60; and Yigal Bloch, “Judeans in Sippar and Susa during the First Century of the Babylonian Exile: Assimilation and Perseverance under Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Rule,” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern History 1, no. 2 (2014): 119–72. 74 Cf. Becking, “Temples,” 51. 75 Jodi Magness, “Were Sacrifices Offered at Qumran?” JAJ 7, no. 1 (2016): 26 et passim. Cf. Frank Moore Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran, 3rd ed., BibSem 30 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995), 102 and John Strugnell, “Flavius Josephus and the Essenes: Antiquities XVIII.18–22,” JBL 11, no. 2 (1958): 113. 76 Roland de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Schweich Lectures 1959 (London: Oxford University Press, 1973), 12–13. Cf. Frederick E. Zeuner, “Notes on Qumrân,” PEQ 92, no. 1 (1960): 29. 77 Magness, “Were Sacrifices Offered,” 15.

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Scholars have typically been reluctant to interpret the bones at Qumran as sacrificial refuse because no altar has so far been found at the site.78 However, Magness points to a note in Roland de Vaux’s excavation report that refers to an ash-filled hole in L130 dating to Period Ib (ca. 100–31 BCE).79 In a recent book that contains previously unpublished descriptions, plans, and photographs from de Vaux’s excavation, Robert Donceel observes a “large block of seemingly unhewn rock” (gros bloc de rocher apparemment non taillé) that protruded from the center of the ash-filled hole.80 Magness argues that this could have been the site of an altar, which would have been “made of earth and/or stones (see Exod 20:24–25)” and “incorporated the large unhewn stone” that Donceel observed.81 Magness concludes on this basis that the Qumran community not only rejected the sacrificial cult at Jerusalem but actively established their own practices of animal sacrifice using an altar within their community. While it is difficult to know for sure whether the hole at L130 might have housed an altar, Magness makes a strong case that the animal bones found at Qumran reveal the presence of a sacrificial cult at the site. When taken together with the evidence of a small number of Yahwistic temples operating within the diaspora, the materials at Qumran strongly suggest that it is untenable to dismiss local cultic practices as completely marginalized within a centralized cultic order dominated from Jerusalem and Gerizim, or to accept uncritically the traditional account of centralization in ancient Israel, which divides Israel’s history into two distinct epochs, with Jerusalem in a position of dominance from the Neo-Assyrian period onward. Even into the Persian and Hellenistic periods, Jerusalem and Gerizim needed to negotiate their centrality relative to a limited number of other sanctuaries, some of which almost certainly practiced animal sacrifice. The number of these alternative sanctuary sites should not be overstated. We can reasonably assume that the central sanctuaries in Jerusalem and Gerizim had achieved the status of the main cultic centers within the provinces of Yehud and Samaria, respectively, at least by the end of the Persian period, because the other known Yahwistic temples from the Persian and Hellenistic periods seem to have been located outside the borders of these provinces (with the possible exception of Bethel, although, as mentioned, this is disputed). The study of centralization as an historical process in the Persian period thus arguably remains justified. Nevertheless, it should be emphasized 78 See, e.g., Joseph M. Baumgarten, Studies in Qumran Law, SJLA 24 (Leiden: Brill Archive, 1977), 59 and Todd S. Beall, Josephus’ Description of the Essenes Illustrated by the Dead Sea Scrolls, SNTSMS 58 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 115–19. 79 de Vaux, Archaeology, 23. 80 Robert Donceel, Khirbet Qumrân (Palestine). Le locus 130 et les “ossements sous jarre.” Mise à jour de la documentation, QC 13/1 (Krakow: Enigma, 2005), 57 n. 197; for photographs of the stone, see figs. 14, 19, 23, 24, 26, 31. 81 Magness, “Were Sacrifices Offered,” 23.

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that the centrality of Jerusalem and Gerizim during the Persian period was almost certainly contested and needed to be negotiated vis-à-vis other sanctuaries, both in nearby regions and more distant diasporic sites. Furthermore, the possibility of animal sacrifice at Qumran suggests that certain groups of Judeans explored local alternatives to the centralized sacrificial cult at Jerusalem as late as the first century BCE. We should therefore consider that multiple centralizing processes at different levels unfolded throughout the Second Temple period: those whereby Jerusalem and Gerizim attempted to assert their dominance within Judah and Samaria, respectively; those which were mediated through the relationship between these two central sanctuaries; and those which manifested their efforts, if such existed, to negotiate their central status vis-à-vis Yahwists living in other regions and diasporic locations. 3.1.4 Toward a New Appraisal of Centralization and Persian Period Biblical Traditions The growing scholarly acceptance of the need for a more nuanced understanding of centralization in the Persian period has brought with it a recognition that the biblical traditions of this period must themselves be revisited with a view to understanding how their iterative composition may have interacted with other processes of centralization and cultic practice. We have already noted the rich discussion of Deuteronomy in scholarship of the past decade. A number of other studies have begun to reassess the role other biblical traditions from the Persian and early Hellenistic periods might have played either in negotiating the cultic compromise between Jerusalem and Gerizim or in promoting Jerusalem’s centrality specifically. These have primarily focused on the evidence of Second and Third Isaiah, Zechariah, and Chronicles.82 On Second and Third Isaiah, see Ulrich Berges, “Zion and the Kingship of Yhwh in Isaiah 40–55,” in Enlarge the Site of Your Tent: The City as Unifying Theme in Isaiah, ed. Archibald L. H. M. Wieringen and Annemarieke Woude, OtSt/OTS 58 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 95–120. On Zechariah, see Rüdiger Lux, Prophetie und Zweiter Tempel. Studien zu Haggai und Sacharja, FAT 1/65 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009); Hervé Gonzalez, “Zacharie 9–14 et le temple de Jérusalem. Observations sur le milieu de production d’un texte prophétique tardif,” Judaïsme Ancien–Ancient Judaism 5 (2017): 23–77; Christophe Nihan and Hervé Gonzalez, “Competing Attitudes toward Samaria in Chronicles and Second Zechariah,” in The Bible, Qumran, and the Samaritans, ed. Magnar Kartveit and Gary N. Knoppers, SJ 104, Studia Samaritana 10 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 93–114. On Chronicles, see Martin J. Selman, “Jerusalem in Chronicles,” in Zion, City of Our God, ed. Richard S. Hess and Gordon J. Wenham (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999), 43–56; Isaac Kalimi, “Jerusalem – The Divine City: The Representation of Jerusalem in Chronicles Compared with Earlier and Later Jewish Compositions,” in The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein, ed. Matt Patrick Graham, Steven L. McKenzie, and Gary N. Knoppers, JSOTSup 371 (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 189–205; Gary N. Knoppers, “Mt. Gerizim and Mt. Zion: 82

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The most detailed study from this perspective arguably remains Centrality Practiced by Melody Knowles. She analyzes the representation of Jerusalem in Haggai, Zech 1–8, Malachi, Third Isaiah, Ezra-Nehemiah, Chronicles, and Pss 120–34 and augments this literary analysis with a discussion of archaeological evidence for centralization in the Yahwistic cult of the Persian period. On this basis, Knowles concludes that Jerusalem’s centrality was fluid and contested. Far from being settled once and for all in a single series of historical reforms, Knowles argues that it needed to be continually enacted via religious, scribal, and economic practices, including restricted animal sacrifice and incense offerings, pilgrimage to the city of Jerusalem, and increased tithing efforts. While Persian period biblical traditions vary in terms of which practices they emphasize and the manner in which they promote them, Knowles contends that these texts share a concern to stress the obligations of the Judeans to defer to Jerusalem as often as was feasible. Knowles further argues that the efforts to establish Jerusalem as a central place were increasingly successful as the Persian period progressed, even though she admits that a limited number of sanctuaries continued to operate in Samaria and the diaspora.83 Knowles argues that Jerusalem progressively acquired the status of a central place because it met a need in defining the community of Israel in postexilic times, following the dissolution of the geographical boundaries that had traditionally held Judeans together. “[E]nacting a map in which Jerusalem is ‘central’,” Knowles contends, “is one of the ways in which a geographically distant community can cohere as a self-identified group.”84 Hence, even if Judeans living in the diaspora had very little contact with Jerusalem on a day-to-day basis owing to their geographical isolation, its city and temple eventually became an indispensable part of how they conceived themselves as being connected to a larger whole. As a result, the practices that affirmed Jerusalem’s centrality took on increased significance in emerging Judaism, because they were essential to establishing a sense of connectedness among Judeans living in different locales. Knowles’s study is important for its focus on the variety of processes by which Jerusalem’s centrality was negotiated with respect to communities living at a distance from the city. She moves beyond the traditional preoccupation with whether Jerusalem had a sacrificial monopoly or exclusive claim to Yahwistic cultic practice to focus on the diverse strategies that might have enabled Jerusalem to receive greater deference and attention from Judeans than other sanctuaries or cities; that is, she positioned centralization as a matter of degree A Study in the Early History of the Samaritans and Jews,” SR 34 (2005): 309–38; Christophe Nihan, “Cult Centralization and the Torah Traditions in Chronicles,” in The Fall of Jerusalem and the Rise of the Torah, ed. Peter Dubovský et al., FAT 1/107 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 253–88. 83 Knowles, Centrality, 124. 84 Knowles, Centrality, 8.

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rather than an absolute state. Not all subsequent studies have agreed with her reading of specific texts or her interpretation of certain archaeological finds. (Does Knowles give adequate attention to the evidence of the concurrent claims of Gerizim to centrality in the Persian period, for example?) But her study is significant in that it elucidates the fluid nature of Jerusalem’s centrality in ancient Israel, as well as the variety of discursive strategies and ritual practices that played a role in construing it.85 Perhaps understandably, Knowles omits from her study the pentateuchal traditions concerning the centralized cult. This omission is primarily due to the fact that she focuses explicitly on Jerusalem and its position as central place, a site that is never directly mentioned in the Pentateuch. However, excluding the pentateuchal traditions has the effect of limiting our understanding of how notions of centrality and central place were construed in the Second Temple period; many of the Second Temple texts analyzed by Knowles (e.g., EzraNehemiah and Chronicles) heavily rely on the pentateuchal traditions when they describe the practices by which Jerusalem’s centrality is to be enacted. Thus, while the term ‫ ירושׁלם‬does not appear in the pentateuchal traditions, they are nonetheless important to understanding how the centrality of Jerusalem, and also of Gerizim, was legitimatized in the Persian period. Furthermore, the absence of discussion of the priestly traditions in Knowles’s study is notable because of her focus on the practices by which centrality was negotiated in the Persian period. The most detailed source of information concerning these very ritual activities is, in fact, contained in these traditions. While the priestly materials may not directly mirror the rituals that were actually performed in ancient Israel – as will be discussed in detail below (§4.2.1 and §5.4.1), there is invariably a gap between the descriptions of rituals in texts and actual ritual practices – these texts provide valuable evidence of how priestly scribes imagined the imagined community of “Israel” undertaking ritual practice during a time of ideal sociocultic unity; namely, during the foundational period at Sinai, when pragmatic considerations could be displaced and centralized hierarchies ideally configured. As a result, the priestly traditions have the potential to shed valuable light on those practices considered most important in the promotion of centralization. Despite this potential, the priestly traditions, as mentioned in chapter 1, have been the subject of remarkably limited scholarly attention in the study of the history of centralization in the Persian period, not just in Knowles’s study but

For a collection of responses to Knowles’s monograph, see the articles in Gary N. Knoppers, ed., “Expatriates, Repatriates, and the Question of Zion’s Status – In Conversation with Melody D. Knowles, Centrality Practiced: Jerusalem in the Religious Practices of Yehud and the Diaspora in the Persian Period,” JHebS 7, no. 7 (2007), doi:10.5508/jhs.2007.v7.a7. 85

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also in many of the studies referenced above.86 Yet, because the priestly traditions are rich in information about cultic practice, it is long overdue for them to be brought into the center of the discussion.

3.2 Centralization and the Priestly Traditions The neglect of the priestly traditions in the study of centralization and the Persian period can be fully understood only if we consider early biblical scholarship on the topic, in particular the scholarly trends that kept the priestly traditions in Deuteronomy’s shadow as far as the centralization of the cult was concerned. This research is germane to our interpretation not only of the P materials that predated Lev 17–26 but also of H, because this legislation has played a particularly important role in shaping how scholars view the priestly traditions vis-à-vis Deuteronomy. The analysis of the research on P, H, and centralization that follows, then, provides important framing for the analysis of these materials to be found later in this study. 3.2.1 Classical Approaches to the Priestly Traditions and Centralization The classical approach to the priestly traditions and centralization arguably originated with de Wette’s 1805 dissertation, in which he observed that the Priestly source lacks a clear command to the Israelites to continue the wilderness cult at a single sanctuary in the land.87 He concluded on this basis that the authors of the Priestly source were ignorant of the cult reforms mandated by the book of Deuteronomy and instigated under king Josiah (2 Kgs 22–23). Reasoning that any source written after such reforms would necessarily have affirmed the need for cultic centralization, de Wette read the priestly silence on this matter as evidence that its narrative stemmed from the earliest stages of the formation of the Torah; it thus constituted the Grundschrift of the Pentateuch. However, de Wette also acknowledged that many of the priestly legal materials seem to reflect ritual practices that were unknown during the First Temple period; hence, he viewed the formation of the priestly traditions as a multifaceted and protracted process.88 With de Wette’s recognition that many of the priestly legal materials stemmed from a late period in ancient Israel’s history, scholars began to ask whether the narrative components of the Priestly source might also be informed 86 An exception is Nihan, “Cult Centralization,” which offers an insightful analysis of how the priestly traditions, as well as Deuteronomy, influenced the conceptualization of centralization in Chronicles. 87 de Wette, “Dissertatio,” 164–65 n. 5. 88 Wilhelm M. L. de Wette, Beiträge zur Einleitung in das Alte Testament II. Kritik der israelitischen Geschichte (Halle: Schimmelpfennig, 1807), 273–385.

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by centralizing cultic assumptions. In perhaps the earliest comprehensive study of cultic centralization in Hebrew Bible scholarship, published in 1859, J. Orth contended that the depiction of Israel’s origins at a single desert sanctuary (the ‫ )אהל מועד‬shows that the priestly legal materials stemmed from a time when the centralization of the cult was already normative.89 He reasoned that they were written with the intention of projecting cultic centralization back into the earliest phases of ancient Israel’s history. However, Orth also concluded that this precedent of centralized worship in the Priestly source was completely unknown to the scribes responsible for the law of Deut 12 (see esp. vv. 8–11), as well as to those who recounted the centralizing reforms of Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18) and Josiah (2 Kgs 22–23). Hence, Orth proposed that the priestly laws of Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers must have postdated both the writing of Deuteronomy and the reigns of Hezekiah and Josiah and inherited their centralizing outlook. Enfin, puisque l’Exode, le Lévitique et les Nombres n’admettent pas la possibilité de plusieurs sanctuaires et nous tracent un tableau minutieux du culte de Jéhovah concentré sous la direction ferme et constante d’une hiérarchie bien organisée, j’en conclus que les lois qui, dans ces livres, touchent à notre sujet, datent d’une époque où l’idée d’un culte centralisé était devenue dominante, peut-être même populaire. Elles ont donc été rédigées au plus tôt dans les dernières années de l’existence du royaume de Juda, ou, ce qui est plus probable, lors du rétablissement du temple de Jérusalem. Finally, since Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers do not concede the possibility of multiple sanctuaries and draw a meticulous picture of the cult of Jehovah, concentrated under the firm and constant direction of a well-ordered hierarchy, I conclude that the laws in these books, which touch on our subject, date from the time when the idea of a centralized cult was already dominant, perhaps even popular. They were therefore written at the earliest in the final years of the existence of the Judean monarchy, or more likely during the reestablishment of the temple in Jerusalem.90

Orth’s approach to the priestly legal materials quickly became the standard interpretation. In his 1866 study, Karl Heinrich Graf developed ideas similar to Orth’s into a detailed comparison of D and the priestly ritual laws, on the basis of which he concluded that the latter were not known to D and hence played no part in its conceptualization of centralization.91 A similar case was made by Abraham Kuenen in the second volume of The Religion of Israel to the Fall of the Jewish State from 1875. Here he argued that the priestly laws reveal that their authors were familiar with the mandate of centralization found

J. Orth, “La centralisation du cult du Jéhovah,” NRTh 4 (1859): 350–60. Orth, “La centralisation,” 360. 91 Karl Heinrich Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher des Alten Testaments. Zwei historischkritische Untersuchungen (Leipzig: T. O. Weigel, 1866). 89 90

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in the book of Deuteronomy and implemented by Josiah, and that they sought to make “Moses ordain and introduce it at Sinai.”92 The notion that the priestly traditions accept and confirm the norm of centralization established by Deuteronomy became dominant only with Wellhausen’s Prolegomena in 1878. For Wellhausen, the linear development from multiple sanctuaries to centralized worship in ancient Israel was the cornerstone of any analysis of the origins of the Pentateuch, and specifically of its four sources (J, E, D, P). For him, P’s emphasis on “unity of worship” at the tent of meeting was clear evidence that this source stood at the end of the evolutionary development of the ancient Israelite cult and was thus the last of the pentateuchal sources.93 However, Wellhausen went well beyond what had previously been said on this matter to offer the most comprehensive defense at the time of the idea that the absence of an explicit statement in P about centralization was evidence not of its early dating but of its tacit acceptance of an already developed concept: by the time the Priestly source was written, centralization was so well established by D that P could apply it to Israel’s founding period without further comment.94 While in D “the unity of the cultus is commanded,” Wellhausen argued, “in the Priestly Code it is presupposed.”95 Beyond this, Wellhausen gave particular weight to the idea, already raised in passing by Orth, that P’s acceptance of centralization could also be detected in its hierarchical ritual prescriptions. Wellhausen argued that D’s mandate of centralization gave birth to a new form of Israelite religion in which the spontaneity and free religious spirit that had characterized earlier periods was gradually snuffed out.96 In its place came a form of ritualized cult that primarily served to affirm the power of the central sanctuary and its priesthood to regulate Israelite religious experience. The detailed ritual prescriptions of the Priestly source, therefore, played out the program of centralization instigated by D and sealed the “degenerat[ion]” of Israelite religion from natural and authentic worship “into mere prescribed religious forms.”97 Wellhausen’s analysis of the Priestly source and centralization had an enormous influence on subsequent pentateuchal scholarship. His “New” Documentary Hypothesis was widely adopted, as was his argument that P assumes and accepts the centralizing mandate of D and was therefore the last of the pentateuchal sources. Even as scholars rejected Wellhausen’s highly negative 92 Abraham Kuenen, The Religion of Israel to the Fall of the Jewish State, trans. Alfred Heath May, 2 vols. (London: Williams and Norgate, 1874–1875), 2:168. 93 Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 38. 94 Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 34–38. 95 Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 35. Cf. Abraham Kuenen, An Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch, trans. Philip H. Wicksteed (London: Macmillan, 1886), 273–74. 96 Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 64–67 et passim. 97 Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 102.

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interpretation of the priestly ritual prescriptions and his identification of four pentateuchal sources, his argument that the priestly traditions “presuppose” D’s mandate of centralization continues to inform the majority of contemporary studies of P. This helps account for the ongoing neglect of the topic of the priestly traditions and centralization in more recent pentateuchal scholarship. Because the priestly traditions are thought to have adopted a concept that was formed and defended elsewhere, scholars focus their attention on studying the so-called original mandate of centralization in the book of Deuteronomy. 3.2.2 Challenges to the Classical Approaches For all its dominance, the classical interpretation spearheaded by Wellhausen has not been universally accepted. Already in the 1930s, Yehezkel Kaufmann thoroughly critiqued the idea that the Priestly source (either in part or in whole) postdated D and accepted its mandate of centralization.98 Kaufmann argued that the lack of an explicit law in the Priestly source banning local worship in the land cannot be explained by positing that P is postexilic and therefore presupposes Deuteronomy. Anticipating some of the later trends just outlined (see §3.1.2 and §3.1.3), Kaufmann pointed to evidence that multiple sanctuaries operated well into the postexilic period – the temple of Yaho on the island of Elephantine in Egypt, the temple on Mount Gerizim (which he assumed to have been constructed in the Hellenistic period), and later the temple at Leontopolis – and understood this evidence to indicate that the centralization mandate was relatively unstable during the later history of ancient Israel.99 If the authors of the Priestly source had indeed been concerned to centralize worship to a single shrine, they would surely have felt the need to explicitly reaffirm this requirement in order to counteract the influence of these rogue shrines. In addition, Kaufmann maintained that there is no positive evidence in the Priestly source that it was written subsequent to and under the influence of the book of Deuteronomy. He contended that there is no literary basis for the view that the priestly scribes built their description of the cult on the foundation of D’s law of centralization. Not only does the Priestly source lack any reference to D’s concept of a chosen ‫ מקום‬in the land, as well as any explicit affirmation of its mandate of centralization, he argued that it evinces no clear evidence of verbal borrowings from any of the legal or narrative materials of Deuteronomy.100 Beyond this, Kaufmann maintained that it is erroneous to suppose that P’s ‫ אהל מועד‬is conceptually equivalent to D’s ‫מקום‬, such that it could be treated as a wilderness surrogate of D’s chosen place.101 Critical differences 98 Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile, trans. Moshe Greenberg (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 175–205. 99 Kaufmann, Religion, 176. 100 Kaufmann, Religion, 175–76. 101 Kaufmann, Religion, 180.

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between their temporal and spatial dynamics, he argued, betray the different logics of the texts that invoke them. The ‫ מקום‬of Deuteronomy’s discourse is a single, fixed, and permanent location in the land, to which the Israelites are to bring their offerings into the foreseeable future. The ‫אהל מועד‬, by contrast, has a fundamentally different orientation. It invokes the past to imagine a sanctuary cult that evades association with any specific locale: the tent of meeting is not fixed but mobile, a portable shrine not exclusively anchored in any chosen location.102 Thus, Kaufmann concluded that the Priestly source was most likely written not only prior to the emergence of the centralizing discourse of Deuteronomy but also before the centralizing reforms of Hezekiah in the eighth century.103 Far from being an archetypal central sanctuary, the tent of meeting attests to the moving worship that characterized the earliest phases of ancient Israel’s history, a time when local shrines operated across the land in service of individual communities (or perhaps even when tent shrines were used during the alleged nomadic period). It is true that there was only one tent of meeting during the wilderness wanderings, but it does not follow from this, Kaufmann argued, that the priestly scribes saw the wilderness cult as setting a precedent for all scenarios in the future; instead, the single tent was a function of the Priestly narrative. During the wilderness period, the Israelites transporting more than one shrine would have been inherently improbable.104 The priestly scribes therefore spoke only of one foundational sanctuary, established at Sinai, while expecting that this would translate into multiple shrines in a future time period. Kaufmann’s decentralized interpretation of the Priestly source had a considerable impact on scholars who found his early date for this source persuasive.105 It was also very occasionally adopted by those who rejected his preexilic ascription of P but agreed that the portability of the wilderness sanctuary suggests that the priestly scribes were open to the possibility of multiple sanctuaries in ancient Israel. The work of Mary Douglas stands out in this regard.106 As she saw it, the mobile tent of meeting was the priestly scribes’ attempt to resist D’s centralizing influence in the Persian period by asserting an alternative concept Kaufmann, Religion, 183–84. Kaufmann, Religion, 200–5. 104 Kaufmann, Religion, 183. 105 See esp. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, AB 3A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1991), 28–34; Jacob Milgrom, “Does H Advocate the Centralization of Worship?” JSOT 88 (2000): 59–76; Benjamin D. Sommer, “Conflicting Constructions of Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle,” BibInt 9 (2001): 41–63; Sommer, The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 80–108; and Pekka Pitkänen, Central Sanctuary and Centralization of Worship in Ancient Israel: From the Settlement to the Building of Solomon’s Temple (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2003), 69–74. 106 Mary Douglas, Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 90– 98. 102 103

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of space, one that does not require the desert sanctuary (a sacred space) to be translated into a central temple (an exclusive place) in ancient Israel. Rather, the priestly scribes intended the space of the tent of meeting to be reproduced in multiple locations in ancient Israel as the need arose, provided that each local sanctuary maintained the proportions and materials of the wilderness shrine as set down in the Torah. Thus, the pentateuchal traditions that postdate D do not necessarily need to be read by scholars as adopting D’s centralizing mandate. To the contrary, Douglas thought it possible for ancient Israelite scribes to hold multiple positions on the legitimacy of local worship well into the Persian period. An alternative reading of the Priestly source and centralization, which built on Kaufmann, was provided by Benjamin D. Sommer in 2001 and 2009. Sommer agreed that the mobility of the wilderness shrine in P reveals a different understanding of divine presence from that which informed D’s concept of a chosen place.107 In addition, he argued that the priestly scribes sought to articulate an alternative concept of sanctuary space to the Zion-sabaoth tradition that emphasized Yhwh’s association with a particular temple in a specific location. Drawing on the work of the historian of religion Jonathan Z. Smith,108 Sommer proposed that the Priestly source presents a “locomotive notion of divine presence” in which the sacred center in which Yhwh’s ‫‘ כבוד‬glory’ is manifested can move with the community.109 This concept of sacred space underscores the possibility that the divine presence need not be limited to a central temple in the post-wilderness future. Instead, it is entirely feasible that the sacred center could manifest itself at multiple places as need arose, a process he described as “the periphery spawn[ing] centers.”110 Perhaps the most influential scholar to build on and develop Kaufmann’s views on P and centralization was Jacob Milgrom. Milgrom agreed with Kaufmann that the Priestly source does not presuppose D’s mandate of centralization. However, Milgrom departed from Kaufmann by arguing that P probably intended the image of Israel’s founding at a single desert shrine to support a “limited doctrine of centralization at a regional sanctuary (possibly Shiloh), thereby admitting to the existence of and legitimacy of other regional sanctuaries.”111 Specifically, the tent of meeting represents a cultic ideal whereby one sanctuary forms the common core of the Israelite cult but without necessarily holding a monopoly on sacrificial worship. In Milgrom’s words, then, “P’s Tabernacle presumes a central but not a single sanctuary.”112 It permits mobile Sommer, “Conflicting Constructions” and Sommer, Bodies. In particular, Jonathan Z. Smith, Map is not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions (Leiden: Brill, 1978). 109 Sommer, “Conflicting Constructions,” 52. 110 Sommer, “Conflicting Constructions,” 55. See further Sommer, Bodies, 84. 111 Milgrom, “Does H Advocate the Centralization of Worship,” 59. 112 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 34. 107 108

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worship at local shrines on a day-to-day basis, but only as long as the Israelites recognize the special claim of a central shrine to their allegiance and reverence by deferring to it as often as possible. This idea was subsequently taken up and expanded in the 2003 study of cultic centralization by Pekka Pitkänen. In his analysis of the Priestly source, he concluded “that in many ways the Priestly material argues for a central sanctuary as an ideal in the strongest possible way, but more or less tacitly allows other options as well.”113 The interpretation of the wilderness sanctuary by Milgrom and Pitkänen overlapped in some respects with that of Bernd Diebner. Despite their radical differences on the issue of dating, Diebner shared with these scholars a similar reading of the tent of meeting as a model for a central but not exclusive sanctuary. In a groundbreaking 1991 article, he argued that the priestly depiction of the tent of meeting as a traveling shrine was a strategy of negotiating between two “central sanctuaries” (Zentral-Heiligtümer) in the postexilic period; namely, the temples in Jerusalem and on Mount Gerizim, whose priestly leaders each sought to find their origins in the Torah’s description of the foundational sanctuary established at Sinai.114 The tent of meeting, a pan-Israelite space that was constructed by members of both the southern and northern tribes, served as a compromise sanctuary of sorts in that it could be associated with both of these temples at the same time. As a result, Diebner argued, the wilderness sanctuary played a key role in negotiating the compromise between the Judeans and Samarians that enabled these two groups to share the same Pentateuch, because they could both associate their respective temples with its foundational shrine.115 Diebner’s interpretation of the tent of meeting received a somewhat muted reception among pentateuchal scholars. The idea that the tent of meeting originated as a compromise sanctuary for both the Jerusalem and Gerizim temple communities has usually been considered unlikely, because it would require that the Priestly narrative was written after the construction of the Gerizim temple. At the time of Diebner’s writing, this was believed to have been in the late fourth century (per Josephus’s date), because the excavation report by Magen had not yet been published. This date was much later than the two dates which are usually assigned to the core Priestly account; namely, the late exilic period or the first decades of the postexilic period. An important exception is the work of Thomas Römer. In a 2004 article on cultic centralization and Deut 12, Römer built on Diebner’s ideas to argue that Pitkänen, Central Sanctuary, 94. Bernd J. Diebner, “Gottes Welt, Moses Zelt und das salomonische Heiligtum,” in Lectio difficilior probabilior? L’exégèse comme expérience de décloisonnement: mélanges offerts à Françoise Smyth-Florentin, ed. Thomas Römer, DBAT 12 (Heidelberg: Wiss.-Theol. Seminar, 1991), 127. 115 Diebner, “Gottes Welt,” 141–44. 113 114

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the priestly traditions do not share the same interest in cultic centralization as Deuteronomy.116 While Deuteronomy insists that a single chosen place is to form the center of the Israelite cult, the image of the tent of meeting as a moving shrine suggests that the priestly scribes “had a more open understanding of this doctrine, possibly accepting a diversity of cultic places.”117 More recently, Römer has come down more strongly in favor of Diebner’s original idea that the tent of meeting was chiefly intended to be a cultic compromise between Gerizim and Jerusalem (or perhaps a sanctuary at Bethel) by avoiding a direct association between the foundation of the cult and a particular sanctuary site.118 Developing a suggestion made by Walter J. Houston, Römer has proposed that the ambivalence about the location of the sanctuary reveals that the Priestly source perhaps originated as a joint venture between the priestly families of these two central shrines, and so may have emerged in the mid-fifth century (although his comments are somewhat ambiguous about a precise date for P).119 With such new readings of the tent of meeting, the study of the priestly traditions and centralization has begun to shift away from an exclusive concern with establishing whether or not P expects one central place to hold a monopoly over sacrificial worship in ancient Israel. The impulse of that source is increasingly seen as compatible with an acknowledgment that more than one central sanctuary was operational in ancient Israel, although the number of alternative cultic places differs according to the various dates assigned to the Priestly source. Yet all these studies share a core assumption with scholars who adhere to more classical views of the Priestly source: the study of centralization and the priestly traditions is concerned, first and foremost, with the question of where the priestly scribes expected the Israelites to practice sacrifice in ancient Israel. Because of this assumption, scholars have largely restricted their discussions of the priestly traditions and centralization to analyzing how the properties of the wilderness sanctuary, especially its portability, might inform our understanding of the number of cult locations that could be accommodated in the priestly vision of Israelite cultic practice. It has rarely been asked whether P’s

116 Thomas Römer, “Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12: Between Deuteronomistic History and Pentateuch,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk, ed. Eckart Otto and Reinhard Achenbach, FRLANT 206 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 168–80. 117 Römer, “Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12,” 178. 118 Thomas Römer, “Le lieu unique choisi par YHWH et la pluralité des temples dans l’idéologie deutéronomiste,” Judaïsm Ancien/Ancient Judaism 5 (2017): 20–21; Römer, “Cult Centralization and the Publication of the Torah Between Jerusalem and Samaria,” in The Bible, Qumran, and the Samaritans, ed. Magnar Kartveit and Gary N. Knoppers, SJ 104, Studia Samaritana 10 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 88. 119 Houston, “Between Salem and Mount Gerizim,” 327–28.

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centralizing logic might move beyond its description of the space of the shrine to its prescriptions for the ritual cult and its priesthood. The work of James W. Watts is a rare exception. In a series of seminal studies, he has explored how the priestly traditions might have promoted centralization through the elevation of priestly power and hierarchy.120 The priestly interest in Aaronide power, in his view, far surpasses any concern to restrict Yahwistic worship to a central sanctuary or sanctuaries. The entire Priestly source is a work of “priestly rhetoric” that aims at justifying an Aaronide “monopoly over rituals at the alter [sic] and inside the sanctuary building.”121 Watts has returned to some of Wellhausen’s views concerning the link between P’s interest in priestly control over Israelite religious practice and the centralizing assumptions that inform this source. However, while Wellhausen interpreted these aspects of the priestly ritual prescriptions as a byproduct of the limitation of worship to a single central sanctuary, Watts has suggested that they reveal a fundamentally different approach to cultic centralization in P: they show that the priestly scribes were “far less committed to Deuteronomy’s doctrine of the geographic centralization of cultic worship in Jerusalem than they were to…the Aaronides’ monopoly over the conduct of all cultic worship, wherever it might take place.”122 As long as a sanctuary cult was headed by the Aaronide priests and conducted in accordance with Mosaic Torah, it would have been legitimate in the eyes of the priestly scribes. Watts has therefore concluded that “P’s concern for centralization involves personnel rather than location.”123 In support of this reading, Watts has argued that the priestly scribes’ decision to describe a mobile sanctuary of the distant past was part of its attempt to focus the text’s rhetoric on affirming the religious and political claims of the Aaronides rather than any specific location of the centralized cult. By eschewing issues of whether Yhwh had specific plans for the location of his shrine in the land, the Priestly source laid the ideological foundation for Aaronide priests to manage at least three different central sanctuaries in the postexilic period: the temples in Jerusalem, Gerizim, and eventually Leontopolis.124 The priestly scribes could focus on the exclusive rites of the Aaronide priesthood, while quietly permitting them to operate multiple central shrines across the dispersed

James W. Watts, Ritual and Rhetoric in Leviticus: From Sacrifice to Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Watts, “The Torah as the Rhetoric of Priesthood,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 319–31; James W. Watts, Leviticus 1–10, HCOT (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 104–7. 121 Watts, Ritual, 73 and Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 107, respectively. 122 Watts, “Torah,” 323. 123 Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 104. 124 Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 104. 120

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communities of Yahwists, and thus further entrench their economic and political influence. The innovation of Watts’s analysis lies in its dynamic conceptualization of center that moves beyond a narrow preoccupation with place to explore how priestly personnel could serve as the central core of the ancient Israelite cult. He takes a broader approach to centralization by emphasizing the interconnection between promoting priestly authority over ritual practice and channeling resources toward centralized authorities. However, Watts’s argument that P’s interest in centralized priestly competence comes at the expense of an interest in centralized sanctuary space arguably swings too far. While he has suggested that the Aaronides’ “monopoly over the conduct of all cultic worship” stands regardless of “[where] it might take place,” this view struggles to account for certain aspects of how priestly competence is construed in the Priestly source.125 Specifically, Watts does not explain why the priestly scribes repeatedly emphasize the interdependence of the Aaronide priests and Yhwh’s sanctuary, for example by including the fabrication of the priestly vestments during the construction of the sanctuary (Exod 28), or by consecrating Aaron and his sons with the same oil and at the same time as the tent of meeting is consecrated (Lev 8:10–11; see also Exod 40:9–11). Even though P leaves open the question of the location of the cult in the land, this openness does not suggest that the priestly scribes conceive the centrality of the Aaronide priesthood independently from a broader interest in a centralized sanctuary, in which the space where the Israelites worship remains of crucial importance. Rather than pitting one cultic center, be it the sanctuary or the priesthood, against the other, an alternative approach explores how the priestly traditions might advance a discourse of centralization by visualizing a network of spaces, rituals, and personnel that together centralize the Israelite community in its service to their patron deity, Yhwh. This is the approach spearheaded by Menahem Haran in 1978 and later developed by his student Baruch J. Schwartz in relation to H specifically.126 In Temples and Temple Cult in Ancient Israel, Haran argued that readings of the priestly traditions by Graf, Kuenen, and Wellhausen were unduly colored by their concern with the role of D in the development from multiple sanctuaries to a centralized cult in ancient Israel. He suggested that the priestly centralizing agenda has its own logic and does not need to be read necessarily in tandem with that of D. This priestly logic emerges through what he termed the four “dimensions” of the cultic activity in P’s account of origins: “place (or institution), time (or occasion), act (or

Watts, “Torah,” 323. See esp. Baruch J. Schwartz, The Holiness Legislation: Studies in the Priestly Code (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999) (Hebrew). On Schwartz’s approach and its influence on the present analysis of H and cultic centralization, see the introduction to chapter 5 at pp. 191–92. 125 126

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ceremony) performed, person (or personnel) performing it.”127 Haran therefore argued that, when seeking to understand P’s centralizing vision of the cult, scholars should focus their attention on P’s “conception of the temple” and its cult – the grades of sanctity of the tent of meeting, the ritual hierarchies that distinguish priests and nonpriests, the complex rites that must be performed inside the sanctuary, and so on – rather than seeking to reconstruct the hypothetical influence of D on this document.128 The value of Haran’s approach is that it understood centralization primarily through the cultic details that are core to the Priestly account of Israel’s origins at the wilderness shrine; it focused on what the Priestly source actually says about Yahwistic worship, as opposed to what it allegedly presupposes on account of D. It therefore sought to open the discussion of P and centralization to a much wider range of texts than have traditionally been considered relevant to this topic and to break the scholarly fascination with comparing P with D when seeking to recover the former’s centralizing logic. In addition, it moved beyond a restricted focus on certain aspects of the priestly description of the space of the tent shrine or of the hierarchies of the priesthood to offer a more holistic account of the diverse ways in which the priestly traditions might conceive the centralized cult. However, Haran’s study did little to explain how the priestly traditions might have been intended to influence the way in which the ancient Israelites perceived their ritual responsibilities toward the sanctuary cult in ancient Israel. Its effect on subsequent research was somewhat muted as a result. Haran argued that the Priestly source originated in the ninth or eighth century BCE as a “quasi-sectarian” document, which was kept “hidden” from public view by the small priestly school that produced it.129 It was not until the alleged arrival of Ezra in the Persian period, at least three hundred years after the original composition of P, that Haran imagined this document was finally brought into the “public domain.”130 As a result, the priestly centralizing vision was reduced by Haran to a “utopian image” written by scribes with little interest in influencing the way the cult was actually organized.131 To be sure, Haran asserted that the historical impact of the priestly vision of cultic centralization could be seen in the cult reforms that took place under Hezekiah.132 Hezekiah’s attempt to institute a centralized cult at Jerusalem, Haran contended, “was based on the priestly ideology” espoused by the same Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 1. 128 Haran, Temples, 2. 129 Haran, Temples, 12. 130 Haran, Temples, 144. 131 Haran, Temples, 146. 132 Haran, Temples, 132–48. 127

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“school” that composed the Priestly document.133 However, Haran failed to explain how Hezekiah came to be influenced by the writings of this school, especially if the Priestly document was locked away by the Jerusalem priests. Nor did he discuss which specific aspects of the priestly materials were used to justify the reforms, which he claimed were carried out during Hezekiah’s reign. Hence, while his study provided an important foundation for the literary analysis of the priestly discourse of centralization, it would need to be complemented with an approach that engages deeply with the role this discourse played in negotiating the distribution of power and resources in the history of ancient Israel, and arguably in later periods than those Haran suggests.

3.3 H and Centralization in the History of Research We turn now to the question of the role that the Holiness legislation specifically has played in these scholarly debates about the priestly traditions and cultic centralization. Considerable attention has undoubtedly been paid to H, yet the scholarly discussion has usually been narrowly conceived, focused almost exclusively on the opening verses in Lev 17:3–9 concerned with outlawing slaughter and sacrifice away from the tent of meeting. Other legislative issues have sometimes been examined from the perspective of cultic centralization, for instance the festal calendar of Lev 23. Such issues have nonetheless remained somewhat marginal and underdeveloped. In addition, most scholarly attention has been devoted to identifying evidence that H builds upon and develops D when arguing for a centralized cult. The idea that H might contain its own distinctive logic of centralization has so far been little explored. 3.3.1 The Laws of Slaughter and Sacrifice in Lev 17 H begins in Lev 17:1–9 with the command that the Israelites must restrict their slaughter and sacrifice to the tent of meeting. Scholars have long located in the wording of Lev 17 evidence that H drew on the phraseology of Deut 12 when crafting its own legal rulings concerning butchery, sacrifice, and the nonconsumption of blood; there are especially close parallels in the wording of the rationale for the blood prohibition in Lev 17:11 and Deut 12:23: ‫כי נפשׁ הבשׂר‬ ‫( בדם הוא‬Lev 17:11) and ‫( כי הדם הוא הנפשׁ‬Deut 12:23) and see further §5.3.1.134 This has been taken as evidence that not only H but also P knew and Haran, Temples, 146. See, e.g., Julius Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 4th ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963), 120; Kuenen, HistoricoCritical Inquiry, 27 n. 14; Karl Elliger, Leviticus, HAT 4 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1966), 226; Alfred Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Deuteronomium: Eine vergleichende Studie, AnBib 66 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1976), 160–65; Walter Kornfeld, Levitikus, 133 134

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supported D’s program of centralization.135 Given that classical scholarship understood the scribes responsible for the Priestly source to have edited Lev 17 and integrated it into the Sinaitic revelation, scholars could reasonably assume that P was informed by a centralizing impulse similar to that of H. Even since the traditional chronology of P and H was reversed (on this, see §2.1 and §2.2.2), the majority of researchers have argued that Lev 17 makes explicit what is already implied throughout P: there is only one altar for the entire community, thus only one legitimate location of legitimate sacrifice.136 In addition, this centralized view of the cult is thought to build upon the earlier D materials. One issue that has never been satisfactorily resolved by scholars who think that Lev 17 is a response to Deut 12 is why H would have supported D’s program of centralization yet rejected the concession in Deut 12 – the permission of local butchery – on which this centralization seems to depend. As will be discussed further in chapter 5, the law of Deut 12:20–28 suggests that local butchery was a necessary allowance for those Israelites who lived at a distance from the central place once local sacrifice had been abolished. H offers no such concession. Leviticus 17:3–9 insist that animals intended for butchery, as well as for sacrifice, must be brought to the central sanctuary. This law seems utterly impracticable outside the imaginary wilderness scenario, because it would seemingly require the Israelites to travel to a centralized site every time they wish to slaughter their animals. One response to the impracticability of Lev 17 has been to posit that it presupposes multiple sanctuaries in ancient Israel. For instance, Kaufmann argued that, because Lev 17:3–9 are most logically read as admitting no exceptions, regardless of where the Israelites might find themselves living in the postNEchtB 6 (Würzburg: Echter, 1983), 66–67; Erhard Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch, BZAW 189 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 337–38; Blum, “Issues and Problems in the Contemporary Debate Regarding the Priestly Writings,” in The Strata of the Priestly Writings: Contemporary Debate and Future Directions, ed. Sarah Shectman and Joel S. Baden, ATANT 95 (Zürich: TVZ, 2009), 32–33; Eckart Otto, Theologische Ethik des Alten Testaments, ThW (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 240–41; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26,” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and HansWinfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Bodenheim: Philo, 1999), 142–44; Andreas Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Priesterschrift. Literaturgeschichtliche und rechtssystematische Untersuchungen zu Leviticus 17,1–26,2, FAT 1/26 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 141; Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT 2/25 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 411–12; and Thomas Hieke, Levitikus, 2 vols., HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2014), 2:621–22. 135 Leviticus 17 has only occasionally been read as supporting a centralized cult but without necessarily depending on D; see, e.g., Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1995), 112–13; Schwartz, Holiness Legislation, 97–101. 136 They are usually thought to differ, however, on the question of local butchery; see §5.3.2.

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wilderness future (see v. 7), these verses can only be practicable if H “presupposes the existence of many legitimate local sanctuaries, each of which is represented here by the tent.”137 The Israelites were therefore only required to travel to their local shrine when wishing to butcher their animals – something that would have been more or less feasible to implement. Leviticus 17 therefore became an important prooftext for Kaufmann’s theory that the wilderness sanctuary in the priestly traditions was not a surrogate for a centralized temple but an allegory for decentralized, local sanctuaries. While Kaufmann’s interpretation did not garner widespread support, it was taken up and affirmed by Milgrom in an important article published in 2000. Milgrom upheld Kaufmann’s thesis that, in order for Lev 17 to be “mandatory for all time,” H must have allowed the Israelites to travel to a local priest and altar when slaughtering their livestock.138 Any other scenario would have been so impracticable as to have been impossible to enforce. Milgrom thus heralded Lev 17 as clear evidence that H was a preexilic composition that presupposed local sanctuaries. Douglas had offered a similar reading of Lev 17 in 1999, when she emphasized the need for a decentralized interpretation of the tent of meeting if H’s opening laws were to retain any practicability. “If there is to be no slaughter except it be sacralized,” Douglas reasoned, “easy access to the tent of meeting is necessary for the herdsman. The Levitical law for exclusively sacral killing of livestock would be practical if there were a lot of recognized shrines, preferably one in every local district.”139 However, unlike Kaufmann and Milgrom, Douglas had argued that Lev 17 did not predate D but was a Persian period attempt to reject both of Deut 12’s innovations: the centralization of sacrifice and the related concession of local butchery. In her view, Lev 17 reveals the efforts of Second Temple priests to return to the traditional practice of deferring to local sanctuaries in all matters pertaining to the slaughter and sacrifice of livestock, the motivation for which is to be found in the overall theology of Leviticus and its concept of portable sacred space.140 The debates that have surrounded Lev 17:3–9 therefore tap into multiple issues in the study of H, P, and cultic centralization: the degree to which these traditions depend on and depart from D, the interpretation of the tent of meeting as an archetypal central shrine or regional sanctuary, and the weight that should be given to practicability in evaluating conflicting interpretations of ritual law. Yet, despite the undeniable importance of Lev 17:3–9, the focus on this passage has commanded the majority of scholarly attention in the analysis of H and cultic centralization. This dominance may be attributed to the widespread Kaufmann, Religion, 181. Milgrom, “Does H Advocate the Centralization of Worship,” 64. 139 Douglas, Leviticus, 93. 140 Douglas, Leviticus, 90–98. 137 138

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assumption that, because Lev 17 frames the entire legislation that follows, it reveals the logic of Lev 17–26 as a whole vis-à-vis the permissibility or illegitimacy of decentralized worship. The intense scholarly interest in Lev 17 has deflected attention away from exploring the possibility that other texts within Lev 17–26 might be just as relevant to the study of H and centralization, although there are some noteworthy exceptions to this trend. 3.3.2 The Festal Calendar of Lev 23 One text other than Lev 17 that has attracted some discussion is the festal calendar in Lev 23. The calendars of the Hebrew Bible played an important role in shaping Wellhausen’s conclusions in his Prolegomena concerning the socioreligious history of ancient Israel. Comparing the different festal regulations in the Pentateuch and the book of Ezekiel, Wellhausen proposed an evolutionary model in which each of the calendars of the Hebrew Bible reflected a different phase in ancient Israel’s religion. The earliest calendars were determined by seasonal rhythms and agricultural processes, and they permitted the Israelites to celebrate the three great feasts of the year in their local context. But the centralization of the cult saw the festivals become increasingly standardized, such that they were held at only one place and on set dates. For Wellhausen, the watershed of this process was the festal calendar of Deut 16:1–17, which introduced for the first time the requirement that the Israelites must make a pilgrimage to a single location to celebrate the feasts; D thereby began to articulate a more controlled way of organizing the festivals. The priestly calendars of Lev 23 and Num 28–29 were the last step in the development to a centralized festal program, whereby the festive occasions were stripped of all spontaneity and reduced to occasions on which the community had to pay set dues to the priests at the central sanctuary.141 Despite the limitations of Wellhausen’s linear model for the development of the biblical calendars from spontaneous worship to rigid rites, his analysis of the potential links between the calendar of Lev 23 and cultic centralization still contains an important insight. He noticed not only that Lev 23’s concern with fixed time differentiated this calendar from the non-priestly festal lists, especially those in Exod 23:14–17 and 34:18–23, but also that this might be linked to the priestly conviction that there was only one centralized cult for the entire community. “Centralisation,” he remarked, “is synonymous with generalisation and fixity, and these are the external features by which the festivals of the Priestly Code are distinguished from those which preceded them.”142 However, Wellhausen attributed this fixity to H inheriting the concept of centralization established with the book of Deuteronomy. Once the cult had been limited to a single place by D, the authors of H sought to standardize the calendrical 141 142

Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 101–5. Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 103.

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festivals to better accommodate the availability of only one site of worship for the whole community. The fixed calendrical program was thus a byproduct of cultic centralization and the standardization of Yahwistic worship it entailed. There was no sense in Wellhausen’s work, or subsequent studies, that a fixed calendrical program could itself have been a means by which a centralized cult and community was established. The idea that Lev 23 “rests upon” D’s program of centralization in its festal prescriptions has persisted in pentateuchal scholarship, even as commentators have rejected Wellhausen’s developmental model for the calendars of the Pentateuch and the sources to which they were assigned.143 Scholars such as Karl Elliger, Alfred Cholewiński, Eckart Otto, Klaus Grünwaldt, Baruch Levine, and Nihan have devoted much of their analyses of Lev 23 to the task of finding evidence that H knew and drew upon the earlier festal calendar in Deut 16:1– 17 when shaping its instructions for Israel’s annual rites.144 While H’s calendrical program departs from Deut 16:1–17 in some ways, especially in its depiction of the celebration of firstfruits (Lev 23:9–22), it never challenges D’s idea that the Israelites are to bring their sacrifices and donations to a single central location. This has been seen to confirm H’s willingness to adopt and adapt D’s program for centralized worship.

143 Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 104. Scholars have become increasingly aware that the festal calendars were composed in multiple and potentially overlapping stages, which means that they cannot be so easily used to reconstruct specific periods in the development of ancient Israelite religion. Indeed, the fact that most scholars now consider the earliest calendar in Wellhausen’s model, Exod 34:18–23, to be one the latest of the festal lists highlights the limitations of his evolutionary model; see further, e.g., Shimon Bar-On (Gesundheit), “The Festival Calendars in Exodus xxiii 14–19 and xxxiv 18–26,” VT 48, no. 2 (1998): 161–95; Gesundheit, Three Times a Year: Studies on Festival Legislation in the Pentateuch, FAT 1/82 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 12–43 and the literature cited there. 144 Cf. Elliger, Leviticus, 304–12; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 82–94; Otto, Theologische Ethik, 240; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 153–61; Klaus Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26. Ursprüngliche Gestalt, Tradition und Theologie, BZAW 271 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 76–89; Baruch A. Levine, Numbers 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 4B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2000), 407–22; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 500–2; and Christophe Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars in Leviticus 23, Numbers 28–29 and the Formation of ‘Priestly’ Literature,” in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, ed. Thomas Römer, BETL 215 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 186–95. They find such evidence in H’s command that Passover and the festival of unleavened bread be held in quick succession (Lev 23:5–8), a directive that has a precedent in Deut 16:1–8; the command that the Israelites should count seven weeks as part of the celebration of the harvest (23:15–21), which is also found in Deut 16:9–10; and the wording of certain phrases in Lev 23, most notably the command in 23:10 that the Israelites offer the firstfruits of the barley harvest ‫‘ כי־תבאו אל־הארץ אשׁר אני נתן לכם‬when you will come to the land that I am giving to you’. The last has a clear parallel in D’s instructions for the offering of the firstfruits in Deut 26:1.

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However, a minority of scholars has argued that it is difficult to reconcile the idea that Lev 23 is informed by the assumptions about centralization that pervade D with the silence in H about the location at which these annual festivals should be celebrated. Leviticus 23 lacks any equivalent statement to D’s command that the Israelites deposit their festal offerings ‫במקום אשׁר־יבחר יהוה‬ ‘at the place that Yhwh will choose’ (Deut 16:2, 6, 7, 11, 15, 16). Even the ‫ אהל מועד‬goes entirely unmentioned in Lev 23. Most researchers suggest that, this ambiguity notwithstanding, Lev 23 most likely presupposes a centralized sanctuary in the land.145 They seem to be guided by the classical assumption that there was probably no need for H to explicitly command the Israelites to celebrate the festivals at a single shrine in the land because centralization was already so well established by Deuteronomy that it could simply be taken for granted. However, there is a body of scholarship that suggests the alternative; namely, that the lack of any explicit statement in Lev 23 affirming a central shrine suggests that H presupposes a decentralized cult. This alternative calls for a reassessment of whether Lev 17–26 as a whole might not support a local approach to sacrificial worship. More than a century ago, Samuel Kellogg commented in passing that Lev 23 seems to assume “local gatherings for purposes of worship” during the Israelites’ annual festivals.146 A century later, Erhard Gerstenberger hinted in his Leviticus commentary that the repetitive reference to ‫‘ משׁבתיכם‬your settlements’ in Lev 23 (vv. 3, 14, 17, 21, 31) might be read as suggesting that H considered the festivals to be primarily local rites.147 Häkan Ulfgard went further in his 1998 analysis of the festival of booths, arguing that there is no positive evidence of a centralized view of Yahwistic worship in the festal regulations of Lev 23, and that this distinguishes H’s calendar from the festal materials of Numbers and Deuteronomy.148 However, Ulfgard did not go so far as to claim that Lev 23 actively permits the Israelites to worship in local sanctuaries. This was Milgrom’s claim in his 1997 article on the instructions in Lev 23:9–22 for offering the firstfruits of grain, as well as later in his Leviticus commentary.149 Milgrom contended that the firstfruits rites in H reflect three 145 See, e.g., Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 209; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 320–21; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 501. 146 Samuel H. Kellogg, The Book of Leviticus (New York, NY: A. C. Armstrong, 1891), 453. 147 Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. D. W. Stott, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 353–54. 148 Häkan Ulfgard, The Story of ‘Sukkot’: The Setting, Shaping, and Sequel of the Biblical Feast of Tabernacles, BGBE 34 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 81. 149 Jacob Milgrom, “The Firstfruits Festivals of Grain and the Composition of Leviticus 23:9–21,” in Tehillah le-Moshe: Biblical and Judaic Studies in Honor of Moshe Greenberg, ed. Mordechai Cogan, Barry L. Eichler, Jeffrey H. Tigay (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns,

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distinct stages of composition. The first two (H1 and H2) preserve the traces of a purely local celebration of the firstfruits of the wheat harvest at multiple sanctuaries.150 A final conciliatory strand (H3) in vv. 12–13 and 18–21* relinquishes the requirement that Israelite farmers should be required to travel to their sanctuary, no matter how local, because of the practical difficulties this raises for farmers trying to harvest their barley. Instead, H3 permits the farmers to stay on the land by commanding that communal offerings can be made on their behalf at “Jerusalem, the main regional sanctuary.”151 Milgrom’s reading of Lev 23 was expanded by Karl William Weyde, whose 2003 monograph argued that further evidence for H presupposing “the existence of multiple sanctuaries throughout the land” could be found in the expression ‫‘ חקת עולם לדרתיכם בכל משׁבתיכם‬an eternal statute throughout your generations in all your settlements’ in v. 14 and the similar statement in v. 21.152 According to Weyde’s reading of vv. 9–22, these two commands retrospectively govern the entire list of festal rites in vv. 10–14 and vv. 15–21. Because these rites include not only nonsacrificial activities such as abstaining from work but also sacrifices offered up by ‫‘ הכהן‬the priest’ (see vv. 11–13, 18–20), sanctuaries must have been located within the local settlements, where the Israelites were required to congregate during the offering of the first sheaf of barley and of the new wheat. Hence, according to H in Lev 23:9–22, “wherever people live in the land YHWH gave to them…they shall come together at the local sanctuary to hold a holy convocation.”153 Mark Brett reached a similar conclusion, in 2012. However, he based his argument that H permitted festal rites at local sanctuaries not on the occurrence of the expression ‫ בכל־מושׁבתיכם‬in Lev 23 but on the regulations in Exod 12:1– 20 for the celebration of Passover and unleavened bread. Brett built on the work of Israel Knohl to argue that the instruction in Exod 12:20, “you shall not eat any leaven in all your settlements (‫)בכל־מושׁבתיכם‬,” reveals at least this 1997), 81–89; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, AB 3C (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2001), 1947–2053. 150 In H Israelite farmers are instructed to bring their offerings to their local sanctuary 1 whenever the grain ripens, “a day that differs from one region to another and as much as a month over the entire country” (Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 84). With this regional variation, the keeping of firstfruits is a local affair, held at the sanctuary closest to the individual farmer. This base instruction is then supplemented by an interpolator (H2), who seeks to introduce a further degree of regulation to the celebration of the firstfruits of the harvest. Instructions in vv. 11*, 15*, and 16* turn the barley offering into a “mini-ḥag…at the local sanctuary” (86), a rite that is always to be held on the day after the sabbath following the beginning of the barley harvest. 151 Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 89. 152 Karl William Weyde, The Appointed Festivals of YHWH: The Festival Calendar in Leviticus 23 and the Sukkot Festival in Other Biblical Texts, FAT 2/4 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 73. 153 Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 73.

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verse to be the work of the same scribal school responsible for the festal instructions of Lev 23; namely, HS. Because the expression in v. 20 comes at the conclusion of the priestly prescriptions for Passover and unleavened bread, Brett concluded that HS expected that all the rites involved in this festival, including the sacrifice of animals, were to take place in the settlements. This would have been possible only if “multiple cultic sites” were available to the Israelites in these local settings.154 He thus concluded, like Weyde, that H has no penchant for cultic centralization but is willing to make room for local diversity in the practice of sacrifice, as well as for the legitimacy of Yahwistic shrines in regional contexts. Weyde and Brett’s reading of the ‫ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬formula has thrown valuable light on a distinctive feature of Lev 23 that has so far received too little attention in the study of H’s calendar: H’s concern to coordinate those rites that take place within domestic contexts with those that involve the making of sacrifices. However, as will be explored in detail later in this study (§6.2), an alternative reading to their decentralized interpretation is possible; namely, that H here exemplifies the kind of careful negotiation that was required in the Persian period between the sacrificial center and those Israelites who lived at a distance from the centralized cult. The distinctive nature of this concern – no comparable interest in regulating the activities of the settlements can be detected in Deut 16:1–17 – again suggests that the trend to read Lev 23 through the lens of D might occlude a more nuanced understanding of H’s distinctive calendrical logic and centralized temporal system. 3.3.3 Other Legislative Themes Beyond Lev 17 and Lev 23, other passages within Lev 17–26 have occasionally received attention in the scholarly discussion of H and cultic centralization. In the 2000 article mentioned above, Milgrom argued that Lev 26:31 might provide further evidence that H does not support a centralized cult. In this text, Yhwh warns the Israelites that he will punish their disobedience by laying waste to their cities and desolating ‫‘ מקדשׁיכם‬your sanctuaries’ (note the correction to the singular ‫ מקדשכם‬in 26:31 SP). The plural in Lev 26:31a, Milgrom argued, demonstrates that H considered a decentralized cult at multiple sanctuaries to be the norm, as signaled by the second half of the threat in 26:31b, ‫‘ ולא אריח בריח ניחחכם‬I will not smell your soothing odors’. Milgrom took this as proof that the sacrifices made at these sites would otherwise have been accepted by the deity as legitimate.155 His reading, however, has been Mark G. Brett, “The Politics of Marriage in Genesis,” in Making a Difference: Essays on the Bible and Judaism in Honor of Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, ed. David J. A. Clines, Cheryl Exum, and Keith W. Whitelam, Hebrew Bible Monographs 49 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2012), 59. 155 Milgrom, “Does H Advocate the Centralization of Worship,” 59–60. 154

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generally rejected on the grounds that it ignores the highly polemical context of Lev 26:30–31. As argued by Gerstenberger, the parallel reference to the destruction of ‫‘ במתיכם‬your high places’ in v. 30 strongly suggests that H employs the plural ‫ מקדשׁיכם‬in v. 31 in an attempt to denounce local sanctuaries as illegitimate rather than affirm them as normative.156 Their presence in the land therefore seems to be a sign of the Israelites’ disobedience, which has contributed to the punishments outlined in vv. 14–39, rather than an indication of the cultic arrangement that was considered normative by H. A handful of other scholars have explored whether H’s interest in the land and everyday holiness might reveal its particular concern to articulate the relationship between the sanctuary center and everyday life, what we might call center-periphery relations. Yet, so far there has been little agreement about what conclusions we might reach on this subject. One of the distinguishing features of Lev 17–26 when compared to Lev 1–16 is the prominence H gives to activities that transpire outside the sanctuary, especially in pastoral contexts. Leviticus 17–26 include many more laws than are found in Lev 1–16 pertaining to agricultural practices such as harvesting, animal husbandry, the planting of fruit trees, and the reaping of produce (see Lev 19:9–10, 19, 23–25; 23:10–11, 22, 39; 25; 26:4–6). Furthermore, Lev 17–26 devote considerable legislative attention to the sanctification of the Israelites through their observance of the law in all manner of everyday settings, an idea that has no counterpart in P and constitutes a major innovation on H’s part. Certain scholars have suggested that H’s focus on everyday life reveals that its scribes were more focused on the rural periphery than on a central sanctuary. For instance, in his 1996 study, Jan Joosten argued that it is improbable that “the central authority” in Jerusalem would have shown such an interest in local matters such as agriculture, land tenure, and sabbath rest, as is evident in the legislative agenda of Lev 17–26.157 Rather, the interest in Lev 17–26 in the common people and their life on the land reveals H’s “provincial outlook” in that it shows the primary context of the H scribes to be the rural margins as opposed to the cultic center of Jerusalem. Joosten even insisted that H “could not have arisen in the capital” because its interest in agriculture and land holdings cannot reflect the preoccupations of the central authority of Jerusalem.158 While H does not discharge the Israelites from their obligation to defer to the central shrine when wishing to offer an animal sacrifice, Joosten saw little evidence in Lev 17–26 of the pervasive influence of such a center on H’s legislative logic. Rather, the purpose of the legislation was to energize life in peripheral locations. He has therefore concluded that H might have been the Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 421. Jan Joosten, People and Land in the Holiness Code: An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26, VTSup 67 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 203. 158 Joosten, People, 164. 156 157

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scribal product of priests who, while connected to the Jerusalem temple, did not live in the capital permanently but traveled to serve in Jerusalem only a few times per year. Knohl, by contrast, argued that H reveals the central authorities at Jerusalem adopting a provincial outlook in order to sustain or strengthen their claims to centrality.159 While H’s interest in the land might reflect its concern to integrate everyday matters affecting provincial Judeans into the Priestly Torah, it does not follow that H was written by priests living in the countryside. To the contrary, Knohl argued that the adoption of what he calls a “priestly-popular orientation” served as the key mechanism by which the priests working in Jerusalem during the reign of Hezekiah were able to facilitate the centralization of the cult.160 H transforms the image of the Jerusalem priesthood from the cloistered institution depicted by P to one that “combines the many streams of faith and cult present in the Israelite nation.”161 It thereby demonstrates the priesthood’s relevance for all aspects of life and not just ritual contexts. Once “the bond between the people and the Temple” had been suitably strengthened, Knohl argued, H ensured that the provincial population would agree to slaughter their animals only at the central altar of Jerusalem.162 Hence, the call to be holy in all aspects of life, whether when working in the fields or making a temple sacrifice, effectively funneled attention toward the cultic center of Jerusalem by broadening the application of priestly law. The fact that Knohl and Joosten could reach such opposing conclusions on the question of center-periphery relations in H, even as they agree on traditionally divisive issues such as the date of the materials, is striking. It highlights the problems that arise when there is a lack of clarity about and theoretical analysis of the core concepts of center and periphery. If we wish to fully appreciate how the diverse legislative themes of Lev 17–26 relate to issues of centralization, we need a form of interpretive control, one that allows us to move beyond assumptions about terminology that remain largely unexpressed. As will be explored in detail in chapter 7, social theories have the capacity to reframe analysis of the texts of Lev 17–26 that concern extrasanctuary spaces and activities and thereby illuminate the ways in which the regulation of everyday life by H produced the necessary conditions for the centralized cult to be sustained. These theories affirm Knohl’s insight that the regulation of everyday life is an integral part of H’s discourse of centralization; namely, that it provides a rationale beyond the fear of sanctions for requiring the collective conformity that is key to sustaining the centralized cult, and for positioning the sanctuary as the social, cultic, and economic center of the entire community. Knohl, Sanctuary, 204–24. Knohl, Sanctuary, 44. 161 Knohl, Sanctuary, 198. 162 Knohl, Sanctuary, 195. 159 160

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111

However, this study contends that such discursive interests in Lev 17–26 should be related not to Hezekiah’s alleged reforms, per Knohl’s reading, but to the particular challenges that faced the Jerusalem temple as it sought to establish its authority and centrality in the Persian period.

3.4 Conclusion Current scholarship confirms that it is no longer possible to accept the classical view that processes of centralization of the Israelite cult were linear, and that the Persian period marks a centralized epoch by which time Jerusalem had established a sacrificial monopoly. Rather, the centralization of the cult remained dynamic: the sanctuaries of Gerizim and Jerusalem operated as two central places of worship, and diverse cultic practices continued to be evident. Scholarly acceptance of the need for a more nuanced understanding of centralization in the Persian period has brought with it a recognition that the biblical traditions of this period must themselves be revisited. Yet scholars have thus far largely overlooked the place of the priestly traditions, including H, in the study of centralization in Persian times. The persistence of the classic presumption that the priestly traditions presume D’s concept of centralization has ensured this ongoing neglect. However, these traditions, as this study will show, provide some of the most valuable data for reconstructing the processes of negotiating cultic centralization in the Persian period. They arguably offer the most detailed description of the ritual practices considered important to priestly elites writing at that time. In addition, the dual interest of Lev 17–26 in regulating ritual practices at the sanctuary and everyday customs in extrasanctuary spaces shines valuable light on the negotiation of center-periphery relations and broader processes whereby centralization might have been affirmed. The chapters that follow engage with and extend the scholarship just outlined by offering a reassessment of the means by which H, and the P materials it supplements, promote centralization. I begin by exploring the limitations of the classical view that P assumes and confirms D’s centralization command, as well as the alternative view that it supports decentralized cultic practice. I argue that P develops a distinctive approach to centralization that is not dependent on D but rests on its detailed ritual legislation, a three-part discourse of unifying sanctuary space, standardized ritual practice, and centralized priestly authority. This analysis, provided in the next chapter, sets the context for the following reading of H’s approach to centralization, a reading that explores the literary and historical influences on its discourse, as well as the innovations that it contains with regard to the legislative theme of centralization.

Chapter 4

Centralizing Discourse in P: Sanctuary, Ritual, and Priesthood As the preceding chapter established, scholarly discussions of P and centralization have been heavily influenced by the idea that the priestly traditions “assume” and “confirm” the mandate of centralization advanced by D.1 The priestly description of the foundation of Israel’s cult has long been thought to speak of only one sanctuary – the ‫‘ אהל מועד‬tent of meeting’ – because it was influenced by D’s command that there be only one ‫‘ מקום‬place’ of worship in the land. Although the location of the ‫ אהל מועד‬in the land is never specified in P, this shrine is taken to have a kind of conceptual equivalence to D’s chosen place in that both spaces comprise an exclusive site of deference and attention of the entire community in their worship of Yhwh.2 Moreover, it has been frequently argued that the absence of a P altar law mandating where the Israelites should sacrifice (cf. Exod 20:24–26; Deut 12) can be explained only if the law pertaining to this issue is to be found elsewhere; that is, if P assumes that the centralized altar law of Deut 12 prevails, and that it is unnecessary to repeat its prescriptions. The nature of these arguments, relying as they do on legislative lacunae or thematic overlaps, makes them difficult to prove. This study sides with those scholars who have questioned whether, individually or in sum, they constitute positive evidence that P’s logic of centralization was borrowed from D (see §3.2.2). First, while it cannot be denied that both P and D imagine single sites of worship, there are few indicators to suggest that the ‫ אהל מועד‬was modeled on D’s chosen ‫מקום‬. As pointed out by Yehezkel Kaufmann, important differences between these two spaces militate against the idea that the wilderness sanctuary is a proxy for D’s central place.3 P shows no concern to align the 1 Abraham Kuenen, An Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch, trans. Philip H. Wicksteed (London: Macmillan, 1886), 27 n. 14. See further Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel, trans. John Sutherland and Allan Menzies (New York, NY: Meridian, 1957), 27–28. 2 Note that certain late Hebrew Bible texts report how the ‫ אהל מועד‬came to rest in Gibeon (e.g., 2 Chr 1:3, 13), and/or the Solomonic temple in Jerusalem (e.g., 1 Kgs 8:4; 2 Chr 5:5). On the link between the wilderness sanctuary and the First Temple, see §4.1.3 and §4.4.1.3. 3 Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile, trans. Moshe Greenberg (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 180–84.

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‫ אהל מועד‬with a specific place in the land but depicts this shrine as a mobile space of the imaginary past, during the sojourn at Sinai. In addition, P never employs D’s key term ‫ מקום‬when referring to the wilderness sanctuary, nor does it use it to describe a Yahwistic cult to be established in the post-wilderness future. Second, the absence of a P altar law is weak evidence for the claim that the priestly scribes accepted D’s mandate of centralization. We cannot simply assume that P’s perceived indifference to mandating a site of sacrifice is evidence that P was written in a milieu in which D’s prescriptions were so influential that they could be taken for granted. To actively prove that the absence of a P altar law is attributable to the presence of the centralization command in Deut 12, that text would at least need to be referenced at some point in the P ritual prescriptions, or P would need to show a generalized dependence on D in its description of the cult. Given the dearth of such indications, there is little compelling evidence that P’s acceptance of D’s centralization mandate can be justifiably assumed. Hence, despite the scholarly tradition in pentateuchal research of viewing P’s centralizing logic through the lens of D, this lens cannot provide an appropriately rigorous frame for analyzing centralization in P. However, this is not to say that P was necessarily unaware of D’s command, or that P predated it, as Kaufmann, Jacob Milgrom, and others have argued. But, in the absence of evidence for how this influence might be reflected in the actual text of P, we need to consider alternative paths for exploring P’s approach to centralization, taking that source on its own terms rather than looking to the claims made in another tradition (D). This chapter proceeds to do this by asking how P’s distinctive description of the ideal sanctuary of the wilderness period (§4.1), the ritual processes performed in and around this space (§4.2), and the priestly personnel to whom the Israelites must defer (§4.3), might together present a priestly logic of centralization. Each of the three aspects of P’s discourse, I argue, might be understood in the light of the challenges facing the Yahwistic cult in the early Persian period (§4.4). The highly imaginative nature of P’s history of origins necessitates that we exercise caution about mapping P’s discourse about the wilderness sanctuary, the ritual cult at Sinai, and the roles assigned to Aaron and his sons directly onto the history of ancient Israel. Nonetheless, I argue that some features of this discourse might reflect historical negotiations in the legitimation of centralization at the time of P’s writing.

4.1 Unifying Sanctuary Space P’s conceptualization of the wilderness sanctuary as a central space is core to its logic of centralization. Key texts in this regard comprise those that describe

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the construction, inauguration, and dedication of the shrine: Exod 25–31, 35– 40, and Lev 8–9 (also Num 7). These provide a detailed description of the spatial properties of the shrine, its nature as the shared sanctuary of all Israel, and its role as the central focus in the Israelites’ patron-client relationship with Yhwh. In this we see how, in a manner that is inherently centralizing, P imagines the creation of a shared sanctuary, serviced by all the Israelites, that provides a place for the united community to meet its patron god, Yhwh. 4.1.1 Central Shrine and Communal Unity The priestly account of the construction of the wilderness sanctuary (Exod 25– 31, 35–40) provides an idealized depiction of the ‫‘ משׁכן‬habitation’ required by the deity, including the raw materials to be used, the items of furniture to be installed within it, and the members of the community who should play a role in overseeing its construction. From these details emerge two key points that position the sanctuary as an ideal central shrine. The first is that the shrine has a cultic monopoly: it is the only sanctuary that the Israelites are permitted to build for the god. The second is that the shrine provides the point at which a united community converges, both to build it and to use it as a meeting place. P consistently presents the construction of the wilderness sanctuary as a divine initiative. It is Yhwh who instigates the process and reveals to Moses the sanctuary’s ‫‘ תבנית‬pattern’ (Exod 25:9, 40).4 All of the instructions found in Exod 25–31 are voiced by P as the direct speech of Yhwh to Moses, thereby investing them with the highest possible degree of authority. Many of these details are repeated in Exod 35–40, which relate how Moses, the community, and its representatives undertake the various tasks involved in constructing the sanctuary and its associated objects. The repetitive nature of Exod 35–40 has sometimes been dismissed as lacking in literary artistry.5 But the very detail of the construction report of Exod 35–40 ensures that the wilderness sanctuary is remembered as having been constructed in exactly the manner which Yhwh intended. It therefore constitutes sanctuary space as ideally conceived.6

4 The precise meaning of the term ‫ תבנית‬is “difficult to ascertain” according to Siegfried Wagner, “tabhnı̂ th,” TDOT 2:179. It is a derivative of the verb ‫‘ בנה‬to build’, and seems to refer to a model or replica (see, e.g., Deut 4:16–18; Josh 22:28; Isa 44:13; Ezek 8:10). In texts like Exod 25:9, 40 or 2 Kgs 16:10; 1 Chr 28:11, 12, 18, 19, the term refers to the plan for how sanctuary space was to be designed and constructed. 5 See, e.g., Julius Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 4th ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963), 142. 6 As argued by Cornelis Houtman, Exodus, Volume 3: Chapters 20–40, trans. Johan Rebel and Sierd Woudstra (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 321; William H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 2B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2006), 367–68; Mark K. George, Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space, AIL 2 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2009), 8.

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In light of the essentially mobile nature of the Israelites as they journeyed to the promised land, Yhwh commands that his ‫ משׁכן‬must comprise a transportable fabric structure. It is to be covered by a tent (‫ )אהל‬of eleven curtains, which appears to serve as a kind of roof (Exod 26:7–14). The resulting assemblage (the ‫ משׁכן‬with its ‫ )אהל‬is then to be supported with a set of ‫קרשׁים‬ ‘boards’ and surrounded by a ‫‘ חצר‬court’ made of ‫‘ שׁשׁ‬fine linen’ curtains (27:9–19). An additional curtain is then to divide the ‫ משׁכן‬between a holy and a most holy place (26:31–35). The wilderness shrine shares a number of features with tent shrines mentioned in other ANE sources.7 However, many of the details of how the sanctuary is to be configured have their closest parallels in the spatial layouts of ANE temples.8 The three-part, longroom plan of the wilderness sanctuary is well attested in temples from both the Bronze and Iron Ages.9 So, too, is the 7 See, e.g., Ugaritic texts from the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries BCE that describe El as living in a tent on his cosmic mountain, where his divine assembly or messengers consult him and receive his divine directives: KTU 1.14.2 line 12; 1.14.3 line 55; 1.14.4 lines 21–24. These texts even occasionally parallel the term ʾhl ‘tent’ with the term mšknt ‘dwelling’ in a manner that shows striking resemblance to Exod 25–31, 35–40; see, e.g., KTU 1.15.3 lines 17–19. On these parallels, see further, e.g., Richard J. Clifford, “The Tent of El and the Israelite Tent of Meeting,” CBQ 33, no. 2 (1971): 221–27; Mark S. Smith, “Yahweh and Other Deities in Ancient Israel: Observations on Old Problems and Recent Trends,” in Ein Gott allein? JHWH-Verehrung und biblischer Monotheismus im Kontext der israelitischen und altorientalischen Religionsgeschichte, ed. Walter Dietrich and Martin A. Klopfenstein, OBO 139 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994), 225–34; and Nick Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit, 2nd ed., BibSem 53 (London: Sheffield Academic, 2002), 213. These similarities may suggest that P’s description of the tent of meeting, especially the tent structure in Exod 26:7–14, preserves the kernel of an early tradition in ancient Israel concerning a tent dwelling of Yhwh; for this argument, see Frank Moore Cross, “The Tabernacle: A Study from an Archaeological and Historical Approach,” BA 10, no. 3 (1947): 45–68 and Victor (Avigdor) Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings, JSOTSup 115 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 328–29. 8 As observed by, e.g., Ronald E. Clements, God and Temple (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1965), 114; Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions, trans. John McHugh, (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1973), 296–97; Volkmar Fritz, Tempel und Zelt: Studien zum Tempelbau in Israel und zu dem Zeltheiligtum der Priesterschrift, WMANT 47 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977), 9–12; Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 198–204; and Suzanne Boorer, The Vision of the Priestly Narrative: Its Genre and Hermeneutics of Time, AIL 27 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2016), 301–10. 9 Fritz, Tempel, 27–35; Magnus Ottosson, Temples and Cult Places in Palestine, Boreas 12 (Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1980), 53–62; Marina Pucci, Functional Analysis of Space in Syro-Hittite Architecture, BARIS 1738 (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2008), 163–66; and Stefania Mazzoni, “Syro-Hittite Temples and the Traditional in antis Plan,” in Kulturlandschaft Syrien: Zentrum und Peripherie: Festschrift für Jan-Waalke Meyer, ed. Jörg Becker,

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design of a tripartite division of the sanctuary, with each zone graded according to proximity to the deity, who is often housed in the most secluded part of the temple and shielded by a series of walls or doors.10 In addition, Levantine temples frequently had only one entrance, which allowed passage between each of the different temple zones; in certain cases, this entrance was located to the east, as is the case for the wilderness sanctuary described by P.11 The purpose of the wilderness shrine is explained to Moses in Exod 25:8: ‫‘ ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם‬They [the Israelites] shall make a sanctuary for me so I might dwell among them’. This desire to use the sanctuary as a dwelling place is affirmed throughout Exod 25–31 via Yhwh’s use of the descriptor ‫משׁכן‬ when referring to the shrine. In addition, Yhwh’s desire to dwell in the sanctuary is repeated later in the sanctuary account, in Exod 29:43–46, with a series of statements that expand on Yhwh’s intentions for how he will use his sanctuary. Exod 29:43–46 ‫ וקדשׁתי את־אהל מועד ואת־המזבח ואת־אהרן ואת־‬44 ‫ שׁמה לבני ישׂראל ונקדשׁ בכבדי‬12 ‫ ונעדתי‬43 ‫ וידעו כי אני יהוה אלהיהם‬46 ‫ ושׁכנתי בתוך בני ישׂראל והייתי להם לאלהים‬45 ‫בניו אקדשׁ לכהן לי‬ ‫אשׁ ר הוצאתי אתם מארץ מצרים לשׁ כני בתוכם אני יהוה אלהיהם‬

Ralph Hempelmann, and Ellen Rehm, AOAT 371 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2010), 359–76. While the three-part, longroom plan was certainly a common pattern among ANE sanctuaries, it was not the only one. For a comprehensive review of the sanctuary floor plans observed in Levantine sanctuaries, see Jean Margain, “Sanctuaires sémitiques,” Dictionnaire de la Bible: supplément 6:1104–258. 10 On these features, see further Pucci, Functional Analysis, 175–76; Timothy P. Harrison, “West Syrian megaron or Neo-Assyrian Langraum? The Shifting Form and Function of the Tell Taʿyīnāt (Kunulua) Temples,” in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2.–1. mill. BCE). Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen (28–30 May 2010), ed. Jens Kamlah, ADPV 41 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 3–21. 11 See, e.g., the Southern Temple on the Upper Tell of Hazor, discussed by, e.g., Yigael Yadin et al., Hazor III–IV: An Account of the Third and Fourth Seasons of Excavations, 1957–1958. Text (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1989) and Sharon Zuckerman, “The Temples of Canaanite Hazor,” in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2.–1. mill. BCE). Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen (28–30 May 2010), ed. Jens Kamlah, ADPV 41 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 110–12. 12 Note SP, which reads ‫ונדרשׁתי‬, and LXX, which reads καὶ τάξοµαι. In a thoughtful analysis, Liane Marquis Feldman, “Ritual Sequence and Narrative Constraints in Leviticus 9:1–10:3,” JHebS 17 (2017): 1–35, doi:10.5508/jhs.2017.v17.a12 has recently proposed that ‫ ונעדתי שׁמה לבני ישׂראל‬in MT should be amended to ‫‘ ונראיתי שׁמה לבני ישׂראל‬then I will appear to the Israelites there’, on the grounds that “[n]owhere in the priestly narrative is Yahweh said to ‘meet’ the Israelites at the Tent of Meeting; Yahweh meets only Moses

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43 Then I will meet with the Israelites there, and I will consecrate it by my glory. 44 I will consecrate the tent of meeting and the altar; and I will also consecrate Aaron and his sons to serve me as priests. 45 I will dwell among the Israelites and be their god. 46 And they shall know that I am Yhwh their god who brought them from the land of Egypt to dwell among them: I am Yhwh their god!

The wording of Exod 29:45–46 is profoundly significant. Not only does it echo the stated purpose with which the account of the construction of the shrine began in Exod 25:8, but it also resumes another divine promise found at two critically important points in the earlier P account.13 The first statement of this promise is in Gen 17:7, where the god appears to Abraham and promises to establish a ‫‘ ברית עולם‬everlasting covenant’ with him and his descendants; he will commit ‫‘ להיות לך לאלהים ולזרעך אחריך‬to be god to you and to your seed after you’ and to give them the land on which Abraham is residing as an immigrant (‫)גר‬. The second is in Exod 6:6–8, where Yhwh first reveals himself to Moses. Recalling his covenant with Abraham and his descendants, Yhwh declares his commitment to be the patron god of the Israelites, and thus to bring them out of bondage in Egypt and establish them in the promised land. This same promise is repeated in Exod 29:43–46, but with the added detail that Yhwh will manifest his patronage of Israel by dwelling among them in the ‫ משׁכן‬they are to construct for him. It is highly significant that Exod 29:45–46 are the final iteration of this divine promise in P. It effectively positions the creation of the ‫ משׁכן‬as the ultimate fulfillment of Yhwh’s commitment to take the Israelites as his client. The narrative in which Israel is formed as a community, descended from Abraham, led out of Egypt by Moses, and chosen by Yhwh to be his people, with whom he has a ‫ברית עולם‬, now culminates in the construction of a sanctuary in which the deity is to dwell (see Table 4.1).

there” (11 n. 30). She admits, however, that her reconstructed reading is not attested in any witness to Exod 29:43 and so is “entirely conjectural” (11 n. 30). Moreover, as I will argue below, the idea that Yhwh meets with the Israelites at the ‫ אהל מועד‬it is consistent with P’s use of this descriptor for the sanctuary when referring to it as a ritually active space. The reference to ‘meeting’ arguably speaks to the capacity of the ritual cult of the central shrine to facilitate a meeting between the united community and its patron deity via the agency of the Aaronide priesthood. 13 As observed by Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT 2/25 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 64.

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Table 4.1: Divine Promises in Gen 17:7, Exod 6:7, and Exod 29:45–46 Gen 17:7 ‫והקמת י את ברית י ביני ובינך‬ ‫ובין זרעך אחריך לדרתם לברית‬ ‫עולם להיות לך לאלהים ולזרעך‬ ‫אחריך‬

Exod 6:7 ‫ולקחתי אתכם לי לעם והייתי‬ ‫לכם לאלהים וידעתם כי א ני‬ ‫יהוה אלהיכם המוציא אתכם‬ ‫מתחת סבלות מצרים‬

I will establish my covenant between you and me, and your seed after you, throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be god to you and to your seed after you.

I will take you as my people and I will be your god. And you shall know that I am Yhwh your god who freed you from the burdens of the Egyptians.

Exod 29:45–46 ‫ ושׁכנתי בתוך בני ישׂראל‬45 ‫ וידעו כי‬46 ‫והייתי להם לאלהים‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיהם אשׁ ר הוצאתי‬ ‫אתם מארץ מצרים לשׁ כני‬ ‫בתוכם אני יהוה אלהיהם‬ 45 I will dwell among the Israelites and be their god. 46 And they shall know that I am Yhwh their god who brought them from the land of Egypt so I might dwell among them: I am Yhwh their god!

Furthermore, in a crucially important detail, Yhwh commits to meeting (‫יעד‬ niphal) Moses and the Israelites in this sanctuary space in Exod 29:42–43. The use of the verb ‫ יעד‬niphal creates an unmistakable echo of Exod 25:22, where the same term is used to describe Yhwh’s appearance to Moses from above the ‫כפרת‬, a mysterious item made of pure gold (25:17), set in the inner sanctum, and flanked by two cherubim (25:18–20).14 Whereas this earlier verse focuses on Yhwh’s manifestation to Moses alone and the latter’s duty to report Yhwh’s commandments to the community, Exod 29:43a declares that Yhwh will be received by the Israelites as a whole at his sanctuary. The space is therefore

14 The nature of the ‫ כפרת‬is a matter of ongoing dispute; cf. e.g., Jean-Michel de Tarragon, “La kapporet est-elle une fiction ou un élément du culte tardif?” RB 88, no. 1 (1981): 5–12; Bernd Janowski, Sühne als Heilsgeschehen: Studien zur Sühnetheologie der Priesterschrift und zur Wurzel KPR, WMANT 55 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), 271–79; and Klaus Koch, “Some Considerations on the Translation of kapporet in the Septuagint,” 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, David Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 65–75. This term has no equivalent in other Semitic languages and occurs in the Hebrew Bible only in the priestly traditions (Exod 25:17–22; 26:34; 30:6; 31:7; 35:12; 37:6–9; 39:35; 40:20; Lev 16:2, 13– 15; Num 7:89; cf. the one exception of 1 Chr 28:11). Because the priestly materials provide only scant details of what the ‫ כפרת‬is to comprise – it is to be made of pure gold, to measure 2.5 cubits long by 1.5 cubits wide, and be placed above the ark, between the two cherubim – it is difficult to know precisely what the term ‫ כפרת‬designates. Nevertheless, the ‫ כפרת‬is clearly intended by P to take the place that would have traditionally been occupied by Yhwh’s throne; namely, the space between the wings of the two cherubim (on this see further §4.1.3). As such, it represents the space where Yhwh’s presence is manifested within his sanctuary.

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termed ‫‘ אהל מועד‬the tent of meeting’.15 This term is used elsewhere in Exod 25–31, but, notably, it is employed only when P refers to the sanctuary in the context of ritual practice. Examples include Exod 27:21, where it is used with reference to the lighting of the sanctuary candelabrum; 28:43, with reference to the priests’ role in officiating within the sanctuary; and the entirely of ch. 29, with reference to the rite of ordination of Aaron and his sons (29:4, 10–11, 30, 32, 42). This selective usage highlights the importance that P attaches to ritual practice in facilitating the meeting between Yhwh and his chosen client,

The priestly traditions are not alone in mentioning a “tent of meeting.” The term ‫אהל‬ ‫ מועד‬is occasionally found in non-priestly texts of the Pentateuch; see Exod 33:7–11; Num 11:16–17, 24–29; 12:4–10; Deut 31:14–15. In these, the term also designates a sanctuary pitched by Moses at Mount Sinai (although note that these texts provide no instructions for how it is to be made by the community). However, this non-priestly tent of meeting differs from the wilderness sanctuary in P in that it is to be located outside the Israelite camp (Exod 33:7a; Num 12:4) and has a more dominant oracular function: Yhwh is said to appear there in a pillar of cloud (Exod 33:9a; Num 11:25a; 12:5a; Deut 31:15) and to speak with Moses ‫‘ פנים אל־פנים‬face to face’ (Exod 33:11a) without the mediation of cultic officials. The history of this non-priestly tent of meeting tradition is a matter of ongoing dispute. Scholars classically consider it to preserve a pre-priestly tradition; see, e.g., Manfred Görg, Das Zelt der Begegnung. Untersuchungen zur Gestalt der sakralen Zelttraditionen Altisraels, BBB 27 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1967), 138–70; Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973), 185–86; Fritz, Tempel, 100–9; Haran, Temples, 262–69; Tryggve N. D. Mettinger, The Dethronement of Sabaoth: Studies in the Shem and Kabod Theologies, trans. Frederick H. Cryer, ConBOT 18 (Lund: Gleerup, 1982), 81–82; Klaus Koch, “ʾōhel; ʾāhal,” TDOT 8:124; Joel S. Baden, J, E, and the Redaction of the Pentateuch, FAT 1/68 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 109–10; and Jeffrey Stackert, A Prophet Like Moses: Prophecy, Law, and Israelite Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 70–71, 83–91. However, many scholars now read these materials as stemming from a much later, post-priestly stage in the redaction of the Pentateuch; see, among others, Antonius H. J. Gunneweg, “Das Gesetz und die Propheten. Eine Auslegung von Ex 33,7–11; Num 11,4–12,8; Dtn 31,14f.; 34,10,” ZAW 102, no. 2 (1990): 169–80; Thomas Römer, “Nombres 11–12 et la question d’une rédaction deutéronomique dans le Pentateuque,” in Deuteronomy and Deuteronomic Literature. Festschrift C. H. W. Brekelmans, ed. Marc Vervenne and Johan Lust, BETL 133 (Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 481–98; Christian Frevel, Mit Blick auf das Land die Schöpfung erinnern: Zum Ende der Priestergrundschrift, Herders biblische Studien 23 (Freiburg: Herder, 2000), 287–88; Reinhard Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora. Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch, BZABR 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), 178–80; and Christoph Dohmen, “Das Zelt außerhalb des Lagers. Exodus 33,7–11 zwischen Synchronie und Diachronie,” in Textarbeit. Studien zu Texten und ihrer Rezeption aus dem Alten Testament und der Umwelt Israels. Festschrift für Peter Weimar zur Vollendung seines 60. Lebensjahres mit Beiträgen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen, ed. Klaus Kiesow and Thomas Meurer, AOAT 294 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2003), 157–69. The emphasis in these texts on the oracular aspect of the ‫ אהל מועד‬could therefore constitute a counterimage or critique of the sanctuary cult described in P. 15

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Israel. Ritual practice is the means by which this community can interact with the deity as it dwells in its sanctuary. The character of the sanctuary as a central point of communal orientation is further enhanced by P’s insistence that this space is the shared responsibility of all Israel.16 First, P commands that the entire community contribute to the sanctuary’s construction. Yhwh’s instructions begin in Exod 25:2–8 with the command to Moses that the ‫‘ בני ישׂראל‬Israelites’ must provide the ‫‘ תרומה‬contribution’ of raw materials needed to undertake the work. The term ‫בני ישׂראל‬ is a general ethnographic designation, in which the ‫ בן‬serves “to express group affiliation.”17 The sons of Israel are first identified in Exod 1:1–6 as the descendants of Jacob’s sons – “Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah, Issachar, Zebulun, and Benjamin, Dan and Naphtali, Gad and Asher…and Joseph” (Exod 1:2–5) – who settled in Egypt with their respective households. The usage of ‫ בני ישׂראל‬here by P underscores the obligation of the entire twelve-tribe community of Israel to contribute to the sanctuary construction project. The ‫תרומה‬ must be offered up by the Israelites willingly; it is to be brought by the Israelite who feels “impelled in his heart” (25:2bα) to contribute to the sanctuary building work. In addition to providing raw materials, the community is commanded in Exod 25:8a MT/SP to undertake the work involved in making (‫ )עשׂה‬the shrine; although the Israelites are not directly mentioned in this verse, the use of the third person plural verbal form ‫ עשׂו‬necessitates that the subject be the ‫ בני ישׂראל‬mentioned in v. 2.18 The detailed report in Exod 35–40 of how the Israelites fulfilled these requirements consistently stresses the communal nature of the task of constructing the shrine. Exodus 35:4 begins by stating that Moses spoke to ‫כל־עדת בני־‬ ‫‘ ישׂראל‬all the congregation of the Israelites’ and charged them with the task of donating to the construction project. The term ‫ עדה‬is a favorite descriptor of P for the Israelites; as a derivative of the root ‫‘ יעד‬to arrive, meet’, it emphasizes their coming together to form a unified congregation.19 On certain occasions, ‫ עדה‬seems to refer to select representatives of the community such as free adult As argued by Helmut Utzschneider, Das Heiligtum und das Gesetz. Studien zur Bedeutung der sinaitischen Heiligtumstexte (Ex 25–40; Lev 8–9), OBO 77 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 160–61. 17 Baruch A. Levine, Numbers 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 4A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1993), 130. 18 Exodus 25:7 LXX (= 25:8 MT) attests a second person singular verb (ποιήσεις) and therefore suggests that Moses was to construct the sanctuary. However, this reading does not fit well with the use of a third person plural verb in Exod 25:2 and seems to look instead toward Exod 40, where Moses is charged with setting up the wilderness sanctuary after the community has constructed it. 19 See Jacob Milgrom, Numbers: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation, JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 4 and James W. Watts, Leviticus 1–10, HCOT (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 340. 16

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males.20 On this basis, some scholars have proposed that P understood ‫ עדה‬not as a descriptor of all the members of the community, but as a designator for “the ‘general assembly’ of all adult males.”21 Yet, even if the ‫ עדה‬is understood in a more restrictive sense of adult males or only select leaders of the community, it is clear that P considers this group to represent the unified community of Israel. This view can be seen in Exod 35–40 in the way in which Moses’s call to ‫ כל־עדת בני־ישׂראל‬to make a contribution to the sanctuary building project results in ‫‘ האנשׁים על־הנשׁים‬both men and women’ (Exod 35:22) presenting a variety of objects for use in constructing the shrine. Indeed, the language used throughout Exod 35–40 to describe the contributions of ‫ כל־העדה בני־ישׂראל‬is consistently inclusive: all members of the community may participate, as long as they are willing. In Exod 35:21 we again find the modifier ‫‘ כל‬all’ when used in reference to ‫‘ כל־אישׁ אשׁר־נשׂאו לבו‬everyone whose heart impelled him’ and to ‫‘ כל אשׁר נדבה רוחו אתו‬all whose spirit is willing’ to make a donation to the construction project. The result is a wave of donations to the sanctuary construction project of such excessive quantity that the community must be held back from contributing anything further. Exodus 36:2–7 describe how the artisans in charge of the construction project receive so many donations from the community that they ask Moses to command the Israelites to restrain themselves: ‫מרבים העם להביא מדי העבדה למלאכה‬ ‫‘ אשר־צוה יהוה לעשׂת אתה‬the people are bringing much more than [is needed] for doing the work that Yhwh has commanded us to do!’ (36:5). Such is the communal enthusiasm for the sanctuary construction project. The quantities of gold, silver, and bronze listed in Exod 39:1–7 LXX (= Exod 38:24–29 MT) also underscore the Israelites’ extraordinary display of collective unity as they pool their resources to support the construction of a shared sanctuary.22 20 See, e.g., Num 1:2, where the census of the ‫ עדה‬results in the conscription of males for a military campaign, or Num 27:21, where Eleazar is said to discern via the Urim when “all the Israelites…and all the assembly” should go to war under Joshua’s command. 21 Jan Joosten, People and Land in the Holiness Code: An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26, VTSup 67 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 37. Cf. the fifth-century BCE Elephantine papyri, which use the Aramaic equivalent of the term ‫עדה‬ to refer to a subgroup within the Judean garrison that could arbitrate disputes among community members, most notably in cases of divorce; see, e.g., TAD B2.6, line 26; Emil G. Kraeling, The Brooklyn Aramaic Papyri: New Documents of the Fifth Century B.C. from the Jewish Colony at Elephantine (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1953), pap 2, line 7 (142–43); pap 7, line 21 (204–5). Note, however, the discussion of the meaning of the phrase ‫ יקום בעדה‬in Kraeling, Brooklyn Museum Aramaic Papyri, 147–48. 22 As argued with particular clarity by Peter Altmann, Economics in Persian-Period Biblical Texts: Their Interactions with Economic Developments in the Persian Period and Earlier Biblical Traditions, FAT 1/109 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 193. As explained above (see §2.2.2), I consider Codex Vaticanus (Codex B) to preserve the earliest available version of Exod 35–40. I will therefore follow its distinctive order when analyzing the construction account and provide the MT/SP numbering either in parentheses or footnotes. For

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Similarly inclusive language can be observed in Exod 35:23–26 when ‫וכל־‬ ‫‘ אישׁ־אשׁר נמצא אתו‬anyone who possesses [the necessary fabrics]’ for making the sanctuary is said to have brought these materials to the artisans overseeing the sanctuary works. This description culminates in Exod 35:29 with a summary statement that stresses the thoroughly communal nature of the construction project and the willingness of the entire community to present the necessary donations: ‫כל־אישׁ ואשׁה אשׁר נדב לבם אתם להביא לכל־המלאכה אשׁר צוה‬ ‫‘ יהוה לעשׂות ביד־משׁה הביאו בני־ישׂראל נדבה ליהוה‬All the men and women whose hearts made them willing to contribute to the work that Yhwh had commanded to be done under the authority of Moses, they brought a freewill offering to Yhwh’. Exodus 39:14–23 LXX further underscore the centrality of the wilderness sanctuary by positioning it as a site where the entire community gathers.23 From the moment of its completion, the sanctuary is a space that brings the community together. When the work of constructing the shrine is finished, the entire community presents it to Moses as the fruit of their collective effort, thus confirming that the shrine is the product of a communal endeavor. The unifying potential of the shrine is also evident in the account of its consecration by Moses and the priests in Lev 8–9. In Lev 8:3, Yhwh commands Moses to assemble ‫‘ כל־העדה‬all the congregation’ at the entrance of the tent of meeting so that they might witness the rites of anointing and consecration of his sanctuary. This statement already underscores the nature of the sanctuary as the shared space of all Israel, because it comes into operation only when all the Israelites have shown their collective unity by gathering to witness its consecration. This focus on communal unity at the shrine is then further developed in the description of the first sacrificial offerings presented by Aaron after the completion of the seven-day ordination rite. In Lev 9:1–4, Moses calls on Aaron to tell ‫ כל־העדה‬to bring a male goat for a sin offering, a calf and a lamb for a burnt offering, an ox and a ram for a well-being offering, and grain for a cereal offering. Then, once the people have retrieved these items, they “draw near” (‫ )קרב‬before Yhwh (9:5) and observe as Aaron presents the offerings to the god on their behalf (9:7–21). At the conclusion of this rite, the Israelites (referred to as ‫ )העם‬are said to receive a blessing for their communal efforts in presenting the god with the donations he requires (9:22–23). This is followed by the appearance of the ‫ כבוד‬of Yhwh before ‫‘ כל־העם‬all the people’ – note again the use of the ‫ כל‬modifier – with fire coming out from Yhwh and consuming the burnt offering presented on the altar in the sanctuary court (on this, see further §4.2.1). This action confirms both the presence of Yhwh’s ‫כבוד‬ within the sanctuary according to his promise in Exod 29:43 and the god’s the text and a commentary on Codex B, see Daniel Gurtner, Exodus: A Commentary on the Greek Text of Codex Vaticanus (Leiden: Brill, 2013). 23 Exodus 39:14–23 LXX = Exod 39:33, 35, 38, 37, 36, 41, 40a, 34, 40b, 42–43 MT/SP.

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approval of the offerings presented by his unified community via Aaron’s mediation upon the shared altar they have constructed for him. The account of the inauguration of the sanctuary thus establishes the essence of the wilderness sanctuary as a place of meeting between the patron deity Yhwh and the united congregation of Israel. The single shrine, made by the community operating as a collective, constructed using donations from all the Israelites, serviced with sacrifices and offerings from the entire community, and used as a place of gathering and sacrificial worship of “all the congregation” – all these details serve to integrate the Israelites around common cultic space. The shrine of the foundational narrative is thus a central space in that it provides the point of collective deference and attention of all Israel; it demands a funneling of communal resources, and it inspires a sense of common purpose. In this key sense, then, P’s description of the space of the wilderness sanctuary has what might be termed a “centralizing logic.” P’s idealized narrative of the foundation of the sanctuary consistently reinforces the god’s preference for collective behaviors that promote unity of purpose, and which direct collective attention to a shared center. The dissipation of resources and other centrifugal tendencies are never entertained as a possibility by P. Instead, P establishes the undiluted focus of attention and resources on a shared sanctuary as the incontestable cultic value of the god Yhwh. The priestly discourse, unifying and integrating as it is, thus seems aimed at normalizing and affirming the value of centralized sanctuary space for the Israelite cult and community. Yet this interpretation faces a challenge: if centralization is the cultic value, how are we to reconcile this with P’s choice of a mobile sanctuary, which could be moved from place to place in the imagined wilderness period? As detailed in §3.2.2, scholars including Kaufmann, Milgrom, and Mary Douglas have argued that ascribing portability to the shrine renders this space inherently decentralized; they have read P as an allegory of sorts for a sanctuary cult that was itself movable and, hence, centrifugal. However, it can be argued that the ascription of mobility to the shrine in P is not incompatible with the cultic value of centralization. Rather, the shrine’s portability can be read as a creative discursive device on P’s part that enabled the Israelites, even at an imaginary time when they had not yet come into the land, to be provided with a unifying cultic center. The tent moved, but so, too, did the united community. The shrine, being portable, could accompany the Israelites during their wandering in the desert at Sinai, providing a central cultic space whatever their location. Portability, then, is qualitatively different from a multiplicity of sanctuaries. The fact that the priestly scribes wrote a narrative set in an imaginary past that features a moveable shrine need not be read as approval of decentralized worship in local shrines in their own historical time (an issue to which I will return in §4.4.1). Rather, it creatively reconciles cultic centralization with the essentially peripatetic nature of the Israelites on the imaginary journey to the land.

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4.1.2 Hierarchies in the Construction of the Central Sanctuary Creating a central cultic space within the narrative world of P necessarily involved establishing and consolidating cultic hierarchies. As social theories have demonstrated, space is never ideologically or politically neutral (see §1.2.2). It serves as a device whereby not only particular processes and activities but also certain individuals and groups come to be seen as more important than others. Sacred spaces of their essence are particularly predisposed to investing individuals with privileged status and authority. The priesthood, as we shall see in §4.3, was enshrined at the apex of the cultic hierarchy at the shrine in P’s foundational narrative, its privileged position conceived as essential to the cultic order. However, we can also discern other hierarchies in P’s account of the task of building the sanctuary, ones that have been less studied but are relevant to our understanding of the centralized cultic order.24 In Exod 31:1–11, Yhwh declares that he wishes for skilled artisans to be selected from within the community to lead the construction work for his shrine.25 In particular, Yhwh declares to Moses that he has called upon “Bezalel son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah” (31:2) to lead the work on the wilderness sanctuary and its associated items. Bezalel is then said in 31:6 to be assisted by “Oholiab, son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan,” as well as a team of ‫‘ חכם־לב‬wise-hearted’ members of the community (Exod 31:6b; see also Exod 35:9 LXX [= 35:10 MT/SP]). Exod 31:2–6 ‫ ואמלא אתו רוח אלהים בחכמה ובתבונה‬3 ‫ רא ה קראתי בשׁ ם בצלאל בן־אורי בן־חור למט ה יהודה‬2 ‫ ובחרשׁת אבן למלאת ובחרשׁת‬5 26‫ לחשׁב מחשׁבת לעשׂות בזהב ובכסף ובנחשׁת‬4 ‫ובדעת ובכל־מלאכה‬ ‫ וא ני הנה נתתי אתו את אהליאב בן־אחיסמך למטה־דן ובלב כל־חכם־לב נתתי‬6 ‫עץ לעשׂ ות בכל־מלא כה‬ ‫חכמה ועשׂ ו את כל־אשׁ ר צויתך‬ 2 See I have called by name Bezalel, son of Uri, son of Hur, from the tribe of Judah. 3 And I have filled him with a divine spirit, with wisdom, intelligence and knowledge in all works, 4 to devise designs, to work in gold, and in silver and in bronze 5 in cutting stones for setting, See further Julia Rhyder, “Unity and Hierarchy: North and South in the Priestly Traditions,” in Yahwistic Diversity and the Hebrew Bible: Tracing Perspectives of Group Identity from Judah, Samaria, and Diaspora in Biblical Traditions, ed. Benedikt Hensel, Dany Nocquet, and Bartosz Adamczewski, FAT (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). 25 It is highly likely that the references to the sanctuary artisans were introduced to P’s construction account in a secondary stage. On the secondary status of Exod 30–31, where the artisans are first introduced, see §2.2.2 and the references cited there. For a detailed literary-critical review of each of the artisan passages of Exod 35–40, see Rhyder, “Unity.” 26 Exodus 31:4 LXX preserves a more expansive text than MT/SP: διανοεῖσθαι καὶ ἀρχιτεκτονεῖν, ἐργάζεσθαι τὸ χρυσίον καὶ τὸ ἀργύριον καὶ τὸν χαλκόν, καὶ τὴν ὑάκινθον καὶ τὴν πορφύραν καὶ τὸ κόκκινον τὸ νηστὸν καὶ τὴν βύσσον τὴν κεκλωσµένην ‘to fashion the gold, the silver and the bronze and the blue and purple and spun scarlet and the twisted linen’. 24

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and in carving wood, in making every kind of craft. 6 And behold, I have appointed with him Oholiab son of Ahisamach of the tribe of Dan. And in the hearts of all the wise-hearted I have given wisdom, and they will do all that I have commanded you [Moses].

The choice of these two artisans is significant when we consider their origins. Bezalel is a Judean, while Oholiab is from the northern tribe of Dan.27 What is more, the relationship between these figures is far from equal. Bezalel’s role is undeniably that of chief artisan, chosen by Yhwh to lead the sanctuary project under Moses’s overall direction. He is consistently mentioned before Oholiab and all the other skilled members of the community involved in constructing the shrine.28 He is the only artisan of whom it is said that Yhwh ‫‘ קרא בשׁם‬called him by name’ (31:2; 35:30) and filled him with a ‫‘ רוח אלהים‬divine spirit’ for carrying out the work (31:3). Moreover, Bezalel alone is said to have special skills for undertaking the sanctuary work; Exod 31:2–5 and 35:30–33 declare that he will receive wisdom (‫)חכמה‬, intelligence (‫ )תבונה‬and knowledge (‫)דעת‬ from Yhwh for fulfilling his tasks. Finally, much of Exod 35–40 depicts Bezalel as undertaking the sanctuary construction on his own: in Exod 37:1– 38:8 LXX (= Exod 38:1–20 MT/SP), he is said to construct the ark, the table and its utensils, the lampstand, the pillars of the sanctuary, the bronze altar, and the bronze basin – all without assistance from Oholiab or any other artisans. Oholiab’s role in the construction of the sanctuary is clearly less important.29 In almost every text that mentions Oholiab, there is no accompanying remark concerning his special gifts or role in helping with the sanctuary construction. Exodus 37:21 LXX (= 38:23 MT/SP) is the sole exception: here we find the detail that Oholiab has particular ability in working with the sanctuary fabrics. However, this does not seem to be a skill that was unique to Oholiab, because 27 On Dan’s northern connotations in the priestly traditions, and the Pentateuch as a whole, see Mark W. Bartusch, Understanding Dan: An Exegetical Study of a Biblical City, Tribe and Ancestor, JSOTSup 379 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2003), 22–76. In priestly texts, Dan is frequently mentioned with Naphtali and Asher (Exod 1:4; Num 2:25–31; 7:66– 83), which implies an association with the north of Israel. Select passages of the book of Judges seem to associate Dan with a region on the Mediterranean coast; Judg 5:17 asks of Dan ‫‘ למה יגור אניות‬why do you sojourn with the ships?’, while Judg 17–18 imply that the Danites were originally located in the south of Israel and only later immigrated to Laish in the north. However, Hermann Michael Niemann, “Zorah, Eshtaol, Beth-Shemesh and Dan’s Migration to the South: A Region and Its Traditions in the Late Bronze and Iron Ages,” JSOT 86 (1999): 25–48 has made a strong case for reading these passages in Judges as (relatively) late literary inventions, rather than historical evidence of an association between Dan and the south in the Iron Age I or IIa. 28 Exodus 30:1–11; 35:30–35; 36:2; 37:20–21 LXX (= 38:22–23 MT/SP). 29 On the depiction of Oholiab in Monacensis, which assigns new responsibilities and special skills with woodwork to this figure, see the detailed discussion in Rhyder, “Unity.” On why this palimpsest is unlikely to preserve the earliest account of Exod 25–31, 35–40 but constitutes a late expansionist edition, see §2.2.2.

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Exod 35:35 states that Bezalel, too, was given the gifts of embroidery and working with the fabrics. Moreover, several texts suggest that the ability to work with fabrics was shared with the wise-hearted members of the community. Note, for example, how Exod 28:3–4 add to the description of Aaron’s vestments this charge to Moses: “you shall speak to all the wise-hearted whom I have filled (with) the spirit of wisdom, and they shall make Aaron’s garments”; there is no mention here of Oholiab fulfilling a specific role in working with fabrics. Furthermore, Exod 36:8–37:17 LXX employ third person plural subjects when describing the fabrication of the priestly vestments, sanctuary curtains, and other aspects of the shrine that are made of fabric, which again suggests that this task fell to the skilled artisans as a group rather than to Oholiab specifically.30 The implications of Bezalel and Oholiab’s respective roles for our understanding of the intent of the priestly scribes are significant. The introduction of Judean and Danite artisans affirms Yhwh’s expectation that his central shrine will be constructed as a pan-Israelite endeavor: leaders from both north and south must unite in the common task of building a suitable habitation for their shared patron deity. It thus affirms its nature as a central sanctuary, which provides a point of meeting for the united community of Israel. However, Yhwh’s expression of a desire that the construction work be led by a Judean, with the assistance of a northerner, enshrines a hierarchy between north and south, one in which Judah is subtly dominant, and the leader from Dan, ancillary. This subtle preeminence of Judean leaders in the organization of the wilderness sanctuary is not limited to Bezalel’s role. It can arguably be observed in other passages that describe the establishment of the sanctuary. This is particularly evident in Num 1–10, which describe the organization of the wilderness camp with the tent of meeting at its center.31 In Num 1, which narrates the first census, the tribes are listed according to the birth order in Gen 35:22b–26 (Pg) and Exod 1:1–5. Reuben is therefore mentioned first. However, when Yhwh arranges the Israelite tribes around the sanctuary in Num 2, a different tribal order is adopted. Judah is the first among the tribes to take its position around 30 The situation is somewhat more complicated in MT/SP than in LXX. The description of the making of the priestly garments, which comes much later in the account at Exod 39:1– 31, switches between third person singular and third person plural subjects in an unpredictable fashion. In addition, the account of the construction of the tabernacle curtains in Exod 36:8–38 MT/SP, as well as its accompanying structure, is longer than the LXX and alternates between singular and plural subjects. It begins in v. 8 with the statement that “all the wisehearted” members of the community made the tabernacle and its curtains. But this quickly switches in vv. 9–38 to a third person singular subject, without any explanation of who is the actor here. The reference to Bezalel in Exod 37:1 MT/SP suggests that he was responsible for the works described in Exod 36:9–38 MT/SP, where the singular subject is found. 31 On the compositional history of Num 1–10 and the three texts that adopt the distinctive tribal order with Judah in first position (Num 2, 7, 10), see further Rhyder, “Unity.”

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the sanctuary. The difference in the order of Num 1 and Num 2 suggests that the scribes responsible for the latter text were articulating a new, alternative order of the tribes that was to operate in sociocultic scenarios.32 Indeed, Judah seems to have been listed first in Num 2 because this tribe is to be given the position at the east side of the sanctuary, aligned with its entrance – the same position identified in Num 3:38 as the place where Moses, Aaron, and Aaron’s sons are told to camp (see Figure 4.1).

Figure 4.1: The Organization of the Tribes around the Tent of Meeting

In this way, Judah was clearly associated with the sociocultic leaders of the Israelite sanctuary community.33 The northern tribes, by contrast, were given As argued by, e.g., Levine, Numbers 1–20, 143 and Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 483. See further Thomas Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift: Beobachtungen zur Literarkritik und Traditionsgeschichte von Pg, WMANT 70 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener 32 33

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no such prestigious position. In Num 2, the camps of Ephraim and Dan are situated on the west and north sides of the wilderness sanctuary respectively. A further “pro-Judean tendency” prevails in the priestly description of the march of the community with the wilderness sanctuary across the wilderness.34 In Num 2:9, the tribe of Judah is told to unite with the other southern tribes of Issachar and Zebulun to form an enormous ‫‘ מחנה יהודה‬camp of Judah’ totaling 186,400, who will then ‫‘ לצבאתם ראשׁנה יסעו‬set out first on the march’ (2:9) under the leadership of Nahshon son of Amminadab.35 Numbers 10:14–28 then describe how this camp of Judah leads the march of the Israelites and the wilderness sanctuary across the desert. No such leadership status is awarded to the northern tribes within the order of the march; the camp of Ephraim is commanded to occupy the third place (Num 2:24b) and Dan, the fourth (Num 2:31b). Finally, the leadership of the tribe of Judah at the wilderness sanctuary is emphasized in the account of the rededication of the wilderness sanctuary in Num 7. This text describes the tribes bringing offerings to the tent of meeting ‫‘ ביום כלות משׁה להקים את־המשׁכן‬on the day when Moses had finished setting up the habitation’ (Num 7:1), which links back to the end of the sanctuary construction account in Exod 40:1–27 LXX (= 40:1–33 MT/SP). The tribes are said to present the offerings over a twelve-day ceremony, in which each is allocated a specific day to come to the sanctuary. Once more, the order of the tribes does not follow the birth order of the sons of Jacob but privileges the tribe of Judah: Nahshon son of Amminadab is the first to appear at the sanctuary and present his offering on behalf of the tribe of Judah (vv. 12–17). The northern tribes, by contrast, present either toward the middle or the end of the twelve-day festival. The privileging of Judah in Num 1–10 illustrates the point that a central space is not value neutral. The evidence of a Judean bias in these texts is subtle and should not be overstrained, but it arguably speaks to two key dimensions of the centralizing logic in P. All Israel must share responsibility for the sanctuary: its construction and maintenance must be a pan-Israelite endeavor, in which both north and south are united in the common task of constructing and maintaining a central shrine for the god to inhabit. But, within that collaboration, Judah has a leadership status that is more pronounced than that of the other tribes.

Verlag, 1995), 73–75; Ulrike Schorn, Ruben und das System der zwölf Stämme Israels. Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Bedeutung des Erstgeborenen Jakobs, BZAW 248 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997), 36–38; and Rhyder, “Unity.” 34 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 144. 35 The reference to Issachar and Zebulun forming part of the “camp of Judah” reflects the birth order of Jacob’s sons in Gen 35:22b–26, which lists Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun as the fourth, fifth, and sixth sons of Jacob, respectively; see further Schorn, Ruben, 36.

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4.1.3 A Nonmonarchic Space When P assigns hierarchical roles in the construction of the wilderness sanctuary, it remarkably omits one figure that would traditionally have played a key leadership role in constructing central sanctuary space: the monarch. The absence of a king may not be surprising given that the P narrative is set in an imagined period of Israel’s history that predates the establishment of the monarchy. Yet this strongly differentiates P’s sanctuary account from other accounts of the establishment of central sanctuary spaces, both in the Hebrew Bible and ANE materials, in which a royal leader is almost always assigned a key role. Indeed, this association with monarchic authority is typically essential to investing a given sanctuary with centrality. This is thrown into relief by the account of Solomon’s construction of the First Temple in 1 Kgs 5–8, where the king’s pivotal role is consistently underscored. The account begins with Solomon declaring his decision to build the temple (with Yhwh’s approval), procuring laborers, and gathering building materials for the construction work (1 Kgs 5:15–32). This is followed by detailed descriptions of the building procedure that Solomon himself leads (1 Kgs 6:1– 7:51), as well as the dedicatory rites through which Solomon commissions the shrine as the deity’s abode and the center of Israelite worship (1 Kgs 8:1–66). Solomon’s prominence in 1 Kgs 5–8 is consistent with broader patterns in ANE inscriptions that concern the building of major sanctuaries.36 In these, the king is typically commissioned by the god to receive the instructions for building a sanctuary; he then implements these with precision – gathering the resources, calling upon laborers, preparing the building site, and overseeing the construction project, often fashioning the first brick, before dedicating the finished sanctuary.37 This pattern can be seen already in the Sumerian inscriptions of Gudea (ca. 2125 BCE), which record how Enlil, the highest god of Sumer, called for a sanctuary to be built, prompting his son Ninḡirsu to appear to King Gudea in a dream and to command him to build the E-ninnu temple at Lagash. Then, in a second dream, Ninḡirsu reveals to Gudea how the temple must be constructed. Gudea sets to work, gathering expensive materials and workers for the project, before executing the building work in the elaborate manner Ninḡirsu decreed. In cylinder B, the completion of the sanctuary building project is marked when Gudea anoints it with paste and oil (lines 14–18), a ritual that allows the god to enter the sanctuary. Once Ninḡirsu has organized the 36 On the parallels between 1 Kgs 5–8 and royal building inscriptions, see the detailed discussion in Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House, 106–10. 37 On these aspects of the king’s role in sanctuary building projects, see Henri Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods: A Study of Ancient Near Eastern Religion as the Integration of Society and Nature (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1955), 267–74 and Richard S. Ellis, Foundation Deposits in Ancient Mesopotamia (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1968).

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cultic household, Gudea makes the first sacrifices in the newly founded temple, before he receives the charge from Ninḡirsu to serve as its chief administrator.38 Later Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions again provide evidence of how important royal authority is in erecting and renovating temple buildings. Many of these follow a similar pattern to Gudea’s inscription: the king receives the command to build the sanctuary, oversees its various works, and then dedicates it. This pattern is well attested, for instance, in the inscriptions of Esarhaddon that relate the restoration of the national temple Sara in Aššur in 679 BCE.39 The patterns are also evident in narratives about the Neo-Babylonian kings preserved in temple precincts and on the materials (often bricks) used to construct the roads, gates, and city walls sponsored by these kings.40 To cite but one example, the Etemenanki inscription (ca. 620–609 BCE) describes the construction of a ziggurat in Babylon by king Nabopolassar following his defeat of the Assyrians.41 It recounts how Nabopolassar receives the command to rebuild the temple from Marduk and then commissions laborers, surveys the site with experts and wise men, purifies it, lays the temple foundations, and ceremoniously molds the first bricks with his sons. The P account of the construction and dedication of the wilderness sanctuary appears to echo the familiar patterns of royal building inscriptions in many significant respects.42 We find in P the divine command for a sanctuary to be built, the transmission of that command to a human intermediary, the listing of the materials needed, the commissioning of special workers, and an elaborate description of how the work is to be carried out and the sanctuary subsequently sanctified. Yet, whereas these tasks would have been assumed by a king in other ANE building stories, in P these roles are, crucially, assigned to others: to Yhwh, Moses, Aaron, and the community. Notably, Yhwh’s role in the sanctuary account of Exod 25–31, 35–40 extends far beyond that traditionally assigned to a deity in construction work. He does not simply authorize the work 38 For a translation of the inscriptions, see Thorkild Jacobsen, The Harps that Once...: Sumerian Poetry in Translation (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987), 388–444. 39 Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House, 76–78 and Barbara N. Porter, Images, Power, and Politics: Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy, Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society 208 (Philadelphia, PA: American Philosophical Society, 1993), 67–68. 40 See further Caroline Waerzeggers, “The Pious King: Royal Patronage of Temples,” in The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Culture, ed. Karen Radner and Eleanor Robson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 726. 41 For transcription and translation, see Rocío Da Riva, The Inscriptions of Nabopolassar, Amel-Marduk, and Neriglissar, Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 3 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), 77–92. 42 See further Victor (Avigdor) Hurowitz, “The Priestly Account of Building the Tabernacle,” JAOS 105, no. 1 (1985): 21–30 and George, Israel’s Tabernacle, 164.

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and perhaps provide limited instructions; he instigates and directs proceedings in a manner reminiscent of that which is attributed to kings in building inscriptions.43 Moses, too, assumes certain functions that are performed by kings in other biblical and nonbiblical texts. He receives the god’s inspiration for the construction work, as well as the permission to undertake it; he coordinates the building by procuring the raw materials for the sanctuary construction (Exod 25:2b–7; 35:4–8 LXX [= 35:4–9 MT/SP]), commissioning the laborers (Exod 25:8a; 31:1–11; 35:9–19 LXX [= 35:10–19 MT/SP], 30–35), ceremonially installing the vessels within the sanctuary (Exod 40:1–27 LXX [= 40:1–33 MT/SP]), and overseeing its dedication (Lev 8–9). Aaron also assumes a role in the dedication of the central shrine that is reminiscent of a king’s (see Lev 9). In addition to offering the first sacrifices, he commences his role as intermediary between the god and the community, while presenting the offerings of the entire congregation (Lev 9:7–21). As mentioned above (§4.1.1), the Israelites glimpse the ‫ כבוד‬of Yhwh at the conclusion of these rites and watch as fire consumes the offerings on the bronze altar. This correlation between the manifestation of the god and Aaron’s sacrificial rites positions the high priest as playing the crucial role of maintaining Yhwh’s presence in the shrine, while enabling that presence to be experienced by his client, Israel. In these ways, P effectively ascribes to Aaron a form of sociocultic agency that was traditionally associated with the royal leader. Beyond the roles of Moses and Aaron, P situates such agency within a context in which royal functions are no longer monopolized by one figure but are distributed among the community writ large. The Israelites themselves – not just their leaders – are charged with fulfilling the traditional royal role of cultic sponsor.44 While a king would usually have played a key role in supplying the materials required for the construction of the shrine, the community is now responsible for donating the necessary raw materials.45 Moreover, P charges the community with the ultimate responsibility for constructing the shrine and presenting it to Moses as the fruit of their collective labor, effectively assigning to the Israelites the role of providing the economic resources that would traditionally have been supplied or procured by the royal leader.46 The community’s generosity and commitment to the building project thus becomes the crucial means by which the deity’s central sanctuary is constructed, without need for a monarch.

George, Israel’s Tabernacle, 164. As argued by Ranier Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period, trans. John Bowden, 2 vols., OTL (London: SCM, 1994), 2:484–85 and Altmann, Economics, 192. 45 Exodus 25:2b–7; 35:4–8 LXX (= 35:4–9 MT/SP). See further Utzschneider, Das Heiligtum, 158–59. 46 Altmann, Economics, 192–93. 43 44

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In sum, then, P employs modes of describing the construction of a central sanctuary that are familiar from royal building accounts in order to subvert them by excluding the royal figure that traditionally would have figured prominently in such an account. In so doing, P offers a new imagining of sanctuary centrality that resides not in royal patronage but in communal obligation, and in new ritual roles such as those of Aaron as high priest. The sanctuary space itself is thereby also reconfigured as one which relies for its centrality on this new network of obligations and hierarchies. This argument – that P subverts the link between monarchy and central cultic space – gains further weight when we consider certain details of P’s description of the space of the central sanctuary itself. Yhwh’s commands about the dimensions and furniture of the sanctuary in Exod 25–31, 35–40 appear to involve a number of allusions to the account of the building of the First Temple in 1 Kgs 5–8. As scholars have long observed, the wilderness sanctuary and the First Temple as described in P and 1 Kgs 5–8, respectively, are similar in a number of ways.47 Both are rectangles, organized according to an eastern orientation and divided into three areas of graded holiness: an inner sanctum (Exod 26:33; 1 Kgs 6:19), an outer sanctum (Exod 26:33; 1 Kgs 6:16, 20), and an outer court (Exod 27:9–19; 1 Kgs 6:36; 7:12; 8:64). Some of these similarities might simply reflect common features of West Semitic temples of the first millennium BCE mentioned in §4.1.1. However, very precise correspondences between the two spaces suggest a literary connection between the two construction accounts. In particular, the two sanctuaries seem to be measured according to corresponding schemes: the dimensions given in Exod 26:7–14 for the wilderness shrine (30 cubits long x 10 cubits high x 10 cubits wide) correspond to half of those of Solomon’s Temple in 1 Kgs 6:2–3 (60 cubits long x

47 This observation has been made in numerous studies of the past 150 years; see, e.g., Theodor Nöldeke, Untersuchungen zur Kritik des Alten Testaments (Kiel: Schwers’sche Buchhandlung, 1869), 120–21; Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 38–45; Abraham Kuenen, The Religion of Israel to the Fall of the Jewish State, Trans. Alfred Heath May, 2 vols. (London: Williams and Norgate, 1874–1875), 1:258–59; Heinrich Holzinger, Exodus, KHC 2 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1900), 129; Samuel Driver, The Book of Exodus: In the Revised Version, with Introduction and Notes, CBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911), 258–60; Hugo Gressmann, Die Lade Jahwes und das Allerheiligste des salomonischen Tempels, BWA(N)T 26/Forschungsinstitute in Leipzig. Forschungsinstitut für Religionsgeschichte. Israelitisch-jüdische Abteilung 5 (Berlin: Kohlhammer, 1920), 45; Martin Noth, Exodus, trans. John S. Bowden, OTL (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster, 1962), 201; Clements, God, 111; Fritz, Tempel, 6–7; Haran, Temples, 189–94; Koch, “ʾōhel; ʾāhal,” 128; Janowski, Sühne, 329–31; Mettinger, Dethronement, 87–89; Albertz, History, 2:484 with n. 129; Christophe Nihan, “Du premier et du second temple. Rôles et fonction du sanctuaire d’Israël selon l’écrit sacerdotal,” in Le roi Salomon, un héritage en question: hommage à Jacques Vermeylen, ed. Claude Lichtert and Jacques Vermeylen, Le livre et le rouleau 33 (Brussels: Lessius, 2008), 166–67; and Boorer, Vision, 304–7.

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20 cubits high x 20 cubits wide).48 Furthermore, the same system of classification is applied to the different areas of the sanctuary: gold is reserved for spaces closest to the deity’s presence (the inner and outer sancta), and bronze for the outer court. The furniture for the two sanctuaries is also similar: a golden table in the outer sanctum (Exod 25:23–30; 1 Kgs 7:48), golden lampstands (Exod 25:31–40; 1 Kgs 7:49, although there are considerably more in Solomon’s Temple, ten as opposed to one in P), and a bronze altar that stands in the outer court (Exod 27:1–8; 1 Kgs 8:64). Finally, both texts describe two golden cherubim within the inner sanctum (Exod 25:18–20; 1 Kgs 6:23–28), as well as cherubim iconography decorating the sanctuary structure – on the walls and doors of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kgs 6:29, 32, 35), and on the veils of P’s wilderness sanctuary (Exod 26:1, 31). The two accounts are not completely congruent. P’s wilderness shrine has many distinctive features on account of its portability – its poles and elaborate curtain structure, for example – while Solomon’s Temple contains unique spaces such as the ‫‘ אולם‬forecourt’ that adjoins its outer sanctum (1 Kgs 6:3) and the royal residence attached to the sanctuary (1 Kgs 7:1–12). Ornamental differences can also be observed between the two spaces. For example, the bronze sea, which is said in 1 Kgs 7:23–26 to have stood in the court of Solomon’s Temple, has no counterpart in P. These differences suggest that the wilderness sanctuary is not an exact replica of the Solomonic Temple, nor vice versa; we should therefore be careful not to overstrain the parallels between the two accounts. However, on balance, the shared elements are significant enough for us to conclude that one sanctuary account was known to the author(s) of the other, and that there was a desire to accept the other as a model of sorts. Determining the precise relationship between the two texts (Exod 25–31, 35–40 and 1 Kgs 5–8) is problematic, given the uncertainty surrounding the date and diachronic development of each account.49 Nevertheless, there are several indications that a core version of 1 Kgs 5–8, containing the main details of the Solomonic Temple, predated the composition of the P sanctuary account. As Julius Wellhausen observed, if the authors of the Kings account had known P’s description of the wilderness sanctuary, with its authoritative status as the direct speech of Yhwh, they would presumably have made explicit the connection between Solomon’s temple-building project and that undertaken by As observed by Janowski, Sühne, 335–36. On the diachronic development of Solomon’s building account, see, e.g., the recent detailed study by Peter Dubovský, The Building of the First Temple: A Study in Redactional, Text-Critical, and Historical Perspective, FAT 1/103 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015). For Exod 25–31, 35–40, see §2.2.2 and Rhyder, “Unity.” Further studies include Utzschneider, Das Heiligtum and Susanne Owczarek, Die Vorstellung vom Wohnen Gottes inmitten seines Volkes in der Priesterschrift: Zur Heiligtumstheologie der priesterschriftlichen Grundschrift, Europäische Hochschulschriften. Theologie 625 (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1998). 48 49

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Moses.50 Instead, the initial Kings account of the building of the First Temple makes no reference to either Moses or the wilderness sanctuary. It seems that later editors of Kings considered this lacuna problematic and sought to remedy it. For instance, 1 Kgs 8 preserves a late addition to the account of the dedication of the First Temple, which states that the entire ‫ אהל מועד‬was installed by Solomon within the Jerusalem sanctuary, along with all its utensils and furniture (1 Kgs 8:4, 62–64; cf. 2 Chr 5:5). This constitutes the only reference to the ‫ אהל מועד‬in 1–2 Kgs and seems to offer a rereading of the Kings building account in accordance with the priestly materials of the Torah.51 Such a postpriestly addition suggests that, while a first version of 1 Kgs 5–8 was written without knowledge of the P wilderness sanctuary, it was updated in order to foster greater interconnection between Solomon’s Temple and the shrine established under Moses. It therefore seems reasonable to conclude that the parallels between the P sanctuary account and the description of Solomon’s Temple in 1 Kgs 5–8 are due, in the main, to P’s awareness of a first version of 1 Kgs 5–8. Even though P was influenced by other traditions, especially those concerning tent shrines, there is also a concern in Exod 25–31, 35–40 to draw on the account of the building of the First Temple when describing the space of the wilderness sanctuary. Yet, as P draws on this account, it does so in such a way as to omit or reconfigure those aspects of the sanctuary that might have been particularly associated with kingship. Solomon’s Temple is a thoroughly royal space, because it served as a royal chapel. The wilderness shrine, by contrast, contains no royal residence equivalent to Solomon’s palace in 1 Kgs 7:1–12. Moreover, P seems to have intentionally minimized any influence of Davidic theology within the sanctuary interior. The differences in the cherubim iconography of the two sanctuaries are telling in this regard. In Solomon’s Temple, the cherubim are massive and serve as throne bearers for the god within the inner sanctum (1 Kgs 6:23–28). Their size and function most probably correspond to the designation, in the Zion theology of the Davidic dynasty, of Yhwh as ‫יהוה צבאות‬ ‫‘ ישב הכרבים‬Yhwh of hosts who is enthroned on the cherubim’ (1 Sam 4:4; 2 Sam 6:2; 2 Kgs 19:15; Isa 37:16; cf. Ps 80:2; 99:1). Yhwh is physically present within the temple, where he sits upon on his throne and is flanked by the cherubim.52 From this position, he protects both his elected city, Jerusalem, and his Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 28. See Menahem Haran, “Shiloh and Jerusalem: The Origin of the Priestly Tradition in the Pentateuch,” JBL 81, no. 1 (1962): 21; Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House, 262–66; and Clifford Mark McCormick, Palace and Temple: A Study of Architectural and Verbal Icons, BZAW 313 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 177–83. 52 Roland de Vaux, “Les chérubins et l’arche d’alliance, les sphinx gardiens et les trônes divins dans l’Ancien Orient,” MUSJ 37, no. 37 (1961): 91–124; Othmar Keel, Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst. Eine neue Deutung der Majestätsschilderungen in Jes 6, Ez 1 und 10 und Sach 4, SBS 84/85 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1977), 23–25; Bernd 50 51

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house, the temple on Mount Zion.53 Key to this theology is not only the invincibility of Jerusalem but also the indispensable role of the Davidic monarch for maintaining Yhwh’s presence on earth. If the deity is to remain enthroned in its temple, a Davidic king must serve as its vice-regent, maintaining the security of Zion and governing on Yhwh’s behalf.54 In P, by contrast, the cherubim in the inner sanctum have been stripped of this association with the enthronement of Yhwh; with this, the link between the deity, the monarch, and Zion is broken.55 The cherubim are much smaller than the two statues in Solomon’s Temple and no longer appear to serve as bearers of Yhwh’s throne. Instead, they are given the function of protecting the ‫כפרת‬, which, although it marks the point within the sanctuary where Yhwh manifests himself, does not serve as Yhwh’s throne. This difference in the representation of the cherubim goes hand-in-hand with a conspicuous absence in P of any reference to Yhwh being ‫‘ ישׁב הכרבים‬enthroned on the cherubim’. As P deselects the language associated with the enthronement of Yhwh, it offers a new interpretation of the divine presence in the sanctuary. In particular, P places a new emphasis on Yhwh meeting with the Israelites at his divine abode in the form of his ‫כבוד‬. This meeting is fundamentally connected to the Israelites’ willingness to practice the rituals Yhwh reveals to Moses at Sinai. As mentioned above, the term ‫ אהל מועד‬is used in Exod 25–31 only when P refers to the sanctuary in the context of ritual practice (see §4.1.1). In addition, both Klaus Koch and Christophe Nihan note that the only time in P when the Israelites are able to directly perceive the ‫ כבוד‬of Yhwh is immediately after the instigation of the sacrificial cult in Lev 9:23–24.56 This supports the theory that P has reconceptualized the divine presence in the sanctuary such that it is the communal ritual cult that both maintains the god’s presence in the sanctuary and enables that presence to be experienced by the community. The traditional ideology of the Davidic royal cult has thus been displaced in favor of a new paradigm in which it is the responsibility of all Israel to maintain the god’s presence in its sanctuary through shared ritual practice (see §4.2.2). In sum, the reconfiguring of traditionally royal roles and iconography in P’s sanctuary account suggests that the echoes of 1 Kgs 5–8 are part of a broader attempt to creatively subvert the traditional association between central Janowski, “Keruben und Zion. Thesen zur Entstehung der Zionstradition,” in Ernten, was man sät. Festschrift für Klaus Koch zu seinem 65. Geburtstag, ed. Dwight R. Daniels, Uwe Glessmer, and Martin Rösel (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1991), 235–59; Mettinger, Dethronement, 36–37; and Propp, Exodus 19–40, 516–19. 53 See further Ps 48. 54 Ben C. Ollenburger, Zion, the City of the Great King: A Theological Symbol of the Jerusalem Cult, JSOTSup 41 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 59–66. 55 As observed by Keel, Jahwe-Visionen, 29; Mettinger, Dethronement, 87; Houtman, Exodus, Volume 3, 383–85; Propp, Exodus 19–40, 516–19; and Nihan, “Temple,” 191–93. 56 Koch, “ʾōhel; ʾāhal,” 173 and Nihan, “Temple,” 197.

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sanctuary space and a king in ancient Israel’s foundational history. These echoes constitute a discursive device whereby the significance of a royal patron in establishing and maintaining the central shrine is diminished. By mimicking the royal building story of 1 Kgs 5–8 but removing the king and the traditional imagery associated with the Davidic monarchy, P eliminates any link between palace and central shrine. A monarch is inconsistent with the ideal revealed to Moses at Sinai in which the sanctuary is to be a communal responsibility, and the divine presence is to be maintained by a combination of Aaron’s ritual agency and the people’s commitment to sponsoring the cult in accordance with Mosaic instruction. P thus effectively displaces the connection between royalty and centrality, so present in 1 Kgs 5–8, in favor of a nonmonarchic cultic ideal, in which the centralized cult is maintained by new figures, sources of authority, and the willingness of the Israelites to unitedly serve a shared shrine.

4.2 Standardized Ritual Practice Central sanctuary space, then, was core to P’s logic of centralization. As we have seen, it is not necessary to compare P to D in order to understand this. Instead the construction account enshrines a distinctively priestly logic of centralization in that it emerges from P’s own narrative of the foundation of the cult at Sinai and the deity’s expectation of its client, Israel. But, as explained in chapter 1 (see §1.2.1 and §1.2.2), centralization should not be limited simply to the analysis of sanctuary space, critical though this may be. Centralization resides as much in the ritual processes by which the attention of the cultic community is focused on the central sanctuary as it does in the description of the spatial properties of the shrine itself. As we consider how P imagines centralization, we need to look at its detailed prescriptions for ritual practice – namely, what the Israelites must do once the central sanctuary has been built – and the function that P imagines these activities served in centralizing the cult and unifying the community. Specifically, we need to move away from the traditional preoccupation with the absence of an altar law in P’s ritual instructions and consider instead how P’s use of prescriptive ritual legislation develops a far more extensive and ultimately more pervasive logic of centralization. This requires that we explore the nexus between cultic centralization and ritual standardization, the form of legislative control evident in texts such as Lev 1–16, where the individual discretion of the Israelites is reduced in favor of conformity and orientation toward shared central authorities. Such a trend toward standardization not only presents decentralized cultic practice as necessarily transgressive but also entrenches the communal obligation to sponsor the central sanctuary and protect it against innovations that would violate the god’s cultic preferences. This aspect of Lev 1–16, it is argued, further highlights P’s creativity in negotiating

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traditionally royal functions, as it redistributes the role of cultic guarantor and guardian to the community as a whole and, in so doing, makes the ongoing survival of the central sanctuary cult a collective responsibility. 4.2.1 Setting a Ritual Standard in Lev 1–16 The study of Lev 1–16 from the perspective of centralization and standardization taps into long-standing debates about the purpose and function of these ritual texts in their ancient context. The scholarly focus has traditionally been on recovering the sources of which Lev 1–16 is comprised and reconstructing the probable role they originally played within the Israelite cult. In particular, scholars have long been fascinated by the possibility that the sacrificial instructions in Lev 1–7 and the impurity regulations of Lev 11–15 preserve traces of priestly manuals used in the performance of major rituals and the handling of impurity. Leviticus 1–3 have received particular attention in this regard. Not only do these materials contain very few references to the narrative context of the P history of origins, but they also evince a number of linguistic peculiarities when compared to other P texts which describe the same sacrifices (cf. esp. Exod 29 and Lev 8–9). Scholars have thus read these aspects of Lev 1–3 as evidence that these chapters contain the kernel(s) of an earlier sacrificial source (or sources), which the priestly scribes took up and edited.57 Beyond this, scholars have identified formal markers in Lev 1–16 that may suggest that the priestly authors have drawn on additional ancient sources when composing their ritual legislation. In particular, the formula X-‫‘ זאת תורת‬this is the instruction for X’, which frequently occurs as the sub- or superscript to the laws of Lev 6–7 and 11–15, has long been considered a marker of smaller compositional units within the P ritual materials.58 The use of the term ‫תורה‬ 57 More specifically, most scholars suggest that chs. 1 and 3 were originally a “single literary unit,” and that Lev 2 has been inserted between them by P, although it is frequently maintained that ch. 2 preserves source material appropriated by P; direct quote from Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, AB 3A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1991), 203–4. This suggestion is based on the observation that the new case in Lev 2:1 interrupts the instructions that seem to flow from Lev 1:2 to 3:1 and also introduces the use of second person singular address, which jars with the third person singular subject of Lev 1 and 3. For this view, see, e.g., Klaus Koch, Die Priesterschrift von Exodus 25 bis Leviticus 16. Eine überlieferungsgeschichtliche und literarkritische Untersuchung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1959), 52; Martin Noth, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. J. E. Anderson, 2nd ed., OTL (London: SCM, 1977), 26; Karl Elliger, Leviticus, HAT 4 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1966), 48; Rolf Rendtorff, Leviticus, BKAT 3 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1985), 84– 85; Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. D. W. Stott, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 37–39; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 198–215. 58 For this view, see, e.g., Noth, Leviticus, 52–53; Elliger, Leviticus, 79–95; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 396; Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 82–83; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to

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“instruction” is significant here, because it is often used elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible when referring to priestly teachings on matters of purity and impurity, and when distinguishing between the sacred and the common.59 Those passages that start or conclude with the expression X-‫ זאת תורת‬have been thought to preserve traces of traditional instructions used by priests when overseeing sacrifices and adjudicating in matters of pollution and impurity. This theory seems to gain support from a comparison of Lev 1–16 with other ritual texts from the ANE. Scholars have noted that the focus on a proper sequence of ritual actions in Lev 1–16 is stylistically reminiscent of the ritual lists found in temple archives from Ugarit and Mesopotamia from the second and first millennia BCE.60 These Ugaritic and Akkadian documents seem to have recorded a standard order for the performance of a given ritual, which could then serve as a checklist for ritual specialists overseeing and keeping track of the rites.61 This function is confirmed by the presence of cuneiform equivalents of check marks in the margins of some of the Ugaritic ritual lists.62 However, while such theories may throw light on the possible function(s) of some of the source materials undergirding Lev 1–16, they do not necessarily explain the purpose of the ritual laws in the form that they finally take in P itself. While P may well have integrated sources that detail ritual sequences, and that would typically have been the preserve of the priests, it is too limiting to deduce from this that Lev 1–16 were intended to provide a kind of

Pentateuch, 229–300; and Christophe Nihan, “Forms and Functions of Purity in Leviticus,” in Purity and the Forming of Religious Traditions in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Ancient Judaism, ed. Christian Frevel and Christophe Nihan, Dynamics in the History of Religion 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 314; and Thomas Hieke, Levitikus, 2 vols., HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2014), 1:307. 59 See, e.g., Lev 10:10; Deut 24:8; Ezek 22:26; 44:23; Zeph 3:4; Hag 2:11; cf. Jer 2:8; Ezek 7:26; Mal 2:7. 60 See Baruch A. Levine, “The Descriptive Ritual Texts from Ugarit: Some Formal and Functional Features of the Genre,” in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman, ed. Carol Meyers and Michael Patrick O’Connor (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1983), 467–75; James W. Watts, “The Rhetoric of Ritual Instruction in Leviticus 1–7,” in The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Reception, ed. Rolf Rendtorff and Robert A Kugler, VTSup 93/FIOTL 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 83; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 215–19. 61 As demonstrated by André Caquot, “Une nouvelle interprétation de la tablette ougaritique de Ras Ibn Hani 78/20 in Memorial Mitchell J. Dahood 2.2.1922–3.8.1982,” Or 53 (1984): 163–76 and Dennis Pardee, Les textes rituels (Ras Shamra-Ougarit XII) (Paris: Éditions Recherches sur les Civilisations, 2000), 3. 62 Dennis Pardee, Ritual and Cult at Ugarit, ed. Theodore J. Lewis, WAW 10 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2002), 13. See, e.g., RS 24.24.264+ col. B, line 10 in Pardee, Les textes rituels, 1284.

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“handbook” or “manual.”63 Such interpretations overlook many of the most distinctive features of Lev 1–16, which suggest that P aimed not merely to program the cultic behavior of the priests but also to promote a collective ritual standard – that is, Lev 1–16 evince a concern with directing how the Israelites conceive their collective obligations in conformity with a central written authority. The features of Lev 1–16 that support this theory include their imagined audience, their divine voicing, the repetition of particular formulae, the narratives of ritual implementation, and, finally, the inclusion of regulations concerning everyday matters of purity and impurity. In terms of the first of these features, the imagined audience, P manifests a consistent interest in widening the addressees of its ritual legislation so that the Israelite community is implicated directly in the protection and maintenance of Yhwh’s cult. A manual intended for the use of a priesthood does not necessarily require that its content be known to all within the community. Yet Moses is repeatedly commanded throughout Lev 1–16 to convey Yhwh’s ritual instructions to the ‫ בני ישׂראל‬as a whole, with variations on the refrain ‫וידבר יהוה אל‬ ‫‘ משה לאמר דבר אל בני ישראל‬Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: “Speak to the Israelites”’ appearing frequently (e.g., Lev 1:1–2a, although note that it contains some variations on the standard formula; 4:1–2a; 7:22–23a, 28–29a; 11:1–2a; 12:1–2a; 15:1–2a). This repetition underscores the deity’s expectation that the entire community, not just the priests, will be familiar with the proper sequences of Israel’s most important rituals and ensure their proper performance. James W. Watts has also argued that the repeated use of second person address in Lev 1–5 reveals P’s concern to reinforce the message that nonpriests, as well as priests, must assume responsibility for heeding Yhwh’s ritual instructions and following them. The detailed ritual sequences outlined in Lev 1–16 are thus a form of communal knowledge rather than the prerogative of the priests alone.64 To be sure, certain instructions in Lev 1–16 are addressed directly to Aaron and his sons, with no accompanying command to Moses to convey them to the broader community. These include the regulations for the disposal of sacrificial remains in Lev 6–7 and the instructions concerning skin disease in Lev 13–14. However, even these regulations are positioned so that they do not constitute secret priestly knowledge. Rather, P invites all those who hear and receive its history of origins to consider themselves privy to the divine oracles that must guide priestly activities; now that the people have access to the god’s ritual instructions in the form of the P document, the community as much as the Anson F. Rainey, “The Order of Sacrifices in Old Testament Ritual Texts,” Bib 51 (1970): 487 and Raymond Westbrook, Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Law, CahRB 26 (Paris: Gabalda, 1988), 2, respectively. 64 James W. Watts, Ritual and Rhetoric in Leviticus: From Sacrifice to Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 59–60; see also Nihan, “Forms,” 357–58. 63

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priesthood is responsible for guarding the cult against any practice that would violate the law.65 The result is that the Israelites are encouraged to consider themselves fit to evaluate the ritual conduct of the priesthood in accordance with the norms laid out in the text. It is a system in which conformity is ensured through mutual surveillance. This incorporation of all Israel, community and priesthood, into a system of compliance with the central authority of the law affirms the idea that P was trying to establish a ritual standard by positioning the laws revealed to Moses at the tent of meeting as the “definitive instructions for Israel’s most important cultic practices.”66 If they are to meet the deity’s requirements for its ritual cult, both priests and non-priests alike must defer to this standard, and it is by this measure that the legitimacy of cultic practice is to be judged. With respect to the second feature, divine voicing, the deference of the community to a core ritual standard cannot be maintained unless the law is recognized as authoritative. P establishes this in large part by framing the P ritual instructions as divine oracles, personally dictated by Yhwh to his chosen prophet, Moses. This use of divine voicing is striking given that it is rarely employed in other ANE legal sources.67 It is far more common for legal texts to be voiced by a king, who then claims divine approval for the decrees.68 Hammurabi’s code is one example of legal materials voiced by a royal figure (King Hammurabi) with the benediction of Shamash, the Mesopotamian solar deity. Similar phenomena can also be observed in other cuneiform legal collections from Sumer and Babylon, such as the laws of Lipit-Ishtar written in Sumerian at the beginning of the second millennium (ca. 1930 BCE).69 In the case of P, however, these conventions of royal voicing appear to have been resignified. By personally voicing the instructions of Lev 1–16, Israel’s national god Yhwh might be said to assume the role traditionally played by the king in cuneiform legal inscriptions, with the result that all the rules for organizing the ritual cult assume the status of divine decrees to his client Israel. To be sure, P differs from the legal sources mentioned above in that its legislation covers rituals, as opposed to the civil matters typical of ANE law codes, in great detail and at considerable length. P’s divine voicing of the ritual Watts, Ritual, 60. Watts, Ritual, 65. 67 See Bernard M. Levinson, “You Must not Add Anything to What I Command You: Paradoxes of Canon and Authorship in Ancient Israel,” Numen 50, no. 1 (2003): 12 and Watts, “Rhetoric,” 88–89. 68 See further Shalom Paul, Studies in the Book of the Covenant in the Light of Cuneiform and Biblical Law, VTSup 18 (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 11–26; Martha T. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor, WAW 6 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1997), 2; and Levinson, “You Must Not Add,” 12–14. 69 For transcription and translation of the law of Lipit-Ishtar, see Roth, Law Collections, 23–35. 65 66

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instructions of Lev 1–16 might then echo ANE narrative texts in which deities occasionally give instructions for the performance of ritual sequences as part of an unfolding story.70 Still, Lev 1–16 go beyond anything found in such ANE narratives because, despite mixing ritual instructions with narrative material (cf. e.g., Lev 1–7 and 8–10), they articulate ritual regulations that are applicable far beyond the immediate narrative setting at Sinai. In this way, they clearly constitute a form of legislation and can be justifiably compared with ANE legal sources. Divine voicing in Lev 1–16 seems to have been a strategy on P’s part to maximize the chances that its legislation would be accepted as normative by the Israelites. It is widely recognized that the ANE legal codes that put their laws in the mouths of kings do so in order to invest the laws with profound authority.71 They were designed “to persuade their audience to undertake a particular course of action, usually to preserve the temple or the king’s other accomplishments, particularly the inscription itself.”72 Royal voicing therefore maximized the likelihood that a set of laws would be considered authoritative by those who read or heard them. In P’s case, the adoption of divine voicing for its ritual materials seems to invest them with still greater authority and thus persuasive power. As Bernard Levinson remarks, “[t]here is a clear relationship between textual voice and textual authority, so that attributing a legal text to God literally gives that text ultimate authority.”73 By amplifying the prestige of the ritual laws preserved in Lev 1–16 through this discursive device, P effectively rules out the possibility that the Israelites might ignore the standard that the laws establish. A similar strategy may also be detected in a third literary device observed in the P ritual instructions: the repetition of particular formulaic expressions. Watts suggests that expressions such as ‫‘ עלה אשׁה ריח־ניחוח ליהוה‬a burnt offering of soothing odor to Yhwh’ (Lev 1:9, 13, 17; 2:2, 9, 11, 16; 3:5, 16) and ‫‘ וכפר עלהם הכהן ונסלח להם‬the priest will make atonement for them and they will be forgiven’ (Lev 4:20, 26, 31, 35; 5:6, 10, 13, 16, 18, 26 MT [= 6:7 LXX]) continually promote the efficacy of the ritual sequences outlined by P, the inference being that ritual practices that significantly differ from these

70 This can be seen especially in Ugaritic narratives such as The Birth of the Beautiful Gods (KTU 1.23), which begins in lines 1–29 with a divine figure summoning guests to a feast and continues with ritual instructions for how it is to be celebrated. For a transcription and translation of the text, see Mark S. Smith, The Rituals and Myths of the Feast of the Goodly Gods of KTU/CAT 1.23: Royal Constructions of Opposition, Intersection, Integration, and Domination, RBS 51 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2006). 71 See, e.g., Albertz, History, 2:482–83; Levinson, “You Must Not Add,” 15; and Watts, “Rhetoric,” 91–92 72 Watts, “Rhetoric,” 91–92. 73 Levinson, “You Must Not Add,” 15.

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prescriptions will be considered unacceptable by the deity.74 Moreover, the refrain X-‫‘ זאת תורת‬this is the instruction for X’ in Lev 6–7 and 11–15 might serve a similar rhetorical function: it asserts the laws’ authority, while also encouraging readers and hearers of the text to consider this particular version of Israel’s major rituals – and only this version – to be the authoritative account of the rituals at hand. The formula X-‫ זאת תורת‬would thus be equivalent to “this is torah (not that).”75 In this case, such formulae would point persuasively to an impulse in P toward standardization; their prescriptive tone seems to reduce individual discretion in deciding how the ritual should be performed, marginalize alternatives to the textual standard, and orient P’s audience toward centralized authority. A fourth feature of Lev 1–16, the narratives of ritual implementation, confirms this argument. After revealing the rules for sacrifice, P reports in Lev 8– 9 how Moses, Aaron, and his sons diligently went about instigating the sanctuary cult in precise accordance with Yhwh’s oracles delivered to Moses. In addition to repeating many of the ritual details found in Exod 29 (concerning the consecration of the sanctuary and priests) and Lev 1–3 (concerning the major Israelite sacrifices), Lev 8–9 repeatedly affirm that everything is done exactly ‫את־משׁה‬/‫‘ כאשׁר צוה יהוה אתו‬as Yhwh commanded him/Moses’ (Lev 8:4a, 9b, 13b, 17b, 21b, 29b; cf. Lev 8:31, 34–36; 9:5, 7, 10, 21). In addition, Lev 9:16 states that Aaron presents the burnt offering on the community’s behalf ‫‘ כמשׁפט‬according to the rule’; it thus appears that the high priest was pairing his sacrificial actions with the instructions laid out in Lev 1. Yhwh’s approval of the rites is then dramatically confirmed in Lev 9:24 with the manifestation of Yhwh’s ‫ כבוד‬to the entire community and the eruption of fire which eats (‫ )אכל‬the burnt offering and fat that have been dutifully placed upon the altar. Strict obedience to ritual law is thus upheld by P as the means by which the Israelites’ sacrifices will be considered acceptable by their patron deity and thus ensure the cult’s proper functioning. By contrast, we see in Lev 10 the disastrous consequences when priests fail to adhere to Yhwh’s ritual commandments.76 Leviticus 10:1–2 describe how two of Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu, put fire in their censers to offer incense to Yhwh and present ‫‘ אשׁ זרה‬strange fire’; namely, fire that Yhwh had not commanded (‫)אשׁ זרה אשׁר לא צוה אתם‬. This act of insolence provokes fire to come out from before Yhwh and “eat” (‫ )אכל‬Nadab and Abihu, killing them (v. 2). As has been widely recognized by commentators, this description of Watts, Ritual, 58. Watts, Ritual, 59. 76 As mentioned above (§2.2.2), Lev 10 seems to constitute a late addition to the book of Leviticus that arguably postdates the composition of Lev 17–26. Nevertheless, Lev 10 is a sophisticated supplement to the focus on law observance in the narrative of the inauguration of Yhwh’s sanctuary cult in Lev 8–9 that throws valuable light on how narratives concerned with law observance/nonobservance reinforce the need for ritual standardization. 74 75

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Nadab and Abihu’s punishment in v. 2 clearly reverses the positive approval that Yhwh gives to the rites in Lev 9:24, which were on that occasion presented in accordance with the law. Rather than eating the offerings, as Yhwh does in ch. 9, Yhwh causes his fire to eat the disobedient priests instead! Scholars have long debated the precise nature of Nadab and Abihu’s transgression. The discussion has primarily focused on the interpretation of the key expression ‫ אשׁ זרה‬and what it might reveal about the errant offering presented before Yhwh. Some scholars have suggested that Lev 10:1 might echo Exod 30:9, where the same term ‫ זרה‬is used when prohibiting the offering of ‫קטרת‬ ‫‘ זרה‬strange incense’ on the incense altar.77 Others suggest that the term ‫זרה‬ might reveal the ‘foreign’ nature of the fire rite, and thus that Nadab and Abihu engaged in non-Yahwistic cultic practice.78 “In any case,” Katharina Pyschny observes, the wording of v. 1bβ (‫ )אשׁר לא צוה אתם‬makes clear that the issue “concerns a fire that diverges from the divine norms of law and is therefore an unauthorized or illegitimate one” (In jedem Fall handelt es sich um ein von der göttlichen Rechtsnorm abweichendes und damit unerlaubtes bzw. illegitimes Feuer).79 The rhetorical strategy behind such a story is clear: it confirms that only those offerings made in accordance with P’s ritual instructions can be worthy of Yhwh’s attention.80 Those who dare to ignore the law do so at their peril. These narratives of sacrificial practice in Lev 8–10 thus confirm the cultic requirement to standardize ritual action with the laws outlined in chs. 1–7. Priest and non-priest alike must accept the authority of P’s prescriptions and ensure that rituals are performed in ways that do not openly flout the law. Such standardization requires that the Israelites shun competing versions of Israel’s major rituals in favor of those outlined by P and judge the appropriateness of a given ritual action in accordance with the Mosaic ‫תורה‬. Finally, it is important to note that, although these narratives concern cultic practices that transpire within the space of the sanctuary, P’s tendency toward standardization is hinted at through a fifth device: its regulations concerning everyday matters of purity and impurity outside the shrine. In Lev 11–15, P offers extensive instructions concerning the application of the law in order to avoid pollution in everyday contexts. The standardizing impulse is particularly 77 See, e.g., Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation, JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 59 and Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 598. 78 See, e.g., John H. Hartley, Leviticus, WBC 4 (Dallas, TX: Word, 1992), 132 and Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 97–110. 79 Katharina Pyschny, Verhandelte Führung: Eine Analyse von Num 16–17 im Kontext der neueren Pentateuchforschung, Herders biblische Studien 88 (Freiburg: Herder, 2017), 208. 80 See further Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 582 and Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 527–28.

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clear in the legislation in Lev 11 concerning clean and unclean animals. As a number of scholars have recognized, the norms laid out in this chapter are striking on account of their generality and permanence for all Israel.81 Moses and Aaron are instructed by Yhwh to deliver the instructions to ‫ בני ישׂראל‬as a whole (Lev 11:2a), who must then apply them indiscriminately to every situation in which they consume animals. The prohibitions are therefore absolute, intended to apply to all members of the Israelite community in equal measure, regardless of where they live or the time of the year when they consume the meat. This aspect of Lev 11 distinguishes P’s dietary prohibitions from those of other cultures in the ANE. Outside the Bible, dietary prohibitions are almost exclusively associated with specific spatial contexts or times of the year. As such, they do not constitute prohibitions for all members of a given society in all circumstances but apply to specific, well-defined contexts. For example, Mesopotamian dietary prohibitions are usually found in hemerologies – omen texts listing favorable and unfavorable days in the cultic calendar – that prohibit the consumption of particular foods on specific days of the cultic calendar.82 Mesopotamian prohibitions also frequently apply only to particular

81 See, e.g., Karel van der Toorn, Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia: A Comparative Study, SSN 22 (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1985), 35–36; Edwin Firmage, “The Biblical Dietary Laws and the Concept of Holiness,” in Studies in the Pentateuch, ed. John A. Emerton, VTSup 41 (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 185; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 333– 34; and Peter Altmann and Anna Angelini, “Purity, Taboo, and Food in Antiquity: Theoretical and Methodological Issues,” in Food Taboos and Biblical Prohibitions: Reassessing Archaeological and Literary Perspectives, ed. Peter Altmann, Anna Angelini, and Abra Spiciarich, Bible and Archaeology (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). 82 For instance, one list of favorable days (KAR 178 18.23) prohibits fish and leek on the first and the third days of Nisannu (the first month of the year), while another text (SAA 8, 231 rev. line 4) encourages the consumption of these same foods on other days of the year. Yet it should be stressed that certain animals, most notably the pig, were considered to bear impurity (ikkibu) in Mesopotamia regardless of what day it was. This did not mean that such animals were prohibited from being consumed as food. On the contrary, impure animals such as pigs appear to have been common dishes enjoyed by both kings and commoners alike; on this, see further Toorn, Sin, 34–35; Stefania Ermidoro, “Tabooed Animals in the Ancient Mesopotamian Diet: Prohibitions and Regulations Related to Meat in the First Millennium BCE,” in Food Taboos and Biblical Prohibitions: Reassessing Archaeological and Literary Perspectives, ed. Peter Altmann, Anna Angelini, and Abra Spiciarich, Bible and Archaeology (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). Rather, it seems that such animals were prohibited from entering holy spaces such as temples or from being consumed during significant ritual events on account of their impure status. See, e.g., the popular sayings recorded on a Neo-Assyrian tablet from the early first millennium (ninth–seventh centuries BCE), where the list of the pig’s “unholy” traits concludes with the statement “the pig is not fit for a temple” (VAT 8807 [Plate 55, line 15]). For transcription and translation of the tablet, see Wilfred George Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 215.

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sociocultic leaders on set days of the year.83 The dietary regulations known from ancient Egyptian sources also present a more contextual approach to food prohibitions than Lev 11. They often apply the prohibitions only to particular territories of Egypt, known as nomes, because of the particular aversion that the god local to a particular area had to the particular animal in question.84 Other texts limit the consumption of particular foods by the participants in a specific ritual, priests officiating within the sacred space of a temple, or visitors to the palace precincts.85 The generality and permanence of the food prohibitions in Lev 11 are thus effectively “without parallel in the ancient Near East.”86 In P’s notion that all Israel is to conform their dietary practices to a standard list of clean and unclean foods, in all circumstances and for all time, we see again the standardizing trend evident elsewhere. However, now it moves beyond the concern to establish a standard sequence of ritual action evident in Lev 1–10 to promote the need for standardization of customs in noncultic spaces as well. The dietary laws therefore provide an important window into the way in which P charges the Israelite community with the responsibility to consider the prescriptions laid out in the text even when they are not within the space of the shrine. This idea is further developed in Lev 12–15 in the prescriptions for dealing with the bodily impurities caused by childbirth (12:1–7), scale disease 83 For example, colophons of namburbi tablets record that the Assyrian kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal were apparently forbidden from eating onion, leek, or fish for the three days of the namburbi ceremony; see Toorn, Sin, 33. 84 Youri Volokhine, “So-called ‘Dietary Prohibitions’ in Pharaonic Egypt: Discourses and Practices,” in Food Taboos and Biblical Prohibitions: Reassessing Archaeological and Literary Perspectives, ed. Peter Altmann, Anna Angelini, and Abra Spiciarich, Bible and Archaeology (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). The local nature of Egyptian food prohibitions can be observed, for example, in lists dating to the Ptolemaic period that summarize the forbidden items in the different provinces; one such case is found in the list of Edfu, which prohibits eating fish in the nome of Latopolis (Edfou I, 338, 3); for transcription and German translation, see Christian Leitz, Die Gaumonographien in Edfu und ihre Papyrusvarianten. Ein überregionaler Kanon kultischen Wissens im spätzeitlichen Ägypten, Studien zur spätägyptischen Religion 9/Soubassementstudien 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014), 36. 85 Volokhine, “So-Called ‘Dietary Prohibitions’” points to the Victory Stela of Piânkhy (also known as Piye; Cairo JdE 48862+47086–47089) from Egypt’s twenty-fifth dynasty (ca. 747–656 BCE) as a particularly clear illustration of how such rules were imaginatively applied. The stele recounts how Piânkhy, a Nubian, sought to cast himself as a true Egyptian by depicting his opponents as debased and unclean outsiders. He achieved this by prohibiting the kings and counts of Lower Egypt from entering his palace on account of their being “uncircumcised and eaters of fish – such is an abomination of the palace” (line 50); for this translation, see Robert K. Ritner, “The Victory Stela of Piye,” in The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, and Poetry, ed. William Kelly Simpson (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003), 385. 86 Firmage, “Biblical Dietary Laws,” 185. See further Angelini and Altmann, “Purity.”

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affecting humans (13:1–46; 14:1–32) and clothing (13:47–59), diseased houses (14:33–53), and genital discharges (15:1–33). With the exception of the instructions for scale disease in Lev 13–14, which are directed to Moses and Aaron alone, all these purity instructions are to be made known to the community writ large. They include basic rituals that the Israelites are to perform at home, such as washing clothes and ritual bathing (e.g., 15:4–11), as well as knowledge for determining the severity of their bodily pollutions, such as the uncleanness of specific discharges (e.g., 15:2–3). P construes this communal knowledge as essential for maintaining the holiness of the sanctuary in the midst of the people, as well as for preventing the Israelites from dying as punishment for polluting the shrine (15:31). Hence all Israel, and not just the priests, must be cognizant of Yhwh’s requirements for ensuring that his habitation remains among the community, as well as vigilant in interpreting how they might apply to their daily life.87 In a thoughtful analysis, Nihan argues that this aspect of the P purity regulations constitutes an attempt on priestly scribes’ part “to enlarge and consolidate the authority of the priesthood and the temple over the rest of society.”88 It is a mode of enculturating the Israelites into a temple society, in which cultic norms direct everyday life and the priesthood, as the specialists in applying the law, exerts authority in extrasanctuary settings. Yet Nihan also suggests in passing that “the partial transfer of priestly competences to non-priests was the price to pay, for the authors of Leviticus, for construing so broadly the spectrum of pollution.”89 The implication is that the dissemination of ritual knowledge somehow diminishes the power of the priesthood, in that it distributes power in a horizontal fashion. However, it can be argued that the sharing of competence need not be seen as a price to pay. Rather, as Michel Foucault argues, and as Nihan emphasizes elsewhere in his essay, the distribution of knowledge is the necessary precondition for the legitimation of power structures.90 By making all Israel cognizant of the ritual law and empowering them to apply it in a limited way in day-to-day life, P incorporates the community into that cultic order more effectively than if its members were denied cultic knowledge. The community thereby comes to accept as normal and appropriate

See further James W. Watts, “From the Torah of Polluted and Inedible Meats to Diet as a Marker of Jewish Identity” (paper presented at the 9th Enoch Seminar: From tôrāh to Torah: Variegated Notions of Torah from the First Temple Period to Late Antiquity. Camaldoni, 18–23 June 2017). I am grateful to James Watts for making a copy of his paper available to me. 88 Nihan, “Forms,” 362. 89 Nihan, “Forms,” 357. 90 Foucault, Power/Knowledge, 98; Nihan, “Forms,” 362–63. 87

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a central cultic order, its rituals, and the power hierarchies it enshrines, and to commit to interpreting ‫ תורה‬when seeking to mitigate the risk of pollution.91 It would be straining the argument, however, to suggest that P presents a system of standardized practice that is totalizing, such that the Israelites would no longer be able to tolerate any diversion from Lev 1–16 or localized customs. As argued particularly by Christian Frevel, none of the priestly ritual laws are exhaustive; they do not prescribe in absolute detail how the rites must be carried out: “Textual rituals in the Bible are never complete and provide no ritual scripts. There is no biblical ritual which is completely reported or without possible vacancies either in ritual agency, ritual media, ritual action, or intention. Some are more and some are less concrete, some cannot be performed on the basis of the OT information either.”92 In the specific case of Lev 1–16, the primary focus seems to be on sketching a general sequence of ritual actions that must be performed.93 The texts clearly assume knowledge on the part of P’s audience of customs that are not specified in the laws. For example, in the instructions for the burnt offering, P offers no comment on the method by which the sacrificial animal must be killed, whether by slitting the throat, stabbing, or some other ritualized means. Other key details are also absent, such as how to flay the burnt offering and cut it into its various parts (Lev 1:6), or how to arrange the parts on the fire upon the altar. The text therefore relies on ritual agents’ knowledge of other customary practices that would supplement the ritual sequences laid out by P. Meanwhile, it is evident in the textual transmission of Lev 1 that important aspects of the P ritual of the burnt offering remained open to ongoing debate and interpretation; the witnesses to Lev 1:5–6 preserve significant differences in the roles assigned to the offerer and the priest in the process of offering the ‫עלה‬.94 This further illustrates that the ritual standard promoted by P does not demand complete uniformity, even in how later scribes understood ritual process.

91 For a similar argument, concerned more specifically with Lev 11, see Watts, “From the Torah of Polluted and Inedible Meats to Diet as a Marker of Jewish Identity.” 92 Christian Frevel, “The Texture of the Rituals in the Book of Numbers: A Fresh Approach to Ritual Density, the Role of Tradition, and the Emergence of Diversity in Early Judaism,” in Text and Ritual in the Pentateuch: A Systematic and Comparative Approach, ed. Christophe Nihan and Julia Rhyder (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, forthcoming). 93 Alfred Marx, Les systemes sacrificiels de l’Ancien Testament. Formes et functions du culte sacrificial à Yhwh, VTSup 105 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 105 with n. 26. 94 According to MT and SP, the offerer slaughters and skins the sacrifice of the burnt offering. In LXX, by contrast, plural verbs are used to describe both actions, slaughtering and flaying, thereby assigning these responsibilities to multiple persons, presumably the priests. Significantly, the Temple Scroll seems to hold the same position as that of Lev 1:5– 6 LXX, because 11Q19 34:7–14 describe a sacrificial process in which ‫‘ הכוהנים בני אהרון‬the priests, the sons of Aaron’ (34:13) are responsible for slaughtering the animal, as well as offering it upon the altar.

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It therefore seems most helpful to view P’s promotion of a ritual standard as a form of idealized discourse, in that it sought to normalize the idea that the rituals laid out by P should play an “integrating, homogenizing function” within the Israelite community by providing a central standard for how ritual action should be conceived and evaluated.95 The room that P leaves for variation should therefore not be read as incompatible with a general motivation to instigate a process of ritual standardization. The application of standardized knowledge always has elements of the dynamic. As Mark Elchardus puts it, “[a]ny standard allows for variations.”96 Yet, whatever the compromises and adaptation of the standard in practice (on this see the detailed discussion in §4.4.2), the trend toward elimination of diversity in Lev 1–16 retains discursive, even ideological, power. The standard normalizes the belief that unity via adherence to the prescribed ritual practice is the wish of the deity, who will not accept behavior in which the community completely ignores its oracles and deliberately flouts its revelation at Sinai. Hence, P establishes in Lev 1–16 a central benchmark, so to speak, of “authoritative practice” against which Yahwistic ritual practice should be evaluated, and any practice that clearly violates or contradicts this central standard should be constructed as transgressive and meriting penalties.97 We can conclude that the P ritual instructions of Lev 1–16 go far beyond providing a handbook for priests. In these materials, P imposes on the entire community of Israel the responsibility to know a central set of ritual laws, conform to it, and view it as a shared standard for their collective ritual action and handling of impurity. It is thus a form of ritual centralization, because it requires the Israelites to monitor their own behavior and evaluate that of the priesthood through the lens of a central written authority: the Mosaic ‫תורה‬. 4.2.2 Guarding and Maintaining the Centralized Cult: Reconfiguring Royal Roles The essence of this standardizing logic, as we have seen, is the incorporation of the whole Israelite community into a shared responsibility for adherence to the obligations of a central set of cultic legislations. In so doing, all Israel acquires the obligation to guard and protect Yhwh’s sanctuary and community from ritual error and the forces of pollution. In this sense, the emphasis on a central ritual standard may again represent a point of departure from traditional notions of cultic centrality and ritual responsibility in the ANE, in which royal Frevel, “Texture.” Mark Elchardus, “Diversity and Standardization: Concepts, Issues and Approaches,” in Diversity, Standardization, and Social Transformation: Gender, Ethnicity, and Inequality in Europe, ed. Max Koch, Lesley McMillan, and Bram Peper (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011), 17. 97 Frevel, “Texture.” 95 96

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roles for upholding the cult were paramount. The evidence concerning other ANE temples, including those in ancient Israel, demonstrates that kings played an essential role in maintaining temple cults and their central ritual activities: they officiated at the daily rituals and provided material resources, while guarding the cult against misconduct and neglect of the sacred traditions. For instance, various letters and impressions attest to the role that Neo-Assyrian kings played in offering sacrifices and supplying the materials for the upkeep of central shrines and their daily cultic activities.98 There is also evidence that Neo-Assyrian kings enjoyed the “exclusive prerogative” of appointing priests, and played a key role in arbitrating in cases of cultic malpractice.99 Kings in the Neo-Babylonian period seem to have assumed similar roles in maintaining the sacrificial cult of major temples, although they may have been less directive in cultic matters than the Assyrian kings.100 Votive gifts such as vases, thrones, and belts for the gods’ adornment often preserve dedicatory inscriptions that refer to Neo-Babylonian kings as responsible for the donation.101 In addition, the royal patronage of the cult is emphasized in epithets that appear at the end of royal names.102 As Caroline Waerzeggers points out, short formulaic expressions such as “I am the one who firmly establishes the regular offerings” (mukīn sattukkī), “the one with providing hands” (idān zānināti), or the “provider of Esangila and Ezida” (zānin Esagila u Ezida), which are frequently attested, reveal the importance of the king’s role as the sponsor of the cult.103

98 See, e.g., the letters transcribed by Brigitte Menzel, Assyrische Tempel. Untersuchungen zu Kult, Administration und Personal, StPohl 10 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1981), 1:159–74. See further Julian Reade, “The Ziggurrat and Temples of Nimrud,” Iraq 64 (2002): 135–216 and Reade, “Religious Ritual in Assyrian Sculpture,” in Ritual and Politics in Ancient Mesopotamia, ed. Barbara N. Porter, AOS 88 (New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 2005), 7–61. 99 Anne Löhnert, “The Installation of Priests according to Neo-Assyrian Documents,” SAAB 16 (2007): 280. See, e.g., SAA 13, 134. On the royal right to appoint priests, see further Waerzeggers, “Pious King,” 741. 100 See further, e.g., Andrew R. George, “Babylonian Texts from the Folios of Sidney Smith, Part One,” RA 82, no. 2 (1988): 146–51 and Amélie Kuhrt, “Nabonidus and the Babylonian Priesthood,” in Pagan Priests: Religion and Power in the Ancient World, ed. Mary Beard and John North (London: Duckworth, 1990), 20–55. 101 Waerzeggers, “Pious King,” 726. 102 David Stephen Vanderhooft, The Neo-Babylonian Empire and Babylon in the Latter Prophets (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1999), 41 and Rocío Da Riva, The Neo-Babylonian Royal Inscriptions: An Introduction, GMTR 4 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2008), 98–107. 103 Waerzeggers, “Pious King,” 729.

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Neo-Babylonian texts also emphasize the role of the king as the “agent of cultic continuity.”104 While the priests are responsible for knowing the intricate rules for the various sanctuary rituals, the king is obliged to enable the priests to carry out their work by guarding the cult from illegitimate innovations that may violate the sacred traditions. Bad kings are typically accused of neglecting this foundational responsibility by introducing ritual changes that violate established practice or by redirecting funds away from the temple. SpTU 3 no. 58 is one text that attributes to the king Nabu-šuma-iškun cultic failures such as altering traditional rites, devoting temple resources to the worship of unauthorized gods, and stripping the temples of Babylon of their properties.105 While the historicity of this account is open to question, the criticisms of Nabušuma-iškun expressed in this text attest to the cultural significance of the king’s role as a cultic guardian in evaluations of his success or failure.106 Various texts in the Hebrew Bible suggest that kings traditionally played comparable roles in maintaining and protecting the Yahwistic cult. The account of Josiah’s reform in 2 Kgs 22–23 is a clear illustration of how Judean kings were imagined to play a vital part in ensuring that the cult was carried out in accordance with the deity’s wishes. Josiah is praised for his active role in purging the temple of cultic objects deemed inappropriate, such as the vessels for Baal (2 Kgs 23:4) and the Asherah pole (23:6), and for removing the priests who had joined former kings in making offerings ‫לבעל לשמש ולירח ולמזלות ולכל‬ ‫‘ צבא השמים‬to Baal, to the sun, the moon, the constellations, and to all the host of heaven’ (2 Kgs 23:5). Once his reform is complete, Josiah is said to lead the community in a collective Passover celebration (2 Kgs 23:21–23). While 2 Kgs 23 recounts this event only briefly, it is described in elaborate detail in 2 Chr 35:1–19, where Josiah is said to have personally contributed offerings of extraordinary quantities on the community’s behalf: ‫וירם יאשיהו לבני העם צאן‬ ‫כבשי ם ו ב נ י עז י ם הכל ל פסחי ם ל כל הנ מצא למספר של שי ם אלף ו בקר של שת אל פי ם‬ ‫‘ אלה מרכוש המלך‬Then Josiah presented to the people lambs and kids of the flock – Passover offerings for all who were present – to the number of thirty thousand, and three thousand bulls; these were from the king’s personal property’ (2 Chr 35:7). This account almost certainly does not provide an historical record of the actual offerings presented by king Josiah at a national celebration, but it does clearly illustrate the importance of the king’s cultic generosity when scribes imagined his credentials as royal figure.

104 Waerzeggers, “Pious King,” 741. On this issue, see also Sylvie Honigman, Tales of High Priests and Taxes: The Books of the Maccabees and the Judean Rebellion against Antiochos IV, HCS 56 (Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2014), 60. 105 For edition and translation, see Steven Cole, “The Crimes and Sacrileges of Nabûšuma-iškun,” ZA 84, no. 2 (1994): 234–36. 106 On the account’s historicity, see Cole, “Crimes,” 220–21 and Waerzeggers, “Pious King,” 740.

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Ezekiel 40–48 also present an ideal image of a royal patron. These chapters do not actually refer to a ‫‘ מלך‬king’; the term ‫ מלך‬is used only in Ezek 43:7–9 to describe the previous Judean kings. Rather, they assign an important role in the visionary temple to a ‫‘ נשׂיא‬prince’.107 According to Ezek 45:17–46:15, the ‫ נשׂיא‬serves not only as the sponsor of the cult but also as its guardian who must ensure the correct performance of the sacrificial rites by the Zadokite priests.108 This is especially clear in Ezek 45:17b, which states that the ‫ נשׂיא‬is responsible for “doing” (‫ )עשׂה‬the sacrifices, even though it is the priests who present them on the altar: ‫הוא־יעשׂה את־החטאת ואת־המנחה ואת־העולה ואת־השׁלמים לכפר בעד‬ ‫‘ בית־ישׂראל‬It is he [the prince] who shall do the sin offering, the cereal offerings, the burnt offerings, and the well-being offerings, to make atonement on behalf of the house of Israel’. Ezekiel 46:1–5 also assign an important role to the ‫ נשׂיא‬during the sacrificial activities on the sabbath and new moon. The ‫ נשׂיא‬is commanded to enter the inner eastern gate on these festal occasions and to stand at its doorposts while the priests prepare his burnt offerings and wellbeing offerings. As argued by Daniel Block, this spatial positioning of the ‫נשׂיא‬ at the doorposts, where he can survey the priests’ actions as they carry out the sacrifices, underscores his responsibility for overseeing the cult of the visionary temple.109 The Hebrew Bible also contains accounts in which royal leaders are chastised for their failure to uphold ritual standards and protect the cult against malpractice. One clear example of this is 2 Kgs 16, which describes the ascendance of King Ahaz, the son of Jotham, to the throne in Jerusalem. The text levels similar accusations against Ahaz to those leveled against Nabu-šumaiškun in SpTU 3 no. 58: Ahaz does not “do what was right in the eyes of Yhwh his god” (2 Kgs 16:2) but interferes in the cult of Jerusalem. He removes traditional cultic objects and introduces a new altar built on the model of the altar in Damascus, which he saw when he met the Neo-Assyrian king Tiglath-Pileser 107 On the nature of the ‫ נשׂ יא‬as a royal figure, see Iain M. Duguid, Ezekiel and the Leaders of Israel, VTSup 56 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 50–55; Paul M. Joyce, “King and Messiah in Ezekiel,” in King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar, ed. John Day, JSOTSup 270 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998), 323–97; Daniel Bodi, “Le prophète critique la monarchie. Le terme nasi chez Ézechiel,” in Prophètes et rois. Bible et Proche-Orient, ed. André Lemaire, LD (Paris: Cerf, 2001), 249–57; Michael Konkel, Architektonik des Heiligen. Studien zur zweiten Tempelvision Ezechiels (Ez 40–48), BBB 129 (Berlin: Philo, 2001), 271–73; Daniel I. Block, “Transformation of Royal Ideology in Ezekiel,” in Transforming Visions: Transformations of Text, Tradition, and Theology in Ezekiel, ed. William A. Tooman and Michael A. Lyons (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2010), 208–46; and Christophe Nihan, “The nāśîʾ and the Future of Royalty in Ezekiel,” in History, Memory, Hebrew Scriptures: A Festschrift for Ehud Ben Zvi, ed. Ian Douglas Wilson and Diana Edelman (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 229–46. 108 See Daniel I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 25–48, NICOT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), 671–76 and Nihan, “nāśîʾ,” 240. 109 Block, Book of Ezekiel, 671.

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III. Such innovations are clearly construed in the text as violating Ahaz’s royal prerogative to protect the cult against improper innovation and foreign influence. Unlike these texts, in which the importance of royal guardianship of the cult is consistently underscored, the P ritual instructions of Lev 1–16 are striking for their omission of any role for a royal figure in maintaining Yhwh’s cultic standards. Instead, they repeatedly underscore that it is the responsibility of the community to internalize the central ritual standard, to resource the cult, and to protect it from malpractice, without need of a royal leader. To fulfill these duties, the Israelites must know the ritual instructions established at the time of the cult’s founding and ensure that they are assiduously followed. In addition, they must supply all the animals, cereals, and spices needed for the sacrificial cult of the central sanctuary, thereby ensuring that it has the material means to continue its operations. The community does not have a monopoly on traditional royal roles, however: some other functions typically ascribed to royalty seem to be assigned by P to other characters. For instance, the divine voicing of the full set of instructions in Lev 1–16 seems to attribute to Yhwh the role of royal legislator, establishing the god as the overarching cultic authority and the arbitrator of proper cultic practice. Indeed, the episode in Lev 10 illustrates how Yhwh issues direct punishment in cases of priestly malpractice. The ritual standard developed in Lev 1–16 therefore does more than simply stress the need for ritual unity via a central set of core ritual practices or reiterate the Israelites’ responsibility to resource the central sanctuary so the ritual cult can function successfully; it reinterprets traditional notions of central authority in ensuring proper ritual action, such that no royal figure is needed to protect the central shrine and maintain its cult. The instructions revealed by the deity to Moses at Sinai give the Israelites the necessary means to maintain an acceptable standard of ritual practice without a royal intermediary, and they are thereby empowered to collectively mitigate the risk of divine disapproval and preserve the shrine at the center of their community.

4.3 Centralized Priestly Competence A multifaceted picture is thus emerging of the central sanctuary cult advanced by P. Two dimensions are the standardization of ritual practice within the Israelite community and the focusing of that community on its obligations to construct and meet at a shared sanctuary. To these must be added a third and equally significant dimension: P’s expectation that the Israelite priesthood should be restricted to a centralized institution, ideally represented by Aaron and his sons. The nexus between centralization and an exclusive priesthood can be helpfully framed if we again employ the insights of social theorists. As Pierre

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153

Bourdieu and others have decisively shown, standardization facilitates the concentration of power in the hands of those who have mastery over the “standard” form of practice; namely, the form accords “social value” to those who are experts in the normal way of acting.110 The promotion of a standard, such as the P ritual laws, is therefore inherently political, as well as instrumental in legitimating elites.111 Those who in any social or cultic situation impose conformity as the arbiters of normative behavior thereby consolidate and reinforce their own power base. In that sense, as Elchardus puts it, “a standard is never innocent.”112 Predictably, then, P’s insistence on standardization is complemented by a call to invest cultic leadership in the hands of a centralized priesthood. P consistently stresses the exclusive rights of Aaron and his sons to successfully administer the cult required by the deity, and to lead the community in the standardized form of ritual practice revealed to Moses at Sinai.113 In particular, they position Aaron, and his sons, as performing the unique and irreplaceable functions within the central sanctuary of manifesting the god to the community and representing the unified community before the deity. In so doing, P underscores Yhwh’s expectation that the Israelites must defer to central ritual agents if they are to offer him the kind of unified, centralized worship he requires. 4.3.1 The Priestly Garments and the Centralized Priesthood The elevation of Aaron and his sons to this authoritative role is achieved through P’s use of a number of discursive devices. Preeminent among these is the description in Exod 28 of the ceremonial clothing prepared for Aaron and his sons. In Exod 28:1a, Moses is commanded by Yhwh to bring forward “your brother Aaron, and his sons with him from the midst of the Israelites, to serve me as priests (‫)לכהנו־לי‬.” This is followed by a lengthy description of the “holy garments” that must be made for Aaron ‫‘ לכבוד ולתפארת‬for glory and for splendor’ (Exod 28:2). Then follows an elaborate description of how each garment must be manufactured and the materials to be used (vv. 3–39), a shorter account of the garments that must be made for Aaron’s sons (v. 40) who are also to serve ‫לכבוד ולתפארת‬, and, finally, detailed instructions as to how these men 110 Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, trans. Gino Raymon and Matthew Adamson (Oxford: Polity, 1991), 54. See further the references cited at §1.2.1. 111 See further Andrew L. Russell, “Standardization in History: A Review Essay with an Eye to the Future,” in The Standards Edge: Future Generation, ed. Sherrie Bolin (Ann Arbor, MI: Bolin Communications, 2005), 248. 112 Elchardus, “Diversity,” 19. 113 As shown with particular clarity in Watts, Ritual and James W. Watts, “The Torah as the Rhetoric of Priesthood,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 319–31.

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are to be dressed in the garments, anointed, and ordained for service as priests (Exod 29; cf. Lev 8). These passages reflect the critical importance that ceremonial clothing played in establishing roles, status, and social hierarchies within the societies of antiquity.114 The detail with which the vestments are described in P suggests that it is employing clothing as a discursive device through which to establish the ritual primacy of Aaron and his sons, their relative positions within the priestly hierarchy, and their ascribed privileges and duties. In particular, their ceremonial clothing gives visual form to their monopoly of the sanctuary; it empowers Aaron’s mediation between Yhwh and the community, enables him to represent the unity of Israel, and serves as the means for securing the transmission of priestly monopoly from one generation of “Aaronides” to the next. 4.3.1.1 Monopolizing the Sanctuary One of the key devices employed in P to invest this cultic authority in Aaron and his sons is the choice of fabrics for their clothing. As has been highlighted by Menahem Haran and Philip Jenson, and I have discussed with Nihan elsewhere, the priests’ garments form part of the broader classification system that operates throughout the wilderness sanctuary, whereby different materials are reserved for different spaces and their associated objects according to their value and holiness.115 When the priests officiate within the tent of meeting or approach the bronze altar, P specifies that they should wear a ‫‘ כתנת‬tunic’, a ‫‘ אבנט‬sash’, and a ‫‘ מגבעה‬headpiece’ (Exod 28:40), as well as ‫‘ מכנסים‬undergarments’ (Exod 28:43). All these garments are made of the same fabric – ‫שׁשׁ‬, or ‫‘ בד‬linen’ in the case of the ‫– מכנסים‬used for the curtains that delineate the courtyard of the sanctuary. Four items, to be worn by Aaron alone, are made of more elaborate materials. The ‫‘ חשׁן‬breastpiece’, ‫ אפוד‬ephod, ‫‘ מעיל‬robe’, and ‫‘ ציץ‬diadem’ are made both of ‫ שׁשׁ‬and of the blue, purple, and crimson yarns also used in the fabrication of the curtains and the veils of the interior of the sanctuary.116 Aaron’s clothes are also to include gold, which presumably See further the detailed discussion in Christophe Nihan and Julia Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments in Exodus 28 and Priestly Leadership,” in Debating Authority: Concepts of Leadership in the Pentateuch and the Former Prophets, ed. Katharina Pyschny and Sarah Schulz, BZAW 507 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 45–67. 115 Haran, Temples, 158–65; Philip Peter Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World, JSOTSup 106 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 101–14; and Nihan and Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments.” See further George, Israel’s Tabernacle, 121 and Carmen Joy Imes, “Between Two Worlds: The Functional and Symbolic Significance of the High Priestly Regalia” (paper presented at the Society of Biblical Literature Pacific Northwest Regional Meeting, Moscow, ID, 20–22 May 2016), 2–8. 116 The precise nature of the ‫ אפוד‬is a matter of debate; cf., e.g., Houtman, Exodus, Volume 3, 475–506; Propp, Exodus 19–40, 435–43; and Barbara Bender, Die Sprache der Textilien. Untersuchungen zu Kleidung und Textilien im Alten Testament, BWA(N)T 177 114

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155

means that golden threads should be woven into his garments. The inclusion of gold clearly associates Aaron’s clothes with the furniture placed inside the sanctuary – cherubim, ark, golden table, and luminary. In detailing these fabrics and materials, P specifies not only the roles of Aaron and his sons within the sanctuary but also Aaron’s primacy in the cult. The use of ‫ שׁשׁ‬for the garments worn by Aaron’s sons establishes that their agency will be primarily associated with the outer court, also made of that material. Their role is principally related to the sacrificial rituals which transpire there. While non-priests may bring their sacrificial animals to ‫‘ פתח אהל מועד‬the entrance of the tent of meeting’, they are not permitted to move freely within the court or to touch its ‫‘ קדשׁ קדשׁים‬most holy’ altar (Exod 29:37). By contrast, Aaron’s sons are granted access to this holy space and have an exclusive right to undertake the sacrificial duties that involve the bronze altar.117 Dressed in holy garments made of the same fabric as the court, Aaron’s sons are clearly differentiated as the only members of the community entitled to officiate in this space. Their sacrificial monopoly is then displayed to the community every time they are seen wearing their priestly ceremonial garb, which thereby normalizes the centralization of sacrifice to the descendants of Aaron alone. Similarly, the distinctive fabrics used for Aaron’s clothes affirm his special role within the space of the sanctuary, especially its interior. As holy and most holy space, the inner and outer sancta are completely off limits to the nonpriestly members of the community (see further §7.1.1). By contrast, Aaron is commanded by Yhwh to enter these areas to perform specific ritual actions, a privileged role that is permanently attested in the clothes he wears. In Exod 27:20–21, Aaron is charged with the responsibility to enter the outer sanctum every morning and evening in order to light the sanctuary candelabrum. He seems to be assisted by his sons in this task (27:21a), but his primacy in the ritual is affirmed in Exod 30:8 and later Lev 24:2–4, which state that Aaron alone is responsible for ensuring that the light is lit each day (see further §6.3.1). In addition, Aaron is responsible for offering ‫‘ קטרת סמים‬fragrant incense’ to Yhwh on the golden altar in the outer sanctum twice per day (Exod 30:7–8).118 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008), 211–41. In Exod 28:6–14, this item seems to comprise a band of fabric worn around the waist, which is then connected to two strips of fabric that go over the shoulders. The breastpiece is then fastened to the ‫ אפוד‬with a series of golden rings and chains (Exod 28:22–28), before both breastpiece and ‫ אפוד‬are placed upon the ‫מעיל‬ ‫‘ האפוד‬robe of the ephod’ (Exod 28:31–35). 117 See, e.g., Lev 1:5–13; 2:1–3; 3:1–16; 12:6–8; 14:10–32. 118 A possible third task that Aaron must perform in the outer sanctum is replenishing the display bread on the golden table each week. In Exod 25:30, Yhwh commands Moses ‫ונתת‬ ‫“ על השלחן לחם פנים לפני תמיד‬you shall set upon the table the bread of the presence continually before me.” In Lev 24:5–9, this command is developed by H into a detailed ritual instruction for the weekly preparation of twelve loaves that Aaron must place on the golden

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By far the most striking of all of Aaron’s ritual duties within the sanctuary interior are those detailed in Lev 16. Here P outlines the only ritual by which a human being might enter the inner sanctum once Yhwh takes up residence in his sanctuary. This may be performed only by Aaron and, according to Lev 16:29–34a, only once a year. Curiously, Aaron does not need to wear his ceremonial garments when he enters the inner sanctum to perform the rites of purification laid out in Lev 16. Instead, he wears simple linen clothes (Lev 16:3– 4; note, however, that he is permitted to wear his headgear). This can perhaps be attributed to the need for humility when entering into the deity’s presence.119 It also accords with a number of other biblical texts that depict beings in the deity’s presence as clothed in linen (e.g., Ezek 9:2–3; 10:2; Dan 10:5).120 Aaron enters the inner sanctum in order to purify both this space and its furniture from the various forms of pollution which may have defiled him and his ‫‘ בית‬house’ – that is, the priesthood – during the year (Lev 16:6, 11). Incense again plays a key role in the ritual: Aaron is commanded to take ‫ קטרת‬in a censer and produce a ‫‘ ענן‬cloud’ to cover the ‫ כפרת‬inside the inner sanctum (16:12–13). This cloud appears to serve a dual function.121 On the one hand, it protects Aaron while he undertakes the highly dangerous operation of applying blood on and before the ‫כפרת‬.122 On the other hand, it also seems to produce the “cloud (‫ )ענן‬upon the ‫ ”כפרת‬which is said in v. 2 to be the mode via which Yhwh manifests himself within the inner sanctum.123 As such, Lev 16:12–13 present Aaron as having the unique capacity to make Yhwh visibly present within his central shrine, while at the same time shielding Aaron from the harm that might be caused by being in such close proximity to the god. Aaron’s ritual agency is especially evident when we consider the importance of Yhwh’s ‫ ענן‬elsewhere in the P sanctuary account. In Exod 24:15–18, a ‫ ענן‬is said to have covered Mount Sinai, followed by Yhwh’s ‫ כבוד‬settling upon the mountain and the deity appearing to the Israelites ‫‘ כאשׁ אכלת‬as a devouring fire’. The cloud then reappears at the conclusion to the construction of the wilderness shrine (Exod 40:34–35) and descends over the newly constructed tent of meeting, allowing Yhwh’s ‫ כבוד‬to take up residence within the shrine. While this event effectively fulfills Yhwh’s promise to dwell in the sanctuary in the midst of the community, it also raises a new problem: Moses is unable to enter the sanctuary because the ‫ ענן‬and Yhwh’s ‫ כבוד‬have now taken up residence table. However, because P does not contain a comparable statement, it is difficult to say whether this task was understood to be performed by Aaron or by his sons. 119 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1016. 120 See further Hieke, Levitikus, 2:575. 121 Frank H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time, and Status in the Priestly Theology, JSOTSup 91 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 89; Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 216; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 376–79. 122 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1014 and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:1921. 123 Elliger, Leviticus, 207.

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upon and within it (Exod 40:35). The reference to the ‫ ענן‬created by Aaron’s incense in 16:12–13 provides a means of resolving this conundrum. As argued by Nihan, it grants Aaron the ritual agency to enter the inner sanctum and perform the rites of purification required if the god is to continue to reside there.124 Moreover, it invests Aaron with the ritual means to re-create every year the same conditions of Yhwh’s presence in the central sanctuary present during the inauguration of the cult at Sinai. Aaron’s exclusive right to enter the holiest area of the sanctuary enshrines his sociocultic preeminence. The success of the ritual procedure each year dramatically demonstrates the efficacy of his ritual agency, because he is able to enter the inner sanctum and exit unharmed. In addition, the preservation of the sanctuary is now attributable to Aaron, who purifies its inner sanctum and ensures its suitability as the god’s habitation. Because the Israelites cannot observe Aaron entering the inner sanctum and performing the rites of Lev 16, all of this cultic agency is represented in Aaron’s clothes, which, on account of their fabrics, provide a visual equivalent to the holiest space of the sanctuary for the rest of the community. His robes thereby serve to focus communal attention on this figure of exclusive cultic authority and to legitimate his claim to control the sanctuary interior. 4.3.1.2 Manifesting the Deity to the Community Aaron’s garments link to a second dimension of P’s discourse of centralized priesthood: the exclusive ability of Aaron, and to a lesser extent of his sons, to manifest the god to the community of Israel. Exodus 28:2 states that the overall purpose of Aaron’s garments is to serve ‫‘ לכבוד ולתפארת‬for glory and for splendor’. This statement is repeated at Exod 28:40 in relation to the garments made for Aaron’s sons. Elsewhere in P, the term ‫ כבוד‬is used only when referring to the mode in which Yhwh reveals himself to Moses or to the community (Exod 16:7, 10; 24:16; Lev 9:6, 23), and to Yhwh’s form when dwelling inside his sanctuary habitation (Exod 29:43; 40:34). The term ‫ תפארת‬does not appear elsewhere in P, but it is associated with the divine qualities of Yhwh in other passages of the Hebrew Bible. Psalm 96:6 is a pertinent illustration, because it says of Yhwh ‫‘ הוד־והדר לפניו עז ותפארת במקדשׁו‬majesty and honor are before him; strength and beauty are in his sanctuary’. The use of these two terms to describe the garments of Aaron and his sons therefore suggests that P understood these vestments to display the attributes of Yhwh to the community at large. Aaron’s special clothes, however, suggest that he has a particular responsibility, beyond the responsibilities of his sons, to represent the god to the Israelites. As Nihan and I argue elsewhere, this aspect of Aaron’s cultic agency is particularly associated with his breastpiece.125 124 125

Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 376–79. Nihan and Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments,” 51–56.

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According to Exod 28:15–30, ‫‘ חשׁן משׁפט‬the breastpiece of judgment’ is to hold the Urim (‫ )אורים‬and Thummim (‫)תמים‬, which seem to constitute oracular instruments.126 These instruments thus seem to provide Aaron with a unique means of consulting the deity on Israel’s behalf. This is particularly clear in Exod 28:30: ‫ונתת אל־חשׁן המשׁפט את־האורים ואת־התמים והיו על־לב אהרן בבאו‬ ‫‘ לפני יהוה ונשׂא אהרן את־משׁפט בני־ישׂראל על־לבו לפני יהוה תמיד‬And you shall put into the breastpiece the Urim and the Thummim, so they shall be upon Aaron’s heart in his coming before Yhwh. Thus Aaron shall bear the ‫ משׁפט‬of the Israelites upon his heart before Yhwh continually’. The expression ‫משׁפט‬ ‫ בני־ישׂראל‬is particularly suggestive. It implies, first, that Aaron is charged with the responsibility to consult the god on behalf of all Israel and deliver divine judgments and decisions to the community.127 Second, as Nihan and I show, it suggests that Aaron must embody a particular quality of the Israelites; namely, their righteousness (‫)משׁפט‬, before the deity.128 This suggests that the breastpiece, with the Urim and Thummim inside, is the means of ensuring that the Israelites will receive positive oracular decisions from Yhwh, because it enables Aaron to present them to the god as a righteous people.129 126 On the oracular function of the Urim and Thummim, see, e.g., Num 27:21; 1 Sam 14:41 LXX; 28:6. Saul’s consultation of the Urim and Thummim is described in 1 Sam 14:41 LXX as an act of drawing lots: the Urim would present a particular answer from the god while the Thummim would present another; see further Anne Marie Kitz, “The Plural Form of ʾÛrîm and Tummîm,” JBL 116, no. 3 (1997): 406–7. It seems probable that the Urim and Thummim were stones, especially given the broader context of Exod 28:15–30, which concerns the various stones that must be affixed to the breastpiece. For further discussion of the character of these items, see Wayne Horowitz and Victor (Avigdor) Hurowitz, “Urim and Thummim in Light of a Psephomancy Ritual from Assur (LKA 137),” JANESCU 21 (1992): 95–115; Cornelis van Dam, The Urim and Thummim: A Means of Revelation in Ancient Israel (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997); and Nihan and Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments,” 57. 127 This oracular agency is dramatically demonstrated in a later text from the book of Numbers (Num 27:21), which narrates how Eleazar, Aaron’s heir, used the Urim to consult the deity to determine whether or not Joshua should lead the Israelites out to battle. This episode illustrates the far-reaching powers that the Urim (and Thummim) bestowed on the high priest, enabling him to not only mediate the god’s decisions concerning strictly cultic affairs but also to direct the Israelites in matters of military strategy. 128 Nihan and Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments,” 57–59. On the ability of ‫ משׁ פט‬to mean both ‘decision/judgment’ and ‘justice’ or ‘righteousness’, see, e.g., ‫ִמ ְשׁ ַפּ ט‬, HALOT 2:651–52 and Bo Johnson, “mišpāṭ,” TDOT 9:86–98. 129 As discussed in Nihan and Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments,” 59, this image of Aaron’s agency is reminiscent of a broader ANE motif in which royal leaders are depicted as embodying the behavior of the entire nation before the gods. For instance, Othmar Keel, “Die Brusttasche des Hohenpriesters als Element priesterschriftlicher Theologie,” in Das Manna fällt auch heute noch. Beiträge zur Geschichte und Theologie des Alten, Ersten Testaments. Festschrift für Erich Zenger, ed. Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger (Freiburg: Herder, 2004), 379–91 has argued that P’s depiction of Aaron bearing the

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The Urim and Thummim thus play a key role in establishing Aaron’s centrality in the Israelite cult and community: they provide him with a permanent mechanism for consulting the god on the Israelites’ behalf and mediating Yhwh’s decisions to the community. This is especially significant because the Urim and Thummim are the only legitimate means of divination in P; there is no other channel besides Aaron’s breastpiece with the Urim and Thummim inside through which the Israelites might receive a divine oracle from the deity. The command in Exod 28:30 to place these two objects in Aaron’s breastpiece therefore effectively centralizes all forms of oracular consultation to this leader and affirms his status as the exclusive mediator for all Israel. 4.3.1.3 Representing a Unified Israel Aaron’s centrality, however, derives from more than this responsibility to bear the Urim and Thummim in his breastpiece. He is also charged with maintaining the unity of the Israelite tribes whenever he wears his high-priestly vestments. Exodus 28:9–12 command that the ‫ אפוד‬and breastpiece be embroidered with semiprecious stones engraved with the names of the Israelite tribes: two stones on the ‫ אפוד‬are to be engraved with the names of the tribes (six names per stone) and attached to the shoulder straps of the ‫אפוד‬, while twelve more engraved stones (one name per stone) must be embroidered on the breastpiece (see vv. 17–21). Both sets of stones serve as a ‫‘ זכרן‬memorial’ for the Israelites, which Aaron is to bear (‫ )נשׂא‬before Yhwh (see Table 4.2). Table 4.2: Comparing Exod 28:12 and 28:29 Exod 28:12 ‫וש מת את ש ת י האבנים על כת פת הא פד אבני‬ ‫זכרן לבני יש ראל ונש א א הרן את ש מותם לפני‬ ‫יהוה על ש ת י כת פיו לזכרן‬ And you shall set the two stones upon the shoulders of the ephod: these are memorial stones for the Israelites, so that Aaron shall bear their names before Yhwh upon his two shoulders as a memorial.

Exod 28:29 ‫ונש א אהרן את ש מות בני יש ראל בחש ן המש פט‬ ‫על לבו בבאו אל הקדש לזכרן לפני יהוה תמיד‬ [Concerning the stones affixed to the breastpiece:] And Aaron shall bear the names of the Israelites upon his heart in his coming before the sanctuary for a memorial before Yhwh continually.

‫ משׁפט‬of all Israel recalls Middle Kingdom Egyptian imagery of the Pharaoh bearing the maʿat before the gods as a means of upholding cosmic order. While it is unlikely that Aaron’s breastpiece was directly modeled on this Egyptian imagery (pace Keel), the similarities between the two images may suggest that the giving of the Urim and Thummim to Aaron was intended by P to establish Aaron as performing a similar role to a king of mediating cosmic justice for the people of Israel. For additional discussion of this issue, see Christophe Nihan, “Le pectoral d’Aaron et la figure du grand prêtre dans les traditions sacerdotales du Pentateuque,” in Congress Volume Stellenbosch 2016, ed. Louis C. Jonker et al., VTSup 177 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 23–55.

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The use of the term ‫ זכרן‬in these passages is significant given the covenantal connotations of the root ‫ זכר‬elsewhere in P: for example, in Gen 9:15–16, Exod 2:24, and 6:5. The charge to Aaron, in Exod 28:12, 29, to bear the names of the Israelite tribes as a ‫ זכרן‬therefore appears to affirm his essential role in maintaining the patron-client relationship between Yhwh and Israel. Beyond this, the use of the term ‫ זכרן‬when referring to the stones on Aaron’s ‫ אפוד‬and breastpiece seems also to reflect the character of these stones as sacred donations.130 Exodus 25:7 and 35:9 command that the stones be included among the donations made by the community to the sanctuary construction project. Exodus 35:27 then reports that the tribal ‫‘ נשׂאם‬chieftains’ took it upon themselves to provide these specific items for the sanctuary building work, an action that accords well with the idea that these stones are to be engraved with the names of the twelve tribes. The use of the term ‫ זכרן‬in Exod 28:12 and 29 when referring to the stones thus seems to reflect their technical function of ensuring that Yhwh remembers his client, Israel, favorably by reminding him every time Aaron wears his garments of the generous gifts made by the entire community to his central sanctuary. This interpretation resonates with the ANE practice of donating engraved stones to sanctuaries. As argued in particular by Nihan, the engraving of the high priest’s stones with the names of the twelve tribes corresponds to the practice in Mesopotamia of engraving stones with the names of the individuals who have donated them to the sanctuary.131 Such donations seem to have served the purpose of soliciting the god’s favor toward those named on the stones. Similarly, we can assume that the engraved stones mentioned in Exod 28 were intended to solicit Yhwh’s favor toward the twelve tribes of Israel. A major difference, however, is that “the precious stones are not simply deposited in the sanctuary, but are fixed to the vestments of Aaron” (les pierres précieuses ne sont plus simplement déposées dans le sanctuaire, mais fixées aux vêtements Nihan and Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments,” 51–56. The term ‫ זכרן‬is used in other passages of the Hebrew Bible when referring to sacred donations; see, e.g., Exod 30:16; Num 31:54; Zech 6:14. It also occurs as a technical formula in West Semitic votive inscriptions from the first millennium BCE, including inscriptions from Mount Gerizim; see, e.g., Yitzhak Magen, Haggai Misgav, and Levana Tsfania, The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan Inscriptions, vol. 1 of Mount Gerizim Excavations, trans. Edward Levin and Michael Guggenheimer, 2 vols., Judea & Samaria Publications 2 (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2004), 137–71, inscriptions no. 147–98, noting, however, that the term ‫ זכרן‬is reconstructed in certain cases. As Magen observes, “[t]he basic form of this formula is as follows:…‘That PN son of PN (from GN) offered for himself, his wife, and his sons for good remembrance before God in this place’” (Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 259). See further Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme, Before the God in this Place for Good Remembrance: A Comparative Analysis of the Aramaic Votive Inscriptions from Mount Gerizim, BZAW 441 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), 91–134. 131 Nihan, “Le pectoral,” 35–36. See also Nihan and Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments,” 53– 55. 130

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161

d’Aaron).132 In this way, Aaron becomes the essential mediator between the twelve tribes, who have donated the stones, and their shared god, whose favor they wish to receive, because Aaron alone is charged with the responsibility of bearing them before the god whenever he wears his garments. The stones of Aaron’s ‫ אפוד‬and breastpiece thus express a thoroughly centralized logic of high priestly power. Aaron is responsible for ensuring that the god perceives its client, Israel, as a centralized collective by bearing on his person the names of all twelve tribes before Yhwh. To put it another way, Aaron’s ‫ אפוד‬and breastpiece embody the unity of the Israelite community; because he alone has the right to wear them, his sociocultic authority is necessarily exclusive. The stones on Aaron’s ‫ אפוד‬and breastpiece are thus integral to the ideal promoted by P of a central mediator representing the unified community inside a shared sanctuary. P’s vision is thus of one Israel, ideally defined as the twelve tribes, deferring to one high priest as a means of construing their sociocultic unity before their patron god, Yhwh. 4.3.1.4 Establishing an Aaronide Priesthood The description of the priestly vestments also establishes Aaron’s place as the patriarch of a priestly institution in which only his direct descendants may officiate as priests. At the end of Exod 28, Yhwh commands Moses to dress Aaron and his sons in their garments and states ‫ומשׁחת אתם ומלאת את־ידם וקדשׁת‬ ‫‘ אתם וכהנו לי‬you [Moses] shall anoint and ordain them and consecrate them to serve me as priests’ (Exod 28:41b). This statement is followed, in Exod 29, with detailed instructions for the rites which Moses must perform. He is to bring Aaron and his sons to the sanctuary (Exod 29:4a), wash them with water (v. 4b), dress Aaron in his clothes (vv. 5–6), and anoint his head with oil (v. 7) before turning to dress his sons (v. 8). Exodus 29:9 concludes the instructions for the investiture of the priests in their robes with the declaration that they have a permanent claim on the priesthood: ‫ וחבשׁת‬133‫וחגרת אתם אבנט אהרן ובניו‬ ‫‘ להם מגבעת והיתה להם כהנה לחקת עולם ומלאת יד־אהרן ויד־בניו‬You shall gird them with a sash, and tie the turbans upon them; theirs will be a priesthood by an eternal statute. You shall ordain Aaron and his sons’. With this statement, P affirms that the priestly garments function as the outward sign of an enduring cultic monopoly of Aaron and his sons. There is no possibility, in P’s view, that another family might rival Aaron’s sons for the cultic leadership of the community. Once ordained in the garments, Aaron’s

Nihan, “Le pectoral,” 36. ‫ אהרן ובניו‬is attested in MT and SP but not in LXX. It is widely recognized as a gloss that was intended to supply Aaron with a sash, because this item was said in Exod 28:41 to be intended for Aaron as well as his sons; see, e.g., Noth, Exodus, 230 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 138. 132 133

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family acquires the exclusive right to lead the Israelites in the worship of Yhwh and to officiate within his central shrine. Furthermore, the inheritance of Aaron’s garments by only one of his sons ensures that the high priesthood is not fragmented but remains in the hands of a family whose authority is thoroughly centralized. When describing the sacrificial process for the rams to be offered as part of Aaron’s ordination sacrifice (Exod 29:22–28, 31–34), Yhwh suddenly turns to the matter of who will have the right to succeed Aaron in the office of high priest in Exod 29:29–30. ‫ שׁבעת ימים ילבשׁם‬30 ‫ ובגדי הקדשׁ אשׁר לאהרן יהיו לבניו אחריו למשׁחה בהם ולמלא־בם את־ידם‬29 ‫הכהן ת חתיו מבניו אשׁ ר יבא אל־אהל מועד לשׁ רת בקדשׁ‬ 29 The holy garments that are for Aaron shall be for his sons after him, for they shall be anointed in them and ordained in them. 30 Seven days the priest in his place, from his sons, who comes into the tent of meeting to minister in the sanctuary, shall wear them.

These verses are in all probability an addition to the ordination instructions; not only do they lack any clear link to the rites of ordination that Moses must undertake, but they also interrupt the instructions for the sacrificial rites that would otherwise have flowed from vv. 22–28 to vv. 31–34.134 Nevertheless, they bring to the fore what is already implied in the description of the vestments in Exod 28: the god wishes for there to be only one high priest at any given time, dressed in one set of high priestly garments, just as there is to be only one central sanctuary where the high priest is to officiate and only one Israelite community that he is to represent within that sacred space. In turn, vv. 29–30 suggest that the legitimacy of the centralized cult is dependent on the presence of Aaronide priests officiating within it. Because no other members of the community are authorized to wear the priestly garments, there is no way in which the ritual practice of the central shrine can be dissociated from Aaron’s legacy. The Israelites are therefore permanently required by P to avoid factions and divisions of the priestly office, and to restrict their sacrificial worship to the sanctuary led by the priests who can claim descent from Aaron. P’s centralizing logic is thus revealed as extending beyond standardized ritual practice and deference toward a central sanctuary to incorporate authoritative personnel. The detailed descriptions of the priestly garments illustrate that the monopolistic priesthood, with an exclusive claim to officiate at the central sanctuary, and a central high priest, who mediates between the god and the twelve tribes, are indispensable to P’s understanding of the centralized cult. The Israelites are thus charged by P with a permanent obligation to accept the authority of a centralized priestly institution, whose high priest is to lead the united community, embodied in his garments.

On their secondary nature, see, e.g., Holzinger, Exodus, 143; Noth, Exodus, 232–33; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 131–32. 134

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4.3.2 Aaron and the Tribe of Judah in Late Priestly Materials Although this authoritative priesthood is integral to how P presents the hierarchical relationships within the centralized cultic order, how might this map onto another hierarchy I have identified as possibly inherent in P’s discourse: the hints in the sanctuary construction account that leaders from Judah have a subtle predominance over their northern counterparts (see §4.1.2). There is no suggestion in P that Aaron or his sons share a special relationship with Bezalel, the Judean artisan. However, certain texts outside the construction account of Exod 25–31, 35–40 suggest a subtle link between the family of the Aaronide priests and another Judean leader: Nahshon, the chief of the tribe of Judah. As mentioned above, the arrangement of the tribes around the wilderness shrine in Num 1–10 suggests a privileged connection between Aaron and the tribe of Judah. In Num 3:38, Aaron and his sons are commanded to camp with Moses to the east of the sanctuary, aligned with its entrance. This is the same position which, in Num 2:3, is identified as the place where Nahshon son of Amminadab, the chieftain of Judah, should position himself with the camp of Judah. Hence, Aaron and his family are spatially aligned with leaders from Judah as sharing the same privileged position vis-à-vis the shrine. This link between the Aaronide priests and Nahshon, the Judean chief, is further developed in Exod 6:13–27. This important text is widely regarded as a very late addition to P’s account of Yhwh’s speech to Moses in Exod 6:2–12, which builds on Gen 46:8–27 to provide an abridged genealogy of Israel.135 135 For the idea that Exod 6:13–27 are secondary, see further the discussion in Rhyder, “Unity.” For representative samples of this view in the history of research, see already August Kayser, Das vorexilische Buch der Urgeschichte Israels und seine Erweiterungen. Ein Beitrag zur Pentateuch-Kritik (Strassburg: C. F. Schmidt, 1874), 38–39. See further Karl Elliger, “Sinn und Ursprung der priesterlichen Geschichtserzählung,” ZTK 49, no. 2 (1952): 121; Noth, Exodus, 58–59; Brevard S. Childs, The Book of Exodus: A Critical, Theological Commentary, OTL (London: SCM, 1974), 111; Werner H. Schmidt, Exodus 1–6, BKAT 2/1 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1988), 296–97; Erhard Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch, BZAW 189 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 231; William H. C. Propp, Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 2A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1999), 280; Jan Christian Gertz, Tradition und Redaktion in der Exoduserzählung. Untersuchungen zur Endredaktion des Pentateuch, FRLANT 186 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 251–52; Reinhard G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, trans. John Bowden (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 242; Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 114; Johannes Thon, Pinhas ben Eleasar – Der levitische Priester am Ende der Tora. Traditions- und literargeschichtliche Untersuchung unter Einbeziehung historisch-geographischer Fragen, Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte 20 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2006), 126; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 149; Christoph Berner, Die Exoduserzählung. Das literarische Werden einer Ursprungslegende Israels, FAT 1/73 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 153–55; and Harald Samuel, Von Priestern zum Patriarchen. Levi und die Leviten im Alten Testament, BZAW 448 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 263–70.

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Given that the genealogy of Gen 46:8–27 is a non-priestly text that presupposes a well-developed version of the story of Jacob, Exod 6:13–17’s dependence on it suggests that it stems from a very late stage in the composition of the Pentateuch.136 The principal difference between the two genealogies is that Exod 6:13–27 provide an extended outline of Levi’s family tree, which has no parallel in Gen 46:8–27. After listing the sons of Reuben and Simeon (vv. 14–15), Exod 6:15–25 turn to the descendants of Levi, paying particular attention to the lineage of Aaron’s sons and grandson, Phinehas. The centrality of Phinehas in the genealogy is evident not only in his position as the last member of the genealogy to be mentioned, but also in his uniqueness as the only member of the fourth generation of Levi to be included in the genealogy (v. 25; see Figure 4.2). This emphasis on Phinehas strongly suggests that the genealogy of Exod 6:13–27 was intended to complement the passages in Numbers where this character plays a key role. In particular, it seems to anticipate Num 25:1–13, where Phinehas is promised ‫ברית כהנת עולם‬ ‘a covenant of eternal priesthood’ (25:13) because of his zeal in killing the Israelite man and Midianite woman who practiced intermarriage.137 The figure of Nahshon is a further important link between Exod 6:13–27 and Num 1–10. This character is mentioned in Exod 6:23 in the description of the family of Aaron’s wife, Elisheba: ‫ויקח אהרן את־אלישׁבע בת־עמינדב אחות‬ ‫‘ נחשׁון לו לאשׁה ותלד לו את־נדב ואת־אביהוא את־אלעזר ואת־איתמר‬Aaron took as a wife Elisheba, daughter of Amminadab, sister of Nahshon, and she bore him Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar, and Ithamar’. The manner in which Nahshon is introduced, as the brother of Aaron’s wife, suggests that this figure was considered to be of particular significance to the author(s) of the genealogy. Nahshon is not directly implicated in the genealogy because he is not a descendant of Reuben, Simeon, or Levi. But he is the only figure included in Exod 6:13–27 on account of his being the sibling of another member of the genealogy. While the tribal lineage of Nahshon, or Elisheba, is not mentioned in Exod 6:13–27, Nahshon son of Amminadab is clearly identified as a Judean in Num 1–10. In Num 1:7, he is named as the representative of the tribe of Judah who assists Moses in conducting the first census. Then, in Num 2:3, he is referred to as ‫‘ נשׂיא לבני יהודה‬the chieftain of the sons of Judah’ who leads the Judean camp as it takes up its place on the east side of the wilderness sanctuary. In Num 7:12–17, he serves as the representative of the Judeans who brings the first offering to the wilderness sanctuary at the time of its dedication. Finally, in Num 10:14 he is said to serve as the leader of the march of the Israelites across the wilderness. 136 Cf. Erhard Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte, WMANT 57 (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1984), 249–50 and Christoph Levin, Der Jahwist, FRLANT 157 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 149. 137 On the parallels between Exod 6:13–27 and Num 1–10, see further Rhyder, “Unity.”

4.3 Centralized Priestly Competence

Figure 4.2: The Genealogy of Phinehas in Exod 6:13–27

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It is reasonable to assume that the scribes responsible for Exod 6:13–27 knew of Nahshon’s role in Num 1–10, and thus also of his Judean lineage. It would be hard to understand why the authors of Exod 6:13–27 were so keen to mention Nahshon if he played no role in the materials which followed. In addition, the genealogy contains a number of important verbal overlaps with the texts of Num 1–10 where Nahshon’s tribal affiliations are explicitly identified. This is especially clear from the wording of the introduction to the genealogy in v. 14, ‫‘ אלה ראשׁי בית־אבתם‬these are the heads of their ancestral houses’. This expression is reminiscent of the vocabulary used throughout Num 1–10 when describing the organization of the tribes around the wilderness sanctuary, and it has a direct parallel in Num 7:2 (cf. Num 10:4).138 We can therefore assume that the reference to Aaron’s marriage to Elisheba, the daughter of Amminadab and the sister of Nahshon, was understood by the scribes responsible for Exod 6:13–27 to establish a genealogical connection between Aaron’s sons and the leading family of the tribe of Judah in Num 1– 10.139 While Aaron maintains his pure Levitical pedigree, all his sons and his grandson Phinehas, the future high priest, are related by blood to the chieftain of Judah, a familial association that provides a new explanation for why, in Num 1–10, the wilderness camp is organized so that Aaron and his sons camp with the tribe of Judah.140 This suggests that the marriage between Aaron and Elisheba mentioned in Exod 6:23 was a deliberate device on the part of late priestly scribes to align the origins of the high priesthood with the earliest leaders of the tribe of Judah. It positions Aaron’s sons as the genealogical point of origin for a centralized priesthood that has had a particularly close bond with Judean authority since its inception.

4.4 The Priestly Discourse of Centralization in Historical Context My analysis thus far has shown that P creates an imaginative narrative in which the Israelites are called upon to unite in their deference to shared sociocultic centers that consist of a unifying sanctuary space constructed and maintained 138 As observed by Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 111 and William Johnstone, Exodus 1– 19, SHBC (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2014), 152. 139 As argued by Carl F. Keil and Franz Delitzsch, The Pentateuch, vol. 1 of Biblical Commentary on the Old Testament, trans. James Martin (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1891), 471; Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 120; and James T. Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9, AcBib 28 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2008), 107. For a comparison of Exod 6:13–27 and the genealogies of King David found in 1 Chr 2:3–17 and Ruth 4:18–20, see Rhyder, “Unity.” 140 Cf. Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 120–23.

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by the entire community, a common ritual standard for both the sacrificial cult and everyday matters of purity and diet, and a core priestly family led by an Aaronide high priest who mediates between the twelve tribes of Israel and their patron deity. If we are now to turn to the possible link between P and historical processes of centralization of the cult in ancient Israel, we need to appreciate that the priestly discourse of centralization was far from a disembodied thought experiment on the part of the priestly scribes who composed and redacted it. “Discourse,” as Reiner Keller stresses, “is concrete and material, it is not an abstract idea or free floating line of arguments.”141 Thus, even though P’s discourse is a form of social memory that describes an imaginary foundational period, it necessarily reflects the contemporary concerns of the priestly scribes who composed it. What, then, can we glean from this discourse about the power dynamics of the historical context in which they were writing? In seeking to answer this question, we face profound problems of evidence as to the precise identity of the scribal authorities responsible for P and the sociocultic context within which they were operating. Any attempt to reconstruct how such a discourse of centralization might have influenced actual cultic expectations in the Persian period is complicated by the absence of evidence for the dissemination of the Priestly document at that time. Because very few members of the community in ancient Israel were literate, we cannot be sure that P’s ritual texts would have been known beyond a small circle of scribal elites.142 This problem 141 Reiner Keller, “The Sociology of Knowledge Approach to Discourse (SKAD),” Human Studies 34, no. 1 (2011): 48. See further the theoretical discussion of discourse analysis in §1.2.3. 142 One possibility, raised by Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 24–28, is that the P ritual materials might have been written with the intention that they would be read aloud. He highlights certain Hebrew Bible texts that refer to communal recitation of the Torah, such as Deut 31:9– 13 and Neh 8. Such readings, he suggests, probably functioned to publicize the ritual requirements prescribed in the Pentateuch, while also confirming the paramount importance of the community deferring to the priesthood in matters of sacrifice and purity. Valuable though this insight is, it might be questioned whether we can be certain that public recitations were a frequent occurrence already in the Persian period. The Hebrew Bible texts that refer to communal recitation of the Torah do not envisage public readings on an especially regular basis; Deut 31:9–13 call upon the Israelites to read the Torah aloud once every seven years, while Neh 8 describes Ezra’s reading of the law as a singular event. Hence, while we cannot exclude the possibility that P was known to the community through public readings, it is difficult to know whether it was crafted with such performance in mind. In the Persian period, P may have been read predominantly, or even exclusively, by a very small portion of the population, whether “children of acting priests, members of priestly families who did not work in the temple cult, or other Judeans who partook of (largely) priestly education,” as noted by David M. Carr, “The Rise of the Torah,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 45.

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notwithstanding, we can be confident in identifying in P the seeds of a centralizing discourse that aims at influencing cultic expectations far beyond a small circle of literate priests and their families.143 Regardless of how many members of the community had access to P’s prescriptions in the Persian period, the priestly groups that produced the text clearly aspired to use their history of origins, and its detailed ritual prescriptions, to stake their claim to central authority in the Yahwistic cult, and to reinforce the importance of centralizing social and cultic behaviors for the imagined community of Israel. Such a discourse, as I will argue below, might have bolstered the confidence of the Jerusalem priesthood at a difficult time in its history, a time when it needed to reimagine its claim to cultic centrality and its strategies for rallying communal support for building and financing its shrine. Hence, despite the need for caution when drawing historical conclusions, it is critical to our understanding of the processes of centralization to grapple with the questions of who the priestly scribes might have been, and how the imaginary narrative they created might have related to cultic realities in ancient Israel with respect to sanctuary space, ritual processes, and priestly institutions. 4.4.1 The Central Sanctuary: Place and Cultic Compromise It seems logical to assume that the priestly discourse, unifying and integrating as it is, was aimed at affirming the need for a central sanctuary in ancient Israel and soliciting the consent of the Israelites to accept their obligations to that sanctuary as its primary patrons. The priestly scribes encourage the Israelites to defer to a central sanctuary rather than local shrines because the god has made its preference known for a cult characterized by unity rather than division, community rather than divergence, and central authority rather than individual discretion. Hence, instead of splintering into factions, those who consider themselves descendants of the ‫ בני ישׂראל‬should commit to maintain the sociocultic unity that ensures the god’s continued presence among them, and to funnel their collective deference and attention to a shared shrine. However, one of the most intriguing issues that we immediately confront is P’s silence concerning the site at which that central sanctuary might be established in their contemporary setting. As mentioned, P makes no attempt to align the tent of meeting with D’s notion of a chosen place in the land of Israel; it never states that the wilderness sanctuary will come to rest at a particular site in the land that forms the center of the Israelite cult. To be sure, D also refrains from identifying the precise location of the chosen ‫ מקום‬in the land. However, D’s discourse leaves no doubt that the god does have a specific location in mind, a site which, even if its location is not revealed, might definitively claim to represent the center of the cult and community in future time periods. By 143

See further the detailed discussion of the imagined audience of Lev 1–16 in §4.2.1.

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contrast, P never suggests that Yhwh has a site in mind for the central shrine of the post-wilderness future. One interpretation of P’s failure to address the issue of place, offered by Bernd Diebner, Thomas Römer, and others, is that P was seeking to accommodate the reality of the contemporary cultic situation of the fifth century BCE (and beyond) – a time when both Gerizim and Jerusalem were vying for cultic leadership (see §3.1.2). P’s discourse of centralization seems most naturally to support the notion of concentrating cultic authority in a single shrine, which would be afforded the privileged claim to represent the cultic center of Yahwistic worship in ancient Israel. Nevertheless, so these scholars suggest, its scribal authors finesse the question of the actual physical location of the centralized cult in the land, in order to allow the priestly families associated with Jerusalem and Gerizim to each associate the shrine in the foundational narrative with its respective sanctuary. The authors could thereby affirm the importance of cultic centralization, insofar as they wished to restrict the construction of alternative sanctuaries and funnel the community’s attention and resources toward their respective central shrines. Even if the cultic ideal was to have only one sanctuary for the united people of Israel, the lack of specificity about where in the land this might be situated allowed the provinces of Samaria and Yehud to effectively recognize two different central sanctuaries, at Gerizim and Jerusalem respectively. This interpretation has certain merits. First, it might explain an otherwise curious aspect of P: while it provides elaborate detail on the space of the wilderness sanctuary, its furniture, and associated ritual practices, it leaves open the important question of its future in the land. This indeed might suggest that the priestly scribes were conscious that the issue of the shrine’s location was divisive at the time of writing. In a bid to avoid acrimony, and to find a form of accommodation with Yahwists living in different locales, they elided the question of the location of the shrine in the future land, focusing instead on a more unifying time in the imagined past, a narrative of cultic origins that diverse Yahwists could embrace. Second, this notion of cultic compromise is consistent with the pan-Israelite vision inherent in P’s advocacy of a central shrine in which all ‫ בני ישׂראל‬could identify their cultic origins. P consistently stresses that the entire community of Jacob’s descendants, who were led out of Egypt by Moses, have been called by Yhwh to play an instrumental role in the construction of the central sanctuary and the inauguration of its cultic operations (see §4.1.1 and §4.1.2.). This emphasis on pan-Israelite collaboration might reveal the priestly scribes’ concern to accommodate more than one Yahwistic group vying for cultic legitimacy in their contemporary time period when conceptualizing the centralized cult. While insisting that the Israelites must strive as much as possible to centralize their allegiance to a shared sanctuary, the priestly scribes might have also ensured that both northern and southern Yahwists could associate the

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wilderness shrine with the central temple of their particular province because they could imagine their ancestors as essential to its construction and maintenance. Beyond this, the notion that P might have been seeking some form of pragmatic accommodation, enabled by its silence on the shrine’s future location, is compatible, third, with what we know about the status of the Pentateuch as a shared document of Samarians and Judeans (see further §3.1.2). Once the Priestly document was incorporated into the Pentateuch, the priestly leaders of both communities came to associate the ritual traditions of the Pentateuch with their respective sanctuaries. This does not in itself prove that there was scribal collaboration in the crafting of the priestly account of the foundational cult, but it does suggest that P’s silence on the location of the shrine left enough room for interpretation, such that both sanctuary communities could – and did – claim continuity with, and legitimacy from, its cultic prescriptions. The argument that the priestly wilderness sanctuary might have offered a cultic compromise of sorts for the central sanctuaries of Jerusalem and Gerizim thus has undoubted merits. However, it can be argued that it needs modification, at least with respect to the nature of the accommodation the priestly scribes might have been seeking to achieve, and the question of whether it was generalized or specifically a response to the emergence of a sanctuary cult at Gerizim in the fifth century BCE. First, as we shall see below (§4.4.1.1), when we consider the earliest texts in the layering of P, we find that the date of these, and thus the origin of the idea of a wilderness shrine with no place in the land, might preclude its being contemporaneous with the Gerizim temple. Moreover, the echoes of the Solomonic Temple in these early descriptions of the sanctuary add a complexity that Diebner and others overlook. Second, if we consider later strata within P (§4.4.1.2), those that may well have been written at a time when the Gerizim temple existed, we encounter the issue of a subtle hierarchy between north and south in which the tribe of Judah is somewhat dominant and the northern tribes ancillary, a hierarchy that sits somewhat awkwardly with current versions of the cultic compromise theory. Finally, we should also allow for the possibility (§4.4.1.3) that there is an alternative way of reading the purpose of P’s focus on the foundational past with no mention of a place in the land: it might have been aimed not at cultic compromise but primarily at providing a response to the context where there was no longer a monarch in Jerusalem, meaning that sanctuary centrality had to be redefined without any association with the choice of a seat of royal authority. 4.4.1.1 Accommodating Cultic Diversity in Early Texts? The argument that P sought a pragmatic accommodation between Jerusalem and Gerizim rests on the assumption that P’s image of the tent shrine, lacking any link to a specific site in the land, originated at a time when these two temple

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institutions were central nodes within the Yahwistic cult. Yet, according to most scholarly estimates for the date of the earliest Priestly narrative, we cannot be confident that a temple cult was already associated with Gerizim at this time. Although it is very difficult to know when construction of the Gerizim temple began, or even when it might have been completed, the sanctuary was almost certainly not built prior to 480 BCE; a date as late as 450–405 BCE may be feasible if one follows the arguments of Jürgen Zangenberg or Jan Dušek (see further §3.1.2). Few scholars would suggest that the core Priestly account of origins (Pg) should be dated to this time. Of course, it is difficult to date the reconstructed text of Pg with certainty, but most scholars would situate Pg’s origins in the mid- to late sixth century, either during the Babylonian exile or, perhaps more probably, the initial decades of the Persian period (see §2.2.3). Because Pg almost certainly included the command to build a sanctuary at Sinai, and did not mention a location for the cult in the land, the priestly decision to speak only of a wilderness shrine and avoid mention of a future site may have preceded the construction of the Gerizim shrine by several decades.144 That said, if we date Pg to the mid- to late sixth century, it is more than possible that no temple existed at Jerusalem at that time, either, yet most scholars have not deemed this determinative in how they relate the Priestly account of origins to the history of Jerusalem. Most suggest that, even though the reconstruction of the Jerusalem temple may have not have been completed at the time of Pg’s writing, the memory of the earlier institution of the First Temple and its associated temple cult infused the Priestly narrative, or that one of the purposes of Pg in creating the social memory of the wilderness cult was to legitimize the reconstruction of a central shrine at Jerusalem. 144 To be sure, scholars such as Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift, 224–98, 344 and Michaela Bauks, “La signification de l’espace et du temps dans ‘l’historiographie sacerdotale’,” in The Future of the Deuteronomistic History, ed. Thomas Römer; BETL 147 (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 32 have suggested that Pg contained an extremely limited description of the wilderness shrine, with no suggestion that it would travel with the Israelites or serve as a site of ritual practice; the term ‫ אהל מועד‬and all the ritual laws were added in secondary stages. They have argued that the original Pg layer of Exod 25–29, which they have restricted to a handful of verses in Exod 25:1a, 8a, 9; 29:45–46 (+ 40:16, 17a, 33b) referred to the sanctuary only as Yhwh’s ‫ משׁכן‬and called for its permanent establishment on Mount Sinai, which Pola in particular has suggested might be a cipher for Mount Zion. However, the notion that sanctuary was not originally intended to serve any cultic function as the Israelites sojourned in the wilderness has been widely criticized as improbable. As argued powerfully by Frevel, Mit Blick, 89–112, esp. 109–10, attempts to remove all references to the ‫אהל מועד‬ from Pg produce a truncated version of its sanctuary account that lacks literary-critical support. This is particularly clear in the case of Exod 29:43–44, which provide an etymology for the term ‫ אהל מועד‬with the statement ‫‘ ונעדתי שמה לבני ישראל ונקדש בכבדי‬I [Yhwh] will meet with the Israelites there, and will consecrate it by my glory’ (v. 43). To remove these verses as secondary causes significant literary critical problems owing to the structural and thematic links they share with Exod 29:45–46, verses that are widely considered core to Pg.

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However, the analogy between the situations of Jerusalem and Gerizim in the mid- to late sixth century is not exact. While both might have lacked physical temples, there was a clear historical precedent of cultic centrality in the case of Jerusalem: the First Temple cult. By contrast, we know nothing definite of a sanctuary cult at Gerizim prior to the building of the Persian period temple upon it. Of course, Gerizim did not emerge from a cultic vacuum. Yahwistic groups were almost certainly operating in sixth-century Samaria, groups that would ultimately coalesce at the Gerizim temple. The cult at Gerizim was almost certainly not, as Josephus and Neh 13 claim, the product of dissident Judeans travelling from Jerusalem to establish a rival cult in the north. Rather, it was more likely the outworking of strong Yahwistic traditions in Samaria. As convincingly argued by Gary Knoppers and Benedikt Hensel, Samarian Yahwists remained active after the downfall of the northern Kingdom in 722 BCE.145 They were not, as traditionally thought, overwhelmed by the foreign culture of state-sponsored immigrants sent by Assyria. Rather, there is evidence of continuity in the material culture of both the city of Samaria and the Samarian highlands after the Assyrian invasion, which indicates that the population of Samaria maintained indigenous cultural practices despite the Assyrian presence.146 This suggests that the worship of Yahweh almost certainly continued in the province of Samaria after 722 BCE, and that this cultic continuity “explain[s] the existence of a Yahwistic Samarian community in the Persian period.”147 What is difficult, however, is the absence of definitive archaeological evidence of a Samaritan temple that was active in the sixth century and might have been the center of those cultic activities prior to the building of the temple at Gerizim. A temple cult might have been active at Bethel until the sixth century; given its relatively northern location, this shrine might have served as a cultic hub for Samarian Yahwists.148 However, the inconclusive nature of the archaeological remains and the continued debate among specialists on this matter make it difficult to know whether this sanctuary remained active beyond the Neo-Assyrian period or what its status might have been among Samarian Yahwists (see further §3.1.3). In terms of other potential sites for a northern 145 Gary N. Knoppers, “In Search of Post-Exilic Israel: Samaria after the Fall of the Northern Kingdom,” in In Search of Pre-Exilic Israel, ed. John Day, JSOTSup 406 (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 170–72; Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans: The Origins and History of Their Early Relations (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2013), 103–9; and Benedikt Hensel, Juda und Samaria: Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen, FAT 1/110 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 91–162. 146 Knoppers, “In Search of Post-Exilic Israel,” 171 and Hensel, Juda, 91–102. 147 Knoppers, “In Search of Post-Exilic Israel,” 171–72. 148 On the possibility that Bethel was the principal shrine of the Samarians between 722 BCE and the construction of the Gerizim temple, see Benedikt Hensel, “Cult Centralization in the Persian Period: Biblical and Historical Perspectives,” Sem 60 (2018): 256–57.

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sanctuary in the sixth century, we should not rule out the possibility that the city of Samaria might have housed a Yahwistic temple, owing to its status as an administrative center in the Neo-Assyrian, Neo-Babylonian, and Persian periods. Yet, again, there are no archaeological remains of a temple in the city, nor is there any reference to such a shrine in textual sources. Hence, in the absence of any proven Samarian temple prior to the sanctuary at Gerizim, it is difficult to know whether or not the priestly scribes responsible for Pg could have been conscious of a need to accommodate Samarian claims to house a central sanctuary. Even if the Priestly tent shrine, whose future in the land is never explained, did eventually come to be embraced by Jerusalem and Gerizim as the forerunner of their respective sanctuaries, it does not follow from Pg’s possible sixth-century date that this shrine originated as a strategy for pragmatic accommodation between these specific temples. We can perhaps surmise nothing more than that the authors of Pg might have been aware of the need to gesture toward cultic diversity when they decided to focus on a panIsraelite wilderness sanctuary, with no clear future in the land. In this way, they could ensure that the imperative of cultic centralization was considered relevant by diverse groups of Yahwists, but without Samarians necessarily in mind. Another complexity sometimes overlooked in discussions about cultic compromise is that, even though the scribes responsible for Pg did not overtly state where the sanctuary should be situated in the land, they included subtle indications that this space most closely resembled the First Temple of Jerusalem. As discussed at length above (§4.1.3), the description of the sanctuary furniture of the wilderness shrine in Exod 25–27 contains intriguing echoes of the text of 1 Kgs 5–8.149 Exodus 25–27 have undergone secondary expansions, but there are strong grounds for assigning core materials such as Exod 26:7–14* to Pg, and here we find (among other details) the measurements for the tent of meeting that correspond to half those of Solomon’s Temple as they are listed in 1 Kgs 6:2–3.150 These parallels with the Solomonic Temple suggest that the 149 The question of whether the echoes of 1 Kgs 5–8 in Exod 25–29 are original to Pg or the result of secondary emendations is a point of scholarly debate. For the minimalist view that the parallels are largely secondary, see, e.g., Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift, 247–49 and Owczarek, Die Vorstellung, 59–61. For the maximalist view that they are original to Pg, see, e.g., Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 43 and Boorer, Vision, 60– 63, 304–10. On why at least a core set of parallels must belong to Pg, see n. 150 below. 150 On Exod 26:7–14* as part of Pg, see Peter Weimar, “Sinai und Schöpfung. Komposition und Theologie der priesterschriftlichen Sinaigeschichte,” RB 95, no. 3 (1988): 383–84; Bernd Janowski, “Tempel und Schöpfung: Schöpfungstheologische Aspekte der priesterschriftlichen Heiligtumskonzeption,” in Gottes Gegenwart in Israel, ed. Bernd Janowski, Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1993), 235–36; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 43 n. 121. For detailed explanations for why Exod 26:7–14* cannot be removed from Pg without undermining the integrity of its account of the sanctuary construction, see, among others, Koch, Die Priesterschrift, 5–7; Görg, Das Zelt, 1–3; Fritz, Tempel, 112–57; Eckart Otto, “Forschungen zur

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priestly scribes were aware of and keen to engage with Judean traditions describing the First Temple in Jerusalem already in the earliest descriptions of the shrine in the Priestly account of origins. While they omit certain aspects of the shrine that were particularly associated with the Davidic monarchy (a point to which I will return [see §4.4.1.3]), the echoes of 1 Kgs 5–8 in Exod 25–27 might have invited ancient readers familiar with both traditions to make a connection between the two spaces. In particular, they appear to construe the wilderness sanctuary as foreshadowing in certain respects the central sanctuary later constructed by Solomon in Jerusalem. The very subtle nature of the allusions means that they would not have precluded non-Judean groups, such as Samarians, from reading the wilderness sanctuary with an alternative temple cult in view. However, Pg’s dependence on 1 Kgs 5–8 hints that it is the literary product of scribes who were particularly disposed toward Judean traditions and thus perhaps scribes writing in Jerusalem. 4.4.1.2 Later Strata within the Priestly Traditions: The Issue of Judean Bias The preference for Judah becomes stronger when we consider later priestly texts that were in all probability written during or after the building of the temple at Gerizim. As discussed above (§4.1.2), we find that the expansion of the sanctuary construction account with the artisan passages of Exod 31:1–11 and related materials in chs. 35–40 introduces the Judean, Bezalel, as the leader of the sanctuary construction, and Oholiab, the Danite, as his assistant. The priestly scribes seem to have encouraged ancient readers and hearers to view the tent of meeting as a space in which Judeans play a dominant leadership role, while northern figures are subordinate. Similar tactics seem to have been employed in Num 1–10, via the spatial alignment of the tribe of Judah with the entrance of the tent of meeting (Num 2) and the emphasis on Nahshon, the Judean chief (Num 7, 10; cf. Exod 6:13–27). These again subtly construe Judean officials as the natural leaders of the pan-Israelite, centralized cult. This subtle evidence of a preference for Judean cultic authority in late priestly passages has intriguing implications: it suggests that Samarian scribes were unlikely to have been equally involved alongside scribes from Jerusalem in composing the priestly traditions, even in fairly late stages of their literary development. It is difficult to imagine that Samarian cultic leaders would have been complicit in the relegation of northerners to a secondary role in the narrative about the wilderness shrine. Logically, only those scribes who favored Judean cultic institutions would have been motivated to insert the Judean leader Bezalel into the account, and to spatially align the southern tribes with the entrance of the tent of meeting and its priestly leaders. The Judean bias in the description of the wilderness sanctuary therefore hints that the priestly Priesterschrift,” TRu 62 (1997): 26; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 39–41; and Boorer, Vision, 60–63, 304–10.

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traditions of the Pentateuch remained largely controlled by priestly families located in Judah (rather than Samaria), even in their late stages. These Judean families did not exclude a northern perspective. As already mentioned, by avoiding the question of where in the land the sanctuary cult should be continued and stressing its pan-Israelite character, the priestly traditions effectively leave enough room for more than one cultic group to identify their sanctuary as the heir to the wilderness shrine. Yet, while they were unwilling – or perhaps unable, given the times – to frame the description of the wilderness shrine so that it openly opposed the building of the sanctuary at Gerizim, through their description of the tribal figures who were to lead the central sanctuary they subtly support the idea that the sanctuary and priesthood in Jerusalem should be given preference in managing the centralized cult. In other words, in its subtle bias toward Judah, the priestly traditions enshrine a subtle cultic hierarchy that positions the temple of Jerusalem to claim a privileged status such that it could emerge as the most natural heir to the centralized cult established at Sinai. Thus, to draw on Foucault’s terminology, the description of the wilderness cult and its leaders is a practice of “normalizing judgment,” in that it provides the mechanism through which certain groups – in this case, the Judeans associated with the temple in Jerusalem – are imagined as having a right to greater authority, resources, privilege, and centrality.151 4.4.1.3 Reimagining Central Sanctuary Space for a Postmonarchic Context Turning now to the third issue, we need to allow for the possibility that there might have been sociopolitical reasons other than the need to accommodate diverse Yahwistic groups for the priestly scribes’ decision to imagine an iterant wilderness sanctuary in the foundational past; namely, the concern to keep focus on a thoroughly nonmonarchic context for the origins of cultic centralization. As explained above (§4.1.3 and §4.2.2), P is notable for the way in which it creatively reconceptualizes traditional royal roles – receiving the building instructions for the sanctuary, contributing the materials needed for its construction, guarding the cult, and maintaining ritual standards – which are reallocated among the Israelite community. Beyond this, P’s discourse has a further nonmonarchic impulse: its decision to depict the sanctuary as an iterant shrine of the distant past means that the origins of the central sanctuary cult are not identified with any site of power or governance, either in the imagined past or in the future land. Rather, its centrality is intrinsically nonmonarchic in that it predates the rise of royal power and the role of monarchs as cultic sponsors of specific central shrines in ancient Israel. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan, 2nd ed. (New York, NY: Pantheon, 1995), 177. 151

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From this we might infer that, in constructing this foundational narrative, with a central sanctuary in no way tethered to location or royal power, the priestly scribes were responding to a historical situation in which the centrality of the Jerusalem temple needed to be reimagined in the absence of monarchic authority. Such a hypothesis might seem to sit uneasily with P’s reticence to mention Jerusalem explicitly, but a narrative that remained solely focused on the sites and characters of a foundational past – a time in which the sanctuary’s centrality was in no way predicated on the deity’s choice of a city or a king – could have in fact been read as a suitable forerunner for the Second Temple, which similarly claimed a legitimacy not contingent on royal or governmental power. Put another way, P’s account of how the Israelites united in the premonarchic era to build a central shrine for the national god without any need for a royal figure or palatial center provided a new history of origins that validated a central space that needed to draw on alternative sources of legitimacy. In this context, the wilderness sanctuary might have provided an effective model for reimagining the ideological foundations of the temple of Jerusalem after the downfall of the monarchy, such that it could effectively regain legitimacy as a central sanctuary. We know that there were significant changes in traditional cultic power structures in Jerusalem during the early Persian period. The hope that the Davidic monarchy would be restored was not fulfilled, and the city of Jerusalem struggled to regain the prestige it had enjoyed when it was the seat of royal power in Judah. As discussed in chapter 3, Jerusalem remained a relatively small town throughout the Persian period, with a population of no more than 1,500 and perhaps as meagre as a few hundred people (see §3.1.2). The Persian authorities do not seem to have recognized Jerusalem as the capital city of the region of Yehud, as they established the imperial governor’s residence at Ramat Raḥel, approximately five kilometers south of the city. Moreover, despite biblical narratives claiming imperial sponsorship of the Jerusalem cult and its priestly families, there is little evidence to suggest that the Persians were concerned with financing the Jerusalem temple or granting its priesthood special exemptions from imperial taxation.152 These difficulties presumably had an adverse effect on the attempt to rally support among Judeans to reconstruct the Jerusalem sanctuary and reinstate its sacrificial cult. Indeed, several biblical texts hint at a general reluctance among many members of the Judean community to support the building of the Second Temple. Haggai 1–2 and Zech 1:10–17 suggest that economic difficulties among those living in Yehud, as well as more general opposition to the project of reconstruction, posed significant challenges to the restoration work. In addition, texts such as Neh 13:10–14 hint that the Jerusalem temple faced severe financial difficulties once rebuilt, as the community of Judah apparently

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See the Excursus in chapter 2.

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showed continued reluctance to supply it with the funds required to support its priestly officiants. The priestly scribes’ discursive strategies might then be read as intended to persuade the community to focus their united energies on constructing a new temple in Jerusalem, and to view it as the central Yahwistic shrine, even in the absence of a king. By articulating its history of origins in the way it does, P normalizes the idea that it is the Israelite community that is, and has always been, responsible for fulfilling the role of chief sponsors and patrons of the central shrine. Rather than splintering into factions or deferring to alternative sanctuaries, P insists that the Israelites must pool their resources to service a centralized sanctuary cult and, in so doing, achieve the sociocultic unity that ensures the god’s continued presence among them. P thereby provides the ongoing ideological scaffolding whereby the materials needed for rebuilding and maintaining the Jerusalem Temple could be mobilized. By profiling the willingness of the Israelites in the imaged past at Sinai to assume responsibility for donating to the sanctuary construction, P inspires the Israelites to repeat this behavior, this time in an actual sociocultic context. Indeed, the description of the communal donations in Exod 25–31, 35–40 provides “the quintessential response of the worshipping community: their gifts surpass even the highest hopes, setting the bar very high for every succeeding generation.”153 P’s account of Israel’s cultic origins, then, might be read as a creative strategy of ideological and economic restoration for the Jerusalem temple cult during a complex period in its history, when it was adjusting to being without a seat of royal authority and patronage and sought an alternative cultic history. It gives expression to Yhwh’s preference for the establishment of a central shrine, in order to normalize behaviors and practices that funnel collective attention and economic resources to the Jerusalem Temple. The Israelites are obliged to display a unity of purpose and action that precludes any practices that might dilute the cultic significance of the center, such as supporting local shrines or refusing to cooperate in the restoration of the temple at Jerusalem. In this, the P account serves, as discourse is generally recognized to do, as a way of mediating meanings and dictating practices in order to define – or, in this case, redefine – the reality of a changing world and the manner in which the people who inhabit it must reconceptualize their roles and responsibilities. 4.4.2 Ritual Standardization: Discourse and Practice As we have seen in the above analysis, sanctuary space is not the only pertinent matter when understanding the priestly discourse of centralization. Of comparable importance is the standardization of ritual practice. What insights, then, might be gleaned from this aspect of P’s discourse about how its authors – who, 153

Altmann, Economics, 193.

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as argued above, were probably associated primarily with the temple institution in Jerusalem – sought to influence cultic practice in the early Persian period? As argued at length above (§4.2), it is abundantly clear from the P ritual materials that the priestly scribes aspired to assert the authority of their ritual instructions and thereby set a central standard. By emphasizing the normativity of Yhwh’s revelation to Moses and the perils of deviating too far from its prescriptions, the priestly scribes called on the community of Israel to embrace a shared written authority on core ritual matters. The scribes did not, it seems, expect their text to be totally exhaustive; as already discussed (§4.2.1), the incomplete nature of the priestly rituals implies that they did not serve as a comprehensive handbook for performing cultic rites but left room for custom, and thus for variation. Nevertheless, the standardizing impulse of the discourse remains strongly apparent, in that it consistently draws collective attention to the Israelites’ obligation to defer to a central authority when deciding key cultic matters such as the major sacrifices of the Israelite cult, principal methods for handling impurity, core criteria for determining dietary matters, and so on. In practice, however, there was almost certainly a disjunct between the form of standardization P prescribed and actual cultic practices in the Persian period. Indeed, from what we can reconstruct from archival and archeological evidence, Yahwistic cultic practice in the Persian period appears to have been far less standardized than the ritual activity prescribed by P. As discussed above (§3.1.3), the material cultures of Samaria and Yehud attest to considerable variation in Persian period religious artifacts such as incense burners, coin iconography (including the depiction of Persian and Greek deities), and terracotta figurines. Different economic and geographical factors, as well as local and foreign religious traditions, seem to have shaped distinctive religious practices among the various communities of Yhwh worshippers. Similarly, we know that standardized dietary practices such as those prescribed in Lev 11 were not followed in their entirety in the Persian period or even in later times. Zooarchaeological remains from both Yehud and Samaria reveal that foods that violated the rules for clean and unclean animals in Lev 11 were often eaten in ancient Israel. Perhaps most significant in this regard are the fish remains from ancient sites, including Jerusalem, which reveal that fish species such as catfish that did not conform to P’s dietary laws were consumed regularly.154 Cultic diversity is also evident among the Judeans stationed on the island of Elephantine in Egypt, whose daily lives we can partially glimpse through the

Hanan Lernau and Omri Lernau, “Fish Bone Remains,” in Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount: The Ophel of Biblical Jerusalem, ed. Eliat Mazar and Benjamin Mazar, Qedem 29 (Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Institute of Archaeology, 1989), 155–61 and Wim Van Neer et al., “Fish Remains from Archaeological Sites as Indicators of Former Trade Connections in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Paléorient 30 (2004): 101–47. 154

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records found on the island.155 Unfortunately, no sacrificial lists or ritual instructions have survived at Elephantine. However, the mention of a temple of Yaho in certain documents (TAD A4.5; 7–10) suggests that there was a local tradition of Yahwistic cultic practice, which, given the geographical distance between Elephantine and Yehud and Samaria, almost certainly differed from that of Jerusalem and Gerizim.156 No biblical texts have been found on the island, which strongly suggests that the cult of Yaho operated according to local custom rather than biblical prescription.157 Beyond this, among the contract oaths and a donation list found at Elephantine, we see evidence of diversity in the deities that were invoked by the Judeans living there.158 In vow formulae and the greeting forms used in letters, we find mention not only of Yaho but also other deities such as Bel, Nabu, Shamash, Nergal, Sati, and Khnum.159 This attests to a form of religious fluidity on the island that moved beyond what the biblical standard of P would have allowed. Thus, it seems that P’s ritual prescriptions did not reflect conformity in actual cultic practice across all Yahwists in the Persian period. Rather, they probably represented the ritual customs preferred by one group of Yahwists – the group responsible for composing and updating the priestly materials – and, even then, without necessarily mirroring the rituals that this group practiced on a daily basis.160 In the words of Reinhard G. Kratz, they are “one specific 155 On the specific issue of the dating of the sabbath and the evidence of cultic diversity preserved in ostracon TAD D7.6 and the so-called Passover Papyrus (TAD A4.1), see the detailed discussion in §6.4. 156 On the temple at Elephantine, see further §5.4.2. 157 Reinhard G. Kratz, “Temple and Torah: Reflections on the Legal Status of the Pentateuch between Elephantine and Qumran,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 82–89. 158 Karel van der Toorn, “Anat-Yahu, Some Other Deities, and the Jews of Elephantine,” Numen 39, no. 1 (1992): 80–101 and Bob Becking, “Die Gottheiten der Juden in Elephantine,” in Der eine Gott und die Götter. Polytheismus und Monotheismus im antiken Israel, ed. Manfred Oeming and Konrad Schmid, ATANT 82 (Zürich: TVZ, 2003), 203–26. 159 See, e.g., the list of donations in TAD A2.1–7; C3.15. Cf. the greeting form in TAD A3.5; 3.7; 4.1–2; 4.4; D7.21; 7.30. For oaths, see TAD B2.8; 7.2–3. 160 On the gap between ritual text and ritual practice, see William K. Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible: Meaning and Power (Baltimore, MA: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 8–11; Wesley J. Bergen, Reading Ritual: Leviticus in Postmodern Culture, JSOTSup 417 (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 2–9; Watts, Ritual, 27–32; Bryan D. Bibb, Ritual Words and Narrative Worlds in the Book of Leviticus, LHBOTS 480 (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2009), 34–69; Christophe Nihan, “The Templization of Israel in Leviticus: Some Remarks on Blood Disposal and Kipper in Leviticus 4,” in Text, Time, and Temple: Literary, Historical and Ritual Studies in Levitcus, ed. Francis Landy, Leigh M. Trevaskis, and Bryan D. Bibb, Hebrew Bible Monographs 64 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2015), 127–30; Rüdiger Schmitt, “Leviticus 14.33–57 as Intellectual Ritual,” in Text, Time, and Temple: Literary, Historical and Ritual Studies in Levitcus, ed. Francis Landy, Leigh M. Trevaskis, and Bryan

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faction’s ideal.”161 They provide evidence of an ideological aspiration to promote the ideal of ritual standardization – all Israel conforming to a common set of written traditions to ensure unity on important matters of sacrifice and purity – regardless of the cultic diversity that was, in fact, common. One possibility we should therefore consider is that the standardized ideal promoted by P was the result of a process by which the priestly scribes sought to normalize the principle of cultic centralization in ancient Israel. As discussed above (see §1.2.1), the link between standardization and centralization might not be self-evident, and indeed the terms are not synonymous. When the term “standardization” is used in modern technical and industrial spheres, for example, it is usually associated with regulating production processes: maximizing their compatibility, interoperability, and repeatability. However, when applied to the social and cultural spheres, a “standard” can be understood as regulating behavior in a way that consolidates centralized authority, as well as the associated power for central elites. As social theorists such as Bourdieu explain, this centralizing effect is evident in processes whereby standard forms of knowledge or custom are promulgated. Bourdieu argues specifically that the establishment of a standard French language across past centuries served “to reinforce the authority which [was] the source of its dominance.”162 The promulgation of an official form of French and the processes of linguistic unification this entailed went hand in hand with political centralization. As the status of the official language was entrenched, local dialects eventually acquired an inferior status to the “legitimate language” or usage, while those central elites, especially in Paris, “who owed their position to their mastery of the instruments of expression” acquired “a de facto monopoly of politics.”163 It was thus “not only a question of [their] communicating but of gaining recognition for a new language of authority, with its new political vocabulary.”164 We can read the standardization of ritual practice by P in a similar way. It did not seek to totally eliminate diversity in practice, any more than the promotion of official French sought to completely exclude the use of dialects at the regional level. However, it aspired to elevate a central set of mutually reinforcing, prescribed norms and processes to a position of discursive superiority, and with it the idea that the Israelites should, where possible, avoid practices that flout the ideal standard. Such an ideal, in turn, invests the custodians D. Bibb, Hebrew Bible Monographs 64 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2015), 196–97; and Julia Rhyder, “Ritual Text and Ritual Practice: Some Remarks on Extra-Sanctuary Slaughter in Leviticus,” in Rites aux Portes, ed. Patrick M. Michel (Bern: Lang, 2018), 13. 161 Reinhard G. Kratz, Historical and Biblical Israel: The History, Tradition, and Archives of Israel and Judah, trans. Paul Michael Kurtz (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 143. 162 Bourdieu, Language, 45. 163 Bourdieu, Language, 43 and 47. 164 Bourdieu, Language, 48.

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of the ritual standards with a particular, centralized authority. Just as the central elites who managed the processes of standardization of the French language could claim a central political authority, so, too, could the priestly families associated with Jerusalem claim the authority to lead a centralized cult by virtue of their articulation of the ritual standard. Positioning themselves as the vehicle for transmitting the god’s authoritative cultic norms as revealed to Moses at Sinai, the scribes responsible for the priestly traditions could claim the greatest affinity with – and legitimacy arising from – the god’s cultic requirements, which are established as central for all Yahwists. Ritual standardization may therefore have been a powerful new strategy for positioning the priestly families in Jerusalem at the center of the Israelite cult and community. In the absence of traditional forms of central authority such as monarchic sponsorship or significant financial resources, the priests in Jerusalem articulated a new right to centrality on the basis of their (self-appointed!) responsibility for producing and transmitting the god’s central ritual standard. The Israelite community, meanwhile, was presented with an obligation to defer, as much as was feasible, to the authority of the cultic sources from which the ritual standard was emanating, and thus to recognize a centralized form of sociocultic authority. Rather than deciding matters of sacrifice or purity on a purely local level, the Israelites are encouraged to look to the Jerusalem priesthood as a transregional authority on core cultic matters. Through their discourse of ritual standardization, then, the priests in Jerusalem might have reinforced their attempt to remove the possibility that a truly decentralized approach to Yahwistic worship – one in which the regulations or norms set by the center are disregarded and the Israelites embrace myriad approaches to Israelite cultic practices – could be deemed legitimate. In addition, the standardized ritual cult promoted by P might have been aimed at securing the active, indeed practical response of the Israelites to meeting the ritual needs of the Jerusalem sanctuary and its priesthood in a time of economic difficulty in the Persian period. P is unequivocal that any hindrance on the implementation of Yhwh’s central ritual standard is tantamount to communal negligence (see Lev 1–16). Hence, if the priestly standard is to be effectively implemented, the Israelites must accept their communal responsibility to ensure that the central shrine does not lack the resources required to observe the core rituals outlined in the P text. As they adopt many of the traditional responsibilities of a royal guardian and patron, the Israelites must be fully cognizant of the ritual needs of the central sanctuary and its personnel, know what the god requires in terms of sacrifices and donations, and commit to ensuring that those requirements are regularly met. The priestly scribes’ emphasis on the communal responsibility to know and internalize the ritual standard might therefore have formed an important plank in their argument that the Israelites must funnel their attention and resources to the newly reconstructed sanctuary in Jerusalem, and to its priestly officiants. Regardless of potential reservations

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they may harbor concerning the legitimacy of the temple reconstruction project (see §4.1.1.3 above), the Israelites must view the success of the centralized cult in Jerusalem as their collective responsibility and commit to giving effect to their ritual obligations in material forms. 4.4.3 The Priesthood and Cultic Legitimacy P’s focus on ritual standards, as we have seen, normalizes the value of deferring to centralized cultic authority. This reinforces another key aspect of the priestly discourse of centralization: the insistence that the cult should be administered and led by a limited group of priests. As described at length above, the text of P calls upon the Israelites to accept their obligation to defer to a form of centralized priestly leadership. Aaron and his sons are the only members of the community with the authority to administer the sacrificial cult, and to maintain the space of the central sanctuary. The Israelites are thereby charged with the responsibility to defer to the shrine that is managed by Aaron’s descendants, and to recognize their exclusive right to administer the Yahwistic cult. However, we can again be confident in assuming that there was a significant gap between P’s discourse about the foundational cult and the realities of the Persian period. There is no historical evidence that the Persian period cult was led by a family of priests literally descended from a figure named Aaron. To be sure, it is immensely difficult to reconstruct the actual history and character of the priesthood in ancient Israel. In the absence of other sources, scholars must rely largely on the literary traditions of the Hebrew Bible when trying to trace the history of ancient Israel’s priestly families. Yet this dependence raises issues concerning the value of these traditions as historical evidence and the interpretive weight that can be placed upon them. There are few references to Aaron and his sons beyond the priestly materials, and, as scholars have long noted, Aaronides do not feature in the descriptions of the preexilic priesthood found in Samuel and Kings.165 As I have discussed in detail elsewhere (Rhyder, “Unity”), scholars have long wondered if the Aaronides were originally associated with the northern temple of Bethel in the preexilic era; for this view, see, as a representative sample, Antonius H. J. Gunneweg, Leviten und Priester: Hauptlinien der Traditionsbildung und Geschichte des israelitischjüdischen Kultpersonals, FRLANT 89 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1965), 89–95; Moses Aberbach and Leivy Smolar, “Aaron, Jeroboam, and the Golden Calves,” JBL 86 (1967): 129–40; George W. Coats, Rebellion in the Wilderness: The Murmuring Motif in the Wilderness Traditions of the Old Testament (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1968), 189–91; Aelred Cody, A History of Old Testament Priesthood, AnBib 35 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1969), 148; R. Walter L. Moberly, At the Mountain of God: Story and Theology in Exodus 32–34, JSOTSup 22 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1983), 161–71; and Joachim Schaper, Priester und Leviten im achämenidischen Juda. Studien zur Kult- und Sozialgeschichte Israels in persischer Zeit, FAT 1/31 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 172–73, 275–76. This 165

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These evidential problems have given rise to many attempts to reconstruct possible historical scenarios behind the texts that mention the Aaronides, as well as a history of conflict and struggles between different priestly groups vying for power in the exilic and postexilic periods. Such theories engage with long-standing scholarly debates concerning the connection between the Zadokite priests mentioned in Ezek 44 – the priestly family that most scholars argue dominated the Jerusalem priesthood in the Second Temple period – and the focus on Aaron in P.166 Scholars have proposed diverse reconstructions of theory is based largely on the echoes of 1 Kgs 12:26–33 in the narrative of the golden calf in Exod 32 (cf. esp. Exod 32:4 and 1 Kgs 12:28). The Kings account describes Jeroboam I placing a statue of a golden bull in the sanctuaries of Bethel and Dan following the division of the Davidic kingdom. This literary overlap has led scholars to argue that Exod 32 contains traces of an early legend concerning the bull cult at Bethel, and that Aaron’s prominent role in the golden calf episode reflects the historical dominance of the Aaronides at that northern sanctuary in the preexilic period. This theory has also been used to explain why Judg 20:26– 28 report that “Phinehas, son of Eleazar, son of Aaron” was ministering before the ark in Bethel. However, the value of these texts for reconstructing the history of a preexilic Aaronide dynasty in the Northern Kingdom is questionable. The literary history of Exod 32 is a matter of scholarly dispute, with a growing number of scholars arguing against the existence of a pre-P core of the account; see the helpful history of research in Konrad Schmid, “Israel am Sinai. Etappen der Forschungsgeschichte zu Ex 32–34 in seinen Kontexten,” in Gottes Volk am Sinai. Untersuchungen zu Ex 32–34 und Dtn 9–10, ed. Matthias Köckert and Erhard Blum, Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 18 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2001), 9–40. The reference to Phinehas at Bethel in Judg 20:26–28 seems also to stem from a very late stage in the formation of the Hebrew Bible that postdates the description of the Aaronide priestly family in P, as well as the account of golden calf in Exod 32; see Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 116 and Walter Groß, Richter, HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2009), 860. These texts therefore provide a fragile base on which to establish the history of Aaronides in the Northern Kingdom, or to explain why the priestly scribes chose this figure as the eponymous ancestor of the priesthood. 166 According to the books of Samuel and Kings, Zadok rose to occupy a key position in the Jerusalem priesthood during the time of the monarchy; see esp. 2 Sam 8:17; 1 Kgs 4:4. Then, in Ezek 44:4–31, the ‫‘ בני צדוק‬sons of Zadok’ are granted the exclusive right to officiate at Yhwh’s altar with the assistance of second-tier cultic personnel: the Levites. The majority view in the scholarship is that the sons of Zadok mentioned in Ezek 44:4–31 were the Jerusalem priests who were exiled to Babylon; among studies from the past fifty years, see, e.g., Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic: The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1979), 227; Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel. Chapters 25–48, ed. Paul D. Hanson, trans. James D. Martin, Hermeneia (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1983), 456– 59; Richard Donald Nelson, Raising Up a Faithful Priest: Community and Priesthood in Biblical Theology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 6–15; Albertz, History, 1:220–21; Risto Nurmela, The Levites: Their Emergence as a Second-Class Priesthood, SFSHJ 193 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1998), 73–81; Schaper, Priester; Eckart Otto, “Gab es ‘historische’ und ‘fiktive’ Aaroniden im Alten Testament?” ZABR 7 (2001): 403– 14; Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 116–20; and Lester L. Grabbe, “Were the Pre-Maccabean High Priests ‘Zadokites’?” in Reading from Right to Left: Essays on the Hebrew Bible in

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these power struggles and who they think may have been involved.167 Of particular influence is the theory of Otto and Reinhard Achenbach that the Zadokites and Aaronides are factions, each of which was responsible for large swathes of the pentateuchal materials and other biblical texts.168 Gradually, they argue, the Zadokites took control of the process by which the priestly traditions were redacted – for instance, adding the Priestly ritual materials to the Priestly narrative of origins – as a means of legitimating their leadership of the Jerusalem Temple. In so doing, the Zadokites ensured that the Priestly source affirmed their sociocultic monopoly, even though they still referred to the priesthood using the term “Aaron and sons.” These theories have considerable scholarly support, but they assume a historicity for Ezekiel and the P materials that is questionable.169 Given their imaginative character, neither of these materials can be read as empirical sources for priestly feuds in ancient Israel. The absence of evidence outside Ezek 44:4– 31 for the existence of the sons of Zadok suggests that scholars cannot reasonably use this oracle to reconstruct the history of the priesthood in the NeoBabylonian and Persian periods. Even less can they try to incorporate the sons of Aaron into this reconstruction. Nor can we reasonably interpret the representation of Aaron in P as evidence of actual Aaronides in ancient Israel. Rather, we should be open to the possibility that Aaron and sons were never more than a discursive strategy on the part of the priestly scribes, who invented a foundational dynasty – “the ‘family business of Aaron & Sons’” (d[as] ‘Familienunternehmen Aaron & Sons’) – in order to promote the more generic cultic value of centralized leadership.170 In other words, P invokes an imaginative figure of the past to generate “mnemonic capital” for the institution of the

Honour of David J. A. Clines, ed. Cheryl Exum and Hugh G. M. Williamson, JSOTSup 373 (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 213. The oracle of Ezek 44:4–31 is thus seen as an attempt by these Zadokite priests to reestablish their power in the postexilic temple cult by blaming the exile on other priestly groups (“the Levites”). 167 See the histories of research in Julia M. O’Brien, Priest and Levite in Malachi, SBLDS 121 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1990), 1–21 and Schaper, Priester, 1–9. 168 Otto, “Forschungen,” 36–37; Otto, “Gab es ‘historische’ und ‘fiktive’ Aaroniden”; Reinhard Achenbach, “Levitische Priester und Leviten im Deuteronomium. Überlegungen zur sog. ‘Levitisierung’ des Priestertums,” ZABR 5 (1999): 285–309; and Achenbach, Die Vollendung. 169 As convincingly argued by Alice Hunt, Missing Priests: The Zadokites in Tradition and History, LHBOTS 452 (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2006); Samuel, Von Priestern zum Patriarchen, 406–8; and Nathan MacDonald, Priestly Rule: Polemic and Biblical Interpretation in Ezekiel 44, BZAW 476 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 143–45. 170 Christian Frevel, “Alte Stücke – späte Brücke? Zur Rolle des Buches Numeri in der jüngeren Pentateuchdiskussion,” in Congress Volume Munich 2013, ed. Christl M. Maier, VTSup 163 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 291.

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centralized priesthood, rather than to navigate a complex cultic order characterized by factional divisions between actual Zadokites and Aaronides.171 Yet, if P needs to be read as discourse rather than an historical source, we can still ask how such a discourse might have been employed for sociocultic purposes – that is, how the mnemonic capital of its depiction of Aaron was intended by P to elevate a particular central sanctuary and its priestly attendants to a position of sociocultic authority. The Judean bias identified above in the genealogy of Exod 6:13–27, as well as in the organization of the wilderness camp in Num 1–10, suggests that the priestly scribes imagined the discourse of centralized priestly competence to support Jerusalem’s claim to centrality in the Yahwistic cult of the Persian era. In the figure of Aaron, the Jerusalem priesthood might have sought to legitimize their claim to a highly restricted form of priestly leadership, which might normalize the restriction of cultic authority that is key to cultic centralization. In so doing, the priestly scribes might have aimed at avoiding a cultic situation in which the Israelites considered it permissible to defer to multiple shrines, with multiple priestly orders, in diverse local contexts. Instead, they must accept Yhwh’s preference for a highly controlled form of cultic agency, in which his sanctuary and its ritual cult are monopolized by a single priestly institution that can justifiably claim to continue the centralized priestly legacy established by Aaron. So, too, should they commit to deferring to a single high priest who alone has the cultic authority to represent the united community of Israel before the god at its central shrine. The social memory of the figure of Aaron might also have been a strategy for reimagining the centrality of the Jerusalem priesthood in the postmonarchic period, a strategy that we have seen manifest in P’s reframing of the history of the cult so that it no longer depends on royal authority. The figure of Aaron might have been intended to provide a means whereby the lineage of the Jerusalem priesthood could be traced to an ancestor who was installed by the god Yhwh during the prestate period, and whose authority arose from a source other than the monarchy. The priesthood therefore emerges from P as a permanent institution that predates and can survive the collapse of monarchic powers in ancient Israel, with all the loss of traditional supports which this entailed. The high priest, meanwhile, is elevated to the status of the central leader of the Israelite cult, able to fulfill the role of chief ritual agent who can represent the Israelites before the national god, with no need of a monarch. Supporting evidence for this theory can be found in certain Second Temple traditions, where it seems that the memory of the figure of Aaron and sons was invoked by Judean scribes in an effort to provide new, legitimizing origins for the Jerusalem priesthood. Nehemiah 10:38 and 12:47 both describe the priests serving in Jerusalem at the time of Nehemiah as the ‫‘ בני אהרן‬sons of Aaron’. On “mnemonic capital” see Ehud Ben Zvi, “Chronicles and Social Memory,” Studia Theologica – Nordic Journal of Theology 71, no. 1 (2017): 77. 171

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Ezra 7:1–5, meanwhile, establish Ezra’s authority over the newly constructed temple in Jerusalem by tracing his lineage back through Zadok to Phinehas, Eleazar, and Aaron. The ideological potential of Aaron for framing the origins of the Jerusalem priesthood can also be seen in the book of Chronicles.172 In 1 Chr 5:27–41 MT (1 Chr 6:1–15 LXX), the genealogy of ‫‘ בני לוי‬the sons of Levi’ is traced from the patriarch Levi all the way to Jehozadak, son of Seraiah, who “went out when Yhwh sent Judah and Jerusalem into exile by the hand of Nebuchadnezzar” (5:27 MT [6:1 LXX]). Crucially, 1 Chr 5:27–41 present Jehozadak as tracing his own lineage back to the sons of Aaron, specifically Eleazar and his son Phinehas (5:29–30 MT [6:3–4 LXX]). In so doing, it follows a line through the priests who served during the time of David, most notably Zadok (5:34 MT [6:8 LXX]). Yet this monarchic phase in the history of the Jerusalem priesthood is no longer determinative for the history of that institution; it is simply one stage in the formation of Yhwh’s centralized priesthood, from Levi to Aaron, Zadok to Jehozadak. One complication with the theory that P intended the figure Aaron to provide a new ancestor for the centralized priesthood at Jerusalem specifically is the evidence, outlined in §3.1.2, of a possible familial connection between the priestly families in Jerusalem and those at Gerizim. According to Watts, this suggests that P should not be read as intending to legitimate the Jerusalem priesthood alone. Instead, the focus on Aaron and his sons in P should be seen as a strategy on the part of P to ensure that the priestly families at both Gerizim and Jerusalem, and perhaps other sanctuaries in the diaspora that were managed by the same priestly family, could share control over the Israelite cult because they could all trace their lineage back to a common ancestor.173 This theory has in its favor the evidence that Samarian leaders, like those from Jerusalem, drew on the mnemonic capital of P’s depiction of Aaron to legitimate the Gerizim priesthood.174 Various medieval sources attest to Samaritan claims to continue the Aaronide priestly dynasty.175 We also find 172 Cf. Gary N. Knoppers, “The Relationship of the Priestly Genealogies to the History of the High Priesthood in Jerusalem,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Joseph Blenkinsopp (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 109–33. 173 Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 107. See further the detailed discussion of Watts’s views in the history of research in §3.2.2. 174 See further, e.g., Yitzhak Magen, The Samaritans and the Good Samaritan, trans. Edward Levin, JSP 7 (Jerusalem: Israel Anitiquities Authority, 2008), 11–13; Knoppers, Jews, 2; Watts, Leviticus 1–10, 104–5; and Jan Dušek, “Mt. Gerizim Sanctuary, Its History and Enigma of Origin,” HBAI 3, no. 1 (2014): 118–20. 175 For instance, the Tūlīda (Chron. 3), which dates to the twelfth century CE, recounts how “Phinehas, son of Eleazar, son of Aaron the priest” visited Mount Gerizim and established both a new cultic calendar and an authoritative Aaronide dynasty to lead the Samarian temple cult; see Adolf Neubauer, ed., “Chronique samaritaine. Suivie d’un appendice

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among some of the Hellenistic inscriptions at the temple at Gerizim certain names that are also used by P to refer to Aaron’s sons: ‫‘ אלעזר‬Eleazar’ appears on two inscriptions and on a square object (possibly a seal).176 Multiple inscriptions contain ‫‘ פינחס‬Phinehas’.177 One of these (no. 384) offers fragmentary evidence that a high priest named Phinehas might have officiated at Gerizim. In a fragment representing the upper left-hand corner of a rectangular stone block, the name “[P]hinehas” (line 1) is followed after a few words by the adjective ‫“ הגדול‬great” (line 3). It is therefore possible that the inscription originally referred to “the high priest Phinehas,” although the highly fragmentary nature of the inscription means that this reading remains speculative.178 In isolation, these inscriptions do not constitute conclusive evidence of a link between the priesthood at Gerizim and the Aaronide priestly line.179 It is possible that the priests at Gerizim used the names ‫ אלעזר‬and ‫ פינחס‬without thinking of the specific figures named in the priestly traditions. Nevertheless, the inscriptions suggest a degree of continuity between the descriptions of the priesthood in the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch and the way in which Samarians referred to themselves. This arguably adds some, albeit indirect, support to the idea that the worshippers and priests at Gerizim considered the cultic officiants at the temple to continue the family of Aaron described in the Pentateuch. contenant de courtes notices sur quelques autres ouvrages samaritains,” JA 14 (1869): 390 lines 6–7 (text), 422 (French translation). 176 For the two inscriptions containing “Eleazar,” see Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 49 (inscription no. 1) and 73 (inscription no. 32). Note that the name Eleazar is only fragmentarily preserved on no. 32; the aleph and lamed are missing. For the square object, see Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 260 (inscription no. 390). This is a special case since the name Eleazar is not written in full but can be reconstructed from the five letters printed in the five indented triangles on the object’s upper face. “When read from the center and then from the top left corner in a clockwise direction, the letters form the name ‫( אלעזר‬Elʿazar)” (260). 177 Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Samaritan Inscriptions, 67 (inscription no. 24), 68 (inscription no. 25), 91–92 (inscription no. 61), 255 (inscription no. 384), 258–59 (inscription no. 389). Note that the name Phinehas is only fragmentarily preserved in inscriptions 25 and 61 (the pe and nun are missing in both cases), as well as no. 384 (the pe is missing). Inscription no. 389 may refer to “Phinehas the priest.” In line 1, the name Phinehas is followed by a kaph, which on its own would be insufficient to reconstruct the word ‫ ;כהן‬but in line 2 the word ‫ כהן‬is clearly attested as part of the expression “their [br]others the priest[s].” It is therefore possible, although speculative, that the kaph in line 1 preserves the first letter of the word ‫כהן‬, and thus that the inscription originally read “Phinehas the priest.” 178 Jan Dušek, Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim and Samaria between Antiochus III and Antiochus IV Epiphanes, CHANE 54 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 58. 179 Pace Tobias Funke, “Phinehas and the Other Priests in Ben Sira and 1 Maccabees,” in Imagining the Other and Constructing Israelite Identity in the Early Second Temple Period, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (London: T&T Clark, 2014), 276.

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However, the evidence hinting that both temple priesthoods at Gerizim and Jerusalem claimed Aaronide descent does not necessarily mean that the priestly scribes had such a cultic collaboration in mind when imagining the origins of the priesthood. As discussed at length above (§4.4.1.1), it is difficult to know whether the priesthood at Gerizim had already been established at the time the Priestly account of origins was first composed, such that we cannot be sure that the priestly scribes were aware of Samarian claims to cultic centrality when they described Aaron as the patriarch of the priesthood. In addition, Watts’s theory that Aaron was intended to bestow equal legitimacy on the priesthood at Gerizim and Jerusalem arguably struggles to explain why texts such as Exod 6:13–27 and Num 1–10 assert a privileged connection between the Aaronide priesthood and the tribe of Judah. This would seem to suggest that the priestly scribes were interested in affirming the centralization of priestly authority in Judean hands, moreso than negotiating a sharing of priestly power between two cultic nodes. Finally, the emphasis in P on the centrality of a single high priest who represents the twelve tribes within the space of the central shrine sits somewhat awkwardly with the idea that P intended to justify the establishment of a priesthood that stretched across multiple sanctuary institutions. Nevertheless, Watts offers a timely reminder that we should not overstrain the case for linking Aaron to the priesthood in Jerusalem, a link which, after all, is never explicitly affirmed by P. The ambiguity in P about the future of the priesthood again suggests that the priestly scribes sought to avoid articulating too direct a link between the foundational cult at Sinai and a future temple institution. This perhaps reveals a concern on their part to avoid acrimony between diverse groups of Yahweh worshippers. This ambiguity concerning the future of the priesthood eventually proved key to enabling more than one central sanctuary to claim the right to continue Aaron’s priestly line. However, the weight of the evidence suggests that ensuring equality between dual cultic centers was not P’s principal aim when describing the origins of the priesthood at Sinai. Whatever the dissonance between the idealized discourse and practice as far as the centralized priesthood might have been concerned, P’s discourse seems primarily intended to be used by the priestly families of Jerusalem to reinforce their legitimacy as heirs to the legacy of the imaginary figure of Aaron and the priestly institution carried forward by his progeny.

4.5 Conclusion We have now moved well beyond the traditional approaches that have shaped the study of P and cultic centralization. This chapter has shown that the focus in classical scholarship on P’s alleged acceptance of D’s mandate of centralization has occluded more nuanced understandings of the centralizing logic of the P materials. In particular, it has focused scholarly attention on the absences

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in P’s ritual legislation rather than on the positive evidence that P’s foundational narrative provides of its own rich centralizing discourse. This chapter has further explored the three major requirements of this centralizing discourse in P: that the Israelite community unite in service to a central sanctuary, that they conform to standardized forms of ritual, dietary, and purity practices, and that they defer to an authoritative, centralized priesthood. In combination, these three centralizing strategies ensure that the patron-client relationship between the Israelites and their god is maintained, and the unity of the people of Israel assured. In articulating an idealized form of cultic centralization, P provides a memory of a foundational past that speaks to the priorities of the priestly scribes at the time of writing. It calls on the community to coalesce as much as feasible around a centralized cult and priesthood in ancient Israel, and to take on the responsibilities traditionally fulfilled by a royal figure in sponsoring and protecting it. P’s powerful case for centralization would have been known to H. As a supplement to P, H draws heavily on its description of the wilderness sanctuary, the ritual cult, and the Aaronide priesthood. In the three chapters that follow, this study turns to consider how H may have expanded on P in developing new dimensions of cultic centralization. It tests this by considering three legislative themes: H’s concern with regulating the disposal of blood, an issue that accords a new, intensified focus on the community’s responsibility to centralize animal slaughter and sacrifice; H’s interest in imposing compliance across the various communities who consider themselves part of Israel with a centralized festal calendar; and, finally, its requirement that the Israelites exhibit conformity in all aspects of their lives in order to attain holiness.

Chapter 5

The Centralization of Slaughter and Sacrifice in Lev 17 A key text for understanding H’s discourse of centralization is Lev 17. This opening chapter arguably presents the most important text in the study of the legislative theme of centralization in H, as well as in the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch more generally. Here we find a series of laws in which H prohibits animal slaughter and sacrifice beyond the wilderness sanctuary and forbids the Israelites from consuming blood with animal meat. As outlined above (§3.3.1), the laws of Lev 17 have long been thought to share key linguistic and thematic correspondences with D’s key mandate of centralization in Deut 12. Both chapters include laws that explicitly command that all sacrifices be brought to a single location: the ‫ מקום‬in Deut 12 and the ‫ אהל מועד‬in Lev 17. They both also address the issue of local slaughter in connection with the centralization of sacrifice. Moreover, local slaughter is discussed in connection with the prohibition of consuming blood in both contexts. The wording employed in the blood prohibition is also sometimes similar (cf. Lev 17:11aα, 14aα; Deut 12:23). These overlaps have played an integral role in the traditional argument that H, as well as the priestly traditions more broadly, know D and affirm its call for a centralized cult.1 However, the scholarly discussion about Lev 17 and Deut 12 has also noted an important difference between the two texts: while H and D seem to agree that there should be only one location for sacrifice, H insists that local butchery, too, must be conducted only at the central shrine, a position that seems to raise major issues about the practicality of H’s command. How might H have expected the Israelites to defer to the central sanctuary in all matters related to the killing of animals, both in sacrifice and in butchery?2 The obvious difficulties involved with implementing such a command in ancient Israel have led some scholars to question whether H promotes a centralized cult, or whether it See already, e.g., Abraham Kuenen, An Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch, trans. Philip H. Wicksteed (London: Macmillan, 1886), 266– 67; Julius Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 4th ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963), 150–51; Bruno Baentsch, Das Heiligkeits-Gesetz Lev. XVII–XXVI: Eine historisch-kritische Untersuchung (Erfurt: H. Güther, 1893), 116–17; and Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, HKAT 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1903), 389–90. 2 See the history of research on this issue in §3.3.1. 1

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might presuppose the presence of multiple sanctuaries in the post-wilderness future.3 While the practicability of H’s ban on extrasanctuary slaughter, as well as the evidence of dependence on Deut 12, have remained the dominant issues in the study of Lev 17, recent scholarship has also widened the frame of analysis to consider new approaches to interpreting this chapter. One of these is the growing interest in how Lev 17 depends upon and develops the earlier P materials. Scholars have observed strong echoes of Gen 9:3–7 in the ban on local butchery in Lev 17:3–7 (see esp. v. 3) and on consuming blood in Lev 17:10– 14 (see esp. v. 11).4 These echoes seem to enable H to couch its new expectations of the Israelites vis-à-vis extrasanctuary slaughter in earlier P assertions concerning the profound significance of blood as the seat of ‫‘ נפש‬life’. This adds weight to H’s case that the Israelites must defer to the wilderness sanctuary in all matters pertaining to the killing of livestock or face harsh sanctions. The scholarly interest in the links between Lev 17 and Gen 9:3–7 has been matched by an increased attention to the connections between Lev 17 and Lev 16. As mentioned in §2.2.1, scholars have noted that these two chapters have an unusually high number of expressions and motifs in common, such as the root ‫כפר‬, the phrase ‫כפר על‬, and references to the ‫ אהל מועד‬and to the ‫מחנה‬. They also share an interest in blood manipulation, as well as in creatures associated with wilderness and desolate places: ‫ עזאזל‬in the case of 16:8, 10 and 23, and ‫ שׂעירם‬in 17:7. However, so far H’s concern in Lev 17 to maintain continuity with the earlier P ritual materials has received very little attention in discussions of how H might promote a discourse of centralization in that chapter. The study of Lev 17 and centralization has remained largely confined to the intertextual links between Lev 17 and Deut 12. An important exception is the work of Baruch J. Schwartz, which provides a rare exploration of how Lev 17 might articulate a

See, notably, Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile, trans. Moshe Greenberg (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 180–84; Mary Douglas, Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 90–98; and Jacob Milgrom, “Does H Advocate the Centralization of Worship?” JSOT 88 (2000): 60–65. 4 See e.g., Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Prohibition Concerning the ‘Eating’ of Blood in Leviticus 17,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel, ed. Gary A. Anderson and Saul Olyan, JSOTSup 125 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991), 43; Andreas Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Priesterschrift. Literaturgeschichtliche und rechtssystematische Untersuchungen zu Leviticus 17,1–26,2, FAT 1/26 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 141–42; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, AB 3B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2000), 1457–58; and Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT 2/25 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 412–13. 3

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distinctive priestly discourse of centralization.5 Building on the approach developed by Menahem Haran (see §3.2.2), Schwartz argues that Lev 17 should be read on its own terms, without necessarily focusing on its purported intertextual links with non-priestly traditions. In particular, Schwartz contends that the strict regulations of Lev 17 are an inner-priestly development, in which H develops P’s ritual logic concerning the need to strictly regulate sacrifice and meat consumption to form a new law of cultic centralization. Schwartz’s study of Lev 17 is rich in insights, and his comparison of the claims about blood and meat consumption in Lev 17 with those of the earlier P materials offers a muchneeded corrective to the scholarly fascination with comparing the chapter to Deut 12. However, Schwartz’s approach needs to be balanced with a thorough review of why Lev 17 not only contains important verbal overlaps with P but also with Deut 12, an issue Schwartz leaves largely unaddressed. This chapter enters the well-established discussion of Lev 17 and offers a thorough review of the import of this chapter for the study of centralization. To press the discussion of Lev 17 and centralization further, I argue that we need to explore in depth H’s overarching logic for restricting both slaughter and sacrifice to the central sanctuary. In particular, H’s strict approach to local slaughter needs to be read, as Schwartz convincingly shows, within the context of its claims about the potency of blood (§5.1) and the significance of its ritualized disposal on Yhwh’s altar in the central shrine for the cohesion of the Israelite cult and community (§5.2). But I will also review (§5.3.1) the classical arguments that the wording and structure of Lev 17 reveal that this chapter was designed to rebuke D’s willingness to concede local butchery in order to make cultic centralization practicable. I will show that the evidence of dependence on D, while minimally present in Lev 17, cannot justify the classical idea that this chapter is primarily intended as a response to Deut 12. The strongest linguistic overlaps between these two chapters, found in the blood prohibitions of Lev 17:11 and Deut 12:23, are most probably due to a late addition to Deut 12 in vv. 20–28, an addition which knows and responds to the laws of Lev 17. By contrast, the claims made in Lev 17 about the centrality of blood, its disposal at the altar, and the dangers of local butchery reveal that H’s discourse of centralization is much more strongly dependent on P, especially Lev 16, than has usually been recognized (§5.3.2). I will also explore (§5.4), as far as the limited evidence allows, the possible historical context within which H’s narrowing of focus onto the centralization of blood sacrifice might have emerged, and thus its import for the study of centralization in the Persian period. This analysis must be paired with a discussion of how the radical centralizing discourse of Lev 17 has the capacity, which 5 Baruch J. Schwartz, “‘Profane’ Slaughter and the Integrity of the Priestly Code,” HUCA 67 (1996): 15–42; Baruch J. Schwartz, The Holiness Legislation: Studies in the Priestly Code (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999), 97–101 (Hebrew); and Schwartz, “Prohibition.”

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we have already observed in P, to displace the pragmatic considerations of cultic practice in favor of the ritualized ideal. Why H might have wished to admit no exceptions in the case of centralized blood disposal, despite the impracticability of such a requirement, speaks to broader questions surrounding how ritual discourse serves to entrench cultic hierarchies and normalize the rights of central spaces and groups to communal deference and resources.

5.1 The Structure of Lev 17 and the Importance of Blood Disposal The analysis of Lev 17 that follows begins with a translation of the chapter. The translation is annotated with comments on select differences between the ancient witnesses and select translation choices. The latter will also be discussed at various points in the following sections when relevant to the overall argument. Lev 17 1 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: 2 “Speak to Aaron 6, and to all the Israelites, and to them you shall say, ‘This is the word that Yhwh commands:’ 3 ‘Anyone from the house of Israel7 who slaughters an ox, sheep, or goat in the camp, or slaughters it outside the camp, 4 and does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of meeting 6 11QpaleoLev (11Q1) omits the reference to Aaron’s sons, but this is most likely a scribal error, possibly due to homoeoteleuton caused by the repetition of ‫ ;ואל‬see further Henry T. C. Sun, “An Investigation into the Compositional Integrity of the So-Called Holiness Code” (Leviticus 17–26)” (PhD diss., The Claremont Graduate School, 1990), 64. 7 LXX reads Ἄνθρωπος ἄνθρωπος τῶν υἱῶν Ισραηλ here (as well as in the introductions in vv. 8, 10, and 13) in what appears to be an attempt to achieve a smoother text by applying a single descriptor for the Israelites rather than alternating between ‫ בית ישׂראל‬and ‫בני ישׂראל‬. More significantly, LXX and one manuscript from Qumran, 4QLevd (4Q26), include the immigrant among the law’s addressees in v. 3, while MT, SP, and 11Q1 speak only of the native Israelites. However, it seems most probable that the immigrant was included secondarily; see, e.g., Christoph Bultmann, Der Fremde im antiken Juda. Eine Untersuchung zum sozialen Typenbegriff ‘ger’ und seinem Bedeutungswandel in der alttestamentlichen Gesetzgebung, FRLANT 153 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), 193 n. 78; John William Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Leviticus, SCS 44 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1997), 260; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 139–40; Klaus Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26. Ursprüngliche Gestalt, Tradition und Theologie, BZAW 271 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 25 n. 16; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1453; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 415; and Thomas Hieke, Levitikus, 2 vols., HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2014), 2:615. As I will discuss in detail in Julia Rhyder, “The Prohibition of Local Butchery in Leviticus 17:3–4: The Evidence from the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Sem 62 (forthcoming), if the immigrant had originally been mentioned in vv. 3–7, it would be difficult to explain why H included two laws forbidding the killing of domestic animals away from the sanctuary, one in the case of animals killed for food (vv. 3–7) and the other for animals killed for sacrifice

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to present it to Yhwh as an offering before the habitation of Yhwh,8 bloodguilt shall be reckoned to that person, for he has shed blood; he shall be cut off from the midst of his

(vv. 8–9). The difference in addressees makes this apparent duplication entirely logical, because it is only the native Israelites who are forbidden to practice local butchery, while v. 8 introduces a new situation that pertains to both Israelites and immigrants; namely, the requirement to travel to the central shrine should they wish to make a sacrifice. This distinction is consistent with the distinction maintained throughout Lev 17–26 between the cultic obligations of the native Israelite and the ‫גר‬. Only if the ‫ גר‬should elect to make a sacrifice to Yhwh would he or she be required to follow the proper cultic procedure (vv. 8–9). By contrast, the ‫ גר‬is under no obligation to participate in the cult in matters of everyday slaughter. For similar arguments, see Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus, NICOT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1979), 224; Jan Joosten, People and Land in the Holiness Code: An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26, VTSup 67 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 65–66; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 167; Milgrom, Leviticus 17– 22, 143; and Christophe Nihan, “Resident Aliens and Natives in the Holiness Legislation,” in The Foreigner and the Law: Perspectives from the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East, ed. Reinhard Achenbach et al., BZABR 16 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 124–25. 8 LXX, 4Q26, and SP contain a lengthy plus over against the shorter text preserved in MT and 11Q1. The plus offers a much-expanded description of the offering that should be presented at the entrance of the tent of meeting when compared to the text of MT and 11Q1: ‫ואל פתח אהל מועד לא הביאו לעשות אתו עלה או שלמים ליהוה לרצונכם לריח ניחח וישחטהו‬ ‫בחוץ ואל פתח אהל מועד לא הביאו להקריבו קרבן ליהוה לפני משכן יהוה‬/καὶ ἐπὶ τὴν θύραν τῆς σκηνῆς τοῦ µαρτυρίου µὴ ἐνέγκῃ ὥστε ποιῆσαι αὐτὸ εἰς ὁλοκαύτωµα ἢ σωτήριον κυρίῳ δεκτὸν εἰς ὀσµὴν εὐωδίας, καὶ ὃς ἂν σφάξῃ ἔξω καὶ ἐπὶ τὴν θύραν τῆς σκηνῆς τοῦ µαρτυρίου µὴ ἐνέγκῃ αὐτὸ ὥστε µὴ προσενέγκαι δῶρον κυρίῳ ἀπέναντι τῆς σκηνῆς κυρίου (‘and does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of meeting to make it a burnt offering or well-being offering to Yhwh for your favor as a soothing aroma, but slaughters it outside and does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of meeting to present it as an offering to Yhwh before the habitation of Yhwh’/‘and does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of testimony to make it a burnt offering or well-being offering to the lord for your favor as a soothing aroma, and who slaughters it outside and does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of testimony to present it as an offering before the habitation of the Lord’). As I will argue in Rhyder, “Prohibition,” it seems most probable that the plus is secondary. Not only is the additional material marked by unnecessary repetition, a characteristic feature of later additions, but its reference to both the ‫ עלה‬and the ‫ שלמים‬is discordant with v. 5, which refers only to the offering of the ‫שלמים‬ upon the altar. This discordance suggests that the formulation of MT and 11Q1, which omits the reference to the ‫עלה‬, is the earlier text; for similar views, see Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 289; Karl Elliger, Leviticus, HAT 4 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1966), 219; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1456; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 409 n. 56; Reinhard Müller, Juha Pakkala, and Bas ter Haar Romeny, Evidence of Editing: Growth and Change of Texts in the Hebrew Bible, RBS 75 (Altanta, GA: SBL Press, 2014), 21–22; David Andrew Teeter, Scribal Laws: Exegetical Variation in the Textual Transmission of Biblical Law in the Late Second Temple Period, FAT 1/92 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 77–82. In addition, the inclusion of the ‫ עלה‬in v. 4 creates a high level of redundancy within Lev 17 as a whole. In the law of 17:8–9, the focus shifts from “slaughter” ( ‫ )שׁחט‬to the “sacrifice” ( ‫ )עלה‬of “burnt offering or sacrifice” ( ‫ )עלה או־זבח‬at any site other than the entrance of the tent of meeting. There would seem to be no reason for H to have included the law of Lev

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people. 5 This is so that the Israelites will bring their sacrifices that they are sacrificing in the open field to Yhwh at the entrance of the tent of meeting, to the priest; they shall sacrifice them as well-being sacrifices to Yhwh. 6 The priest shall dash the blood upon the altar of Yhwh at the entrance of the tent of meeting and shall make the fat go up in smoke as a soothing odor to Yhwh. 7 Thus they will no longer offer their sacrifices to wild goats that they whore after. This will be an everlasting statute for them throughout their generations.’9 8 And to them you shall say: ‘Anyone from the house of Israel and from the immigrant who lives among you who offers10 burnt offering or sacrifice 9 and does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of meeting to offer it to Yhwh, that person shall be cut off from his people.’ 10 ‘Anyone from the house of Israel and from the immigrant who lives in your midst who consumes any blood, I shall set my face against the life of the one who consumes the blood and shall cut him off from the midst of the people. 11 For the life of the flesh, it is in the blood; I gave it for you upon the altar to ransom for your lives, for it is the blood that ransoms by means of life.11 12 Therefore I have said to the Israelites, all the living among you must not consume blood; and the immigrant who lives in your midst must not eat blood.

17:8–9 if, in vv. 3–4, the sacrifice of the ‫ עלה‬away from the central shrine had already been forbidden. 9 LXX preserves a small variant here: νόµιµον αἰώνιον ἔσται ὑµῖν εἰς τὰς γενεὰς ὑµῶν ‘this shall be an everlasting statute for you and throughout your generations’. This is probably due to the rarity of the formulation ‫להם לדרתם‬...‫ חקת עולם‬in the Pentateuch (see Exod 27:21; Lev 7:36) and the greater frequency of the formulation ‫( חקת עולם לדרתיכם‬see, e.g., Lev 3:17; 10:9; 23:14, 21, 31, 41; 24:3; Num 10:8; 15:15; 18:23). 10 MT reads the verb ‫ עלה‬here while SP and LXX read ‫( עשׂ ה‬ποιέω in Greek); unfortunately, neither 11Q1 nor 4Q26 attests this part of the verse. The two verbs are more or less equivalent, and the alternation does not change the sense of the verse. Commentators have explained the difference in various ways. The critical notes in BHS suggest that the reading in SP and LXX may be due to the presence of ‫ עשׂה‬in v. 9 and therefore constitutes a harmonization. It seems more likely, however, that the verb ‫ עלה‬has been replaced by ‫ עשׂה‬in SP and LXX because it is used exclusively with the ‫ עלה‬sacrifice in all other occurrences of the verb in Leviticus, while here it occurs with reference to ‫עלה או־זבח‬. Milgrom, Leviticus 17– 22, 1466 therefore concludes that the reading of SP and LXX is a facilitating one, and that MT is more likely to be original. 11 On the meaning of ‫ כפר‬piel and the translation ‘ransom’, see the discussion in §5.2.3. Scholars have long debated whether the bet in the expression ‫ כי־הדם הוא בנפשׁ יכפר‬is best understood as a bet instrumenti, a bet essentiae, or a bet pretii. The reading of a bet instrumenti in Lev 17:11, however, seems the most probable, as argued by, e.g., Notker Füglister, “Sühne durch Blut. Zur Bedeutung von Leviticus 17,11,” in Studien zum Pentateuch. Walter Kornfeld zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. Georg Braulik (Freiburg: Herder, 1977), 145–46; Bernd Janowski, Sühne als Heilsgeschehen: Studien zur Sühnetheologie der Priesterschrift und zur Wurzel KPR, WMANT 55 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), 244–45; Nobuyoshi Kiuchi, The Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature: Its Meaning and Function, JSOTSup 56 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 105–6; Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 2 n. 2; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1478–79; and Benedikt Jürgens, Heiligkeit und Versöhnung: Leviticus 16 in seinem literarischen Kontext, Herders biblische Studien 28 (Freiburg: Herder, 2001), 168. This reading coheres well with the other occurrences of the adverbial prepositional phrase X- ‫ כפר ב‬where the bet is almost always one of agency; see, e.g., Gen 32:21; Exod 29:33; Lev 5:16; 19:22.

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13 Anyone from the Israelites12 and from the immigrant who lives in your midst, who hunts game, animal, or bird, which may be eaten, he shall pour out its blood and cover it with earth. 14 For the life of all flesh, its blood is its life; and I have said to the Israelites: do not eat the blood of any flesh, for the life of all flesh, it is its blood. All who eat it will be cut off. 15 And any person, either native or immigrant, who eats a carcass, a torn animal, shall wash his clothing and bathe in water; he will be unclean until evening, and then he shall be clean. 16 But if he does not wash his flesh and does not bathe, then he shall bear his iniquity.’”

Leviticus 17 can be divided into five laws: vv. 3–7, 8–9, 10–12, 13–14, and 15–16. This division is justified by the structure that each of these units exhibits when addressing a specific legislative issue.13 In each case, the law consists of a sentence containing two clauses, the first of which begins with the subject in casus pendens. The subject is then followed by ‫ אשׁר‬and a verb in the imperfect. The second clause commences with a verb (converted imperfect), resumes the casus pendens, and pronounces the law. A further similarity between the first four laws is that each begins with the formula ‫אישׁ אישׁ מבית ישׂראל‬ ‘anyone from the house of Israel’ or ‫‘ אישׁ אישׁ מבית ישׂראל‬anyone from the Israelites’. Moreover, they all contain the ‫ כרת‬sanction, although by the fourth law this threat is mentioned not in the main clause (v. 13) but in its motivational section (v. 14b).14 Yet, even though the structure of the laws is similar, none is identical to another; the scribes responsible for the chapter appear to have felt free to develop the basic structure and formulate each particular instruction in 12 SP reads ‫ מבית יש ראל‬in what seems to be an attempt to harmonize the introduction of this law with vv. 3, 8, 10. 13 Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 37–39. 14 The precise effect of the ‫ כרת‬sanction or banishment formula remains a matter of dispute. The formula occurs in thirty texts in the Hebrew Bible with slight variations. In all but three cases in H (Lev 17:14; 20:17; 22:3), it involves the cutting off of the offender from “the people” ( ‫)עם‬. As argued by Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 458; Frank Gorman, Divine Presence and Community: A Commentary on the Book of Leviticus, ITC (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), 51; Hieke, Levitikus, 1:322–24, and others, it seems most likely that the ‫ כרת‬sanction constitutes a divine penalty, as stated explicitly in Lev 17:10. Scholars occasionally argue that the sanction results in the premature death of the offender; see, e.g., Wenham, Book of Leviticus, 125, 242; Joshua R. Porter, Leviticus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 139; Joosten, People, 80; Jay Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement: The Priestly Conceptions, Hebrew Bible Monographs 2 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2005), 15–20; and Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 180. Others suggest that it refers to the end of the offender’s lineage; see, e.g., David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature, SBLDS 101 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 1987), 164 n. 2; Gorman, Divine Presence, 51; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1458– 60; and Hieke, Levitikus, 1:324. However, it seems more likely to refer to the rejection of the offender from the cultic community. While this could involve premature death and/or childlessness, these do not seem to be its primary effects; for this reading, see, e.g., Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 149 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 407–8 n. 51.

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197

its own distinctive way.15 The fifth law is distinctive because it is headed by a different introductory formula: “any person…either native or immigrant” (v. 15a); it also presents a different threat to that of the previous instructions (namely, ‫ ;ונשׂא עונו‬v. 16b). Recognizing the literary coherence of the five laws of Lev 17, recent studies have argued strongly for treating the chapter as a unified composition.16 This is a significant change from the scholarship of much of the twentieth century, in which the compositional integrity of Lev 17 was widely questioned and commentators focused on reconstructing the progressive stages by which the laws comprising the chapter were brought together.17 However, as the work of Schwartz and Christophe Nihan in particular has shown, the structural unity of Lev 17 makes theories of a gradual development of the chapter unnecessary; each of the five laws seems to have been composed with the others in view. Following an introduction in vv. 1–2, the first law in vv. 3–7 declares that any Israelite who ‫‘ ישׁחט שׁור או־כשׂב או־עז‬slaughters an ox or a lamb or a goat’ either in the camp or outside the camp, and thus does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of meeting to present it as an offering, has ‫‘ שׁפך דם‬shed blood’ and shall be cut off (‫ כרת‬niphal) from the community. By using the idiom ‫שׁפך דם‬ to describe the consequences of extrasanctuary slaughter, H designates this offense a criminal act of the greatest severity; it is to be equated with homicide.18 Once the slaughter of domestic animals away from the sanctuary is proscribed, vv. 5–7 then explain what the Israelites should do instead: they are to bring their animals to the sanctuary to be sacrificed (‫ )זבח‬as ‫‘ זבחי שׁלמים‬sacrifices of well-being’. While the full ritual of the ‫ שׁלמים‬is not described here, v. 6 mentions two specific actions to be undertaken by the priest: he is to take the Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 37. See Schwartz, Holiness Legislation, 37–51; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 24–34; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 135–59; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1449; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 403–31; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:620. 17 See, e.g., Lewis Bayles Paton, “The Original Form of Leviticus xvii–xix,” JBL 16 (1897): 32–45; Alfred Bertholet, Leviticus, KHC 3 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1901), 57– 60; Elliger, Leviticus, 219–25; Alfred Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Deuteronomium. Eine vergleichende Studie, AnBib 66 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1976), 16–31; and Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. D. W. Stott, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 235. 18 Jacob Milgrom, “A Prolegomenon to Leviticus 17:11,” JBL 90 (1971): 154; Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 21–22; Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 171; and Angela Roskop Erisman, “Mythologizing Exile: Life, Law, and Justice after the Flood,” in Windows to the Ancient World of the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honor of Samuel Greengus, ed. Bill T. Arnold, Nancy L. Erickson, and John H. Walton (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 102–3. As Erisman (102) points out, the association of the expression ‫ שׁפך דם‬with homicide can be clearly observed in the asylum laws of Num 35:9–34 and Deut 19:1–13, where it is used in the context of legislating punishments for those who commit homicide or manslaughter (see specifically Num 35:33; Deut 19:10). 15 16

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blood of the well-being offering and dash (‫ זרק‬qal) it upon the altar, and he is to turn the animal fat into an odor to soothe the deity (v. 6b). The significance of this altar ritual is signaled by the way in which vv. 5 and 7 are carefully built around v. 6, positioning this as the statement of purpose for the law of vv. 3–7 as a whole.19 The second law of Lev 17, in vv. 8–9, complements the prohibition of extrasanctuary slaughter in vv. 3–7 with the command that any Israelite or ‫ גר‬who wishes to offer ‫ עלה או־זבח‬must do so at the tent of meeting alone. This change in topic from extrasanctuary slaughter to sacrifice is signaled by the shift from the verb ‫‘ שׁחט‬to slaughter’ in vv. 3–4 to ‫( עלה‬hiphil) ‘to offer’ in v. 9.20 It is also indicated in v. 8 MT/SP by the change of addressee from the native Israelite alone (v. 3) to the native Israelite and the ‫( גר‬v. 8) together.21 I will discuss the significance of this change in §5.2.2. The third law of Lev 17, in vv. 10–12, pivots from the issue of where domestic animals must be killed to how they may be eaten; in particular, it decrees that no animal be consumed with its blood. Verse 10 introduces the scenario in which an Israelite or immigrant “eats” (‫ אכל‬qal) blood and emphatically warns that “I [Yhwh] will set my face against the life (‫ )נפשׁ‬of the one who consumes the blood and will cut him off (‫ כרת‬hiphil) from the midst of the people.” The gravity of this crime is clear from the use of the ‫ כרת‬hiphil form (cf. ‫ כרת‬niphal in vv. 4, 9, 14) with Yhwh as the subject, meaning that the god will personally ensure that the offender is cut off from the community.22 It is also signaled in v. 12 by the paraphrasing of Yhwh’s previous statement in v. 10 forbidding the consumption of blood.23 The two prohibitions of vv. 10 and 12 then frame the central motive clause of v. 11, in which H offers an intricate statement on the nature and significance of blood that picks up the reference to the altar found earlier in the chapter, in v. 6: “For the life of the flesh, it is in the blood; I gave it for you upon the altar to ‫( כפר‬piel) for your lives, for it is the blood that ransoms means of life (‫)כי־הדם הוא בנפשׁ יכפר‬.” The fourth law of Lev 17, in vv. 13–14, extends the prohibition on eating blood in the case of game. The killing of game presents a particular issue of Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 408. Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 149; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1464; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 414. 21 Wenham, Book of Leviticus, 244; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 167; Joosten, People, 65–66; Nihan, “Resident Aliens,” 125; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:629 22 Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 40 and Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1471. 23 This is a far simpler reading of v. 12 than to presume that H here quotes a saying found elsewhere, e.g., Gen 9:4; Lev 3:17; 7:26–27, or even Deut 12:16, 23, as Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 238 has tried to argue. It is unnecessary to search for a reference beyond Lev 17, given that the prohibition against ingesting blood is found in the immediate context, in v. 10; see further Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 46; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1479; Sklar, Sin, 165–66; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 419. 19 20

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blood disposal because its nonsacrificial status means that its blood cannot be applied to the altar. H therefore prescribes an alternative ritual: Israelites and immigrants alike must pour out the blood and cover it with earth (v. 13), being sure never to consume any of its blood with its flesh (v. 14). Finally, a fifth law, in vv. 15–16, addresses the situation in which the Israelites consume ‫נבלה‬ ‫‘ וטרפה‬a carcass, a torn animal’. While blood is not mentioned in these verses, this scenario seems to have been mentioned here because of the particular problems that carrion presented for blood disposal, given that the blood of an animal that has been dead for some time is at risk of coagulation.24 H does not forbid the Israelites or immigrants from consuming carrion, but prescribes a purification ritual that involves washing clothes and ritual bathing and declares the person who eats the carcass unclean until evening (v. 15).25 The chapter closes with a distinctive warning that the one who does not perform the necessary ritual of purification will ‫‘ ונשׂא עונו‬bear his guilt’ (v. 16). While most scholars now acknowledge the literary unity of the five laws of Lev 17, there is an ongoing debate about the internal structure of the chapter as a whole. The most common scholarly approach is to group the material into two sections. The division between the two parts, however, remains a point of disagreement. Following Karl Elliger, certain scholars identify a major break between vv. 3–7 and 8–9 on account of the brief speech commission formula of v. 8aα, where Moses is instructed again, ‫‘ ואלהם תאמר‬and to them you shall say…’.26 According to this interpretation, the chapter consists of a first section comprised of vv. 3–7, and then a longer second section stretching from vv. 8– 16. However, this division fails to recognize that both vv. 3–7 and 8–9 are manifestly concerned with the same issue: illegitimate sacrifice. In addition, the resulting structure lacks balance because there is significantly more material in the second section than the first. Rather than signaling a structural break, then, the speech commission formula in v. 8aα is probably attributable to the change of addressees in the following laws: while the laws of vv. 8–16 pertain to both the Israelite and the ‫גר‬, the law concerned with extrasanctuary slaughter applies only to the Israelites.27 Although they recognize the thematic unity of vv. 3–9, Andreas Ruwe and Nihan propose dividing the law into two parts (and an appendix) consisting of

As noted by, e.g., Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 64–65; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 158; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1484–86; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 426. 25 See, however, Lev 22:8, which forbids priests from consuming carrion. On this, see further §7.2.1. 26 Elliger, Leviticus, 219–23, 226–29; see further Herbert Chanan Brichto, “On Slaughter and Sacrifice, Blood and Atonement,” HUCA 47 (1976): 24–25; John H. Hartley, Leviticus, WBC 4 (Dallas, TX: Word, 1992), 264; and Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 143. 27 Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 139–40. 24

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Chapter 5: The Centralization of Slaughter and Sacrifice in Lev 17

vv. 3–7 and 8–9, which complement vv. 10–12 and 13–14.28 The second section (vv. 10–12, 13–14) is then followed by an appendix in vv. 15–16, which deals with the exceptional situation in which an animal is to be eaten but dies before it comes into the possession of the person who is to consume it. This structure produces two balanced sections, each comprising two closely related laws (vv. 3–7, 8–9 // vv. 10–12, 13–14) accompanied by a rationale (vv. 5– 7 // vv. 11, 14aα), which are then followed by a final subcase (vv. 15–16). Irrespective of where the break between the two sections of Lev 17 might be located – whether in v. 8, per Elliger’s model, or v. 10, per the proposal of Ruwe and Nihan – where to situate vv. 10–12 within this two-part structure remains a problem. These critically important verses, especially the major rationale of v. 11, face Janus-like toward the preceding material in vv. 3–7, 8–9 and the later vv. 13–14, 15–16.29 Because they prohibit the consumption of blood, vv. 10–12 clearly connect to both vv. 13–14 and 15–16; while blood is not mentioned in vv. 15–16, carrion seems to have been included because of the risk that the blood might have congealed in the carcass by the time it is found. Yet the reference to the altar in v. 11 also links back to the first laws of vv. 3–7, 8–9, because it resumes the focus on sacrifice. Furthermore, as just mentioned, vv. 10 and 12 form a complex frame around v. 11 and thereby emphasize its importance. In light of the dual focus of v. 11, several scholars have argued that this verse is positioned as the center of both the unit vv. 10–12 and the chapter as a whole. Adrian Schenker was the first to propose that Lev 17 exhibits a concentric structure, in which the principal statement of vv. 10–12 forms the link between vv. 3–7, 8–9 and vv. 13–14, 15–16.30 This observation was further developed by Schwartz and Jacob Milgrom, who argued that the chapter is structured as “an inverted ‘V,’ at the zenith of which stands the absolute prohibition of partaking of blood and its rationale.”31 Milgrom went on to identify a chiastic structure in Lev 17 in which the five laws form an A–B–X–B'–A' pattern.32 However, while v. 11 clearly offers a very important statement within Lev 17, there are reasons to question whether it forms the center of the chapter as a whole, or even of a unit limited to vv. 10–12. First, a chiastic structure in Lev 17 seems unlikely given that there is no specific linguistic or conceptual correspondence between the proposed terms A and A' (the ban on local butchery 28

Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 137–40 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 403–

31. Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 42. Adrian Schenker, “Das Zeichen des Blutes und die Gewißheit der Vergebung im Alten Testament. Die sühnende Funktion des Blutes auf dem Altar nach Lev 17.10–12,” MTZ 34, no. 3 (1983): 196. 31 Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 42, quoted and adopted by Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 449. 32 Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1449. 29 30

5.1 The Structure of Lev 17 and the Importance of Blood Disposal

201

and the law dealing with carrion, respectively), or B and B' (the ban on extrasanctuary sacrifice and the law dealing with the blood of game, respectively) in Milgrom’s pattern.33 Second, if we separate vv. 10–12 as a distinct unit within Lev 17, we cannot account for the numerous connections that exist between these verses and the material in vv. 13–14. Verse 11 has its closest parallel not in vv. 10 or 12 but in v. 14, which also cites the identification of blood with life in dealing with the consumption of game. Furthermore, v. 14 cannot be read independently of vv. 10–12 because it refers back to Yhwh’s previous statement in v. 10 (repeated in v. 12) that the blood of all animals must never be consumed. Indeed, as can be seen in Table 5.1 below, the strength of the correspondences between vv. 11 and 14 strongly suggests that vv. 10–12 and vv. 13–14 form part of a unified section within Lev 17. Table 5.1: Correspondences between Lev 17:11 and 17:14 Lev 17:11 ‫כי נפשׁ הבשׂ ר בדם הוא וא ני נתתיו לכם על־‬ ‫המ זבח לכפר על־נפשׁ ת יכם כי־הדם הוא בנפשׁ‬ ‫יכפר‬ For the life of the flesh, it is in the blood; I gave it for you upon the altar to ransom for your lives, for it is the blood that ransoms by means of life.

Lev 17:14 ‫כי־נפשׁ כל־בשׂ ר דמו בנפשׁ ו הוא ואמר לבני‬ ‫ישׂ ראל דם כל־בשׂר לא תאכלו כי נפשׁ כל־בשׂר‬ ‫דמו הוא כל־א כליו יכרת‬ For the life of all flesh, its blood is its life; and I have said to the Israelites: do not eat the blood of any flesh, for the life of all flesh, it is its blood. All who eat it will be cut off.

Lastly, reading v. 11 as the center of Lev 17 has the effect of positioning the ban on the consumption of blood as the theme of the whole chapter.34 Yet this interpretation overlooks the fact that this issue is entirely absent from vv. 3–7 and 8–9, which deal instead with the need to bring domestic animals to the sanctuary when they are to be slaughtered or sacrificed but do not mention how they might be later consumed. It therefore seems preferable to argue that the chapter consists of two parts: vv. 3–9 and vv. 10–16, which are prefaced with an introduction in vv. 1–2. While v. 11 offers a central statement on the significance of blood, which has links with both parts of the chapter, on a structural level it belongs with the materials of vv. 10–16 that deal with the blood prohibition (see Figure 5).

Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 425 n. 118. Schenker, “Zeichen,” 196–98 and Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 162–69, 80. See further Benjamin Kilchör, “Wellhausen’s Five Pillars for the Priority of D over P/H: Can They Still Be Maintained?”, in Paradigm Change in Pentateuchal Research, ed. Matthias Armgardt, Benjamin Kilchör, and Markus Zehnder, BZABR 22 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2019), 104. 33 34

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Chapter 5: The Centralization of Slaughter and Sacrifice in Lev 17

vv. 1–2 – Introduction The ritual disposal of the blood of sacrificial animals (vv. 3–9) vv. 3–7 – The prohibition of local slaughter vv. 8–9 – Complementary case: the prohibition of local sacrifice The non-consumption of blood (vv. 10–16) vv. 10–14 – The prohibition of the consumption of blood vv. 15–16 – Complementary case: the issue of carrion Figure 5: The Structure of Lev 17

Each of the two major parts of Lev 17 concerns a principal legislative issue (vv. 3–4 // vv. 10–14), which is then complemented with an additional case (vv. 8–9 // vv. 15–16) and sandwiched by a rationale (vv. 5–7 // vv. 11–12, 14). While vv. 15–16 are somewhat distinct from the rest of the chapter on account of their different introductory and punishment formulae, these differences do not prevent their inclusion in the same section as vv. 10–14 or require that they be labeled as an appendix. In fact, these verses are in some ways already prepared by the formulation of vv. 13–14, which differs from the first three laws by including the ‫ כרת‬sanction only in the motivational section of the law as opposed to in its main clause.35 More importantly, vv. 15–16 are closely connected to vv. 13–14 in terms of their content, because both laws deal with a situation in which animals that die or are killed outside the sanctuary may be eaten. They raise the same issue of how properly to dispose of the blood of such animals, given that an altar ritual is inappropriate. The structure of Lev 17 just outlined confirms that the two parts of the chapter are united by the issue of proper handling of blood, an observation first made by Elliger and later argued in detail by Schwartz, Milgrom, and Jay Sklar.36 The term ‫ דם‬is repeated throughout the chapter, occurring twelve times with the meaning ‘blood’ (Lev 17:4, 6, 10–14) and once with the meaning ‘bloodguilt’ (v. 4bα). To be sure, ‫ דם‬is not found in either the law of vv. 8–9 or 15–16.37 However, because both vv. 8–9 and vv. 15–16 complement laws where the issue of blood disposal is addressed (vv. 3–7, 10–14), the absence of any explicit mention of blood in these verses does not undermine the case for seeing the handling of blood as the main topic of the chapter. Furthermore, vv. 8–9 and vv. 15–16 remain topically related to the issue of blood by outlining those cases in which there is a risk that blood might be disposed of improperly: in the case of domestic animals, such a risk is present when the animal is sacrificed away from the altar of Yhwh, because the priestly traditions Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 38–39 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 405. Elliger, Leviticus, 218; Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 43; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1449; and Sklar, Sin, 164. Cf. the brief comments in Kilchör, “Wellhausen’s Five Pillars,” 104. 37 As pointed out by William K. Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible: Meaning and Power (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 165–67. 35 36

5.2 The Centralizing Discourse of Lev 17

203

acknowledge no other method for disposing of the blood of livestock apart from at this location. In the case of eating carrion, there is the risk that the blood may not be properly drained on the ground prior to consumption, as it may already have coagulated (vv. 15–16). The issue of blood, then, emerges as a dominant one that needs to be fully integrated into any analysis of Lev 17, including how this chapter might conceptualize the centralization of the cult. In particular, it needs to be asked how the special qualities of blood are used by H to advance a discourse in favor of restricting slaughter and sacrifice to the central shrine and mandating a standardized process of blood disposal that transpires there.

5.2 The Centralizing Discourse of Lev 17 Given the focus of this study, the five laws of Lev 17 need not be studied in equal measure. We will look closely at three dimensions of Lev 17 that are particularly pertinent to H’s discourse of centralized blood disposal: the argument H builds for confining the slaughter of all livestock to the tent of meeting (vv. 3–7), the scope of H’s mandate of centralized animal sacrifice (vv. 8–9), and the import of H’s key rationale for restricting the disposal of blood to the central altar (v. 11, within the blood prohibition of vv. 10–12). 5.2.1 Leviticus 17:3–7 and the Prohibition of Local Slaughter The opening law of Lev 17, which contains the prohibition of local butchery, is indiscriminate in its reach and singular in its focus: it commands anyone from the house of Israel (‫ )אישׁ אישׁ מבית ישׂראל‬who slaughters livestock to defer to a shared, central site; namely, the tent of meeting. The command to Moses in v. 2aα to speak to ‫‘ כל־בני ישׂראל‬all the Israelites’ already reveals H’s concern to assert the law’s normativity throughout the entire community. The expression ‫ אישׁ אישׁ מבית ישׂראל‬in v. 3aα is similarly inclusive. It condemns anyone who considers himself or herself part of the Israelite community but does not recognize the wilderness sanctuary’s exclusive claim to handle the butchery of livestock. 5.2.1.1 Interpreting the Scope of the Law in vv. 3–4 This analysis of vv. 3–7, however, faces an interpretive challenge; namely, the question of which specific practice vv. 3–4 prohibit the Israelites from undertaking when they use the term ‫‘ שׁחט‬slaughter’. Can we be confident that H intends these verses to rule out local butchery? Or might H have been concerned with other issues such as the method of killing or the location of sacrifice? In a debate preserved in b. Ḥul. 17a–17b, R. Akiba insists that the Israelites were permitted “in the beginning” (by which he almost certainly meant

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Lev 17:3–7) to kill animals for their flesh away from the sanctuary as long as these animals were stabbed or bludgeoned to death. In this reading, ‫ שׁחט‬in Lev 17:3–4 would denote the method of killing – slitting the throat – as opposed to the act of killing in general. It would therefore not constitute a total ban on extrasanctuary slaughter. However, R. Akiba’s interpretation that the verb ‫ שׁחט‬means “slit the throat (for slaughter)” is improbable because ‫ שׁחט‬is used in P to refer to slaughter that does not necessarily involve the slitting of the throat. For example, Lev 14:5 uses ‫ שׁחט‬to describe the killing of birds; while no description is given in that text of the manner in which the bird is to be slaughtered, the ritual of the ‫ עלה‬in Lev 1:15 indicates that the offered bird is killed by wringing off its head rather than slitting its throat. While we cannot assume that the process used in Lev 14:5 is identical to that described in Lev 1:15, the latter text arguably suggests that it is too limiting to restrict the meaning of the verb ‫ שׁחט‬to a particular method of killing the animal.38 Certain modern scholars have continued discussion of the verb ‫ שׁחט‬in Lev 17:3–4 by arguing that it denotes not slaughter for food but slaughter for sacrificial purposes alone.39 While ‫ שׁחט‬clearly means ‘slaughter’, in priestly texts it always describes slaughter that is performed in a cultic context.40 Hence, the use of the term ‫ שׁחט‬in Lev 17:3–4, it is argued, may apply only to the offering of sacrifices away from the central shrine, and not to local butchery. However, this interpretation has been criticized on the grounds that ‫ שׁחט‬occurs in contexts outside P, where it designates slaughter without any sacrificial connotation (Gen 37:31; Num 11:22; Isa 22:13).41 In addition, Milgrom argues that, even when ‫ שׁחט‬is used in P, it refers to the act of slaughtering itself rather than the purpose for which the animal is being killed.42 He also notes that, if Lev 17:3–4 were limited to sacrificial slaughter only, the chapter would be characterized by redundancy: the first two laws (vv. 3–7 and 8–9) would both address the same legislative issue of sacrifices made away from the sanctuary. A preferable reading, therefore, is one that views vv. 3–7 as concerned with the 38 Christian Eberhart, Studien zur Bedeutung der Opfer im Alten Testament. Die Signifikanz von Blut- und Verbrennungsriten im kultischen Rahmen, WMANT 94 (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2002), 26 n. 3. 39 See already Paton, “Original Form of Leviticus xvii–xix,” 120 and, more recently, Norman H. Snaith, “The Verbs Zābaḥ and Šāḥaṭ,” VT 25, no. 2 (1975): 242–46; Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation, JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 112–13; Hartley, Leviticus, 271; and Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 26–27. 40 ‫שׁ חט‬, HALOT 4:1458 and Ronald E. Clements, “šḥṭ,” TDOT 14:564. 41 See further Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1452–453 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 410. 42 Jacob Milgrom, “Profane Slaughter and a Formulaic Key to the Composition of Deuteronomy,” HUCA 47 (1976): 13–15 and Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1452–53.

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killing of animals for consumption, while vv. 8–9 more directly address the situation in which sacrifices are made to Yhwh. Hence, Lev 17:3–4 can be appropriately interpreted as rejecting the possibility of local slaughter in favor of a centralized system of butchery. H insists that the failure of any Israelite to bring his or her domestic quadrupeds to the central sanctuary is an error with the gravest consequence: it results in the offender being “cut off” (‫ )כרת‬from the people and thereby undermines the unity of the community. Hence, it must be permanently avoided. This law, then, again represents the wilderness sanctuary as it was in P, as a central space, in that it demands both deference and resources from all the Israelites. However, there is a significant difference in how Lev 17:3–7 asserts the centrality of the wilderness shrine when compared to the earlier P materials. In this law relating to local slaughter, H employs an active prohibition: members of the Israelite community are now explicitly forbidden from any practice that transgresses the central shrine’s monopolistic claim on the slaughter of livestock. H’s centralizing discourse is thereby invested with additional sociocultic power via the use of sanctions. If the Israelites do not conform to the law of Lev 17:3–7 and thereby deny the central shrine the deference it deserves, they face a new threat of being cut off from the community (v. 4b). Deferring to a shared central shrine in all matters of animal slaughter is therefore positioned as the behavior by which participation in the Israelite community is assured. Through these discursive strategies, H asserts the exclusivity of the central shrine in a heightened, authoritative manner. 5.2.1.2 Wild Goats and the Rationale in vv. 5–7 The rhetorical force of the ban on local butchery is significantly reinforced by vv. 5–7, which supply the reason why the Israelites must observe the prohibition in vv. 3–4 and penalize those who do not comply. This function of vv. 5– 7 is formally signaled by use of the conjunction ‫‘ למען‬in order’ in v. 5aα as a link between the ban in vv. 3–4 and the motivation in vv. 5–7. It is also evident in the contrast in vv. 5–7 between legitimate ritual procedure at the tent of meeting (v. 6) and errant slaughter which takes place away from this space, in the ‫שׂדה‬. These verses therefore remain firmly focused on the location of slaughter and the need to cease all practices that involve killing livestock away from the sanctuary. However, an important difference in terminology can be noted in vv. 5–7: unlike vv. 3–4, which use the verb ‫ שׁחט‬to describe the prohibited slaughter, v. 5 shifts to the verb ‫‘ זבח‬sacrifice’ to denote both the correct procedure, whereby the Israelites offer ‫ זבחי שׁלמים‬at the tent of meeting, and the errant slaughter the Israelites commit when they fail to bring their animals to the sanctuary: “This is so that the Israelites will bring their sacrifices (‫ )זבחיהם‬that they are sacrificing (‫ זבח‬qal participle) in the open field to Yhwh at the

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entrance of the tent of meeting, to the priest; they shall sacrifice (‫ )זבח‬them as well-being sacrifices (‫ )זבחי שׁלמים‬to Yhwh.” The shift here from ‫ שׁחט‬to ‫זבח‬ has the effect of construing all acts of slaughter as acts of sacrifice, but their legitimacy is determined by their location: when livestock is slaughtered at the entrance of the tent of meeting, it constitutes a ‫ זבחי שׁלמים‬to Yhwh; when it is slaughtered outside this sanctuary, it is a sacrifice made to different entities – the ‫ – שׂעירם‬in the open field. With this claim, H constructs a complex argument about the cultic dangers inherent in slaughtering animals away from the sanctuary. It is an argument that is based on a particular depiction of extrasanctuary space. Here it is worth recalling the theories considered in chapter 1 about the role space can play in the construction of ideas of center and centralization (see §1.2.2). As has long been recognized in the social sciences, space is not simply the physical environment in which social interactions take place, it is a – if not the – principal means by which these social interactions are imbued with significance. Space embodies culturally determined categories of meaning; it is a “(social) product” to use the famous phrase of Henri Lefebvre – that is, “a product literally filled with ideologies.”43 The manner in which H conceptualizes the spaces of Israel’s cultic past, then, can be appropriately understood as indicating the way in which it imagines the social order of the Israelite community itself, as well as what constitutes the center of that community. The spatial argument in Lev 17:5–7 hinges on the juxtaposition of the ‫פתח‬ ‫‘ אהל מועד‬entrance of the tent of meeting’ and the ‫‘ שׂדה‬open field’. These spaces are associated with two entities: Yhwh and the ‫שׂעירם‬. Scholars have long noted the different spatial terms employed in vv. 3–4 and vv. 5–7. In the former set of verses, H situates the Israelites’ practice of extrasanctuary as taking place ‫‘ במחנה‬inside the camp’ and ‫‘ מחוץ למחנה‬outside the camp’. In v. 5, by contrast, the Israelites are said to kill their animals in ‫השׂדה‬. What this shift signifies is a subject of debate. It has traditionally been interpreted as evidence that vv. 3–4 and 5–7 were written in two different stages.44 But Milgrom and Nihan argue that the shift can be explained without positing multiple compositional phases.45 They suggest that the mention of the field constitutes a slippage from the wilderness fiction to the historical setting of the authors of H. This phenomenon can occasionally be observed elsewhere in Lev 17–26, for example in the reference to the ‫‘ עם הארץ‬people of the land’ in Lev 20:2, 4. 43 Henri Lefebvre, “Reflections on the Politics of Space,” in Radical Geography: Alternative Viewpoints on Contemporary Social Issues, ed. Richard Peet, trans. Michael J. Enders (Chicago, IL: Maaroufa Press, 1977), 341; see also Michel Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” Diacritics 16 (1986): 22−27. 44 See, e.g., Baentsch, Das Heiligkeits-Gesetz, 16; Bertholet, Leviticus, 57; and Elliger, Leviticus, 222. 45 Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1460 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 409 n. 58.

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Milgrom argues that H, by directly referencing the reality of the land at Lev 17:5, avoids suggesting that extrasanctuary slaughter is permissible once the Israelites are no longer camped at Sinai. It is illegitimate in all possible future scenarios as well (see Lev 17:7). While Milgrom and Nihan do not state this explicitly, their interpretation of v. 5 seems to be predicated on reading the term ‫ שׂדה‬as a type of space that would not be found in the desert context of Sinai: a cultivated parcel of land. Support for this reading of ‫ שׂדה‬can be found in the other occurrences of ‫שׂדה‬ in Lev 17–26, where it is almost always used with the sense of cultivated land. A number of laws are dedicated to the proper usage (e.g., Lev 19:19; 23:22) and sale (e.g., Lev 25:34) of a ‫ שׂדה‬and stress the need to leave the ‫ שׂדה‬fallow during the sabbatical and jubilee years (e.g., Lev 25:23–34). However, there is a different reading of the term ‫ שׂדה‬in 17:5 that can better account for its association in v. 7 with negative, even dangerous, behaviors involving the ‫שׂעירם‬. In numerous texts in the Hebrew Bible, ‫ שׂדה‬designates an uncultivated open area that stands outside the sphere of human control. The uncultivated field is populated by wild animals.46 These can include fearsome creatures such as jackals (‫ )תנים‬and the ostrich (‫ ;יענה‬see Isa 43:20). Furthermore, the field is frequently associated with impurity and death. It can be dotted with burial sites (e.g., Gen 23:11, 17, 19; 49:29–30; 50:13), often located in caves, as well as the exposed corpses of those who died in warfare (e.g., Num 19:16). Hence, the term ‫ שׂדה‬has many of the connotations of the term ‫‘ מדבר‬wilderness’; the two spaces are even directly parallel in Josh 8:24; Isa 43:20; Ezek 29:5; and Joel 1:19–20. Henrike Frey-Anthes has argued that both terms (‫ שׂדה‬and ‫)מדבר‬ are similar to the Akkadian term ṣēru in that both have overtones of the underworld.47 She therefore concludes that the field mentioned in Lev 17:7 is a space that signifies “cultic uncleanliness” (kultische Unreinheit).48 The context of Lev 17:3–7 strongly supports this more sinister reading of the term ‫ שׂדה‬in v. 5. First, it is rhetorically consistent with the strength of the prohibition and the associated sanctions set out in the preceding vv. 3–4, whereby the Israelites must bring their animals to the tent of meeting or risk expulsion from the community. Because Lev 17:5–7 provide the rationale for this calamitous punishment, to interpret the space of the field as having anything but negative associations would be to dilute the rhetorical power of this critical prohibition. Second, the interpretation of the term ‫ שׂדה‬as an uncultivated space is consistent with the spatial setting of the wilderness fiction, which is thoroughly presupposed in the wording of Lev 17. Leviticus 17 46 Literally ‫‘ חית השׂ דה‬animals of the field’; see, e.g., Lev 26:22; 2 Sam 21:10; Isa 43:20; Ezek 34:5; 39:4; Hos 2:12. 47 Henrike Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte und Schutzgenien, Antiwesen und Grenzgänger. Vorstellungen von ‘Dämonen’ im alten Israel, OBO 227 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 212. 48 Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte, 212.

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frequently references the tent of meeting and the wilderness camp, and it is noteworthy that these references are predominantly clustered in vv. 3–7. This strong invocation of the imaginary setting of the wilderness camp makes most plausible a reading of ‫ שׂדה‬in v. 5 as an uncultivated and dangerous space that stands in a continuum with the ‫מדבר‬. It also removes any need to posit that Lev 17:5 constitutes a slippage from the spaces of the wilderness fiction to those of a later context in the land. The reference to a ‫ שׂדה‬is instead thoroughly in keeping with the spatial setting of Lev 17 as a whole. Once we read ‫ שׂדה‬in v. 5 this way, the type of discourse H is construing in vv. 3–7 begins to come into focus. Having equated all acts of local butchery with sacrificial acts by moving from the verb ‫ שׁחט‬in vv. 3–4 to ‫ זבח‬in vv. 5– 7, H now equates any potential site of local butchery with chaotic, antisocial space. As Frey-Anthes has seen, the topographic opposition between camp and field ensures that the offense of local slaughter is “amplified” (verstärkt), because such slaughter is associated with spaces which are, by definition, noncultic areas, associated “with the opposite to the holy and pure, thus with the sphere of death.”49 The result is a powerful contrast between the tent of meeting, where the ritual handling of animal sacrifice occurs, and the uncultivated and antisocial field, where local butchery transpires. This interpretation of the rhetorical force of the term ‫ שׂדה‬in v. 5 is confirmed by H’s claim in v. 7 that the ‫ שׂעירם‬are the recipients of the Israelites’ sacrifices when they kill their animals in this space. Scholars have long debated the identity of these creatures as they appear in Lev 17:7. The term ‫( שׂעיר‬singular) occurs frequently in the Hebrew Bible with the meaning ‘billy-goat’.50 In Lev 17, however, the ‫ שׂעירם‬are positioned by H not as if they were domestic animals but as if they were foreign gods.51 First, Lev 17:5–7 present the ‫שׂעירם‬ in parallel to Yhwh: when the Israelites bring their offerings to the tent of meeting, ‫‘ זבחו זבחי שׁלמים ליהוה אותם‬they sacrifice them as well-being sacrifices to Yhwh’ (v. 5b), but when the Israelites sacrifice in the open field, ‫זבחיהם‬...‫יזבחו‬ ‫‘ לשׂעירם‬they sacrifice…their sacrifices to goats’ (v. 7a). Second, the Israelites Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte, 213 and Henrike Frey-Anthes, “Concepts of ‘Demons’ in Ancient Israel,” WO 38 (2008): 46, respectively. 50 For references and discussion, see ‫שׂ ִﬠ יר‬ ָ , HALOT 3:1341, §2 and Naphtali S. Meshel, The “Grammar” of Sacrifice: A Generativist Study of the Israelite Sacrificial System in the Priestly Writings with a “Grammar” of Σ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 57. 51 As noted by Norman H. Snaith, “The Meaning of ‫ש ערים‬,” VT 25, no. 1 (1975): 115– 18; Bernd Janowski, “Repräsentanten der gegenmenschlichen Welt. Ein Beitrag zur biblischen Dämonologie,” in In Dubio Pro Deo. Heidelberger Resonanzen auf den 50. Geburtstag von Gerd Theißen am 24. April 1993, ed. David Trobisch (Heidelberg: privately printed, 1993), 158–59; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 411; Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte, 212–16; Frey-Anthes, “Concepts,” 46–47; Judit M. Blair, De-Demonising the Old Testament: An Investigation of Azazel, Lilith, Deber, Qeteb and Reshef in the Hebrew Bible, FAT 2/37 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 79–90; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:626. 49

5.2 The Centralizing Discourse of Lev 17

209

are accused in v. 7 of “whoring after” these creatures (‫ )זנים אחריהם‬in language that is strongly reminiscent of the terminology of cultic prostitution found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. Indeed, variations on the formula ‫ זנים אחר‬occur frequently in situations in which the Israelites worship foreign gods (e.g., Exod 34:15–16; Lev 20:5–6; Num 15:39; Deut 31:16; Judg 2:17; 8:27, 33; 2 Chr 11:15; Hos 1–4, 9; Jer 2; Ezek 16). This may be why LXX translates ‫ שׂעירם‬in 17:7 with µαταίοις ‘empty, vain ones’, because this term is found elsewhere in the context of idol worship (Hos 5:11; Jer 2:5; Amos 2:4; Zech 11:17).52 Why might H have claimed in Lev 17:7 that the ‫ שׂעירם‬were creatures approaching the status of gods?53 Commentators have advanced a number of interpretations ranging from the benign to the sinister. The majority of scholars identify the ‫ שׂעירם‬in this text as goat-demons or more specifically satyrs – part 52 See further Paul Harlé and Didier Pralon, La Bible d’Alexandrie. Le Lévitique (Paris: Cerf, 1988), 157 and Wevers, Notes, 265. 53 Leviticus 17:7 is not the only text to accuse the Israelites of worshipping the ‫שׂ עירם‬. In 2 Chr 11:15, Jeroboam I is said to have appointed priests ‫לבמות ולשׂעירים ולעגלים אשׁר עשׂה‬ ‘to the high places and to the goats and to the calves that he made’. However, commentators suspect that the ‫ שׂעירם‬are mentioned in this text under the influence of Lev 17:7, not because the ‫ שׂעירם‬were actually objects of worship in the cult of ancient Israel; see, e.g., Hugh G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans and London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1987), 244; Sara Japhet, I and II Chronicles: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 668; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1462; Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte, 216; and Ralph W. Klein, 2 Chronicles: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2012), 175. The Chronicler follows 1 Kgs 12 when he charges Jeroboam with establishing high places and fashioning ‫‘ עגלים‬calves’ (although inverting the order; see 1 Kgs 12:28, 31). However, the reference to ‫ שׂעירם‬is his own addition; it is possibly a device whereby Jeroboam’s misdeeds, as well as those of the kingdom of Israel, are interpreted in light of pentateuchal law. It is therefore difficult to use this verse to advance our understanding of the ‫ שׂעירם‬beyond what we can glean from Lev 17:7, apart from noting the comparison in 2 Chr 11:15 to objects of idolatry; namely, ‫עגלים‬. Georg Hoffmann, “Kleinigkeiten,” ZAW 2, no. 1 (1882): 175 has also identified 2 Kgs 23:8 as a comparable reference to the veneration of ‫שׂעירם‬. He has argued that the reference to Josiah’s destruction of ‫‘ ָבּ מוֹת ַה ְשּׁ ָﬠ ִרים‬the high places of the gates’ should be repointed to ‫‘ ָבּ מוֹת ַה ָשּׂ ִﬠ י ִרם‬the high places of the goat-demons’; see also Elliger, Leviticus, 227; Martin Noth, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. J. E. Anderson, 2nd ed., OTL (London: SCM, 1977), 131; and Lauren A. S. Monroe, Josiah’s Reform and the Dynamics of Defilement: Israelite Rites of Violence and the Making of a Biblical Text (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2011), 40–43. However, there is arguably insufficient evidence to support this reading. There is no incongruence in the pairing of cultic installations and city gates; see further on this Snaith, “Meaning,” 116; Janowski, “Repräsentanten,” 158; Tina Haettner Blomquist, Gates and Gods: Cults in the City Gates of Iron Age Palestine, An Investigation of the Archaeological and Biblical Sources, ConBOT 46 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 1999), 151–63; and Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte, 215 n. 1220. Furthermore, virtually all of the ancient witnesses to 2 Kgs 23:8 attest the reading “gates,” although see the Greek cursives in the Lucianic mss (b, o c2, e2 in the Larger Cambridge LXX). The repointed text proposed by Hoffmann is therefore speculative.

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human/part goat hybrids like those associated with woodlands in Greek mythology.54 This view is based on two further references to ‫ שׂעירם‬in the book of Isaiah where these creatures appear within an ensemble of sinister and demonic beings. In the oracles of doom against Babylon (Isa 13:19–22) and Edom (Isa 34:9–15), ‫ שׂעירם‬are listed among the creatures that inhabit the ruins and desolate places.55 These beings mark spaces that have been given over to chaos and impurity and are thus inhospitable to humanity.56 Isaiah 13:19 describes Babylon as being given over to destruction “like Sodom and Gomorrah” – that is, to total annihilation – and as a location that will no longer be the dwelling place of humans (v. 20) but will become the home of sinister creatures. These include ‫‘ ציים‬creatures of the desert’ (v. 21aα), the ‫אחים‬, a kind of howling hyena (v. 21aβ), impure birds such as the ‫‘ יענה‬ostrich’ (v. 21bα), the ‫איים‬, another kind of ‘howler, (v. 22aα), ‫‘ תנים‬jackals’ (v. 22aβ), and also the ‫שׂעירם‬, which are said to “dance” (‫ )רקד‬among the ruins (v. 21bα).57 Similar inhabitants of the ruins are mentioned in the oracle against Edom in Isa 34:9–17, alongside the demon ‫‘ לילית‬Lilith’ who “finds rest for herself” (34:14b) within the desolate kingdom.58 54 This view is pervasive in modern scholarship; see, among others, ‫שׂ ִﬠ יר‬ ָ , HALOT 3:1341, §3; Shemaryahu Talmon, “The ‘Desert Motif’ in the Bible and in Qumran Literature,” in Biblical Motifs: Origins and Transformations, ed. Alexander Altmann; Studies and Texts 3 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1966), 43; Elliger, Leviticus, 227; Otto Kaiser, Der Prophet Jesaja: Kapitel 13−39, ATD 18 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1973), 20; Porter, Leviticus, 139; Brichto, “On Slaughter,” 24; Noth, Leviticus, 131; Wenham, Book of Leviticus, 243; Levine, Leviticus, 114; Wright, Disposal, 21–30; Hartley, Leviticus, 272; Bernd Janowski, “Satyrs,” DDD:732−33; Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1995), 189, 204; Schwartz, “‘Profane’ Slaughter,” 23; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 152–53; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 145 n. 31; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 166; Simeon Chavel, Oracular Law and Priestly Historiography in the Torah, FAT 2/71 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 112; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:626. 55 Note the singular ‫ שׂ עיר‬in Isa 34:14. 56 See Talmon, “‘Desert Motif’,” 43; Anna Angelini, “L’imaginaire comparé du démoniaque dans les traditions de l’Israël ancien. Le bestiare d’Esaïe dans la Septante,” in Entre dieux et hommes. Anges, démons et autres, ed. Thomas Römer et al., OBO 286 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 116–34; Christophe Nihan, “Les habitants des ruines dans la Bible hébraïque,” in Entre dieux et hommes. Anges, démons et autres, ed. Thomas Römer et al., OBO 286 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 88–115. 57 On the ‫אחים‬, see ‫א ַח‬ ֹ , HALOT 1:29 and Godfrey R. Driver, “Birds in the Old Testament: II. Birds in Life,” PEQ 87, no. 2 (1955): 134–35. On the ‫איים‬, see ‫א ַח‬ ֹ , BDB 17 and ‫ִא י‬, HALOT 1:38. 58 ‫( תנים‬v. 13bα), the ‫( יענה‬v. 13bβ), ‫ ציים‬and ‫( איים‬v. 14aα), ‫( שׂ עירם‬v. 14aβ). On the nature of Lilith as a demon, see, e.g., Manfred Hutter, “Lilith,” DDD:520–21 and Beth E. McDonald, “In Possession of the Night: Lilith as Goddess, Demon, Vampire,” in Sacred Tropes: Tanakh, New Testament, and Qurʾan as Literature and Culture, ed. Roberta Sterman

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The mention of ‫ שׂעירם‬within such an ensemble has thus long been seen to indicate their demonic nature. Indeed, LXX translates the term ‫ שׂעירם‬in Isa 13:21 with δαιµόνια ‘demons’ and in Isa 34:14 with ὀνοκενταύροις ‘donkeycentaurs’. Scholars then extrapolate from this that the ‫ שׂעירם‬named as objects of worship in Lev 17:7 are demons. They debate, however, whether such demons were considered by the authors of these texts to be purely legendary, or whether they were objects of actual veneration in ancient Israel.59 However, the argument that the ‫ שׂעירם‬were goat-demons has faced some criticism. First, scholars have questioned the specific idea that ‫ שׂעירם‬might be considered satyrs. As pointed out by Norman Snaith and, more recently, FreyAnthes and Judith Blair, the ‫ שׂעירם‬are never described as hybrids (their physical attributes, in fact, go unmentioned), nor are they associated with woodland environments, per their usual depiction in classical mythology.60 Second, other commentators have questioned the more general idea that the presence of the ‫ שׂעירם‬among the ruins in Isa 13 and 34 necessarily indicates that these creatures were demonic. It is clear from their presence in the ruins that the ‫שׂעירם‬ are “peripheral and thus eerie creatures.”61 However, this does not necessarily mean that they were satyrs or demons; it is possible that the ‫ שׂעירם‬are ‘wild’ or ‘savage goats,’ hostile to humans and the civilized world but not necessarily demonic beings. Irrespective of whether the ‫ שׂעירם‬are demons or, perhaps more probably, wild goats, it is clear that such beings would not have been the usual candidates for sacrificial offerings. Why, then, might ‫ שׂעירם‬have been mentioned by H as the recipients of the Israelites’ sacrifices when they practiced extrasanctuary slaughter? Blair offers a fresh perspective when she argues that the reference

Sabbath, BibInt 98 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 173–82. The demonic nature of Lilith is not unanimously acknowledged. Blair, De-Demonising, 63–95 has recently revived an earlier argument of Driver, “Birds,” 135–36 that Lilith is a type of bird. However, it seems most likely that the figure mentioned in Isa 34:14b is the same demon known from other Mesopotamian and Second Temple period sources. As has been widely noted, the presence of Lilith among the ruins in Isa 34 closely parallels the Mesopotamian tradition that is preserved in Utukkū Lemnūtu (t. 3, l. 35), in which a demon lilû dwells in the desert and noncivilized spaces; see further Markham J. Geller, Evil Demons: Canonical Utukkū Lemnūtu Incantations, SAACT 5 (Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2007), 12, 102, 198. Furthermore, Lilith’s demonic status is attested in the literature from Qumran, notably the list of demons attested in 4Q510–11, in which she is listed first among the demons. It seems most likely, then, that the figure mentioned in Isa 34:14b is the same demon known from Mesopotamian and Second Temple sources. 59 For the interpretation of the ‫ שׂ עירם‬as legendary, see Noth, Leviticus, 131. For the idea that they were the object of actual veneration, see Kaufmann, Religion, 182; Knohl, Sanctuary, 204, 218–19; and Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1381. 60 Snaith, “Meaning”; Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte, 202; and Blair, De-Demonising, 81. 61 Frey-Anthes, “Concepts,” 46.

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to ‫ שׂעירם‬as recipients of worship in Lev 17:7 is “satirical.”62 As she sees it, the term ‫ שׂעירם‬here designates nothing more than domestic goats, per the normal usage of ‫ שׂעיר‬in the Hebrew Bible. H thus construes those who worship gods other than Yhwh as being just as ridiculous as if they worshipped goats. While H positions the ‫ שׂעירם‬in 17:5–7 in opposition to Yhwh – as if they were gods – this is but “an ironic reference to foreign deities worshipped by the Israelites…[that] reflects the authors’ contempt of such practices.”63 By extension, it might be argued that this reading of the ‫ שׂעירם‬in Lev 17:7 reveals that H sought to lampoon those who practiced local butchery: H construes such slaughter as not only illegitimate but totally absurd, because it causes Israel to make sacrifices to “gods” (i.e., goats) that only fools would venerate. The strength of Blair’s argument is that it recognizes the unusual nature of the claim that the Israelites offered sacrifices to ‫ שׂעירם‬and the improbability that this reflects actual cultic trends in ancient Israel. However, her interpretation of the ‫ שׂעירם‬in Lev 17 arguably overlooks the significance of the ‫שׂעירם‬ being juxtaposed by H with a specific space; namely, the open field (v. 5). This suggests that H’s rhetorical strategy is not limited to satire; it gives expression to the inherent danger of slaughtering animals away from the sanctuary. The ‫ שׂעירם‬are unsuitable candidates of Israelite worship, as Blair rightly points out; but this is not only because their worship is considered ridiculous, but also because this involves a total inversion of the proper cultic order and thus risks the integrity of the Israelite sacral community itself. In claiming that ‫שׂעירם‬ receive the Israelites’ sacrifices when they slaughter their animals in the open field, H illustrates the catastrophic nature of extrasanctuary slaughter: this practice actively engages the forces of chaos, impurity, and death. To treat the inhabitants of the field as if they were gods threatens the boundaries between civilization and chaos. Furthermore, by employing the field and its attendant ‫ שׂעירם‬in this way, Lev 17:5–7 justify the prohibition of local butchery by forging a powerful spatial contrast between the sanctuary, with its ritualized order, and the chaos that lies beyond this sacred sphere. The sanctuary is the location at which Yhwh should receive the blood and fat presented to him by the priests “as a soothing odor.” The field, by contrast, is the space in which the sacrifices due to Yhwh are received by antisocial beings entirely unsuitable as objects of sacrificial worship. Its depiction as a place unfitting for shedding blood directs the attention of the Israelites toward the sanctuary as the only legitimate place of slaughter, and thereby legitimatizes the centralization of all acts of slaughter to this space alone. The spatial opposition of Lev 17:5–7 not only affirms the centrality of the shrine; it also reinforces the authority of the priest and the rituals that are 62 63

Blair, De-Demonising, 82. Blair, De-Demonising, 90.

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performed within this sacred space. The wording of vv. 5–6 makes clear that the Israelites must not only bring their animals to the entrance of the tent of meeting, but they must also be sure to give them ‫‘ אל־הכהן‬to the priest’. The identity of this priest is not made known in vv. 5–6, where he is referenced in a generic way (‫)הכהן‬. Nevertheless, the mention of Aaron and his sons in v. 2aα makes clear that H accepts, as does P, that only those who could claim affilitation with this family would be permitted to officiate at the altar. The significance of the priest’s role at the altar is signaled by the privileged position of v. 6 within the structure of vv. 5–7; as mentioned above, the description of the priest’s ritual actions in v. 6 is framed by vv. 5 and 7, which effectively position it as the statement of purpose for the law of vv. 3–7 in its entirety. The priest’s ritual agency at Yhwh’s altar, manifest in his unique ability to dispose of the animal’s blood and fat, is thereby positioned as crucial if Israel is to avoid the chaotic forces associated with extrasanctuary space and evade the dangers of blood disposal within such contexts. The spatial dimensions of H’s discourse – with its opposition between illegitimate sacrifices to goats and legitimate offerings at the tent of meeting – thus positions both the sanctuary space and the ritual agency of the priesthood as critical for protecting the sociocultic order of the Israelite community. For this reason, it is not surprising that H concludes the law by declaring that it is to be permanently binding: “this shall be an eternal statute throughout your generations” (Lev 17:7b). A minority of scholars suggest, however, that we should not read ‫ חקת עולם תהיה־זאת להם לדרתם‬as referring to the prohibition of local butchery as permanently banned. Rather, it refers only to the immediately preceding text in v. 7a, where the Israelites are forbidden from whoring after ‫שׂעירם‬.64 As long as the Israelites were never tempted to worship ‫שׂעירם‬, so the argument goes, a later law (Deut 12:13–19) could feasibly introduce local butchery for life in the land. However, there is no reason to separate the reference to the ‫ שׂעירם‬in v. 7a from the rest of the prohibition and conclude that it alone is governed by the expression ‫ חקת עולם תהיה־זאת להם לדרתם‬in v. 7b. This interpretation fails to convince from the perspective of the syntax of Lev 17:7. Verse 7a, where the worship of ‫ שׂעירם‬is mentioned, does not constitute a prohibition in its own right. Rather, it is part of the result clause of vv. 5–7a, where H explains the consequences of local butchery.65 The sacrifices to the goats in v. 7a are none other than those mentioned in v. 5a, where H describes the Israelites’ practice of local butchery in the field.66 Hence, in H’s view, it is impossible to avoid offering sacrifices to the ‫ שׂעירם‬without 64 For this view, see Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 237 and Eckart Otto, Deuteronomium 12– 34. Teilband 1: 12,1–23,15, HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2016), 1165. 65 Schwartz, “‘Profane’ Slaughter,” 20. 66 Note the identical terminology ( ‫‘ זבחיהם‬their sacrifices’) in v. 5a, when describing extrasanctuary slaughter, and v. 7a, when describing the worship of wild goats.

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observing the prohibition of extrasanctuary slaughter. More fundamentally, to separate the ‫ שׂעירם‬from the reference to the field in v. 5a and the topic of local butchery dealt with across the whole of vv. 3–7 makes it impossible to understand why these creatures are mentioned in v. 7a in the first place. They can only be read as part of the spatial argument for the prohibition of extrasanctuary slaughter in Lev 17:3–7. Hence, the claim in v. 7b, “this shall be an eternal statute throughout your generations,” can refer to nothing other than the ban on local butchery. Leviticus 17:7 therefore positions local butchery as an activity that must be permanently outlawed, and centralized slaughter as an enduring norm. 5.2.2 Leviticus 17:8–9 and the Centralization of Blood Sacrifice In Lev 17:3–7, it is manifest that H’s ban on extrasanctuary slaughter pertains only to situations in which the Israelites kill livestock and thereby shed blood. This focus on animal slaughter is explicitly confirmed in v. 3, with the specification that the law pertains to situations in which the Israelites slaughter ‫שׁור‬ ‫‘ או־כשׂב או־עז‬ox, lamb, or goat’, as well as by the multiple references to blood found in vv. 4–6.67 But, when we turn to the second law of Lev 17, in vv. 8–9, a question of scope arises. Do these verses pertain only to animal sacrifices? Or do they have a broader focus that might include other types of offerings as well? Leviticus 17:8–9 command that every time the Israelite or ‫ גר‬presents ‫עלה‬ ‫‘ או־זבח‬burnt offering or sacrifice’ to Yhwh, he or she must bring it to the entrance of the tent of meeting or face the same fate as the Israelite who practices local butchery: “that person will be cut off (‫ )כרת‬from his people.” Scholars disagree, however, about which sacrifices and offerings H understood as being included in the expression ‫ עלה או־זבח‬in v. 8. One view is that the expression is limited to those offerings explicitly listed: the burnt offering (‫ )עלה‬and the sacrifices designated ‫ זבחים‬in P, which include the ‫ זבח שׁלמים‬and the subsidiary ‫‘ זבח תודה‬thanksgiving sacrifice’, ‫‘ נדר‬votive offering’, and ‫‘ נדבה‬freewill Scholars have long disagreed about whether the triad ‫ שׁור או־כשׂב או־עז‬in v. 3 refers to all domestic animals or just to quadrupeds deemed fit for sacrifice in P. For the first view, see Wellhausen, Die Composition, 150; Bertholet, Leviticus, 58; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 165; Erhard Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch, BZAW 189 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 338; and Teeter, Scribal Laws, 82. For the second view, see Elliger, Leviticus, 226–28; Noth, Leviticus, 129–30; Wenham, Book of Leviticus, 241; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 26; and Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 141–43. However, such a distinction is ultimately moot, because the domestic quadrupeds listed in P as permissible for sacrifice were likely to have been the same as the livestock that could be eaten in ancient Israel; see further Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 408. This is supported by Deut 14:4, which lists only the ‫שׁור‬, ‫כשׂב‬, and ‫ עז‬as being permissible to eat. The law of Lev 17:3–4 should therefore be interpreted as restricting the butchery of all domestic animals to the wilderness shrine alone. 67

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215

offering’.68 According to this reading, vv. 8–9 exclude the mandatory sin and reparation offerings (the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫ אשׁם‬respectively) on the grounds that the Israelites are only required to centralize the offering of voluntary sacrifices to the tent of meeting. To explain why H might have distinguished between voluntary and mandatory offerings, Schwartz has pointed to the different functions assigned by P to the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫אשׁם‬, on the one hand, and the ‫ עלה‬and the ‫זבח‬ ‫שׁלמים‬, on the other.69 Only the former are intended to atone for the effects of impurity and sin; this purpose could have been achieved, in Schwartz’s view, without the requirement that the sacrifices be made at the central sanctuary. However, Ruwe has argued that H restricts the centralization of sacrifice to the ‫ עלה‬and the ‫ זבחי שׁלמים‬because these are the two most important types of sacrifice in P.70 The centralization of the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫אשׁם‬, and also of the ‫מנחה‬ ‘cereal offering’, is less of a concern to H, although Ruwe stops short of saying that H permits these offerings to be made at other locations outside the central sanctuary.71 Both Schwartz and Ruwe nonetheless agree that Lev 17:8–9 promote a limited form of centralization, which does not preclude the possibility that certain sacrifices can be offered away from the central shrine. Other scholars have refuted the idea that the expression ‫ עלה או־זבח‬refers to only two types of sacrifice; namely, the ‫ עלה‬and the ‫זבח שׁלמים‬. In particular, Milgrom and Nihan highlight the lack of congruence between the gravity with which H presents the practice of shedding blood outside the sanctuary and the notion that select animal sacrifices can still be offered away from the shrine.72 Furthermore, Nihan counters the argument that the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫ אשׁם‬could have achieved their respective cultic purposes if they were offered away from the central shrine by highlighting the close connection in P between mandatory offerings and the need to compensate for the pollution of the sanctuary.73 Hence, it is inconceivable, in his view, that the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫ אשׁם‬could have been deemed effective if they were offered away from the central sanctuary. Nihan therefore concludes that the expression ‫ עלה או־זבח‬in Lev 17:8 is best understood as shorthand for the entire sacrificial cult.74 By employing this expression in Lev 17:8, Nihan argues, H makes clear that the law of vv. 8–9 “is meant for See Schwartz, Holiness Legislation, 99 and Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 149–50. Schwartz, Holiness Legislation, 99. 70 Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 150. 71 The position of Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 149–50 on this point is somewhat unclear, because he suggests that the effect of Lev 17:3–4 would have been to enforce a total ban on slaughter away from the sanctuary, meaning that the two laws that together make up vv. 3– 9 would have effectively limited the location of all sacrifices to the tent of meeting alone, yet he maintains that Lev 17 does not offer a generalized call for a centralized cult. 72 Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1467 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 415. 73 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 415. 74 For a similar conclusion, see Hartley, Leviticus, 273 and Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 153. 68 69

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absolutely any type of offering.”75 Milgrom, for his part, offers an alternative reading.76 He, too, considers the expression ‫ עלה או־זבח‬as a merism; that is, as an expression that combines two contrasting words to refer to an entirety. But rather than incorporating all the offerings in the Israelite cult, it refers to the totality of blood sacrifices. Vegetal offerings such as the ‫ מנחה‬or the ‫‘ נסך‬drink offering’ are therefore excluded from its scope. Milgrom’s interpretation raises a broader issue: to what extent was there a precise division between animal and nonanimal sacrifices in the Hebrew Bible? Offerings of grain and wine are frequently presented as accompaniments to the burnt offering and well-being sacrifice. Numbers 15:1–10 explicitly command the Israelites to include the ‫ מנחה‬along with the ‫ נסך‬as attendant offerings whenever they present ‫ עלה או־זבח‬to Yhwh. The positioning of the ritual instructions for the ‫ מנחה‬in Lev 2, immediately after the instructions for the ‫עלה‬ in Lev 1, strengthens the close association between these two offerings.77 The blurring of the boundaries between blood and nonblood offerings can also be seen in the terminology used to refer to the key vegetal offering in the P sacrificial system: the ‫מנחה‬. According to Lev 2, this term refers to a very specific offering consisting of wheat products mixed with salt, oil, and sometimes frankincense. However, the term ‫ מנחה‬is used elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible with the generic sense of ‘gift’ or ‘tribute’.78 When employed in this way, ‫מנחה‬ can consist of animals as well as nonanimal products. For instance, in Gen 4:3– 4, Abel’s offering of sheep is designated a ‫מנחה‬. A similar usage is attested in 1 Sam 2:17, where the attempt by the sons of Eli to seize their portion of sacrificial meat is described as treating ‫‘ מנחת יהוה‬the tribute of Yhwh’ with contempt. These ambiguities notwithstanding, there is good reason to adopt the view that the priestly traditions consider the cereal offering to be a discrete offering; although often treated as a supplement to animal sacrifice, it can also be presented on its own.79 As Milgrom points out, P seems to have considered the cereal offering affordable for those with insufficient means to offer an animal sacrifice. This special status is evident in Lev 5:7–13, where it is stated in the context of the ‫ חטאת‬that “if [the offerer] cannot afford a sheep” (v. 7) he can bring a bird instead, followed by the further concession that “if he cannot afford Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 415. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, AB 3A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1991), 199. 77 Alfred Marx, Les offrandes végétales dans l’Ancien Testament. Du tribut d’hommage au repas eschatologique, VTSup 57 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 20. 78 See further Gary A. Anderson, Sacrifices and Offerings in Ancient Israel: Studies in Their Social and Political Importance, ed. Frank Moore Cross, HSM 41 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987), 27–34 and Marx, Les offrandes, 1–4. 79 See further Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 196–98 and Liane Marquis Feldman, “Ritual Sequence and Narrative Constraints in Leviticus 9:1–10:3,” JHebS 17 (2017): 28, doi:10.5508/jhs.2017.v17.a12. 75 76

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217

two turtledoves or two pigeons, he shall bring as his offering, which is for his sin, a tenth of an ephah of choice flour for a sin offering” (v. 11a). This suggests that the priestly scribes, recognizing that cereal offerings were less costly, left open the possibility of their being offered separately to the more expensive animal sacrifices. It therefore seems justified to assume that the merism ‫ עלה או־זבח‬in Lev 17:8 could have, in principle, referred exclusively to animal sacrifices. Indeed, a number factors indicate that this is the most plausible interpretation. First, the terms ‫ עלה‬and ‫ זבח‬in the expression ‫עלה או־זבח‬, when used individually, refer to animal sacrifices: ‫ עלה‬designates the whole burnt offering taken from the herd or the flock, while ‫ זבח‬is a more generic term for the sacrifice of slaughtered sheep, goat, or cattle; or, in the words of George Gray, “simply ‘what is slain.’”80 Second, while the text of Num 15:1–10 makes clear that these sacrifices were also frequently offered with accompanying cereals and wine, it also adds powerful evidence to the case that, when ‫ עלה‬and ‫ זבח‬are used together in the merism ‫עלה או־זבח‬, independent vegetal offerings are not included. Numbers 15:1–10 contain the only other occurrences of the precise merism ‫עלה או־‬ ‫ זבח‬in the Hebrew Bible outside Lev 17:8.81 Here the Israelites are instructed how they should supplement their ‫ עלה או־זבח‬with additional offerings of cereal and wine (the ‫ מנחה‬and ‫)נסך‬. This evidence strongly suggests that the merism ‫ עלה או זבח‬did not include vegetal offerings: while it would have been redundant to command that the ‫ מנחה‬and ‫ נסך‬be added to ‫ עלה או זבח‬had such vegetal offerings already been included in the merism, the text of Num 15:1– 10 makes perfect sense if ‫ עלה או־זבח‬refers only to animal sacrifices, to which vegetal offerings should be added. Hence, we might conclude, with Milgrom, that the merism ‫ עלה או־זבח‬in Lev 17:8 is being used as a shorthand for animal sacrifices offered to Yhwh and does not necessarily incorporate independent vegetal offerings. This reading, moreover, is fully consistent with the discursive context within which these verses are found; the structure of Lev 17 positions the proper disposal of blood as its unifying topic. It is the shedding of blood, an integral part of animal sacrifice, on which its five laws are focused. In effect, then, these create a hierarchy of issues in H’s discourse of centralized cultic practice, among which the proper disposal of the blood of livestock at the shrine is paramount, and vegetal offerings perhaps less controversial. That said, it would be unwarranted to conclude from this that Lev 17:8–9 explicitly permit vegetal offerings to be made at places other than the central 80 ‫ ֶז ַב ח‬, HALOT 1:262 §1 and George Buchanan Gray, Sacrifice in the Old Testament: Its Theory and Practice (Oxford: Clarendon, 1925), 6. See further Norman H. Snaith, “Sacrifices in the Old Testament,” VT 7, no. 3 (1957): 309 and Rolf Rendtorff, Studien zur Geschichte des Opfers im alten Israel, WMANT 24 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1967), 149–51. 81 It occurs specifically in Num 15:3, 5.

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shrine. Its silence on this subject should not be misread as positive evidence of a concession on this matter. The P ritual instructions contain no suggestion that cereal offerings can be presented away from the tent of meeting; because they must be burnt at the altar, they necessarily must be brought to the wilderness shrine. However, the exclusive focus in Lev 17 on blood arguably leaves a degree of ambiguity as to whether H deems illegitimate the offering of cereal, incense, or wine at locations other than the central sanctuary; at the very least, the vegetal offerings lie outside the scope of this particular law at Lev 17:8– 9.82 5.2.3 The Blood Prohibition and Sanctuary Monopolies The discussion so far has demonstrated that Lev 17:3–7 and 8–9 position blood sacrifices as key to the centralized cult. This conclusion raises a further question: what invests blood with such potency – that is, how does H construct its discourse in such a way that it justifies the primacy given to ritualized blood disposal and legitimizes its mandate that the central sanctuary must have a monopoly over this practice? The answer to this question may be found in Lev 17:10–12, and particularly the key rationale of v. 11. As mentioned above, vv. 10–16 shift from considering where the Israelites must bring their animals when they wish to slaughter or sacrifice them (vv. 3–9) to the consumption of meat and the problems this raises for the disposal of blood. Verse 11 offers an intricate statement on the nature and significance of blood, which requires that it never be consumed by either the native Israelite or immigrant. Crucially, this statement picks up the reference to the altar found earlier in the chapter at v. 6 and thereby offers an interpretation of the significance of blood when ritually manipulated: “For the life of the flesh, it is in the blood; I gave it for you upon the altar to ‫ כפר‬piel for your lives, for it is the blood that ransoms by means of life.” Commentators agree that the use of ‫ כפר‬piel in this context is especially noteworthy and complex. The root ‫ כפר‬in the piel stem is generally agreed to have the basic meaning ‘wipe out’.83 This is based in part on observations of the use of the Akkadian cognate kapāru, which, in its D-stem form kuppuuru, means ‘wipe off’.84 However, ‫ כפר‬piel can also convey the more abstract 82 I will return to these questions later when I compare H’s command of centralization in Lev 17 and the mandate of Deut 12 (§5.3.1), as well as when I assess its possible historical context in the fifth century BCE (§5.4.2). 83 ‫כפר‬, HALOT 2:493–94 §1; Wright, Disposal, 291–99; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1079– 80; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 28–29; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 177; for a dissenting view, see Yitzhaq Feder, “On kuppuru, kippēr and Etymological Sins that Cannot be Wiped Away,” VT 60, no. 4 (2010): 537–38. 84 kapāru A, CAD K, 178–80 and kapāru, AHw, 442–43. See further Janowski, Sühne, 29–60.

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meaning of atonement or expiation.85 This is clear from its frequent use to describe the effects of the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫ אשׁם‬offerings in mitigating the consequences of the Israelites’ wrongdoing and impurity (e.g., Lev 4:20, 26, 31, 35; 5:6, 10, 13, 16, 18, 26), as well as from the description of the ‫ עלה‬in Lev 1:4, where the burnt offering seems to atone for the wrongdoing of the individual offerer. However, scholars also hear echoes in Lev 17:11 of two other passages in which ‫ כפר‬piel occurs with the meaning ‘ransom’ rather than “atone’.86 While X-‫ כפר על‬is found frequently in the priestly traditions, the specific formula used in Lev 17:11, ‫לכפר על־נפשׁתיכם‬, occurs only in two other contexts in the Hebrew Bible: Exod 30:11–16 and Num 31:48–54. These texts depict censuses in which precious metal is given to Yhwh following a head count, a payment that in Exod 30:12 is called ‫‘ כפר נפשׁו‬a ransom for each [Israelite’s] life’. When ‫ כפר‬piel occurs in the formula ‫ לכפר על־נפשׁתיכם‬in Exod 30:16 and Num 31:50 to describe the effect of the census payments, the parallel with the noun ‫( כֶֹּפר‬Exod 30:12; Num 35:31–32) suggests that ‫ כפר‬piel is understood to mean ‘ransom’. The use of exactly the same formula (‫ )לכפר על־נפשׁתיכם‬in Lev 17:11 strongly suggests that ‫ כפר‬piel in this context should also be translated ‘ransom’ as opposed to ‘atone’.87 Yet, while Exod 30:11–16 and Num 35:31–32

As argued by, e.g., Janowski, Sühne, 29–60; Baruch A. Levine, In the Presence of the Lord: A Study of Cult and Some Cultic Terms in Ancient Israel (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 59–60; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1079–84; Roy E. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 106–43; Sklar, Sin, 41–43; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 44–46; and Feder, “On kuppuru, kippēr and Etymological Sins that Cannot be Wiped Away,” 538. See further the translations “effect removal” in Gilders, Blood Ritual, 29 and “mitigate” in James W. Watts, Leviticus 1–10, HCOT (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 345. In earlier scholarship, ‫ כפר‬piel was often considered to mean “cover,” with the offerings thought to “cover over” the community’s sins and impurities before Yhwh; see, e.g., Johann Jakob Stamm, Erlösen und Vergeben im Alten Testament. Eine begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Bern: A. Francke, 1940), 61–66; and Elliger, Leviticus, 71. This was due in part to the Arabic kafara ‘to cover’, to which ‫ כפר‬piel was thought to be related. However, while ‫ כפר‬can mean ‘cover’ in the qal stem (see, e.g., Gen 6:14), the parallel with Akkadian kapāru suggests that this is not the sense with which the verb is used in the priestly ritual legislation. 86 See, e.g., Levine, In the Presence, 67–69; Jacob Milgrom, Studies in Levitical Terminology: The Encroacher and the Levite, The Term ʾAboda, UCPNES 14 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1970), 28–31; Milgrom, “Prolegomenon,” 97–98; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 707–8; Brichto, “On Slaughter,” 26–38; Wenham, Book of Leviticus, 115; Kiuchi, Purification Offering, 107; Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 55; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 170– 77; Sklar, Sin, 168; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 420–22. 87 The translation “atone” in Lev 17:11 is traditionally preferred; of the studies published in the past fifty years, see e.g., Elliger, Leviticus, 218; Janowski, Sühne, 245; Schenker, “Das Zeichen,” 198–201; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 154–56; and Ruwe, Heiligkeits85

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relate to the payment of ‫ כפר‬money and make no reference to the use of sacrificial blood, Lev 17:11 makes the unique claim that sacrificial blood is itself a ransom for human life.88 This compensatory function of blood on the altar is made possible, according to H, ‫‘ בנפשׁ‬by means of life’. While this statement is somewhat cryptic, it seems to convey the idea that the animal’s blood, which is the seat of life, functions as a ransom for the life of the person who has killed the animal when it is given to the altar; it thereby constitutes a somewhat complex application of the measure-for-measure principle (“life for life,” cf. Gen 9:5–6; Lev 24:18). This reading is supported by the repetition of ‫ נפשׁ‬in v. 11: once with reference to life in general, a second time with respect to the lives of the Israelites, and a third time with reference to the life of the animal whose blood is being offered upon the altar. This repetitive use of ‫ נפשׁ‬suggests that H equates human life with the life of the animal offered on the altar in order to claim that the animal’s blood compensates for the life of the offerer. In so doing, H offers a new interpretation of the cultic significance of blood. The use of the verb ‫ כפר‬to describe the disposal of blood on the altar unmistakably evokes the material dealing with sacrifice and impurity in Lev 1–16, where ‫ כפר‬occurs over forty times. Despite this congruence, there is no precedent in P for H’s idea that blood acts as a ransom when it is applied to the altar. The ‫ כפר‬action of the blood elsewhere in P is “one of purification, of decontaminating the sancta, not of ransoming life.”89 There is no notion, neither in P nor elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, that blood might substitute for human life. Hence, the notion in Lev 17:11 that Yhwh designated blood for the altar for the purpose of ransoming the life of the offerer constitutes an entirely new and comprehensive “explanation of how blood accomplishes the effects attributed to it,” and thereby effects a sweeping reinterpretation of P’s entire system of blood sacrifice.90 To cite a frequently-quoted passage by Schwartz, this verse advances a theory unattested elsewhere in P or anywhere else in the Torah: that “atonement,” i.e. ‫כפרה‬, is not a matter of purifying the sancta from the contamination generated by sin or physical conditions, nor is it a matter of casting off sin and sending it away, but rather a matter of redeeming oneself from extreme culpability before God: redeeming one’s life…The passage is reflective and interpretive: it puts forth a new and unique theory of what sacrificial “atonement” is and how it works, not a theory of why one needs it. It is a case of inner-biblical exegesis, almost midrashic in nature.91

gesezt, 134. See further Hieke, Levitikus, 2:614, who reads ‫ כפר‬here as “to achieve reconciliation” (Versöhnung erwirken). 88 As argued by Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1474; Levine, In the Presence, 67–68; Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 58–60; Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 167–69; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 171; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 420–22. 89 Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 59. 90 Gilders, Blood Ritual, 22. 91 Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 59–60.

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The question remains whether H means to assign a compensatory function only to the blood of those sacrifices associated with ‫ כפר‬in Lev 1–16 – namely, the ‫עלה‬, ‫חטאת‬, and ‫ – אשׁם‬or to all blood sacrifices mentioned in P.92 On the face of it, because the topic of Lev 17:10–12 is the ingestion of blood, it seems likely that v. 11 incorporates the ‫שׁלמים‬. (This is the only sacrifice that, according to P, may be eaten by the Israelites.) But the waters are muddied by the absence of any association of the word ‫ כפר‬with this particular sacrifice in P. Milgrom argues, however, that the ‫ שׁלמים‬seems to have been included in the scope of Lev 17:11.93 The four-time repetition of ‫ אכל דם‬in vv. 10–12 funnels attention to the issue of eating meat and thereby links this verse to the ‫שׁלמים‬ sacrifice specifically. However, Milgrom overstrains his argument when he concludes that v. 11 would apply only to the ‫שׁלמים‬.94 As scholars have routinely pointed out since Milgrom first raised this possibility, the ‫ שׁלמים‬is never associated with ‫ כפר‬in P, so it is implausible to suppose that H would have considered Lev 17:11 to apply to this sacrifice alone.95 Indeed, the merism ‫עלה‬ ‫ או־זבח‬in v. 8 broadens the focus of these verses from the ‫שׁלמים‬, the topic of vv. 3–7, to the ritual treatment of all blood sacrifices, making a restrictive interpretation of v. 11 unwarranted.96 Nevertheless, Milgrom and Herbert C. Brichto do make a convincing case that H most likely considers the blood of the ‫ שׁלמים‬to be included in v. 11, despite the lack of a precedent in P for associating this sacrifice with ‫כפר‬.97 Indeed, the comprehensive nature of H’s claims about the need to centralize all blood disposal (in the case of sacrificial animals) to the altar of Yhwh makes it likely that all animal sacrifices, and thus also the ‫שׁלמים‬, are included in this rationale for why Yhwh has designated that blood must be put on the altar. Hence, this verse preserves an additional H innovation vis-à-vis P: not only does Lev 17:11 provide a new compensatory interpretation of blood sacrifice, it also erases any distinction between the ‫ שׁלמים‬and the ‫עלה‬, ‫חטאת‬, and ‫ אשׁם‬when it comes to effecting ‫כפר‬. In proposing a compensatory interpretation of blood sacrifice, H forges a new and powerful rationale for why the shrine has a monopoly on the disposal 92 For the former view, see Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 58–60. For the latter, see Johann Heinrich Kurtz, Sacrificial Worship of the Old Testament, trans. James Martin (Edinborough: T&T Clark, 1863), 73–74 and Kiuchi, Purification Offering, 109. 93 Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1474–78. See further Brichto, “On Slaughter,” 27–28. 94 Milgrom, “Prolegomenon,” 151 and Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1474–78. 95 As argued by Schenker, “Das Zeichen,” 207–10; Rolf Rendtorff, Leviticus, BKAT 3 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1985), 245 n. 208; Kiuchi, Purification Offering, 102–3; Frank H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time and Status in the Priestly Theology, JSOTSup 91 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 184–87; Schwartz, “Prohibition,” 58– 60; Hartley, Leviticus, 274–75; Sklar, Sin, 174–81; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 422 n. 114. 96 Schenker, “Das Zeichen,” 210. 97 Milgrom, “Prologomenon,” 151; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1474–78 and Brichto, “On Slaughter,” 27–28.

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of the blood of all livestock: blood has the power to act as a ransom and therefore mitigate the effects of the violence inherent in the killing of animals. However, blood can have this effect only when it is ritually manipulated at the central altar; that is, upon the altar found in the central shrine. The rationale of v. 11 thus forms a powerful argument for why the Israelites must be sure to bring their livestock to the central sanctuary for ritual treatment every time they wish for them to be slaughtered or sacrificed. Blood and the central sanctuary are thus in symbiotic relationship. The almost cosmic significance that H attaches to blood as ransom enhances the importance of the central shrine because it is the only location at which blood might be disposed. In turn, the altar’s status as the center of the cult invests the ritual practice of blood disposal, as detailed in Lev 1–16, with a profound cultic significance on account of its capacity to allow blood to act as a ransom. Concurrently, the priests who officiate at the central altar acquire an exclusive form of ritual agency. Although the priests are not actually mentioned in v. 11, it is axiomatic that only they are permitted to approach Yhwh’s altar and dispose of the blood upon it (see §4.3.1.1). Indeed, the mention of the priests in v. 6 in relation to the well-being offering confirms this reading. Thus, we can again identify the three core elements of P’s discourse of centralization in play: a central sanctuary, prescribed ritual practice, and a priesthood that demands the deference and attention of the entire community. The difference is that, in Lev 17, H positions blood disposal as providing the key rationale for legitimizing this centralized cult. Leviticus 17:11 also attests to a creative link made by H between the sanctuary’s monopoly on blood disposal and the prohibition on blood consumption. The rationale in v. 11 must be read in the context of the law within which it is found; namely, the ban on eating blood. While v. 11 points to the importance of the altar, it serves primarily to provide the reason why the Israelites cannot eat blood in their day-to-day lives. This is clear from the use of the conjunction ‫ כי‬at the beginning of v. 11, which positions this verse as the rationale for the categorical prohibition of blood consumption in v. 10. It is also evident in the repetition of the blood prohibition which follows in v. 12: “Therefore (‫ )על־כן‬I have said to the Israelites, ‘All the living among you must not consume blood; and the immigrant who lives in your midst must not eat blood.’” It is then even further strengthened in v. 14, which offers a variation of v. 11 in order to explain why the Israelites must not consume the blood of game. In these texts, H can arguably be read as positioning the dietary taboo on blood consumption so that it throws into relief Yhwh’s intended purpose for the blood of domestic animals; namely, to effect ‫ כפר‬upon the altar. The result is a powerful reinforcement of the rationale for the command that all slaughter for consumption be referred back to the authority of the central sanctuary. Every time the Israelites eat domestic animals, they confront the necessity of disposing of the blood appropriately. They cannot consume it, so they must bring the animal to the sanctuary, where it can receive the proper ritual

5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions

223

treatment, and they can thereby be reminded of blood’s cultic significance and the centrality of the shrine. The case of game, described in vv. 13–14, is different. Here the blood of the animal cannot be placed upon the altar, and the blood must be disposed of in another way: it must be poured on the ground and covered with earth (v. 13). Nevertheless, even here H employs a powerful centralizing strategy. By including this law within the same structural unit as that of vv. 10–12, it reminds the Israelites that it is only when consuming nonsacrificial animals that the blood may be disposed of away from the central altar. By contrast, in all cases that involve sacrificial animals, the Israelites have no choice but to defer to the central shrine, where the blood can be safely disposed of by priests officiating at the altar. The instructions in vv. 13–14 for disposing the blood of game, then, reinforce H’s argument that all sacrificial animals must be brought to the shrine for ritual treatment, and therefore serve as a powerful reinforcement of its discourse of centralization.

5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions It is clear from the discussion thus far that the laws of Lev 17 pertaining to the slaughter, sacrifice, and consumption of animals work together to build a complex and multifaceted argument for why the Israelites must defer to the sanctuary in all matters pertaining to blood disposal. This practice enhances the centrality of the shrine, because it strengthens its claim to the attention and resources of the united community of Israel. It especially reinforces its claims to economic centrality because the possibility of diverting the commodity of animal meat away from the sanctuary is categorically ruled out, with severe sanctions being imposed for noncompliance. The laws of Lev 17 thus position the shrine as the sole institution that may handle Israelite livestock, and thus as the only legitimate center of butchery and sacrifice in the Israelite community. On a number of occasions it has been noted that Lev 17 looks to and builds on P when making this argument in favor of centralized slaughter and sacrifice; its prescriptions refer to the same narrative context as the earlier P account, and they continue the focus in Lev 1–16 on the ritual significance of blood, while introducing significant innovations in this respect. Many of these links between Lev 17 and P are acknowledged in the scholarly literature, but they have rarely been considered essential to understanding H’s logic of centralization. They have usually been considered of secondary importance when compared to the alleged influence of D on H’s prescriptions in Lev 17. This chapter will now turn to consider this scholarly orientation toward D and the evidence that we should reconsider the importance P in shaping H’s centralizing discourse in Lev 17.

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5.3.1 Leviticus 17 and Deut 12 The challenge of discerning the relationship between Lev 17 and Deut 12 is made difficult by the uncertainty surrounding the diachronic development of the centralization command in Deut 12. That chapter is recognized as a complex composition that was almost certainly written in multiple stages. While scholars continue to debate the order in which the chapter’s components were written, there is general agreement that it contains three distinct statements on the need to centralize the cult to the chosen ‫מקום‬: vv. 2–7, vv. 8–12 and vv. 13–19 (20–28).98 Each of these sections contains a distinct version of the centralization formula.99 They are also marked by differences in number (second person singular versus second person plural address), as well as emphasis on issues such as the need to destroy alternative places of worship (vv. 2–7), the conditions in the land required for the centralized cult to commence (vv. 8– 12), or eating meat (vv. 13–19 [20–28]). Scholars usually identify the earliest core of Deut 12 as being vv. 13–19.100 This conclusion is largely based on the simpler form of the centralization This view has been repeated in numerous publications, which cannot be comprehensively cited here. For an overview of earlier studies on the composition of Deut 12, see Eleonore Reuter, Kultzentralisation. Entstehung und Theologie von Dtn 12, BBB 87 (Frankfurt am Main: Hain, 1993), 29–41. For recent studies that maintain this division of Deut 12, see Thomas Römer, “Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12: Between Deuteronomistic History and Pentateuch,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk, ed. Eckart Otto and Reinhard Achenbach, FRLANT 206 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 169; Udo Rüterswörden, Das Buch Deuteronomium, NSKAT 4 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2006), 75–78; Reinhard G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, trans. John Bowden (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 119–21; Peter Altmann, Festive Meals in Ancient Israel: Deuteronomy’s Identity Politics in Their Ancient Near Eastern Context, BZAW 424 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 107–32; and Kevin Mattison, Rewriting and Revision as Amendment in the Laws of Deuteronomy, FAT 2/100 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 50–86. 99 Verse 5: ‫‘ המקום אשׁ ר־יבחר יהוה אלהיכם מכל־שׁבטיכם לשׂום את־שׁ מו שׁ ם‬the place that Yhwh your god will choose out of all your tribes as his habitation to put his name there’. Verse 11: ‫‘ המקום אשׁר־יבחר יהוה אלהיכם בו לשׁכן שׁמו שׁם‬the place that Yhwh your god will choose as a dwelling for his name there’. Verse 14: ‫‘ במקום אשׁר־יבחר יהוה באחד שׁבטיך‬in the place that Yhwh will choose in one of your tribes’. Cf. v. 21: ‫המקום אשׁר יבחר יהוה אלהיך‬ ‫‘ לשׂום שׁמו שׁם‬the place that Yhwh your god will choose to put his name there’. 100 See, e.g., Carl Steuernagel, Das Deuteronomium, 2nd ed., Göttinger Handkommentar zum Alten Testament 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1923), 93–98; Rosario Pius Merendino, Das deuteronomistische Gesetz. Eine literarkritische, gattungs- und überlieferungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu Dt 12–26, BBB 31 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1969), 12–41; Gottfried Seitz, Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Deuteronomium, BWA(N)T 93 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1971), 211; Martin Rose, Der Ausschliesslichkeitsanspruch Jahwes. Deuteronomische Schultheologie und die Volksfrömmigkeit in der späten Königzeit, BWA(N)T 106 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1975), 65–76; Georg Braulik, Deuteronomium 1– 16,17, NEchtB 15 (Würzburg: Echter, 1986), 93; Reuter, Kultzentralisation, 105–6, 112–13; 98

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formula in v. 14 when compared with the one in vv. 5 and 11. In Deut 12:13– 19, the call to centralize sacrifice is paired with the permission of local slaughter (‫)זבח‬, as long as the blood of the animal is not ingested but is instead spilled (‫ )שׁפך‬on the ground “like water.”101 In order to distinguish between the killing of domestic animals for food and their killing for sacrifice, the authors of vv. 13–19 engage in semantic innovation: they employ the verb ‫ זבח‬to describe the act of slaughtering animals in local contexts for the purposes of providing meat. This usage is a complete anomaly because the term ‫ זבח‬bears a sacral connotation in virtually every other occurrence in the Hebrew Bible.102 Despite its lack of precedent, the use of ‫ זבח‬in Deut 12:15–16 with the meaning ‘slaughter’ ensures that the act of killing animals for the purpose of food is distanced from that of “offering up” (‫ עלה‬hiphil, v. 14) burnt offerings to the deity. It is therefore justifiable, from D’s point of view, that these two acts transpire at different locations. The rationale for the permission of extrasanctuary slaughter is not given in vv. 15–16. However, it seems to be a pragmatic concession on D’s part. As mentioned above (§3.3.1), for those Israelites who lived at a distance from the ‫ מקום‬in the land, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to travel to the central place every time they wished to eat meat. This is confirmed more explicitly by Deut 12:20–28. The place of these verses within the composition of Deut 12 is debated, but most scholars agree that they were added to the chapter at a very late stage.103 They do not directly command the centralization of the Römer, “Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12,” 169–72; Kratz, Composition, 119–21; Rüterswörden, Das Buch Deuteronomium, 75–76; Altmann, Festive Meals, 118–27; Mattison, Rewriting, 53–63; and Benedikt Hensel, “Deuteronomium 12,13–19. Zur Lokalisierung des einen Maqom,” BN (forthcoming). Scholars generally acknowledge, however, that even this earliest core has undergone redaction. In particular, a question mark hangs over v. 19, because this verse turns abruptly to the topic of the treatment of the Levites. For the purposes of the present discussion, however, the compositional history of these verses can be put to one side. 101 Domestic animals slaughtered for the purposes of food are therefore to receive the same treatment as game: ‫‘ יאכלנו כצבי וכאיל‬they shall eat [the meat] just like they would that of the gazelle or the deer’ (12:15b). 102 See, e.g., Gen 31:54; 46:1; Exod 8:23; 23:18; 34:15; Isa 66:3; Hos 8:13; ‫זבח‬, HALOT 1:261; and Milgrom, “Profane Slaughter,” 1–3. 103 Among the studies of the past fifty years which have made this argument, see, e.g., Rose, Der Ausschliesslichkeitsanspruch, 88–90; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 152–53; Braulik, Deuteronomium, 99–100; Reuter, Kultzentralisation, 106; Kratz, Composition, 121; Christophe Nihan, “The Holiness Code between D and P: Some Comments on the Function and Significance of Leviticus 17–26 in the Composition of the Torah,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk, ed. Eckart Otto and Reinhard Achenbach, FRLANT 206 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 93; Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical, and Literary Introduction (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 64; Udo Rüterswörden, “Deuteronomium 12,20–28 und Leviticus 17,” in “Gerechtigkeit und Recht zu üben” (Gen 18,19). Studien zur

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cult at the chosen ‫ מקום‬but seem to clarify the law in vv. 15–16 that permits the slaughter of meat away from the central place – that is, they present new temporal and spatial limitations to this practice by explaining that it is permissible only when the Israelites are in the land, when Yhwh has expanded their borders, and when select members of the community live “too far” from the chosen place to travel there each time they wish to eat meat. Deut 12:20–28 20 When Yhwh your god will enlarge your borders, as he has told you, and you say to yourself “I shall eat some meat,” for you have the desire to eat meat, you may eat meat whenever you desire. 21 If the place that Yhwh your god will choose to put his name there will be too far from you, then you shall slaughter from your cattle and from your sheep that Yhwh has given to you, according to that which I have commanded you, and you shall eat in your towns as you desire. 22 Indeed, in the same way that you eat the gazelle and the deer, so you may eat it; the unclean and the clean alike shall eat it. 23 However, remain resolute to not eat the blood, for the blood is the life, and you must not consume the life with the flesh. 24 You shall not eat it; you shall pour it upon the earth like water. 25 You shall not eat it, in order that it may go well for you and for your sons after you, because you do what is right in the eyes of Yhwh.104 26 However, when you consecrate your things, and you bring your votive gifts, you shall come to the place that Yhwh will choose.105 27 You shall offer your burnt offering, the flesh and the blood, upon the altar of Yhwh your god; and the blood of your sacrifices shall be poured out upon the altar of Yhwh of your god, but the flesh you shall consume. 28 Take heed and obey all these words that I am commanding you, in order that it may go well for you and for your sons after you for posterity, for you are doing what is good and right in the eyes of Yhwh your god.

By stating only those who live far away from the ‫ מקום‬may slaughter their animals “within your towns as you desire,” vv. 20–21 seem to confirm that altorientalischen und biblischen Rechtsgeschichte, zur Religionsgeschichte Israels und zur Religionssoziologie. Festschrift für Eckart Otto zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Reinhard Achenbach and Martin Arneth, BZABR 13 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009), 217–26; Altmann, Festive Meals, 113–15; and Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34, 1162–65. For alternative reconstructions, cf. e.g., Bernard M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1997), 39–43 and Simeon Chavel, “The Literary Development of Deuteronomy 12: Between Religious Ideal and Social Reality,” in The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research, ed. Thomas B. Dozeman, et al., FAT 1/78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 303–26. 104 LXX adds κυρίου τοῦ θεοῦ σου ‘the Lord your god’. This addition is arguably an attempt to harmonize v. 25 with v. 28, because the latter contains very similar wording but a longer title for the divinity: ἐὰν ποιήσῃς τὸ καλὸν καὶ τὸ ἀρεστὸν ἐναντίον κυρίου τοῦ θεοῦ σου. 105 LXX has a slightly amplified text here: πλὴν τὰ ἅγιά σου, ἃ ἄν σοι γένηται, καὶ τὰς εὐχάς σου λαβὼν ἥξεις εἰς τὸν τόπον, ὃν ἂν ἐκλέξηται κύριος ὁ θεός σου αὐτῷ ἐπικληθῆναι τὸ ὄνοµα αὐτοῦ ἐκεῖ ‘but when you have taken your sacred things, whatever you may have, and your votice gifts, you shall come to the place which the Lord your god will choose for himself for his name to be called there’.

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local butchery is seen as a solution for those who lived at a distance from the central shrine. There is a clear difference of opinion between Lev 17 and Deut 12 about whether the Israelites might slaughter their livestock locally. However, they both seem to share the view that animal sacrifices must be restricted to a single, central location. As has already been mentioned at various points in this study, most scholars have explained this commonality by reading Lev 17 as a critical response by H to Deut 12 with the aim of affirming the need for a centralized cult but rejecting D’s concession on extrasanctuary slaughter for local butchery. What are the arguments made in defense of this position? First, it is common for scholars to suggest that the thematic parallels between Lev 17 and Deut 12:13–19, and especially the order in which they address their shared legislative themes, reveals H’s engagement with D. As Erhard Blum, Eckart Otto, and Nihan have noted, Lev 17 deals with the same issues of local slaughter, the centralization of sacrifice, and the prohibition of the nonconsumption of blood found in Deut 12:13–27.106 However, while Deut 12 places the issue of the centralization of sacrificial practice at the head of its laws and deals with local slaughter as a secondary matter, Lev 17 reverses the order by dealing with local slaughter as the first legislative issue addressed within the chapter. This, it has been argued, reflects the fact that H mirrors Deut 12 to an extent but refuses to permit decentralized butchery in order to facilitate a centralized cult. All acts of slaughter (‫)שׁחט‬, in H’s view, constitute acts of sacrifice (‫ )זבח‬and so must be performed at the central sanctuary alone. H therefore addresses local slaughter as its first legislative issue in order to make clear that it is rejecting D’s innovation. Second, scholars have highlighted the shared wording between Lev 17 and Deut 12 as evidence of the former’s dependence on the latter. As already mentioned (see the introduction to this chapter at p. 190), the clearest correspondence between the two chapters is the wording of the blood prohibitions of Lev 17:10–14 and Deut 12:23. Both texts cite the connection between blood and life in justifying why blood must never be consumed. There is only one other text that asserts this connection: Gen 9:4 (see Table 5.2).

106 Blum, Studien, 338; Eckart Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and Hans-Winfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Bodenheim: Philo, 1999), 142–44; Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34; Nihan, “Holiness Code,” 93; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 411–12.

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Table 5.2: Blood Prohibitions in Gen 9:4; Lev 17:11, 14; Deut 12:23 Gen 9:4 ‫אך־בשׂר בנפשׁו דמו לא‬ ‫תאכלו‬

Only, you shall not eat flesh with its life, its blood.

Lev 17:11 ‫כי נפשׁ הבשׂר בדם‬ ‫הוא וא ני נת ת יו לכם‬ ‫על־המזבח לכפר על־‬ ‫נפשׁ תיכם כי־הדם‬ ‫הוא בנפשׁ יכפר‬ For the life of the flesh, it is in the blood; I gave it for you upon the altar to ransom for your lives, for it is the blood that ransoms by means of life.

Lev 17:14 ‫כי־נפשׁ כל־בשׂ ר דמו‬ ‫בנפשׁ ו הוא ואמר‬ ‫לבני ישׂ ראל דם כל־‬ ‫בשׂר לא תאכלו כי‬ ‫נפשׁ כל־בשׂר דמו‬ ‫הוא כל־א כליו יכרת‬ For the life of all flesh, its blood is its life; and I have said to the Israelites: Do not eat the blood of any flesh, for the life of all flesh, it is its blood. All who eat it will be cut off.

Deut 12:23 ‫רק חזק לבלתי אכל‬ ‫הדם כי הדם הוא ה נפש‬ ‫ולא תאכל הנפש עם‬ ‫הבשר‬

However, remain resolute to not eat the blood, for the blood is the life, and you must not consume the life with the flesh

The dominant interpretation is that Lev 17:11aα and 14aα blend the formulae found in Deut 12:23 and in Gen 9:4. Leviticus 17:11aα and 14aα share with Gen 9:4 the juxtaposition of the words ‫נפשׁ‬, ‫בשׂר‬, and ‫דם‬, albeit in a different order. The form ‫ דמו‬also occurs in both Lev 17:14aα and Gen 9:4. With Deut 12:23, on the other hand, Lev 17:11aα and 14aα share the use of the conjunction ‫ כי‬in introducing the rationale, as well the third person independent personal pronoun ‫הוא‬, neither of which appear in the corresponding passage in Gen 9:4. The parallels between Lev 17:11aα, 14aα, and Deut 12:23 have long been marshaled as evidence that Lev 17 is drawing on Deut 12 in order to critique it. Commentators such as Alfred Cholewiński and Klaus Grünwaldt have reasoned that H appropriates the wording of Deut 12:23 precisely to show the flaw in D’s logic. For D, local butchery poses no issue as long as the animal’s blood, which is life, is never consumed. But the link between blood and life has more profound consequences for H: it requires that the blood of sacrificial animals always be returned to the deity on its altar in the form of a sacrificial offering.107 Scholars occasionally identify additional linguistic correspondences in Lev 17 and Deut 12 that, they claim, prove the orientation of the former towards the latter. Otto and Nihan argue that the switch from the verb ‫ שׁחט‬in Lev 17:3– 4 to ‫ זבח‬in 17:5–7 is evidence of H appropriating D’s language in order to

107 Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 174 and n. 70 and Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 142. See further Walter Kornfeld, Levitikus, NEchtB 6 (Würzburg: Echter, 1983), 67; Blum, Studien, 338; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 425–26.

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229

denounce extrasanctuary slaughter.108 Because the term ‫ זבח‬rarely occurs in Lev 1–16 (only once in 9:4), but is the precise wording used in Deut 12:15–16 to describe local butchery, Otto and Nihan conclude that H’s use of this verb in Lev 17:5–7 is a “deliberate device” intended to restore to ‫ זבח‬its traditional meaning of ‘sacrifice’ in contradistinction to D’s innovation.109 The switch between ‫ שׁחט‬in vv. 3–4 to ‫ זבח‬in vv. 5–7 is H’s attempt to demonstrate that there is no distinction between the killing of domestic animals for food and their killing for sacrifice, and therefore no grounds for D’s argument that they may transpire at different locations. Finally, Blum, Otto, and Nihan argue that H also borrows from Deut 12 when, in Lev 17:13, it describes the process for the disposal of the blood of game.110 With this verse, H permits the pouring (‫ )שׁפך‬of the blood of game on the ground provided that it is covered with earth. This procedure is seen to echo the method of blood disposal that D assigns to extrasanctuary slaughter, whereby the blood of domestic animals may be poured (‫ )שׁפך‬on the ground “like water” the same way as the Israelites would if dealing with the blood of gazelle or deer (‫)כצבי וכאיל‬. H therefore seems to appropriate the procedure that D prescribes to sacrificial and nonsacrificial alike and assign it to nonsacrificial animals exclusively. On the basis of these links, the consensus among the scholars mentioned above is that Lev 17 repeals the concession of extrasanctuary slaughter with the aid of D’s own language. In this interpretation, Lev 17 is characteristic of the legal hermeneutic observed elsewhere in H whereby legal innovation is introduced with reference to earlier legislation, even when the former law is being corrected.111 Otto even goes so far as to label Lev 17 a case of Fortschreibung of Deut 12, in which D’s command of centralization is updated by H in order to amend its permission of extrasanctuary slaughter.112 The revision of D therefore becomes a major, if not the major, legislative interest of Lev 17. A third link between Lev 17 and D has been used to support the theory that H looks to D in this chapter. This link concerns not Deut 12 but the linguistic overlaps between Lev 17:15–16 and the law of carrion in Deut 14:21. In the latter text, D bans the consumption of ‫‘ כל־נבלה‬any carcass’ by native 108 Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 143 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 410–11. 109 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 410. Cf. Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 143. The nominal form of ‫ זבח‬is found frequently throughout Lev 1–16; see, e.g., Lev 3:1, 3, 6, 9; 4:10, 26, 31, 35; 7:11–13, 15–18, 20–21, 29, 32, 34, 37; 9:18; 10:14. 110 Blum, Studien, 338; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 143; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 426. 111 Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 142–43 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 411–13. 112 Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 145.

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Israelites. This prohibition finds a parallel in Exod 22:30, where the Israelites are forbidden to consume ‫‘ בשׂר בשׂדה טרפה‬meat that is torn in the field’. Both Deut 14:21 and Exod 22:30 cite the Israelites’ holiness as the reason why they cannot eat carrion, although they present different solutions for the problem of what should be done with the meat instead: Deut 14:21 permits the Israelites to give it to the ‫ גר‬or sell it to foreigners, while Exod 22:30 commands that it be given to the dogs. The law of Lev 17:15–16, by contrast, makes no link between the nonconsumption of carrion and the holy status of the Israelites.113 Instead, H permits both citizens and immigrants to eat ‫‘ נבלה וטרפה‬a carcass, a torn animal’ as long as ritual bathing takes place after the animal has been eaten. A number of scholars argue that the expression ‫ נבלה וטרפה‬reveals H’s dependence on both Deut 14:21 and Exod 22:30 because it appears to combine the two terms for the dead animal used in Exod 22:30 (‫ )טרפה‬and Deut 14:21a (‫)נבלה‬, respectively.114 In so doing, Lev 17:15–16 are positioned by H as the definitive ruling on the issue of carrion, a ruling that combines the two earlier laws while also revising their prescriptions. In particular, H uses the issue of carrion to underscore an important point of difference with the non-priestly legal codes: whereas in these codes the Israelites were deemed holy and thus unable to eat carrion, H sees no need to prohibit the eating of carrion because the Israelites are not inherently holy in H’s view. Hence, by disassociating the issue of the Israelites eating carrion from their status as a holy people, H prepares for the major legislative theme of Lev 18–26; namely, the sanctification of the Israelites via law observance. I will discuss this aspect of H in detail in chapter 7. In light of these arguments, the law of Lev 17:15–16 is often considered to provide further evidence that Lev 17 was composed with D in view. This law is considered emblematic of H’s strategy of innerscriptural exegesis, whereby H draws on the language of D texts, as well as those of CC, in order to establish new rulings that revise earlier laws. It is therefore viewed as important additional evidence that Lev 17 was written with the intent to revise the earlier laws of D and further corroborates its interpretation as a response to the law of centralization in Deut 12.115 However, Lev 22:8 forbids priests to consume carrion; on this, see §7.2.1. See, e.g., Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Das Bundesbuch (Ex 20,22–23,33). Studien zu seiner Entstehung und Theologie, BZAW 188 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 375; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 171; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 144; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 428; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:637–39. 115 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 412 with n. 71 has also identified a further parallel with D in Lev 17; namely, H’s use of the formula X- ‫ זנים אחר‬in v. 7 to describe the Israelites’ worship of the ‫שׂעירם‬. This formula is never found in P (see, however, Num 15:39). Rather, it is found in texts that describe cultic prostitution when the Israelites worship foreign gods (see, e.g., Exod 34:15–16; Lev 20:5–6; Num 15:39; Deut 31:16; Judg 2:17; 8:27, 33; 2 Chr 11:15). While the formula X- ‫ זנים אחר‬is not employed in Deut 12 specifically, 113 114

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231

For all the scholarly support that these arguments have attracted over the years, the evidential base on which they rest can be questioned. Some of the evidence is open to alternative interpretations, so it can be reasonably discounted. Evidence that favors the idea that Lev 17 knows Deut 12 or builds on D more generally is more robust, but it is arguably insufficient to sustain the weight of the argument that H’s discourse of centralization in Lev 17 can be appropriately described as a development of Deut 12. By far the strongest evidence on which the dominant view rests is the verbal correspondence between the blood prohibitions in Lev 17:11aα and 14aα, on the one hand, and Deut 12:23, on the other. The similarities between these verses do suggest that they are linked, but it does not necessarily follow that the dependence is H on D. Blood has already been depicted as the seat of life within the P materials at Gen 9:4. It may be, then, that Lev 17 is simply building on Gen 9:4 when it asserts the connection between blood and life. Similarly, we do not need to posit H’s dependence on D to explain those aspects of the wording of Lev 17:11aα and 14aα that diverge from Gen 9:4. For example, the substantiations of laws are frequently introduced by the conjunction ‫ כי‬in Lev 17–26 (see esp. Lev 18:10, 13; 19:8); while the presence of the independent personal pronoun ‫ הוא‬adds to the somewhat awkward syntax of the rationales, its use does not require that Lev 17:11aα and 14aα be seen as dependent on Deut 12:23.116 It is indeed plausible to see the dependence as being not H on D but the reverse – that is, the authors of Deut 12:23 knew Lev 17:11aα and 14aα and drew upon them in shaping their own rationale for the blood prohibition.117 Of course, this hypothesis can be critiqued on the grounds that the very logic employed above to argue that Lev 17:11aα and 14aα could simply be developments of Gen 9:4 could be applied also to Deut 12:23; in this case, the blood prohibitions in Lev 17 and Deut 12 would each constitute an independent Nihan notes that it is found in (late) Dtr and post-Dtr texts such as Deut 31:16. Furthermore, religious idolatry is consistently denounced in D and condemned in Deut 12:29–31. Thus Nihan has argued that, by associating extrasanctuary slaughter with the worship of foreign gods, represented by the ‫שׂעירם‬, Lev 17:7a takes up the terminology of Deuteronomy in order to associate the innovation of local butchery with the very idolatry that D so fervently denounces. 116 As argued convincingly by Jan Rückl, “Deuteronomy 12:20–28 and the Formation of the Pentateuch” (paper presented at the International Conference on the Hermeneutics of Narrative and Legal Texts of the Old Testament, Charles University in Prague, Protestant Theological Faculty, 20–21 April 2009). 117 Michael A. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 523–24; Alexander Rofé, Introduction to Deuteronomy: Part I and Further Chapters (Jerusalem: Akademon, 1988), 16–17 (Hebrew); Rofé, Deuteronomy: Issues and Interpretation (London: T&T Clark, 2002), 8–9; Römer, “Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12,” 171; Rückl, “Deuteronomy 12:20–28”; Rüterswörden, “Deuteronomium 12,20–28”; and Altmann, Festive Meals, 114–15.

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expansion of the earlier P text. However, it is improbable that independent developments in H and D would proceed in such similar ways, each including the conjunction ‫ כי‬in the introduction to the rationale and adding the independent pronoun ‫הוא‬. In addition, as just mentioned, Deut 12:23 has fewer parallels with Gen 9:4 than those evident in Lev 17:11aα and 14aα: the latter texts share with Gen 9:4 the juxtaposition of the words ‫נפשׁ‬, ‫בשׂר‬, and ‫דם‬. Hence, it seems reasonable to conclude that it was H which built upon P in formulating the expanded rationale for the blood prohibition, and that the author of Deut 12:23 drew directly on Lev 17:11aα and 14aα. More fundamentally, there seems little compelling reason for the authors of Deut 12:20–28 to have looked to the P blood prohibition when articulating their ruling on extrasanctuary slaughter, especially because the prohibition on consuming blood is already found at Deut 12:16. Why now include a more expanded form of the blood prohibition that looks to Gen 9:4 for an appropriate precedent? A more compelling explanation is that the authors of Deut 12:23 drew specifically on Lev 17:11aα and 14aα because they felt obliged to respond to H’s critique of extrasanctuary slaughter. Crucially, such a theory can explain not only the verbal parallels between Deut 12:23 and Lev 17:11aα and 14aα but also the reason why Deut 12:20–28 introduce new restrictions on the law of Deut 12:13–19, restrictions that seem in no way to be derived from the surrounding context of Deut 12, but that go some way to addressing H’s concerns regarding extrasanctuary slaughter. As mentioned above, vv. 20–28 restrict the permission of local butchery given in Deut 12:15–16 to a very select set of circumstances and, in so doing, elaborate on the ritual significance of blood in a way that has little counterpart elsewhere in D. Indeed, not only do Deut 12:23–25 repeat three times the command not to eat blood, but v. 27 is the only case in the whole book of Deuteronomy in which the disposal of blood at the altar is mentioned.118 Michael Fishbane and Alexander Rofé have therefore suggested that the linguistic parallel between Lev 17:11aα and 14aα and Deut 12:23, the strong emphasis on blood in vv. 20–28 as a whole, and the concern in these verses to impose new restrictions on local slaughter all suggest that Deut 12:20–28 were written as a response to Lev 17.119 In their view, Deut 12:20–28 repeat the 118 Rüterswörden, “Deuteronomium 12,20–28,” 221–22 and Otto, Deuteronomium 12– 34, 1163. To be sure, there is a reference to the making of sacrifices on the altar in Deut 27:4–8 in the command to erect an altar on Mount Gerizim (cf. Ebal in MT) and ‫והעלית עליו‬ ‫‘ עולת ליהוה אלהיך וזבחת שלמים ואכלת שם ושמחת לפני יהוה אלהיך‬offer up burnt offerings to Yhwh your god, and sacrifices of well-being, and eat them there and rejoice before Yhwh your god’ (Deut 27:6–7). Nevertheless, it is striking that Deut 27:4–8 do not contain any statement comparable to Deut 12:27 that would explicitly mention the need to dispose of blood on the altar. 119 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 523–24; Rofé, Introduction, 16–17; and Rofé, Deuteronomy, 8–9.

5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions

233

concession of extrasanctuary slaughter, found already in vv. 15–16, in order to clarify, in the face of H’s criticism, the reasons for allowing local butchery once the Israelites lived in the land, while also imposing new limits to the practice. However, Fishbane and Rofé’s interpretation is complicated by their insistence that all of Deut 12, and not just vv. 20–28, was written after Lev 17. This view makes it difficult to explain why, if the entire chapter was written after H, only vv. 20–28 of Deut 12 engage with Lev 17 and its emphasis on ritual blood disposal. It also leaves open the question of why Deut 12:20–28 place new restrictions on the concession of extrasanctuary slaughter in Deut 12:15–16 in the first place.120 A new solution, first proposed by Thomas Römer and developed in detail by Udo Rüterswörden, is that the seeming desire to limit the concession of local butchery in Deut 12:20–28 is best read as an attempt to steer a middle course between the untrammeled permission for local slaughter in Deut 12:13– 19 and the ban on the practice in Lev 17.121 This addition (vv. 20–28) would have been made at a very late stage in the composition of Deut 12, when scribes saw the need to respond to the critique in Lev 17 by limiting local butchery to certain pragmatic circumstances. Otto takes this idea further in his 2016 commentary, where he suggests that the literary parallels between Deut 12:20–28 and the laws of Lev 17 (especially H’s blood prohibition in vv. 10–14) reveal that both sets of material stem from the same redactional layer of the Pentateuch.122 In this case, the scribes who composed Lev 17 as a response to Deut 12:13–19 also directly modified the text of Deut 12 in order to introduce new restrictions for the practice of local butchery for life in the land (i.e., vv. 20– 28). Otto’s theory that Lev 17 and Deut 12:20–28 were penned by the same scribes seems difficult to sustain. It is hard to imagine that scribes who stated in Lev 17:7 that the ban on extrasanctuary slaughter is an eternal statute also crafted an addition to Deut 12 that deemed such slaughter permissible in certain circumstances.123 Perhaps in sensing this problem, Otto left open the possibility The entire argument is also couched in a more general argument that H as a whole predates D, hence Lev 17 is necessarily older than Deut 12. On the issues with this view, see §2.2.3. 121 Römer, “Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12,” 171 and Rüterswörden, “Deuteronomium 12,20–28”; see further Rückl “Deuteronomy 12:20–28” and Altmann, Festive Meals, 114–15. 122 Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34, 1163–65. 123 As mentioned above (§5.2.1.2), Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34, 1165 has tried to avoid this problem by arguing that the expression ‫ חקת עולם תהיה־זאת להם לדרתם‬in v. 7b refers only to the prohibition of whoring after ‫ שׂעירם‬and therefore leaves open the possibility that a later law would overturn the ban on local butchery in favor of a mediated position for life in the land. However, this view has been shown above to constitute a misreading of v. 7 and the role of the ‫ שׂעירם‬in explaining the need for a total ban on extrasanctuary slaughter, not 120

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that not all of Lev 17 was written in the same redactional layer as Deut 12:20– 28, but that only Lev 17:11 and 14 – the verses that share the strongest correspondences with Deut 12:20–28 – were added to Lev 17 at the time vv. 20–28 were added to Deut 12.124 However, it is difficult to extract these two verses from Lev 17 as late additions, given their critical importance to the structure of vv. 10–14; note, for instance, that removing v. 11 makes it impossible to explain why v. 12 repeats the blood prohibition of v. 10, because it leaves these two verses standing side by side. The more plausible scenario is that Deut 12:20–28 postdate Lev 17 and respond to its criticisms of local butchery, as Römer and Rüterswörden suggest. The unusual focus on blood in these verses supports the view that their author perceives a need to respond to H’s claim that extrasanctuary slaughter results in the mishandling of blood and must therefore be banned. By echoing Lev 17:11 and 14 in the wording of its blood prohibition, Deut 12:23 concedes that the link between blood and life is the ultimate rationale for the ban of the consumption of blood. At the same time, by both affirming H’s claim that there is a connection between blood and life and allowing local slaughter in limited circumstances, it employs H’s logic against it – that is, it qualifies H’s assertion that a total ban on local butchery is necessary by reminding the Israelites that the link between blood and life is not violated so long as blood is never consumed.125 Because the chief issue is to ensure that the Israelites abstain from ingesting the blood of their butchered animals, the practice of local slaughter can be permitted for those who live at a distance from the central place. A similar effort to echo Lev 17 might explain the insertion of the reference to the altar ritual in Deut 12:27. Here the author acknowledges the importance of the manipulation of blood on the altar, stressed by H (and the priestly traditions more generally), by including a reference to blood disporal in the case of sacrifices presented at the central place. In so doing, the author of Deut 12:20– 28 subtly asserts that there is no inherent contradiction between permitting extrasanctuary slaughter and affirming the supremacy of ritual manipulation of blood at the altar; the Israelites must still ensure that they contribute sacrifices to the central place even if, in select circumstances, they are permitted to butcher their livestock within their towns. The acknowledgement of the importance of the central altar in Deut 12:27 might therefore be a further attempt to assert that local butchery does not detract from the importance of blood disposal in the centralized cult and thus constitute an effort to counteract the totalizing critique of extrasanctuary slaughter in Lev 17:3–7. only in the wilderness period but in all future timeframes as well. There is no way, in H’s view, for the Israelites to avoid worshipping ‫ שׂעירם‬without permanently outlawing local butchery. 124 Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34, 1163–64. 125 Rofé, Introduction, 17.

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235

While this study affirms, with Römer and Rüterswörden, that Deut 12:20– 28 are appropriately read as a late addition to Deut 12:13–19 that draws on Lev 17 in shaping its prescriptions, it also suggests that these scholars might have underestimated the significance of their own argument: neither has explored the implications of reversing the dependence of Deut 12:20–28 and Lev 17 for the traditional idea that the latter text is a response to Deut 12. But, if it is accepted that Deut 12:20–28 postdate H, the argument for the dependence of Lev 17 on Deut 12 faces a significant challenge: it is Deut 12:23 that has traditionally provided the most important evidence of the linguistic dependence of Lev 17 on the language and concepts of D. In this case, the argument for H’s dependence on Deut 12 must rely exclusively on the evidence of linguistic overlaps and thematic congruence between Lev 17 and Deut 12:13–19. But here, I suggest, we encounter significant evidential weaknesses. First, the possible linguistic overlaps range in their persuasive power. The least convincing relates to the purported links between Lev 17:13 and Deut 12:16. These two verses share the verb ‫שׁפך‬, but the details of the rites of blood disposal differ: in Lev 17:13, the blood of game must be poured on the ground and also covered with earth; in Deut 12:16, the blood needs only to be poured on the ground “like water.” Furthermore, the terminology used for the game itself differs: Lev 17:13 refers to the killing of ‫‘ ציד‬game’ and ‫‘ עוף‬birds’, whereas Deut 12:15 speaks of ‫‘ צבי‬gazelle’ and ‫‘ איל‬deer’. There is little here to suggest strong linguistic correspondence. Perhaps more convincing is the alternation between ‫ שׁחט‬and ‫ זבח‬in Lev 17:3–7. As mentioned above, the verb ‫ זבח‬is significant in Deut 12:13–19 but generally absent from P texts. It is possible, then, that the presence of this verb in Lev 17:5–7 shows the influence of D on H’s thinking. However, given that the term is frequently employed outside Deut 12, especially in the Former and Latter Prophets, the possibility that H’s use of the term reflects the influence of traditions other than D cannot be ruled out; that is, we do not need to posit a connection with Deut 12 to explain the presence of this verb in Lev 17. To be sure, the topical connection between Lev 17 and Deut 12 concerning extrasanctuary slaughter arguably strengthens the case that H employs the term ‫ זבח‬because of its significance in D’s permission of local butchery. The switch from ‫ שׁחט‬to ‫ זבח‬in Lev 17:3–7 could thus signal, as Otto and Nihan propose, that H is motivated to “rehabilitat[e] the exclusively sacrificial connotation” of the verb ‫ זבח‬against D’s innovation.126 Yet, even if this is accepted, it could be asked whether the extent of borrowing from Deut 12:13–19 in Lev 17:3–7 is sufficient to prove that H’s primary aim is to offer a critical response to its Deuteronomic counterpart. The switch from ‫ שׁחט‬to ‫ זבח‬is very subtle in its critique of Deut 12:13–19, if indeed it can be definitively attributed to H’s engagement with D. It is difficult to explain 126

Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 411.

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why H does not include more direct references to the language of Deut 12:15– 16 in Lev 17:3–7 if the primary concern in these verses is to reject D’s permission of local butchery. This is all the more peculiar given that other passages of Lev 17–26 evince heavy borrowings from the language and phraseology of D when they articulate legal rulings that revise or update D laws. In the absence of evidence of lexical or syntactical equivalences between Lev 17 and Deut 12 other than the switch from ‫ שׁחט‬to ‫זבח‬, the positive evidence of H’s concern to respond to D in Lev 17:3–7 remains thin. A stronger case can be made for the argument that Lev 17:15–16 conflate the language of Deut 14:21 and Exod 22:30. Given that the combination of ‫ נבלה‬and ‫ טרפה‬in Lev 17:15 results in a somewhat overloaded description of the dead animal, the theory that H has merged the wording of the two nonpriestly laws is appealing. However, what this evidence says about H’s dependence on Deut 12 is debatable. It certainly corroborates the theory that H is characterized by a concern to coordinate the earlier laws of D and CC when formulating the laws of Lev 17–26. It also adds weight to the case that Lev 17 was written with the non-priestly legal traditions in mind. However, it adds no direct evidence of H’s dependence on Deut 12 specifically. Moreover, it cannot substantiate the claim that H’s borrowing from D in Lev 17:15–16 stems from a desire to build on D’s claims about the centralized cult. Instead, it seems to reveal H’s concern to prepare the groundwork for the redefinition of Israelite holiness in the chapters to follow (see §7.2.1). The argument that Lev 17 is a response to Deut 12 therefore appears to rest not so much on clear linguistic correspondences as on the topical similarity of the two chapters. Indeed, there does appear to be a strong case for viewing the shared legislative themes of the two chapters – local butchery, centralized sacrifice, and the blood prohibition – as more than coincidental. The observation of Blum, Otto, and Nihan that H’s decision to address local butchery (Lev 17:3–7) first and then the issue of centralized sacrifice (Lev 17:8–9) is an attempt to reverse the order of these issues in Deut 12:13–19 is intriguing. Possibly, then, H is motivated to address the issue of extrasanctuary slaughter at the head of Lev 17 in order to set the record straight: despite D’s claim to the contrary, all acts of slaughter are by definition sacrificial acts and therefore must be centralized. Yet, even if we accept the thematic correspondences between H and D as possible proof that Lev 17 seeks to overturn Deut 12:13–19, a key issue remains unresolved: do these correspondences show that, in addition to rejecting D’s permission of local butchery, H actively adopts D’s logic of centralization when making the case for centralized blood sacrifice? The core thematic preoccupation of Lev 17 suggests otherwise. As this chapter has demonstrated, H is focused in Lev 17 wholly on blood and the cultic requirements for its proper disposal; blood is core, then, to H’s centralizing logic. In addition, the verses that deal most directly with the centralization of sacrifice (vv. 8–9), as shown,

5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions

237

do not command the Israelites to bring all their offerings to the central shrine, but apply a more restricted focus on centralizing blood sacrifice. There is little evidence that this legislative interest in centralized blood disposal is taken over from D. Indeed, Deut 12 does not view centralization through the paradigmatic lens of blood. Rather, it articulates a notion of centralized sacrifice that incorporates both animal and nonanimal sacrifices. This can be seen in the four lists in Deut 12:6, 11b, 17, and 26 which itemize what must be brought to the chosen ‫( מקום‬see Table 5.4). In these verses, nonanimal sacrifices are represented in the mention of tithes (‫מעשׂר‬, vv. 6 and 11b), tithes of grain (‫מעשׂר דגן‬, v. 17), wine and oil (‫ תירשׁ‬and ‫יצהר‬, v. 17), more general “donations” (‫תרומה‬, vv. 6 and 17) and things that are consecrated (‫קדשׁיך אשׁר־יהיו לך‬, v. 26). None of the compositional strata that make up Deut 12 restrict centralized sacrifice to animal sacrifices alone. To the contrary, the essence of centralization in Deut 12 is that Yhwh will establish a single ‫ מקום‬in the land as the sole locus of all facets of Israelite worship. Table 5.3: Items to Be Brought to the ‫מקום‬: Deut 12:6, 11b, 17, 26 Deut 12:6 ‫והבאתם שׁמה עלתיכם‬ ‫וזבחיכם ואת‬ ‫מעשׂ רתיכם ואת‬ ‫תרומת ידכם ונדריכם‬ ‫ונדבתיכם ובכרת‬ ‫בקרכם וצאנכם‬ You shall bring there your burnt offerings, your sacrifices, your tithes, your donations, your votive gifts, your voluntary offerings, and the firstborn of your herds and flocks.

Deut 12:11b ‫שׁ מה תביאו את כל־‬ ‫אשׁ ר אנכי מצוה‬ ‫אתכם עולתיכם‬ ‫וזבחיכם מעשׂ רתיכם‬ ‫ותרמת ידכם וכל‬ ‫מבחר נדריכם אשׁ ר‬ ‫תדרו ליהוה‬ It is there that you shall bring all that I have commanded you: your burnt offerings, your sacrifices, your tithes, your voluntary offerings, and your choicest votive gifts that you shall vow to Yhwh.

Deut 12:17 ‫לא־תוכל לאכל‬ ‫בשׁ עריך מעשׂ ר דגנך‬ ‫ותירשׁ ך ויצהרך‬ ‫ובכרת בקרך וצא נך‬ ‫וכל־נדריך אשׁ ר תדר‬ ‫ונדבתיך ותרומת ידך‬ You may not eat in your towns the tithe of your grain, your wine, or your oil, the firstborn of your herds and your flocks, or your votive offerings that you vow, your voluntary offerings, or your donations.

Deut 12:26 ‫רק קדשׁ יך אשׁ ר־יהיו‬ ‫לך ונדריך תשׂ א ובאת‬ ‫אל־המקום א שׁ ר־יבחר‬ ‫יהוה‬

However, when you consecrate your things, and you bring your votive gifts, you shall come to the place that Yhwh will choose

Leviticus 17, by contrast, anchors its centralizing discourse on the properties of the blood of domestic animals. While H never explicitly permits the Israelites to present nonblood offerings to Yhwh at any other site, the purview of Lev 17 does not extend far enough to include offerings that do not involve blood disposal. This key conceptual difference suggests that H, although it knows Deut 12, develops its own argument in favor of centralization, one

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grounded in its ritualized claims about the significance of blood and its disposal upon Yhwh’s central altar. This does not necessarily conflict with the command of centralization found in D. But it is inappropriate to suggest that H derives its centralizing logic from the claims made in Deut 12. 5.3.2 Leviticus 17 and P We should therefore return to the question of what might have been the alternative influences shaping H’s approach to cultic centralization and distinctive interest in restricting blood disposal to Yhwh’s central shrine. In particular, we should examine how these concerns expand upon and develop earlier claims found in the P materials. I have already established that P advances a sophisticated discourse of centralization, in which little evidence of dependence on D can be detected. This priestly approach to centralization integrates a number of key dimensions: the importance of central sanctuary space in maintaining the relationship between Yhwh and a united Israel, the collective obligations of the Israelite community to sponsor and protect that central sanctuary, the standardized ritual processes to which the Israelites are obliged to conform, and the authoritative status of a centralized priesthood. In many senses, Lev 17 affirms these core elements of P’s discourse. It again directs the Israelites’ attention to the central sanctuary and its priestly officiants, reminds them of their communal obligations to contribute resources to the central shrine, and alerts them to the threats they will face if they fail to adhere to Yhwh’s ritual standard. This development of P in Lev 17 is especially clear in the echoes of Lev 16 within the chapter. As flagged above, a number of the terms and motifs in Lev 17, including the word ‫דם‬, the root ‫כפר‬, and phrase ‫ כפר על‬are particularly reminiscent of the ritual instructions in Lev 16. Even though, as argued, it seems unlikely that Lev 16 and 17 form a single unit within the book of Leviticus, it is clear that H looks to Lev 16 on the question of the role of blood as a purifying agent in the Israelite cult and positions its claims about centralized blood disposal in Lev 17 as the natural extension of the significance of blood in the former chapter.127 Leviticus 16:11–19 describe a series of blood rites performed by Aaron to ‫ כפר‬for himself and the priesthood (‫‘ ביתו‬his house’, v. 11), as well as for the

127 On the relationship between Lev 16 and 17, pace Erich Zenger, “Das Buch Levitikus als Teiltext der Tora/des Pentateuch. Eine synchrone Lektüre mit diachroner Perspektive,” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and Hans-Winfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Bodenheim: Philo, 1999), 65–67, 71–73; Erich Zenger and Christian Frevel, “Die Bücher Levitikus und Numeri als Teile der Pentateuchkomposition,” in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, ed. Thomas Römer, BETL 215 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 35–74; Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 126–86; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:557–639. See further §2.2.1.

5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions

239

inner sanctum (referred to in Lev 16 as ‫ )קדשׁ‬and the altar.128 As argued in §4.3.1.1, these rites are the most dangerous and the most significant of all Aaron’s ritual responsibilities. He must risk death (vv. 2, 13) to apply blood upon and before the ‫ כפרת‬and thereby purge the inner sanctum of the Israelites’ ritual impurities (‫טמאת‬, 16:16, 19), transgressions (‫פשׁעים‬, 16:16), and sins (‫חטאת‬, 16:16). In so doing, he ensures that the tent of meeting can continue to dwell (‫ )שׁכן‬with the Israelites “in the midst of their impurities” (v. 19). The ceremony described in Lev 16 can therefore be understood as the “climax” (Höhepunkt) of the ritual legislation of Lev 1–15.129 It provides the permanent means by which the “controlled environment” of the sanctuary may be preserved, such that the deity may continue to reside among the Israelites.130 Leviticus 16 also provides the clearest articulation in P of the link between blood manipulation and the exclusive ritual agency of Aaron. As high priest, he is the only figure who may enter the inner sanctum to perform blood rites; he is thus clearly distinguished from the rest of the priesthood and the community writ large.131 The centrality and mutual interdependence of the office of the high priest and the ritual procedures of blood manipulation are thereby reinforced: Aaron is affirmed as the community’s central ritual agent because he alone can manipulate blood within the inner sanctum and purify it, and blood is indexed as a “singularly important cultic material, and its manipulation as a singularly important cultic act” because it is the only substance that the high priest applies to the ‫ כפרת‬when he enters the inner sanctum.132 Leviticus 17 maintains a comparable focus on the ritual potency of blood, such that it serves as a sophisticated supplement to Lev 16. While Lev 16 crystalizes the role of blood as a purifying agent, Lev 17:11 provides an overarching explanation as to what blood, acting as a ransom, achieves for the life of the individual offerer. In addition, while Lev 16 emphasizes the link between blood manipulation and the ritual agency of Aaron within the inner sanctuary, Lev 17 stresses the obligation of all Israel to ensure that they never mishandle blood in matters of slaughter, sacrifice, or meat consumption. Together, then, Lev 16 and 17 form a powerful meditation on the importance of blood disposal, as well as on priestly agency in its ritualized disposal, for the centralized cult. Each affirms that the restriction of the ritual manipulation of blood to the central sanctuary and its priesthood is essential in the eyes of the deity. They 128 On the reference to the inner sanctum as ‫ הקדשׁ‬in Lev 16 (cf. ‫ מקדשׁ הקדשׁ‬in 16:33), see the discussion in Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 383; Elliger, Leviticus, 203–5; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1063; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 369. 129 Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 142. See also Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 380. 130 Drawing here from the terminology of Jonathan Z. Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 63. See also Gilders, Blood Ritual, 140; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 380. 131 Gilders, Blood Ritual, 139–41. 132 Gilders, Blood Ritual, 140.

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provide dramatic illustrations of the benefits of blood manipulation for the Israelite community – its roles in maintaining the shrine and guarding it against pollution in Lev 16, and its ability to ransom the lives of the Israelites in Lev 17 – while also stressing the dangers of its misuse. However, Lev 17 moves beyond Lev 16 to spell out much more clearly the implications of ritualized blood disposal for the conduct of the Israelites in everyday life. Here the focus is no longer on the ritual actions of the high priest at the central shrine in times of ritual emergency (or on the day of purification, according to Lev 16:29–34a) but on the communal obligations of the Israelites to ensure that the blood of sacrificial animals is never disposed of away from the central sanctuary or in a manner that bypasses Yhwh’s prescribed ritual process or centralized priesthood. In addition, by introducing harsh sanctions for noncompliance, whereby the offending individual is cut off from the community, H positions centralized blood disposal as essential to maintaining the communal integrity of the Israelites before their patron god, Yhwh. Leviticus 17 thus extends the ideas of Lev 16 concerning the pivotal importance of blood disposal in the centralized cult to normalize the monopoly of the central shrine in all matters pertaining to the slaughter and sacrifice of livestock. Beyond developing P’s interest in centralized blood disposal, there is a further, significant way in which Lev 17 builds on and extends Lev 16 in arguing for centralization: invoking peripheral beings – the ‫ – שׂעירם‬in justifying the prohibition of local butchery. It has already been suggested above that the mention of the open field and ‫ שׂעירם‬in 17:5–7 is a sophisticated literary way to forge a spatial contrast between the central shrine and the forces of chaos. Although it has attracted very little attention from scholars in the past, this contrast strongly echoes the ritual materials of Lev 16. Alongside the ritual for purging the sanctuary in Lev 16, P prescribes a peculiar rite through which Aaron rids the Israelites of their wrongs (‫)עונת‬, transgressions (‫)פשׁעים‬, and sins (‫)חטאת‬. In Lev 16:7–10, Aaron is instructed to take two goats from the congregation and bring them before Yhwh at the entrance of the tent of meeting. Lots are to be cast over them, ‫‘ גורל אחד ליהוה וגורל אחד לעזאזל‬one lot for Yhwh and one lot for Azazel’. Yhwh’s goat is then to be offered as a ‫ חטאת‬and its blood applied, along with that of a bull, to the ‫( כפרת‬v. 15) and to the four horns of the altar (v. 18). The other goat is to be presented by Aaron before Yhwh; he is to ‫ כפר‬over it (‫ )לכפר עליו‬and then send it ‫‘ לעזאזל המדברה‬to Azazel, to the wilderness’. Then, according to vv. 20–22, Aaron must lay his hands on the head of the goat and then confess the wrongs, transgressions, and sins of the community on the goat for Azazel in an act of transference before releasing it into a ‫‘ ארץ גזרה‬cut-off region’.133

133 On the nature of this rite as an act of transference, see René Péter-Contesse, “L’imposition des mains dans l’Ancien Testament,” VT 27, no. 1 (1977): 54–55; Janowski, Sühne,

5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions

241

The meaning of the term ‫ עזאזל‬and its significance for the rite in Lev 16:7– 10, 20–22 has been the subject of intense scrutiny. While it is sometimes suggested that ‫ עזאזל‬refers to the region to which the goat must be sent, or to the goat itself, most scholars agree that the term designates some kind of demonic being that inhabits deserted regions.134 The sending of a goat to Azazel is therefore appropriately understood as a rite of elimination through which the Israelites’ impurities are sent back to their imagined point of origin.135 By transferring the community’s wrongdoings to the goat for Azazel and sending the animal into the wilderness, Aaron effects atonement for the Israelites’ offenses 209–11; Gorman, Ideology, 96; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 352; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:587. 134 For the region to which the goat is sent, see Godfrey R. Driver, “Three Technical Terms in the Pentateuch,” JSS 1, no. 2 (1956): 97–98; Porter, Leviticus, 127; August Strobel, “Das jerusalemische Sündenbock-Ritual. Topographische und landeskundliche Erwägungen zur Überlieferungsgeschichte von Lev. 16,10.21f,” ZDPV 103 (1987): 141–68; and Wenham, Book of Leviticus, 235. For the goat itself, see Norman H. Snaith, Leviticus and Numbers (London: Thomas Nelson, 1967), 112–13 and Mary Douglas, “The Go-Away Goat,” in The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Reception, ed. Rolf Rendtorff and Robert A. Kugler, VTSup 93 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 121–41. The interpretation of ‫ עזאזל‬as a demonic being is supported, first, by the wording of Lev 16:8b, which consists of two parallel clauses that contrast Azazel with Yhwh (‫ )גורל אחד ליהוה וגורל אחד לעזאזל‬and strongly suggest that Azazel is an entity in some way comparable to Yhwh, as opposed to a place or the second goat. Second, Azazel’s association in v. 10 with the ‫מדבר‬, and in v. 22 with a cut-off region suggests that this figure constitutes a peripheral being, associated with antisocial spaces and forces; on this, see further Frey-Anthes, Unheilsmächte, 240–41 and Frey-Anthes, “Concepts,” 48. Third, other Second Temple texts clearly describe this figure as a demon: 1 Enoch lists Azazel among the fallen angels, and the Apocalypse of Abraham mentions this figure as the leader of the demons; see 1 En. 8:1; 9:6; 10:4–8; 13:1; 54:5–6; 55:4; 69:2; Apoc. Ab. 13:6–14; 14:4–6; 20:5–7; 22:5; 23:11; 29:6–7; 31:5. On these texts, see Lester L. Grabbe, “The Scapegoat Tradition: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation,” JSJ 18 (1987): 153–58. Lastly, while the etymology of the term ‫ עזאזל‬is far from clear, it is possibly the result of a consonantal metathesis of ‫ עזז‬and ‫‘ אל‬fierce god’, as argued by, e.g., Hayim Tawil, “ʿAzazel, The Prince of the Steppe: A Comparative Study,” ZAW 92, no. 1 (1980): 58–59; Wright, Disposal, 21–22; Gorman, Ideology, 99; Bernd Janowski, “Azazel,” DDD, 128; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 352–53. This finds support in the SP, which reads in 16:10 ‫ עזזאל‬as opposed to ‫( עזאזל‬although SP agrees with MT in the other occurrences of the term). The form ‫ עזזאל‬is also preserved in 11Q19 26:13 and 4Q180 1:8, which could indicate that this figure was originally considered a divine being but was downgraded by later scribes to a demon ( ‫ )עזאזל‬out of reverence to Yhwh. For a general discussion of Azazel’s character as a demon, see further Kaufmann, Religion, 114–15; Talmon, “‘Desert Motif’,” 44; Tawil, “ʿAzazel,” 58–59; Janowski, Sühne, 268 n. 447; Wright, Disposal, 21–30; Gorman, Ideology, 97–98; René Péter-Contesse, Lévitique 1–16 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1993), 253; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1020–21; Philip Peter Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World, JSOTSup 106 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 202; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 351–53. 135 Gane, Cult, 261–65.

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by removing them to “the realm of chaos” – to Azazel, the demon of the wilderness.136 The significance of this act is enhanced by the spatial contrast between the fate of the two goats: while the goat for Azazel is expelled to the wilderness, Yhwh’s goat is offered as a ‫ חטאת‬and its blood brought into the holiest part of the sanctuary, where it purges this space of the Israelites’ offenses. As argued especially by Frank Gorman, Philip Jenson, and Benedikt Jürgens, the rite of the two goats engages the “two extreme poles” of chaotic and sacred space: the demonic force of the wilderness and the ‫ כפרת‬at the heart of Yhwh’s sanctuary.137 The spatial divisions that underpin the sacrificial system of Lev 1–15 as a whole are thus thrown into relief in Lev 16: the sanctuary of Yhwh is the epicenter of cultic order and social cohesion, while the wilderness associated with Azazel is a spatial extreme, a peripheral zone of disorder, social deterioration, chaos, and death. Crucially, in the law of Lev 17:3–7, H seems to build a similar opposition to that observed in Lev 16, an opposition between a realm of chaos associated with peripheral beings and the sociocultic order of the central sanctuary. What is more, there are a number of precise correspondences between H’s references to the wild goats in Lev 17:5–7 and P’s description of Azazel in Lev 16. Both the ‫ שׂעירם‬and Azazel occur with the preposition ‫ ל‬and in contrast with Yhwh (Lev 16:8–10; 17:5, 7). They are beings that receive something similar to but not identical with what is given ‫ליהוה‬: in Lev 16, Azazel receives one of two goats presented before Yhwh by Aaron, although Yhwh’s goat is offered as a ‫ חטאת‬while Azazel’s one is presented alive.138 In Lev 17:5–7, the Israelites are said to have given ‫‘ זבחיהם‬their sacrifices’ to the ‫ שׂעירם‬instead of offering ‫ זבחי שׁלמים‬to Yhwh. In addition, a particularly curious overlap concerns the term ‫ שׂעירם‬itself. While H employs this term in Lev 17:7 to refer to wild goats, the same term is used in Lev 16:5, 7–8 to refer to the two goats that are to be given to Yhwh and Azazel. It is difficult to know what to make of this parallel Gorman, Ideology, 99. Jenson, Graded Holiness, 202. See further Gorman, Ideology, 80–81; Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 81; Richard Whitekettle, “Leviticus 15:18 Reconsidered: Chiasm, Spatial Structure and the Body,” JSOT 16, no. 49 (1991): 40–41; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 374; Frey-Anthes, “Concepts,” 47–48; Michael B. Hundley, Keeping Heaven on Earth: Safeguarding the Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle, FAT 2/50 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 169. 138 It is interesting, however, that Lev 16:5 describes both goats as being ‫‘ לחטאת‬for a sin offering’. This does not mean that the goat offered to Azazel is to be killed and offered as a sacrifice, because it would be impossible for the goat for Azazel to be sent into the wilderness if it has already been slain. Moreover, the goat for Azazel is specifically called ‫‘ השׂעיר החי‬the live goat’ in v. 21, in contrast to the one that had been killed for Yhwh as a ‫חטאת‬. The claim in v. 5 that both goats are ‫ לחטאת‬may therefore reflect their mutual association with effecting ‫ כפר‬and purifying the sanctuary and the community respectively; for this reading, see, e.g., Gorman, Ideology, 97; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1018; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 359. 136 137

5.3 Situating Lev 17 among the Pentateuchal Traditions

243

because the two goats involved in the rite of Lev 16 are clearly domestic goats as opposed to wild creatures associated with desert regions. All the same, it is intriguing that Lev 16:5, 7, 8, and 17:7 constitute the only occurrences of the plural form ‫ שׂעירם‬in the whole of Leviticus and four of only nine occurrences of the plural ‫ שׂעירם‬in the Hebrew Bible (Num 7:87; Deut 32:2; Isa 13:21; 2 Chr 11:15; 29:23). Moreover, while the ‫ שׂעירם‬in Lev 16 may not constitute inherently peripheral or threatening creatures, they are certainly involved in a rite that deals with impure and chaotic forces. Not only is one of the goats to be sent to the wilderness to Azazel, but it must also “bear” (‫ )נשׂא‬the offenses of the people away from civilization into this inaccessible region. It therefore comes to embody “[t]he sins of the nation, understood as the chief cause of chaos.”139 The correspondences between Lev 16 and Lev 17 in relation to Azazel and the ‫שׂעירם‬, it must be said, are not complete. Although Azazel and the ‫שׂעירם‬ may be contrasted with Yhwh in syntactically parallel clauses, the two creatures are unlikely to be identical; Azazel is probably not a goat and the ‫שׂעירם‬ are not necessarily demonic.140 There are also differences in what is given to Azazel and to the ‫שׂעירם‬, as well as in the legitimacy of this act of giving: while the ‫ שׂעירם‬are explicitly said in Lev 17:7 to receive sacrifices from the Israelites, who “whore after them,” Azazel does not receive a sacrifice in the rite of riddance described in Lev 16. The goat for Azazel is instead sent alive into the wilderness by “someone designated for the task” (v. 21). Meanwhile, the sending of the goat for Azazel in Lev 16 forms part of an elaborate ritual in which Aaron is commanded to expel the community’s offenses into the wilderness via the two goats. In Lev 17, on the other hand, there is no legitimate way in which the Israelites or the priesthood might ever engage with the ‫שׂעירם‬. These creatures are mentioned only in the context of prohibited action; namely, the slaughter of animals away from the sanctuary. However, these differences in the depiction of Azazel in Lev 16 and the ‫ שׂעירם‬in Lev 17 do not weaken the argument that H appears to be intentionally echoing the spatial dynamics of this earlier P text when it describes the dangers of local butchery. The strength of the similarities between the depictions of Azazel and the ‫שׂעירם‬, and their associations with chaotic, noncultic space suggest that H is again developing the core ideas and oppositions of Lev 16 in order to enhance its case for the centralization of animal slaughter. The echoes with Lev 16 in Lev 17:5–7 add layer of context to H’s claims about the danger of local butchery. They subtly position extrasanctuary slaughter as threatening Gorman, Ideology, 99. It has sometimes been suggested that Azazel was a goat or satyr; see e.g., Levine, Leviticus, 102, 251 and Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1021. This suggestion is based not only on the mention of the ‫ שׂעירם‬in Lev 17:7 but also the idea that ‫ עזאזל‬is derived from ‫ עז‬and ‫‘ אל‬mighty goat’. However, this seems less likely than the reconstructed etymology mentioned above (§5.2.3), given the evidence of SP, the Temple Scroll, and 4Q180. 139 140

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the very sociocultic order that, in Lev 16, Aaron’s ritual actions have been committed to preserving: while Aaron maintains the strict separation of chaotic and sacred space when he follows Yhwh’s ritual instructions in Lev 16, Lev 17 accuses the Israelites of flouting that order when they fail to bring their animals to the sanctuary for ritual treatment. In this case, H might use the specific term ‫ שׂעירם‬in Lev 17:7 because it reinforces this impression that the Israelites engage with the forces of chaos, impurity, and death associated with the rites of Lev 16 whenever they butcher their animals away from the central shrine. These resonances with Lev 16 in Lev 17 reveal H’s strategy of couching its discourse of centralization in the language and propositions of the earlier P materials and, in so doing, making its discourse appear as the natural extension of P’s own claims about the nature of the Israelite community, the space it inhabits, and the role of the Aaronide priesthood in maintaining the cult. Leviticus 17 continues P’s focus on the special properties of blood and the resultant need to dispose of it with care, while it also develops P’s concern, most clearly articulated in Lev 16, with the void between cultic center and chaotic periphery. It thereby presents centralized slaughter and sacrifice as essential to maintaining the sociocultic order so carefully established, maintained, and restored in the P account. The introduction of harsh new sanctions for those who deny the central shrine’s exclusive claim to dispose of the blood of the Israelites’ livestock therefore appears entirely justified. Furthermore, the echoes of Lev 16 in Lev 17 do more than simply repeat P’s logic of centralization; they also facilitate a notable innovation on H’s part. By banning local butchery, H arguably develops a more expansive logic of centralization than that which is found in the P ritual materials, in that it articulates far more explicitly than P the critical link between the bringing of all livestock to the sanctuary and the maintenance of Yhwh’s centralized cult. The P materials, as explained above (introduction to chapter 4 at p. 112), do not contain an altar law that explicitly restricts animal sacrifice to the central shrine. P simply frames its ritual laws on the understanding that all sacrifices will be focused on a single sanctuary. Hence, with the prohibitions of Lev 17, H goes further than the earlier P materials in that it gives an explicit command that the Israelites defer to the central shrine in all matters pertaining to animal sacrifice; moreover, it threatens them with harsh sanctions if they do not conform. A more complex issue is whether Lev 17 might also offer a subtle critique of P on the question of local butchery. P does not contain a law that requires the Israelites to restrict their butchery practices to the central shrine. In the laws that concern ‫ זבח שׁלמים‬in Lev 3 and 7:11–36, P does not state whether the Israelites must offer a well-being sacrifice every time they slaughter livestock, or only when they desire to present such a sacrifice to the god. There is thus a degree of ambiguity about whether the cultic slaughter of livestock is voluntary or mandated. Further, Gen 9:3–6 hints that P might have allowed local butchery

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245

in select circumstances.141 Here, P provides the first permission to eat animals, which is given to all humanity following the flood.142 The deity stresses that Traditionally, scholars have further argued that two sets of verses in Lev 3 and 7:2– 27 – namely, Lev 3:17 and 7:22–27 – also demonstrate that P permits local slaughter. Because these verses prohibit the consumption of the blood and fat of the well-being offering ‫‘ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬in all your settlements’ (3:17b; 7:26b), they were long considered evidence that P takes a localized approach to the consumption of meat; see, e.g., Kuenen, HistoricoCritical Inquiry, 90 n. 28 and Wellhausen, Die Composition, 151. However, this argument has always been complicated by the widespread recognition that these verses are secondary additions to their respective contexts. On Lev 3:17, see Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 308, 20; Noth, Leviticus, 26; Elliger, Leviticus, 51; Hartley, Leviticus, 4; and Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 48–49. On Lev 7:22–27, see Samuel Driver, An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament, 9th ed., International Theological Library (New York, NY: Meridan, 1956), 44; Bertholet, Leviticus, 18–19; Noth, Leviticus, 64–65; Elliger, Leviticus, 90–93, 101; Hartley, Leviticus, 95; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 261. In addition, both texts show clear dependence on the H materials (on this, see further §6.2.2). The fact that these texts postdate P therefore suggests that their relevance to the debate concerning P and local butchery is limited. But, more fundamentally, there is little evidence that either Lev 3:17 or 7:22–27 was intended to permit local butchery. These verses do not address the location of slaughter; they focus instead on the prohibition on consuming blood (and also fat in the case of Lev 7) and on asserting the normativity of that prohibition within the entire community. For a similar argument, see Schwartz, “‘Profane’ Slaughter,” 26–32. 142 Bill T. Arnold, “The Holiness Redaction of the Flood Narrative (Gen 6:9–9:29),” in Windows to the Ancient World of the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honor of Samuel Greengus, ed. Bill T. Arnold, Nancy L. Erickson, and John H. Walton (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 28–30 argues that Gen 9:1–7 do not belong to Pg, but are rather the work of HS. Arnold admits that Gen 9:1–7 contain few hallmark HS phrases (although note the parallel between Gen 9:3–6 and Lev 17) or clear signs that they constitute an addition to the Pg flood story. He assigns Gen 9:1–7 to HS because they refer directly to Gen 1:1–2:4a, a text that he argues is HS in its entirety; see Arnold, Genesis, NCBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 12–18; Arnold, “Genesis 1 as Holiness Preamble,” in Let Us Go Up to Zion: Essays in Honour of H. G. M. Williamson on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. Iain Provan and Mark Boda, VTSup 153 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 331–43. Arnold is not alone in arguing that on Gen 1:1–2:4a are HS materials. A similar argument was also made by Yairah Amit, “Creation and the Calendar of Holiness,” in In Praise of Editing in the Hebrew Bible: Collected Essays in Retrospect, trans. Betty Sigler Rozen, Hebrew Bible Monographs 39 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2012) 3–23; Edwin Firmage, “Genesis 1 and the Priestly Agenda,” JSOT 82 (1999): 97–114; Milgrom, “HR in Leviticus,” 33–34. Yet, the idea that Gen 1:1–2:4a are HS cannot be sustained. This idea is based on limited linguistic evidence of dependence on Lev 17–26, and arguably rests too heavily on thematic correspondences between the creation account and H (for instance, their shared interest in seventh-day cessation). On the methodological limitations of such an approach to determining H materials outside Lev 17–26, see Jeffrey Stackert, “Holiness Code and Writings,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Law, ed. Brent Strawn (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2015), 389–96. Moreover, the ramifications of removing Gen 1:1–2:4a in their entirety from Pg militate against the idea that these are H materials. (On the possibility that they nonetheless contain select secondary materials, see §7.1.1.) Beyond the difficulties of locating an 141

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there is a fundamental difference between the killing of human beings, which imputes bloodguilt, and the taking of animal life, which is permissible so long as the blood is never consumed. Gen 9:3–6 ‫ אך־בשׂ ר בנפשׁ ו דמו לא‬4 ‫ כל־רמ שׂ א שׁ ר הוא ־חי לכם יהיה לאכלה כירק עשׂ ב נתתי לכם את ־כל‬3 ‫ ואך את ־דמכם לנפשׁ תיכם אדרשׁ מיד כל־חיה אדרשׁ נו ומיד האדם מיד אישׁ אחיו אדרשׁ את ־‬5 ‫תאכלו‬ ‫ שׁ פך דם האדם באדם דמו ישׁ פך כי בצלם אלהים עשׂ ה את־האדם‬6 ‫נפשׁ האדם‬ 3 Every creeping thing that lives shall be for you to eat; just as [I gave you] the green plants, I give you everything. 4 Only, you shall not eat flesh with its life, its blood. 5 And for your lifeblood I will require a reckoning; from all animals I will require it and from all human beings; from each one for his fellows I will require a reckoning for human life. 6 He who sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed. For in the image of god he made man.

This divine oracle cannot be understood to actively permit extrasanctuary slaughter because that category is not yet operational; the oracle relates to a narrative context which predates the creation of the sanctuary cult, a time when all slaughter is by definition noncultic.143 However, since P does not contain a law that revises this general permission for local slaughter once the sanctuary has been established, it remains ambiguous whether the stipulation of Gen 9:3– 6 remains operational in later time periods as well. Further evidence of the ambiguity in P concerning local butchery is the account of the first Passover in Egypt in Exod 12:1–13.144 When instructing the alternative beginning for Pg, it requires that all allusions to the creation account found elsewhere in Pg also be removed as secondary; for instance, the multiple variations of the formula “be fruitful and multiply” (Gen 8:17; 9:1, 7; cf. Gen 1:22, 28) and the statement “in the image of God he made humanity” (Gen 9:6) in the flood account. Of course, Arnold attempts to solve this problem by arguing that all of these passages also constitute HS materials. But here the argument becomes circular, because the ascription of these passages to HS is not based on strong literary-critical evidence of their secondary nature or clear linguistic dependence on Lev 17–26, but on their connection to Gen 1:1–2:4a. Following this line of argumentation to its logical conclusion, therefore, it seems preferable to avoid assigning Gen 9:1–7 to HS and to favor the traditional view that they belong to P. 143 Blum, Studien, 336 n. 10; Schwartz, “‘Profane’ Slaughter,” 27; and Paavo N. Tucker, The Holiness Composition in the Book of Exodus, FAT 2/98 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 61. 144 The ascription of Exod 12:1–13 to P is widely accepted, although scholars generally agree that they underwent a process of editorial expansion, which might be signaled by the alternation between second and third person forms of address; see further, e.g., Rolf Rendtorff, Die Gesetze in der Priesterschrift (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1954), 57–59; Peter Laaf, Die Pascha-Feier Israels. Eine literarkritische und überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studie, BBB 36 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1970), 10–12; Eckart Otto, “pāsaḥ; pesaḥ,” TDOT 12:1–24 (17–18); Matthias Köckert, “Leben in Gottes Gegenwart: Zum Verständnis des Gesetzes in der priesterschriftlichen Literatur,” Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 4 (1989): 72–75; Shimon Bar-On (Gesundheit), “Zur literarkritischen Analyse von Ex 12,21–

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247

Israelites how their firstborn sons might survive the Passover, Yhwh commands them to take ‫‘ שׂה לבית‬one lamb per house’ on the tenth of the month, to guard the lamb for four days, and then to slaughter (‫ )שׁחט‬it on the fourteenth day of the month. The slaughter of the Passover lamb is thus to take place within individual houses. However, the value of Exod 12:1–13 for determining P’s wider approach to extrasanctuary slaughter again remains ambiguous on account of its narrative setting. First, it is unclear whether or not the domestic location of the first Passover slaughter was intended to set a precedent for celebrations of the Passover at a future time. Because the Israelites are located in Egypt in Exod 12:1–13, without a functioning Yahwistic sanctuary, where else other than their individual homes could they have conducted this slaughter? Furthermore, although Exod 12:1–13 hint that P may have intended the instructions provided here to offer some guidelines for future celebrations of the Passover – for example, the provision of the date of the Passover in vv. 3 and 6, as well as the detailed instructions for the manner in which the lamb is to be prepared (vv. 8–9) and eaten on the same night as it is slaughtered (vv. 10–11) – it is noteworthy that the text is silent on whether the location of the slaughter must remain that of 27,” ZAW 107, no. 1 (1995): 19–22; Shimon Gesundheit, Three Times a Year: Studies on Festival Legislation in the Pentateuch, FAT 1/82 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 46–58; Jan Christian Gertz, Tradition und Redaktion in der Exoduserzählung. Untersuchungen zur Endredaktion des Pentateuch, FRLANT 186 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 31–37; and Rainer Albertz, Exodus 1–18, ZBK 2/1 (Zürich: TVZ, 2012), 199. For a dissenting view, see Jan Wagenaar, Origin and Transformation of the Ancient Israelite Festival Calendar, BZABR 6 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 91–93. On Exod 12:14–20, which are generally acknowledged as an H-like addition to the earlier materials in 12:1–13, see §6.2. Gesundheit, Three Times, 58–73 has suggested that 12:21–27 should be regarded as the original continuation of the P materials in Exod 12:1–11 (he regards vv. 12–13 as later additions) and thus also included in P. However, this theory raises a number of interpretive difficulties. While Exod 12:1–13 presuppose that Yhwh spoke to Moses and Aaron and commanded them to report the instructions for the Passover to the community, Exod 12:21–27 presuppose a different speech context, with Moses alone instructing the elders of Israel how to perform the required rites; see further Gertz, Tradition, 31. In addition, Exod 12:21–27 present certain ideas about Passover which conflict with the P materials in Exod 12:1–13. For example, while v. 12 states that Yhwh will pass over the Israelite homes with no reference to the ‫‘ משׁחית‬destroyer’, the ‫ משׁחית‬plays an integral role in vv. 21–27. In addition, the reference to the Passover lamb in v. 27a as a sacrifice ( ‫ )זבח‬has no precedent in the P account, which instead refers to the Passover as an act of slaughter ( ‫)שׁחט‬. As neatly summarized by Jaeyoung Jeon, The Call of Moses and the Exodus Story: A Redactional-Critical Study in Exodus 3–4 and 5–13, FAT 2/60 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 163, “P’s intention here is obvious: the Passover rite was assigned to each household – probably because there was no sanctuary at the time; but as lay people may not perform a sacrifice proper, the rite must therefore differ from a temple sacrifice. The redactor of the present passage (vv. 24–27a) clearly goes against this priestly tendency.” As a result, it seems justified to limit the P Passover account to Exod 12:1–13.

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individual houses in all future scenarios. It therefore remains unclear whether the domestic nature of the first Passover is simply a byproduct of the narrative context of Exod 12 or a programmatic statement on the domestic nature of the Passover for subsequent generations. Second, Exod 12:1–13 do not constitute clear proof that P legitimized the butchery of animals away from the sanctuary on occasions during the year other than the Passover. This passage offers no comment on the matter of where the Israelites should slaughter their animals for food in an everyday setting. Hence, it is difficult to know whether P considered the domestic slaughter of Passover to be a feature unique to this festival, or whether it condoned a localized approach to slaughter more generally. This reduces our capacity to decide on the basis this text whether P considered local butchery to be permissible. What is clear is that H fills this silence by explicitly stating in Lev 17:3–7 that local butchery is illegitimate. Every act of slaughter is positioned by H as an offering of well-being, and thus as an act which must be centralized. Although this is an innovation, it is significant that Lev 17 draws on P’s own language concerning the central significance of blood in order to position its prohibition as a necessary progression of earlier tradition. The heavy referencing of language from Lev 16 in Lev 17 presents extrasanctuary slaughter as fundamentally incompatible with the centralized cultic order promoted by P, and thus as needing to be permanently outlawed. Beyond this, H draws on the language of Gen 9:3–6 specifically when arguing the case that local butchery can never be permitted. As discussed above, the rationale for the blood prohibition in Lev 17:11aα and 14aα draws on Gen 9:4 and its claim that blood is the seat of life and must therefore never be consumed. However, in a major development of Gen 9:4, H now uses this claim to assert why blood must be disposed of upon the central altar if it is to effect ‫ כפר‬for the life of the one who slaughtered the animal. In so doing, H develops P’s claims concerning the link between blood and life in order to fashion a new explanation for why the Israelites are forbidden to slaughter their animals away from the sanctuary and must instead bring them to the priest, who can dispose of the blood on their behalf. In addition to building on the blood prohibition of Gen 9:4 in Lev 17:11aα and 14aα, H’s explanation of the consequences of local butchery also contains traces of the wording of Gen 9:3–6. H’s claim in Lev 17:3–4 that the shedding of blood imputes bloodguilt (‫ )דם יחשׁב‬to the offender echoes Gen 9:5–6, where similar language is used to describe the effects of homicide (although using slightly different terminology from that in Lev 17:3–4: ‫ואך את־דמכם לנפשׁתיכם‬ ‫)אדרשׁ‬. By referring to local butchery as an activity that imputes bloodguilt, H effectively eliminates the critical distinction in Gen 9 between the killing of humans and animals: as H sees it, killing animals away from the sanctuary is a

5.4 Discourse and Practice

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comparable crime to the killing of human beings.145 This is a radical conception on H’s part. It effectively restores a way of life for the Israelites that is much closer to the vegetarian ideal of the pre-flood era, because they must now mitigate the effects of violence by offering the animal back to the deity as a ‫שׁלמים‬ sacrifice (17:5–6). By bringing domestic animals to the central altar, where their blood may be offered back to Yhwh and thereby compensate for the life of the offerer, the community can avoid incurring bloodguilt on account of the taking of animal life.146 Hence, it seems that Lev 17 not only affirms the discourse of centralization articulated by P, but it also charts new discursive and legislative pathways with the aid of P’s own language. For the first time in the priestly traditions, the obligations of the Israelite community to defer to the central sanctuary are explicitly widened to include animal slaughter and sacrifice. With this intensified cultic requirement, the role of the central priesthood is also enhanced, in that the scope of sacrificial practices over which they have a monopoly is extended. Moreover, H introduces into the priestly ritual legislation the first explicit sanctions for behaviors that violate its norm of centralizing both animal sacrifice and slaughter at the sanctuary. H’s enhanced discourse, which combines heightened cultic expectations about the butchery of animals at the sanctuary with dire penalties for those who neglect or violate these obligations, has the effect of directing the attention of the Israelite community to the cultic center in a new and more demanding manner. Deferring to the sanctuary in all matters relating to the killing of animals is positioned by H as a matter of paradigmatic significance in the centralized cult.

5.4 Discourse and Practice All of this, it must be stressed, relates to H’s discourse of centralization and its relationship to other pentateuchal traditions. The difficult question remains: how might the scribes responsible for H have expected the centralizing discourse of Lev 17 to influence cultic behavior in ancient Israel? As already noted, H’s legislative mandates are set within the imaginary spaces of the Sinai narrative developed by P: the Israelite camp and the wilderness sanctuary, to which the Israelites are obliged to defer. This narrative setting notwithstanding, it seems clear that H expects that the laws it articulates in Lev 17 will apply not only to this imaginary past but also to future time periods. Not only is its 145 As argued, e.g., by Henning Reventlow, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz formgeschichtlich untersucht, WMANT 6 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1961), 42; Schwartz, “‘Profane’ Slaughter,” 21–22; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 412. 146 The ‫גרים‬, by contrast, may continue to abide by the norm laid out in Gen 9:3–6: they may slaughter their animals in noncultic contexts, as long as the blood is never consumed.

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ban on local butchery described as an “eternal statute throughout your generations” (Lev 17:7a), but the strength of its sanctions also conveys the laws’ normativity. Hence, we need to turn now to consider what might have been H’s aspirations in Lev 17 to shape the actual practices of sacrifice and butchery in ancient Israel, and how its discourse of centralization in the foundational past might have related to the sociocultic structures and ritual practices in the Persian period. 5.4.1 The Issue of Practicability This question confronts us immediately with the issue that has dominated so much of past scholarship: the practicability of H’s mandate of centralized slaughter once the Israelite community were no longer living in the (imaginary) context of the wilderness camp but settled in the land of Israel or living in the diaspora. Scholars offer various solutions to this conundrum. One response is to argue that the heavy referencing in Lev 17 of P’s wilderness narrative suggests that practicability was not a priority of H. Because Lev 17 couches its prohibition of extrasanctuary slaughter within the spaces of the imaginary camp and of the tent of meeting, it might be read as construing a sophisticated legal fiction.147 In this case, H might not have been concerned about whether its prohibition on local slaughter was not enforced outside the imagined wilderness context. By contrast, the authors of Deut 12, who permitted the practice of decentralized butchery, present their laws as applying to the situation when Israel dwelled in the land. Otto and Rüterswörden therefore argue that Lev 17 and Deut 12 were written with two different periods of Israel’s imagined history in mind: Lev 17 with Israel’s cultic origins at Sinai, and Deut 12 with Israel’s life in the land.148 The latter, on account of its position after Lev 17 in the final Pentateuch, would have been understood by ancient audiences to provide the ultimate ruling on what the Israelites should do when they want to slaughter their livestock once they have entered the promised land. Other scholars, however, question whether we can restrict Lev 17’s normativity simply because its setting is in the distant past of the imagined wilderness of Sinai.149 Again, Lev 17:7b (‫ )חקת עולם תהיה־זאת להם לדרתם‬suggests that the future application of the ban was not merely anticipated; it was explicitly 147 Joosten, People, 148 n. 45; Schwartz, “‘Profane’ Slaughter,” 40–41; Jürgens, Heiligkeit, 175; cf. Hanna Liss, “The Imaginary Sanctuary: The Priestly Code as an Example of Fictional Literature in the Hebrew Bible,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 663–89. 148 Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 142–44; Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34, 1164–65; and Rüterswörden, “Deuteronomium 12,20–28,” 224–26. 149 See, e.g., Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 381 and Julia Rhyder, “Ritual Text and Ritual Practice: Some Remarks on Extra-Sanctuary Slaughter in Leviticus,” in Rites aux Portes, ed. Patrick M. Michel (Bern: Lang, 2018), 18–19.

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commanded. Grünwaldt thus suggests that Lev 17 was intended to be strictly imposed, but only within the immediate geographical context of a specific central shrine in ancient Israel, most probably the temple in Jerusalem. Leviticus 17, then, would have been written for a small community of Israelites living no more than “30–40 kms from the sanctuary” (30–40 km vom Heiligtum).150 However, this interpretation is also difficult to reconcile with Lev 17:2, which clearly states that the laws are to be declared without distinction to ‫כל־בני ישׂראל‬ ‘all the Israelites’. This suggests that H considered the prohibition of local butchery to apply to all those who considered themselves part of the imagined community of Israel, rather than simply to those who lived within the immediate proximity of the Jerusalem Temple. As mentioned in chapter 3 (§3.3.1), these limitations to the various efforts made to resolve the issue of practicability led scholars like Yehezkel Kaufmann, Mary Douglas, and Milgrom to propose that Lev 17 could not have expected the cult to be centralized to a single shrine in ancient Israel. They assume that the scribes responsible for H, and for the priestly materials generally, must have intended to describe rituals in a way that envisaged an accurate reproduction. Hence, we should search for the most probable historical timeframe within which H’s laws could have been realistically applied. They insist that this could only have been at a time when slaughter and sacrifice could be performed locally, at multiple sanctuaries throughout Israel. The command to restrict slaughter and sacrifice to the tent of meeting thus amounts to nothing more than a call to conduct such practices at whichever shrine is accessible to the Israelites within their local context; it does not imagine that a single shrine would monopolistically control the handling of livestock in ancient Israel. However, this argument rests in large part on an interpretation of the tent of meeting that has already shown to be misconceived (§4.1.1 and §4.4.1). There is nothing in P’s description of the wilderness sanctuary to suggest that it sets a precedent for multiple local sanctuaries at a future time. To the contrary, it has been shown that P presents this sanctuary as an ideally centralized space that serves to unify the entire community in collective service of the national divinity. Leviticus 17 does nothing to amend this concept of the wilderness sanctuary in P. On the contrary, the reference to ‫ כל־בני ישׂראל‬in 17:2 strongly suggests that H understands this sanctuary space in much the same way as it is presented in P; namely, as the shared site of attention and deference of all Israel. Thus there is little to support the view that the tent of meeting in Lev 17 represents a decentralized sanctuary cult. Each of the proposed solutions to the impracticality puzzle, then, has its limitations. They are hampered by the interpretive complexities that surround the key verses at Lev 17:3–7, including their setting in the spaces of the 150

Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 381.

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wilderness and their lack of any explanation of how the law is to be practically implemented in the post-wilderness future. Beyond this, the question of the practicability of Lev 17 raises broader issues about the relationship between ritual text and ritual practice. In particular, it brings to the fore different scholarly assumptions about how closely the texts of Leviticus should be expected to mirror actual cultic realities in ancient Israel, and thus, how much of an issue impracticability is to a centralized reading of Lev 17. Ultimately, it seems possible to resolve the problem of practicability only if we acknowledge that Lev 17 probably served multiple purposes, and that codifying practice in a realistic way may not have been H’s primary objective. More important, perhaps, was its strategic intent to reinforce the importance of the centralized cult and the hierarchies it enshrined in an unqualified way. A productive way to conceptualize Lev 17, then, is to read its laws on slaughter and sacrifice as describing rituals as they were to be ideally performed, and also providing a text by which ancient audiences could internalize ritual hierarchies.151 Leviticus 17 constructs a ritualized ideal in the past, which may not be able to be replicated in everyday reality, or at least not in its entirety. Framing its narrative in the imaginative setting at Sinai, H repeatedly invokes, borrowing the words of Jonathan Z. Smith, a time of “ritualized perfection” at Sinai, when all areas of Israel’s life were perfectly centralized around the sanctuary and directed by ritual considerations, when hierarchies and oppositions such as priest/nonpriest, sanctuary/extrasanctuary space, altar/field, and center/periphery were established by Yhwh and lived out among an idealized, ritualized wilderness generation.152 However, the invocation of this memory was not aimed at merely describing the past in a way that mirrored the present, but in persuading the Israelites to accept that all interactions with blood must be viewed through a ritual lens, and that the god’s preferred means for the ritual disposal of blood is at its central altar. On account of its divine voicing, association with the memory of Sinai, and formulation as a series of prohibitions with dire sanctions, Lev 17 normalizes and entrenches the ideal of centralized blood disposal so that it is preferred over any alternative localized practices. This interpretation of Lev 17 suggests that H works to ensure that ancient audiences would have seen its instructions as enduringly relevant and sought ways to apply them, even though this would have necessarily required that the law be interpreted and adapted if its wilderness specifics were to be recontextualized. We can presume that many ancient Israelites did not enjoy the same access to a sanctuary that they would have enjoyed during the imagined sojourn in Sinai; still, Lev 17 insists that the Israelites must view priestly authority as dominant over all matters involving slaughter and sacrifice. In so doing, H positions local butchery and decentralized sacrifice as significantly inferior, even 151 152

See further Rhyder, “Ritual Text,” 17–19. Smith, Imagining Religion, 63.

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abhorrent, practices that should ideally be avoided. It thus underscores the Israelites’ obligation to prioritize travel to the central sanctuary and the offering of sacrifices as often as they could possibly manage. Crucially, this reading of Lev 17 seems to be confirmed by the Temple Scroll. One of the earliest receptions of both Deut 12 and Lev 17 is preserved in 11QTemplea (11Q19) 52:13–21, which shows that attempts were already made to resolve the differences between these two laws by the late Second Temple period.153 The text maintains a limited version of Lev 17:3–7 by insisting that local butchery is not to be practiced by any person who lives within a three-day journey from the temple. But beyond this distance, it is implied that the requirement to travel to the sanctuary to slaughter livestock for food is not binding. This stands in broad agreement with Deut 12:20–28 but concretizes and sets practical limits on the vague permission of local butchery if the central sanctuary is “too far from you” (Deut 12:21). 11Q19 52:13–21 ‫ לוא תזבח שור ושה ועז טהורים‬... 13 ‫ בכול שעריכה קרוב למקדשי דרך שלושת ימים כי אם בתוך‬14 ‫ מקדשי תזבחנו לעשות אותו עולה או זבח שלמים ואכלתה‬15 ‫ וכול הבהמה‬.‫ ושמחתה לפני במקום אשר אבחר לשום שמי עליו‬16 ‫ הטהורה אשר יש בה מום בשעריכה תואכלנה רחוק ממקדשי‬17 ‫ לוא תזבח ⟧ ⟦ קרוב למקדשי כי בשר פגול‬.‫ סביב שלושים רס‬18 ‫ לוא תואכל בשר שור ושה ועז בתוך עירי אשר אנוכי מקדש‬.‫ הוא‬19 ‫ לשום שמי בתוכה אשר לוא יבוא לתוך מקדשי וזבחו שמה‬20 ‫ וזרקו את דמו על יסוד מזבח העולה ואת חלבו יקטירו‬21 13 (…) You shall not slaughter a clean ox, sheep or goat 14 in any of your towns, near to my temple, within a three-days’ journey of my temple. But rather in 15 my temple you shall slaughter it, making it a burnt offering or a well-being sacrifice; and you shall eat it 16 and you shall rejoice before me at the place upon which I will choose to put my name. Every clean 17 animal which has a blemish, you shall eat it within your towns, far from my temple, 18 thirty ris surrounding [it]. You shall not slaughter ⟦ ⟧ near my temple, for it is unclean meat. 19 You shall not eat the meat of an ox, a sheep or a goat within my city, which I consecrate 20 to put my name there: this shall not come into my temple. They shall slaughter it there 21 and dash its blood upon the base of the altar of burnt offering; and its fat they shall burn.154

153 See further Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll, 3 vols. (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 2:234–35; Molly M. Zahn, “4QReworked Pentateuch C and the Literary Sources of the ‘Temple Scroll’: A New (Old) Proposal,” DSD 19, no. 2 (2012): 192–94; and Rhyder, “Ritual Text,” 19. 154 Transcription and translation adapted from Yadin, Temple Scroll, 2:234–26.

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While far from a historical account of how Lev 17 was actually applied – 11Q19 52:13–21 could be a purely intellectual exercise of harmonizing two contrasting laws – this text suggests that, even if Lev 17 was interpreted in such a way that modified its eternal ban, its centralizing logic was not ignored. Slaughter and sacrifice performed at a central sanctuary were always to be preferred to local butchery, even if the need for concessions took precedence under certain well-defined conditions. The puzzle of the impracticability of Lev 17 can therefore be elucidated if the text is read not as merely codifying ritual practice with realistic precision, but as enabling ancient audiences to internalize particular ritual hierarchies key to centralization. H clearly aspires to shape perceptions of the legitimacy of the centralized processes and cultic hierarchies Lev 17 enshrines and, as is the case with any ritualized discourse, to mobilize consent and influence how people behave. But it does not need to be practicable to achieve this aim. Even in contexts where Lev 17’s requirements concerning blood disposal could not have been applied precisely, the normative hold of its centralizing discourse remained potent because it reinforces the essential hierarchies on which the centralized cult depended. That is to say, it normalizes the idea that local butchery and sacrifice is something to avoid, and that the Israelites must defer to a shared central sanctuary as often as possible (ideally every occasion on which they kill their animals). As a result, the laws of Lev 17 mount a powerful argument for cultic centralization in ancient Israel: they affirm the right of a central sanctuary to receive the attention and deference of the Israelites, and to monopolize (as much as possible) communal practices of slaughter and sacrifice. 5.4.2 Leviticus 17 and Its Possible Context Leviticus 17 thus arguably provides valuable insight into how priestly scribes in the Persian period might have used ritual legislation to promote the funneling of communal resources into a centralized temple institution. If their insistence on deference to cultic hierarchies and centralized slaughter and sacrifice had been heeded, significant benefits would have accrued to whichever temple could claim the legacy of the wilderness sanctuary. For every animal brought for sacrifice and slaughter, the temple staff was assured a portion of the animal in accordance with the P ritual legislation (see specifically Lev 7). We can therefore assume that, had the Israelites been persuaded by Lev 17 to view a central shrine as the main site of butchery in ancient Israel, this sanctuary and its priesthood would have been guaranteed, to the exclusion of local shrines or alternative sites of animal slaughter, a continual supply of an important commodity in antiquity: animal meat. The ideal of centralized slaughter and sacrifice thus shows the close connection between cultic and economic centrality in H because the promotion of centralized slaughter and sacrifice effectively concentrates control over the resource of livestock in a central temple’s hands.

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H gives few hints in Lev 17 about which temple cult it thought would continue the centralized cult established at the tent of meeting. However, its strong continuity with P suggests that it was probably written by priests with similar sociocultic aims. We might therefore be justified in surmising that it had a similar orientation toward the centralized cult of Judah as that which can be detected in P’s description of the wilderness sanctuary and Aaronide priesthood (see §4.1.2, §4.3.2, and §4.4). It might be reasonable to assume, then, that H imagined the central shrine in Jerusalem to be the primary beneficiary of the centralizing discourse advanced in Lev 17. However, the ambiguity in H about the future of the cult in the land means that a preference for Jerusalem was not necessarily exclusive; the central shrine on Mount Gerizim, once it was built, might also have been in a position to claim itself the rightful heir to the wilderness cult prescribed in Lev 17, and thus the primary site of centralized sacrifice in Israel (see §4.4.1). Nevertheless, the Judean bias observable in P and certain late priestly texts suggests that Jerusalem might have been the temple the scribes responsible for H had in mind. One intriguing possibility is that Lev 17 reflects the strategies by which the central shrine in Jerusalem negotiated with the cultic periphery in the Persian period. This might at first seem incongruous with the absolutist nature of H’s ban of local slaughter and sacrifice. This centralizing mandate seems to leave little room for negotiation with those who lived at a distance from Jerusalem. However, the exclusive focus on blood disposal in Lev 17 and the related disinterest in that chapter in vegetal offerings might suggest a funneling of attention onto the issue of blood sacrifice that is reminiscent of the correspondence found among the Persian period papyri recovered from the island of Elephantine in Egypt. These papyri attest to the presence of a Yahwistic sanctuary cult among the Judean colony of mercenaries stationed on the island at the end of the fifth century BCE. In a letter dating to 407 BCE (preserved in two copies, with small stylistic differences, in TAD A4.7–8), one of the leaders of the colony, Jedaniah, writes to Bagavahya, the Persian governor of Yehud, seeking permission to rebuild the temple of Yaho following its destruction by the priests of Khnum some years earlier. A similar request was reportedly sent to Delaiah and Shelemiah, the sons of the governor Sanballat in Samaria, and also to Yeḥanan, the high priest in Jerusalem, and to other Judean leaders and nobles. In A4.8:24–25, the Elephantine leader asks the governor to permit the rebuilding of the temple so that the Judean colony may again offer “the cereal offering (‫)מנחה‬, and the incense offering (‫)לבנה‬, and the burnt offering (‫)עלה‬,” as they have done previously. In another papyrus (TAD A4.9), we find a memorandum (‫ )זכרן‬recounting the ruling of Bagavahya and Delaiah on the Judean colony’s request: the temple may be rebuilt “as it was formerly and the cereal offering and the incense offering they shall offer upon that altar just as formerly was done.” At first glance, the memorandum seems to declare business as usual, and to reveal a

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tolerance of local sanctuaries that might be incompatible with the cultic value of centralization. However, on closer inspection it seems that a significant change has taken place: while vegetal offerings are permissible, there is no mention of the ‫עלה‬. This difference suggests that a distinction was being made between the nonanimal sacrifices and the burnt offering, with only the former being permissible within the reconstructed sanctuary. This distinction is confirmed in another fragmentary letter (TAD A4.10:7–14) in which the leaders at Elephantine discuss the funding for the new temple. Here, five of the colony’s leaders implore “our lord” to fund the temple by citing their commitment to ensure that “sheep, ox, and goat (as) burnt-offerings are [n]ot made there but (only) incense (and) cereal offering” (lines 8–11). Considerable debate surrounds the question of why this exclusion might have been introduced. The most common explanation is that it reveals a concern on the part of the leaders in Yehud and Samaria to centralize animal sacrifice.155 In this case, it would attest to a strategy of compromise: the Judeans stationed at Elephantine were permitted to have their own temple and a functioning cult but with significant limitations: animal sacrifice was sectioned off as an inherently centralized practice that is not permissible in this peripheral location. This interpretation, however, is not without its critics. One alternative interpretation suggests that the ban on animal sacrifice was intended to appease the Egyptian priests of Khnum, whose worship of this ram god made burnt offerings of sheep on the island of Elephantine distasteful.156 Another possibility is that this correspondence reflects Persian imperial policy, which did not permit new sacrificial cults on account of the Persians’ general aversion to blood sacrifice.157 This interpretation gives particular weight to the involvement of the Persian governors Bagavahya and Delaiah in replying to the Judeans’ request to rebuild the temple, which might suggest that ceasing animal sacrifice at that site was required by official imperial policy. See, e.g., Emil G. Kraeling, The Brooklyn Museum Aramaic Papyri: New Documents of the Fifth Century B.C. from the Jewish Colony at Elephantine (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1953), 107; Jörg Frey, “Temple and Rival Temple: The Cases of Elephantine, Mt. Gerizim, and Leontopolis,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel, Community Without Temple. Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum, ed. Beate Ego, Armin Lange, and Peter Pilhofer, WUNT 1/118 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 176–80; and Melody D. Knowles, Centrality Practiced: Jerusalem in the Religious Practice of Yehud and the Diaspora in the Persian Period, ABS 16 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2006), 40–43. 156 See Rudolf Smend, “Zu den von E. Sachau herausgegebenen aramäischen Papyrusurkunden aus Elephantine,” TLZ 32 (1907): 708 and Albert Vincent, La religion des JudéoAraméens d’Éléphantine (Paris: P. Geuthner, 1937), 254–55. 157 Ingo Kottsieper, “Die Religionspolitik der Achämeniden und die Juden von Elephantine,” in Religion und Religionskontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden, ed. Reinhard G. Kratz, Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 22 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2002), 172–75. 155

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The incomplete nature of the evidence makes it very difficult to be conclusive about whether the ban on blood offerings can be attributed to cultic centralization or some other cause. The idea that the burnt offering was to be avoided on account of the sensibilities of the priests of Khnum seems, on balance, unlikely. There is little evidence to suggest that burnt offerings to foreign gods were considered problematic in ancient Egypt.158 If the issue was specifically the inclusion of rams within such offerings, it is unclear why the Judeans at Elephantine also committed to ceasing the sacrifice of oxen at the rebuilt temple and not simply sheep.159 Regarding the theory that the veto on burnt offerings reflects Persian imperial interests, this possibility cannot be definitively ruled out. However, because the temple to Yaho at Elephantine was practicing animal sacrifice prior to its destruction, it is difficult to understand why the Persian powers would have disallowed such practices once the temple was reestablished.160 We should therefore not exclude the possibility that the cessation of the burnt offering is linked in one way or another to the concern to centralize animal sacrifice reflected in Persian period biblical traditions.161 In this case, it might shed light on strategies of cultic centralization in the Persian period, particularly the idea that cultic authorities in Yehud, and also Samaria, focused primarily on centralizing the practice of animal sacrifice, rather than on reducing the number of cultic places in the diaspora per se.162 It is therefore possible that the Elephantine evidence attests, albeit in a hazy way, to the function that differentiating animal and vegetal offerings might have served in negotiations between the centers at Jerusalem and Gerizim and the periphery at Elephantine. It might be ventured that Lev 17 and the corpus of Elephantine correspondence each reveals this narrowing of cultic centralization onto animal sacrifice in the Persian period: the Judeans at Elephantine could continue to practice the cult in their local sanctuary as long as they deferred to the center in matters of animal sacrifice. H’s intense focus on issues of blood disposal and uncompromising stance in Lev 17 might therefore reflect how, by the end of the fifth century BCE, animal sacrifice was positioned at the heart of the centralization of the cult, with nonanimal sacrifices considered less controversial. The ban on local butchery in Lev 17:3–7 obviously goes far beyond what the community at Elephantine could have possibly practiced because it would effectively have Kottsieper, “Die Religionspolitik,” 172. Gard Granerød, Dimensions of Yahwism in the Persian Period: Studies in the Religion and Society of the Judaean Community at Elephantine, BZAW 488 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016), 142–43. 160 Reinhard G. Kratz, “Second Temple of Jeb and of Jerusalem,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 262. 161 Knowles, Centrality, 43. 162 Frey, “Temple,” 176–80 and Knowles, Centrality, 40–43. 158 159

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required them to live as vegetarians. However, the uncompromising nature of H’s discourse, which speaks only of a ritualized ideal that admits no exceptions, might have been a discursive strategy to underscore the obligation of the Judeans in the diaspora to at the very least forfeit their right to animal sacrifice and accept that this is a necessarily centralized cultic activity. The nature of the surviving evidence means that this hypothesis necessarily remains speculative. Nevertheless, the Elephantine correspondence and Lev 17 might together point to the rising importance of animal sacrifice in the negotiation of centralized cultic practice in the Persian period.

5.5 Conclusion This chapter has shown how the laws of Lev 17 pertaining to the slaughter, sacrifice, and consumption of livestock work together to build a powerful argument for why the disposal of the blood of sacrificial animals must be centralized. This argument rests on claims about the potential for blood to have devastating consequences for Yhwh’s sacral community when it is shed incorrectly: blood, shed away from the sanctuary, is a source of guilt (vv. 3–4), threatens the boundary between social and antisocial spaces and forces (vv. 5– 7), and results in the offender being expelled from the community (v. 4b; 9b). Blood that is applied to the central altar, on the other hand, has the capacity to mitigate the effects of the cosmological problem of violence in that it enables the life of the animal to compensate for the life of the offerer by providing a ransom to the deity (v. 11). There is little support in all this for the idea that H is primarily responding to D’s program of centralization in the laws of Lev 17. This is not because it predates Deut 12 – the exception being Deut 12:20–28, which was probably unknown to H – but because it has a different discursive character. The focus in Lev 17 on blood disposal has little resonance with Deut 12’s program of centralization, and the evidence of verbal and conceptual borrowings from Deut 12 in Lev 17 is too scant to establish the former as the key source of inspiration for H’s centralizing mandate. The internal dynamics of Lev 17, as well as its numerous linguistic and thematic continuities with the earlier P materials, confirm that H’s discourse is dependent on P rather than D. In Lev 17, H continues P’s three-pronged discourse of centralization: a central sanctuary, shared ritual standards, and monopolistic priestly competence. However, it also moves beyond P by explicitly forbidding extrasanctuary slaughter and sacrifice and introducing harsh sanctions for those Israelites who fail to defer to the central shrine and its priesthood. While scholars have often lacked a sense of what H’s discourse of centralization might be if it were not derivative of D, this chapter has shown that

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259

the H materials are perfectly capable of advancing their own arguments in favor of cultic centralization, looking to the P materials in order to extend them. Reading H in this way requires us to adopt a sophisticated understanding of the character and purposes of ritualized discourses and their centralizing potential. They not only aim, through their persuasive power, to realistically describe cultic realities, but they also, and more importantly, articulate an ideal through which ritual hierarchies and authoritative cultic leaders are affirmed. Even if H’s ideal of centralized slaughter expressed in Lev 17 could not always be achieved in actual cultic practice in the Persian period, the normative value of its legislation continues to hold sway. The concentration of all animal sacrifice and slaughter at one sanctuary is established as the cultic ideal and, with this, the right of the central sanctuary and its priesthood to receive donations of livestock as often as is feasible is entrenched. At the same time, H’s strong emphasis on animal slaughter and sacrifice might have positioned other cultic practices such as vegetal offerings as less controversial in the centralized cult, as we see at Elephantine, thereby facilitating negotiations between cultic leaders in Yehud and Samaria with Yahwists living in the diaspora. This chapter has therefore demonstrated the ways in which H’s imagining of ritual process relating to animal sacrifice is core to its distinctive discourse of centralization. In the chapter to follow, the analysis of centralization in H will be extended to incorporate H’s unique concept of centralized time: its similarities and differences to earlier texts in P, D, and other biblical traditions, and its unique emphasis on negotiating a calendar for the dispersed community of Israel.

Chapter 6

Temporal Symmetry: Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar and Laws for Regular Offerings (Lev 23:1–24:9) The focus in Lev 17 on the importance of centralized blood disposal discussed in chapter 5 is one, critically important, element of H’s centralizing discourse. A further element must now be incorporated into our understanding of H and centralization: the manner in which H creates a fixed festal calendar in Lev 23 and prescribes regular rituals at the central shrine in Lev 24:1–9. In both texts, H exhibits a distinctive interest in establishing a standardized experience of time. In the festal calendar, H organizes the year into discrete, repeated periods during which the Israelites must undertake prescribed festal rites or avoid particular activities. H refers to these occasions as ‫‘ מועדי יהוה‬the fixed times of Yhwh’ and ascribes to them set dates that must be observed year in, year out by the entire community, irrespective of location. In the appendix to the calendar in Lev 24:1–9, H then articulates two laws that deal with regular rituals at the central sanctuary: the lighting of the sanctuary candelabrum every day (vv. 2–4), and the display of twelve loaves on the sanctuary table every sabbath (vv. 5–9). Leviticus 24:1–9 have received almost no attention in the study of H and centralization. The festal calendar of Lev 23, by contrast, has been a topic of interest, although substantially less so than the laws of slaughter and sacrifice in Lev 17. As discussed in the history of research sketched in §3.3.2, Julius Wellhausen devotes considerable attention to Lev 23 in his seminal Prolegomena. He observes that Lev 23 evinces a distinctive interest in fixed festal time, which in his view reveals H’s acceptance of cultic centralization. Once the cult had been limited to a single place by D, Wellhausen contends, the H scribes developed D’s logic by articulating a more rigid form of festal worship that could better accommodate the availability of only one site of worship for the whole community. Subsequent studies of the calendar follow Wellhausen’s lead by devoting most of their attention to identifying evidence of H’s dependence in Lev 23 on D’s phraseology and festal concepts, in order to demonstrate

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261

that the calendar expands D’s program of centralized festal worship outlined in Deut 16:1–17.1 However, a minority of scholars question whether Lev 23 promotes a centralized approach to festal worship.2 As explained in §3.3.2, they point out that this chapter not only lacks any explicit statement requiring the Israelites to bring their festal donations to a single place, as D’s centralizing logic requires, but it also places a new emphasis on the activities that transpire ‫בכל מושׁבתיכם‬ ‘in all your settlements’ during select celebrations. Scholars such as Karl William Weyde and Mark Brett therefore suggest that this reveals a centrifugal tendency in the prescribed rites: H directs attention toward the local context of the Israelites and permits them to observe the festal rites within that setting. This chapter enters the scholarly debates that surround the interpretation of H’s calendar by offering a thorough review of Lev 23: its standardizing logic, its relationship with other calendars of the Hebrew Bible, and the significance of the laws of Lev 24:1–9 for interpreting H’s temporal agenda. It argues that any analysis of H’s festal calendar needs to begin from the observation that time reckoning in antiquity, as in contemporary societies, is very often an exercise in consolidating the power and authority of those whose interests are served by sociocultic conformity. Calendars are recognized by social theorists, anthropologists, and historians alike as more than utilitarian. They are 1 See, e.g., Karl Elliger, Leviticus, HAT 4 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1966), 304–12; Alfred Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Deuteronomium. Eine vergleichende Studie, AnBib 66 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1976), 82–94; Eckart Otto, Theologische Ethik des Alten Testaments, ThW (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 240; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26,” in Levitikus als Buch, ed. Heinz-Josef Fabry and Hans-Winfried Jüngling, BBB 119 (Bodenheim: Philo, 1999), 153–61; Klaus Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26. Ursprüngliche Gestalt, Tradition und Theologie, BZAW 271 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 76–89; Baruch A. Levine, Numbers 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 4B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2000), 407–22; Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT 2/25 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 500–2; and Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars in Leviticus 23, Numbers 28–29 and the Formation of ‘Priestly’ Literature,” in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, ed. Thomas Römer, BETL 215 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 186–95. 2 Jacob Milgrom, “The Firstfruits Festivals of Grain and the Composition of Leviticus 23:9–21,” in Tehillah le-Moshe: Biblical and Judaic Studies in Honor of Moshe Greenberg, ed. Mordechai Cogan, Barry L. Eichler, Jeffrey H. Tigay (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 81–89; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, AB 3C (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2001), 2054– 56; Häkan Ulfgard, The Story of ‘Sukkot’: The Setting, Shaping, and Sequel of the Biblical Feast of Tabernacles, BGBE 34 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 81; Karl William Weyde, The Appointed Festivals of YHWH: The Festival Calendar in Leviticus 23 and the Sukkot Festival in Other Biblical Texts, FAT 2/4 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 73; and Mark G. Brett, “The Politics of Marriage in Genesis,” in Making a Difference: Essays on the Bible and Judaism in Honor of Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, ed. David J. A. Clines, Cheryl Exum, and Keith W. Whitelam, Hebrew Bible Monographs 49 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2012), 59.

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structures that divide time into discrete, recurrent periods, but they also provide a system whereby time is organized and appropriated for socioreligious, administrative, and political purposes. Calendars, then, are “social instrument[s]” that express the rhythm of collective activities, while at the same time ensuring that these activities are performed at agreed intervals.3 They punctuate time with dates and events that play an integral role in shaping collective behavior and memory. As Eviatar Zerubavel puts it, calendars are like “temporal map[s].”4 They structure how groups conceive and evaluate periodical events such as feasts, ceremonies, holidays, and religious rites. Calendars can therefore function as social centers, insofar as they play a crucial role in the integration of society.5 The sharing of a calendar across a community is integral to the construction and maintenance of group identity and social cohesion. Because a calendar also reinforces a sense of difference from those who reckon the time in different ways, it can express and embody the perceived bond of shared values, common history, and religious identity that underpins a sense of collectivity. However, if a calendar is to perform this integrative function, the members of a given group must acknowledge its relevance to their own reckoning of time. Calendars are thus “eminently political. They only function in response to communal agreement.”6 That being said, calendrical programs are rarely democratic. The control of calendars affords rulers a means of regulating economic activities, state administration, religious cults, and in some cases the tenure of the rulers themselves. Historically, then, official calendars have been instigated and regulated by sociopolitical leaders, often in conjunction with religious and cultural elites. Drawing on such social-scientific theories and historical analyses of calendars in antiquity, I argue that there is much to support Wellhausen’s seminal observation that the standardized calendar of Lev 23 is a device for centralizing the Israelite cult. Yet, contrary to Wellhausen, I suggest that there is little Direct quote from Robert Hannah, Greek and Roman Calendars: Constructions of Time in the Classical World (London: Duckworth, 2005), 2. See further Emile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, trans. Karen E. Fields (New York, NY: Free Press, 1995), 10–11. 4 Eviatar Zerubavel, Hidden Rhythms: Schedules and Calendars in Social Life (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 14. See also Alfred Gell, The Anthropology of Time: Cultural Constructions of Temporal Maps and Images (Oxford: Berg, 1992). 5 See Georges Bataille, Visions of Excess: Selected Writings 1927–1939, trans. Allan Stoekl and Donald M. Leslie Jr., with Carl R. Lovitt, Theory and History of Literature 14 (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1985), 175; Liah Greenfeld and Michel L. Martin, “The Idea of the ‘Center’: An Introduction,” in Center: Ideas and Institutions, ed. Liah Greenfeld and Michel L. Martin (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1988), ix; and Edward Shils, “Center and Periphery: An Idea and Its Career, 1935–1987,” in Center: Ideas and Institutions (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 282–301. 6 Susan Drucker-Brown, “The Politics of Calendars,” Cambridge Anthropology 21 (1999): 9. 3

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

263

indication that Lev 23 is merely teasing out the “yet unsuspected consequences” of Deuteronomy’s program of centralization in its festal calendar.7 Leviticus 23 has a distinctive discursive character, which is focused primarily on the use of ritual standardization as a means of centralization. By fixing the festivals to set dates and asserting the normativity of the calendar throughout the settlements, Lev 23 moves in a different direction from that of Deut 16, by focusing on what we might call, adapting Zerubavel’s term, “temporal symmetry.”8 If the Israelites accept the need to perform the same rites at the same prescribed times and in accordance with a standardized calendar, they are effectively integrated into a united cult and community, in which the discretion of local communities to reckon festal time is reduced in favor of conformity and orientation towards shared centers. The recognition that Lev 23 is capable of advancing its own distinctive logic of centralization allows us to develop new understandings of Lev 23’s strategy when promoting a calendar of ‫‘ מועדי יהוה‬fixed times’ for all Israel (§6.1). In particular, this chapter explores the possibility that the temporal standardization evident in Lev 23 is intended to direct the attention of the periphery (the “settlements”) toward centralized cultic authorities in ancient Israel (§6.2). While the calendar never mentions the central shrine, its logic of a unified community conforming to a fixed set of festal times presumes a central source of cultic authority, the source that sets the standards. The calendar thereby operates according to a similar logic to other texts that explicitly affirm the community’s need to defer to the spaces, processes, and authorities of the centralized cult. As we will see (§6.3), the decision to place the laws of Lev 24:1–9 that explicitly deal with sanctuary time as the appendix to the calendar can be interpreted as a sophisticated discursive strategy that interweaves the requirement to have a single calendar with that of deferring to a central shrine and priesthood; these dimensions of centralization in H mutually reinforce one another and contribute to the sense of a shared cultic center. Finally, the chapter will also consider (§6.4) the possibility that, as the community of Israel spread across areas that were geographically dispersed, Lev 23 formed part of a strategy to promote a calendrical standard that provided temporal symmetry across distance, and thus the normativity of cultic centralization even in the diaspora.

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23 I begin my analysis of the festal calendar with a translation of Lev 23. My translation of the appendix in Lev 24:1–9 will follow in §6.3.1. Where 7 Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel, trans. John Sutherland and Allan Menzies (New York, NY: Meridian, 1957), 104. 8 Zerubavel, Hidden Rhythms, 67.

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differences between the ancient witnesses are relevant to the discussion of the calendar, I will address them in translation notes or in the main text; an extended discussion of the lengthy addition found in 4Q365 23 will be delayed until §6.3.2. Lev 23 1 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: 2 “Speak to the Israelites and say to them, ‘[These are] the fixed times of Yhwh that you shall proclaim as such; these are my holy days, my fixed times.’ 3 Six days one may work, but on the seventh day, it is a sabbath of total cessation, a holy day. You shall not do any work; it is a sabbath to Yhwh in all your settlements. 4 These are the fixed times of Yhwh, holy days which you shall proclaim as such in their fixed time.’ 5 ‘In the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month, at twilight, it is a Passover to Yhwh. 6 Then on the fifteenth day of this month it shall be a festival of unleavened bread to Yhwh; seven days you shall eat unleavened bread. 7 On the first day, it shall be a holy day to you; you shall not do any ordinary work. 8 For seven days you shall present food offerings to Yhwh. On the seventh day, it shall be a holy day; you shall not do any ordinary work.’” 9 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: 10 “Speak to the Israelites and say to them, ‘When you will come to the land that I am giving to you and you reap its harvest, you shall bring the first sheaf of your harvest to the priest. 11 And he shall wave the sheaf before Yhwh for your favor. From the morning of the sabbath the priest shall wave it. 9 12 And on the day you wave the sheaf you shall offer an unblemished lamb a year old, as a burnt offering to Yhwh. 13 And its cereal offering shall be two tenths of flour, mixed with the oil; a food offering to Yhwh, a soothing odor; and its drink offering of wine shall be one fourth of a hin. 14 You shall not eat bread or roasted grain or fresh ears of grain until that very day that you have brought the offering of your god; it is an eternal statute throughout your generations in all your settlements.’ 15 ‘You shall count for yourselves from the day after the sabbath, from the day of your bringing of the first sheaf of the elevation offering, seven sabbaths; they shall be complete. 16 You shall count until the morning after the seventh sabbath fifty days, and you shall offer LXX reads τῇ ἐπαύριον τῆς πρώτης ἀνοίσει αὐτὸ ὁ ἱερεύς ‘on the day after the first the priest shall raise it up’. This reading seems to suggest that the first sheaf is to be elevated on the day after the first day of unleavened bread. However, a date during Passover or unleavened bread seems strange, because there is no connection between the bringing of the firstfruits of barley and these celebrations in the description of the ‫ עמר‬rite in vv. 10–14. The timing of this offering is instead dependent on the timing of the harvest, as v. 10 makes explicit. Most scholars therefore argue that the sabbath in question is that which occurs immediately after the ripening of the grain; see, e.g., Elliger, Leviticus, 314–15; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 194–96, 198–99; Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 81–84; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 82; Andreas Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Priesterschrift. Literaturgeschichtliche und rechtssystematische Untersuchungen zu Leviticus 17,1–26,2, FAT 1/26 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 309–10; Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 81–82; Jan Wagenaar, Origin and Transformation of the Ancient Israelite Festival Calendar, BZABR 6 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 135–36; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 506 n. 433. In this light, the rendering in Lev 23:11 LXX is probably a secondary attempt to make sense of the ambiguous expression ‫ ;ממחרת השׁבת‬see further Henry T. C. Sun, “An Investigation into the Compositional Integrity of the So-Called Holiness Code (Leviticus 17–26)” (PhD diss., The Claremont Graduate School, 1990), 367. 9

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

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a fresh cereal offering to Yhwh. 17 From your settlements you shall bring bread to be elevated, two loaves; each made of two-tenths of an ephah. They shall be of choice flour, baked [with] leaven: firstfruits for Yhwh. 18 You shall offer with the bread seven one-year-old lambs without blemish, and one young bull and two rams; they shall be a burnt offering to Yhwh, along with their cereal offerings and their drink offerings, a food offering, a soothing odor to Yhwh. 19 You shall make one male goat for a sin offering, and two male lambs a year old, for well-being sacrifices. 20 Then the priest shall wave them with the bread of the firstfruits: it is an elevation offering before Yhwh. Together with two lambs, they shall be holy to Yhwh, for the priest. 21 And on that same day you shall make a proclamation: it shall be a holy day for you; you shall not do any ordinary work. It is an eternal statute in all your settlements throughout your generations. 22 When you reap the harvest of your land you shall not use up to the edges of your field as you reap, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall leave them for the poor and for the immigrant: I am Yhwh your god.’” 23 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: 24 “Speak to the Israelites as follows: ‘In the seventh month, on the first of the month, it shall be for you a solemn rest, a memorial shout, a holy day. 25 You shall not do any ordinary work; you shall bring a food offering to Yhwh.’” 26 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: 27 “Now on the tenth of this seventh month it shall be the day of purifications. It shall be a holy day to you; you shall deny yourselves and bring food offerings to Yhwh. 28 You shall not do any work on that very day, for it is a day of purifications, to atone for you before Yhwh your god. 29 For any living thing that does not deny itself on that very day will be cut off from the people. 30 Any living thing that does any work on that very day, I shall destroy such a living thing from the midst of its people. 31 You shall not do any work. This is an eternal statute throughout your generations in all your settlements. 32 It shall be a sabbath of total cessation; and you shall deny yourselves. On the ninth day of the month in the evening, from evening to evening, you shall keep your sabbath.” 33 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: 34 “Speak to the Israelites as follows: ‘On the fifteenth day of this seventh month, it shall be a festival of booths, lasting seven days, for Yhwh. 35 On the first it shall be a holy day; you shall not do any ordinary work. 36 Seven days you shall bring food offerings to Yhwh. On the eighth day, it shall be a holy day to you. You shall offer food offerings to Yhwh: it shall be an assembly. You shall not do any ordinary work.’ 37 ‘These are the fixed times of Yhwh that you shall proclaim as such; holy days for presenting food offerings for Yhwh – the burnt offering and the cereal offering, sacrifice and drink offerings, each on its proper day – 38 apart from the sabbaths of Yhwh, and apart from your cereal offerings and apart from all your votive offerings and apart from all your freewill offerings that you give to Yhwh.’ 39 ‘Now, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you gather the harvest of the land, you shall celebrate a festival of Yhwh seven days, a solemn rest on the first day, and a solemn rest on the eighth day. 40 On the first day, you shall take for yourselves the fruit of majestic trees, branches of palm and branches of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before Yhwh your god seven days. 41 10 This is an eternal statute throughout your generations: in the seventh month you shall celebrate it. 42 You shall dwell in booths seven days. All the natives in Israel shall live in booths. 43 This is in order that your generations may know that 10 The LXX omits ‫ וחגתם אתו חג ליהוה שׁבעת ימים בשׁ נה‬in what appears to have been a case of haplography caused by the presence of ‫ ימים בשׁנה‬at the conclusion of v. 40; see further Sun, “Investigation,” 375.

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I made the Israelites live in booths when I took them out from the land of Egypt: I am Yhwh your god.’” 44 Moses declared to the Israelites the fixed times of Yhwh.

6.1.1 Structure and Theme Leviticus 23 consists of a series of divine speeches by Yhwh to Moses addressing important occasions within the Israelite community. It opens in v. 1 with a familiar introduction, which establishes the material that follows as a divine speech to Moses. However, v. 2aα introduces a slight change from the speeches found in the two previous chapters. While in Lev 21–22 Moses is instructed to speak to Aaron (21:16–23), to Aaron and his sons (21:1–15; 22:1–16), or “to Aaron and to his sons and to all the Israelites” (22:18–23), Lev 23 contains no mention of the priesthood in its speech command formulae. Instead, Moses is commanded only to speak to ‫‘ בני ישׂראל‬the Israelites’ (see Lev 23:2, 10, 24, 34). More strikingly, all the speech commission formulae found in Lev 23–25, and not just those in the calendar, are directed toward the Israelite community, with no mention of the Aaronide priesthood (Lev 23:2, 10, 24, 34; 24:2, 15; 25:2; cf. Lev 18:2; 19:2).11 This is a further indication of the distinctive character of Lev 23–25 as a structural unit within Lev 17–26, which deals with the subject of sacred times.12 It also suggests that H’s discursive intent may have been to situate the responsibility for observing Yhwh’s sacred times with the community as a whole, rather than treating this observance as the prerogative of the priests.13 Furthermore, the laws of Lev 23–25 are always addressed to the native Israelites alone, with no mention of the ‫‘ גר‬immigrant’ among the audience. This contrasts with the laws concerning sacrifice and blood nonconsumption in Lev 17:8–16 (cf. 22:18–25), which apply to Israelites and immigrants alike. It also contrasts with other laws in Lev 17–26, such as those regulating sexual unions (Lev 18:26) and Molech worship (Lev 20:2–5), in which the ‫ גר‬is included. To be sure, Lev 23–25 do contain laws in which the ‫ גר‬is mentioned: Lev 23:22 11 That being said, not all of Yhwh’s speeches in Lev 23–25 are followed by a speech command formula. On two occasions Yhwh does not instruct Moses to convey the instructions to the Israelites; namely, when commanding the celebration of ‫‘ יום כפרים‬the day of purifications’ in 23:26–32, and when commanding that the blasphemer be stoned in 24:13– 14. There is also no clear statement in Lev 24:5–9 (the instructions for the display bread) that the Israelites are the intended addressees. However, this constitutes a somewhat complex case, because the introduction in vv. 1–2aα seems to introduce both sets of instructions in vv. 2aβ–4 and 5–9, even though Moses seems to be the active subject of v. 5. See further §6.3.1. 12 See Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 153 and Thomas Hieke, Levitikus, 2 vols., HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2014), 2:890. On the nature of Lev 23–25 as a subunit in Lev 17–26, see §2.2.1. 13 Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1951.

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

267

commands the Israelites to leave the gleanings of the harvest ‫‘ לעני ולגר‬for the poor and immigrant’ (cf. Lev 19:9–10), the narrative of Lev 24:10–23 addresses a case of blasphemy of the divine name by a person of mixed heritage, and Lev 25:45–55 deal with the situation in which the immigrant has amassed wealth and acquired Israelite indentured servants who require manumission during the jubilee. However, there is no sense in Lev 23–25 that the obligation to set the time in accordance with Yhwh’s revelation to Moses extends beyond the native Israelites. This would seem to confirm the importance of a shared sense of time in constructing and maintaining group identity and social cohesion for the imagined community of Israel: H is here describing a specifically Israelite sense of time, which will reinforce Israel’s distinctive constitution as the chosen client of the deity Yhwh. Following the introduction in vv. 1–2aα, H proceeds to outline the program of festive times that must be honored by the Israelites. The entire list is bookended by super- and subscriptions (vv. 2aβ/4 and vv. 37–38 respectively), as well as a compliance report (v. 44) in which the expression ‫ מועדי יהוה‬is used to characterize the calendar as a whole (see Table 6.1). Table 6.1: The Expression ‫ מועדי יהוה‬in Lev 23 Lev 23:2aβ–b ‫מועדי יהוה א שׁ ר־‬ ‫תקראו אתם מקראי‬ ‫קדשׁ אלה הם מועדי‬

Lev 23:4 ‫אלה מועדי יהוה‬ ‫מקראי קדשׁ אשׁר־‬ ‫תקראו אתם במועדם‬

[These are] the fixed times of Yhwh that you shall proclaim as such; these are my holy days, my fixed times.

These are the fixed times of Yhwh, holy days which you shall proclaim as such in their fixed time.

Lev 23:37 ‫אלה מועדי יהוה‬ ‫אשׁר־תקראו אתם‬ ‫מקראי קדשׁ להקריב‬ ‫אשׁ ה ליהוה עלה‬ ‫ומ נחה זבח ונסכים‬ ‫דבר־יום ביומו‬ These are the fixed times of Yhwh that you shall proclaim as such; holy days for presenting food offerings for Yhwh – the burnt offering and the cereal offering, sacrifice and drink offerings, each on its proper day.

Lev 23:44 ‫וידבר משׁ ה את מעדי‬ ‫יהוה אל־בני ישׂ ראל‬

Moses declared to the Israelites the fixed times of Yhwh.

As mentioned in the discussion of the ‫‘ אהל מועד‬tent of meeting’ in §4.1.1, the noun ‫ מועד‬is derived from the verb ‫‘ יעד‬designate’ and refers to a meeting point in either time or space.14 According to Baruch J. Schwartz, such meeting points 14 See further Klaus Koch, “ʾōhel; ʾāhal,” TDOT 8:168; Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation, JPS Torah Commentary

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in their temporal sense could be “encountered as one moves along the timeline – around a circle perhaps – and re-encountered each year as the time-line or time-circle repeats itself.”15 The ‫ מועדים‬would thus be similar to what we today call “dates”; that is, “points-in-time, moments of onset, met as the year progresses from month to month.”16 H’s description of the festivals as ‫ מועדי יהוה‬is noteworthy because it distinguishes Lev 23 from the non-priestly calendars in Exod 23:14–17; 34:18–23; and Deut 16:1–17. Although the term ‫ מועד‬does occur very occasionally in these calendars when they refer to the time in which a given festival should be held, the feasts themselves are never said to constitute ‫מועדים‬.17 It is only in Lev 23, and also in the list of festal sacrifices in Num 28–29 (28:2; 29:39), that the annual liturgy is categorized as a list of Yhwh’s ‫מועדים‬.18 (I will have more to say about the relationship between these two texts later; see §6.1.3.) The claim of the super- and subscriptions that ‫‘ אלה מועדי יהוה‬these are the fixed times of Yhwh’ also has an important rhetorical effect in establishing the authority of the laws that follow. Not only does it establish the calendar as the revelation of the deity – these are the times that Yhwh himself has singled out – but the use of the demonstrative pronoun ‫ אלה‬might be read as positioning the festal list as supplanting any alternative, competing conception of the Israelite year. In this regard, the statement ‫ אלה מועדי יהוה‬might have had a similar rhetorical effect as the refrain ‫‘ התורה זה‬this is the law’ that recurs several times in the superscriptions and subscriptions to the ritual laws of Lev 1–16 and Numbers (see §4.2.1). It would assert the calendar’s authority over and against any alternative instruction for how the Israelites are to reckon festal time: these, (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 154; Baruch J. Schwartz, “Miqraʾ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23,” in Purity, Holiness, and Identity in Judaism and Christianity, ed. Carl S. Ehrlich, Anders Runesson, and Eileen Schuller, WUNT 1/305 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 15; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:877. In the case of the meaning “fixed time,” ‫ מועד‬is used for divinely appointed time, such as the fall of Judah to the Babylonians (Lam 1:4, 15; 2:6–8, 22), the natural course of events, such as pregnancy (Gen 18:14), bird migration (Jer 8:7), or the ripening of fruit (Hos 2:11, 13), as well as for times set by human agents, such as Pharaoh (Exod 8:5). The term can also be used to describe cultic meals, such as the Passover in Exod 13:10 or Saul’s eating of the cultic meal set before him by Samuel in 1 Sam 9:24. 15 Schwartz, “Miqraʾ Qodesh,” 15. 16 Schwartz, “Miqraʾ Qodesh,” 15. 17 The term ‫ מועד‬occurs at two points in the non-priestly festal calendars: in Exod 23:15 the Israelites are commanded to observe the festival of unleavened bread “at the fixed time ( ‫ )מועד‬of the month of Abib, for in it you came out from Egypt,” and in Deut 16:6 the Israelites are instructed to “sacrifice the Passover in the evening at sunset, the precise time ( ‫)מועד‬ you came out from Egypt.” 18 Other texts that refer to the festivals as ‫ מועדים‬include Num 10:10; 15:3; 2 Chr 8:13; Isa 1:14; Lam 1:4; 2:7, 22; Ezek 36:38; 44:24; 45:17; 46:9, 11; Hos 9:5; Zeph 3:18; Zech 8:19; cf. Deut 31:10.

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

269

and no other festal dates, constitute Yhwh’s chosen dates for his annual festivals.19 This claim to unique authority is also enhanced by the choice of the expression ‫ מועדי יהוה‬in the super- and subscriptions of the calendar. The term ‫מועד‬ plays an important role in P’s creation account in Gen 1, in particular the creation of the time-telling ‫‘ מארת‬lights’. In Gen 1:14, these lights are said by P to have been created by Yhwh for the purpose of setting ‫מועדים‬, with Yhwh declaring “let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens for separating between the day and the night; and let them be for signs and for fixed times (‫ )מועדים‬and for days and years.” Outside this text, the noun ‫ מועד‬occurs very rarely in P with the meaning ‘fixed time’, and never in ritual contexts.20 The use of this term in Lev 23 might therefore have been intended to harken back to this foundational statement of P about the deity’s plans for how time is to be structured and organized within its created universe. H’s decision to label the calendar of Lev 23 ‫ מועדי יהוה‬gives this calendar the unassailable imprimatur of an association with the order of creation. It makes the calendar appear natural and organic, because the fixed times prescribed there have been foreshadowed by the deity with the origin of time itself. In addition, H’s use of the expression ‫ מועדי יהוה‬in Lev 23:2, 4, and 36 might also have created a subtle parallel between the festal calendar and the ‫אהל מועד‬. While the noun ‫ מועד‬occurs very rarely in P with the meaning ‘fixed time’, it is found frequently throughout P to describe the central shrine established by the deity at Sinai. The presence of the same noun in H’s description of the festal calendar could be a coincidence; because the noun ‫ מועד‬is used in the Hebrew Bible to refer to both fixed times and fixed meeting places, it is possible that the overlap occurred unintentionally. Nevertheless, the fact that the same term ‫ מועד‬refers both to the priestly wilderness shrine and to the festal times outlined in Lev 23 could suggest that H considered the fixed times of Yhwh to perform a complementary function for the community to that of the ‫אהל מועד‬. While the tent of meeting provides a central place around which the entire community gathers at Sinai, the calendar provides a fixed time schedule during which all Israel must show their communal unity before the deity by offering up festal gifts and avoiding certain work activities. Despite the preoccupation with fixed festal time in Lev 23, it is curious that H fails to provide any explicit instructions for how the Israelites are to reckon the month or individual days within it. Like other calendrical texts of the Hebrew Bible, it is not concerned with time reckoning as an independent exercise;

19 Cf. James W. Watts, Ritual and Rhetoric in Leviticus: From Sacrifice to Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 59. 20 See Gen 17:21; 21:1, where the term occurs in reference to Sarah’s pregnancy.

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it speaks of time only in relation to the performance of specific celebrations.21 In the most likely scenario in Second Temple Judaism, that of a lunisolar system for reckoning time, the length and timing of the months would probably have varied from year to year.22 This system reckoned twelve months of between twenty-nine and thirty days each, with an intercalary lunar month added every two or three years to coordinate the lunar cycles with the longer solar year. It is therefore likely that the festivals prescribed by Lev 23 would not have fallen on precisely the same days each year. Yet, regardless of how the Israelites might have calculated months in any given year, H seeks to establish, as far as possible, a standardized calendar for sequencing the festivals. Each celebration described in Lev 23 is introduced with a similar formula, introducing a new speech of Yhwh to Moses (‫)וידבר יהוה אל־משׁה לאמר‬, which provides the calendar with a distinctive structure (see Figure 6.1).23 vv. 1–2aα – Introduction: speech report and commission formulae v. 2aα–β – First superscription v. 3 – Sabbath v. 4 – Second superscription vv. 5–8 – Passover and festival of unleavened bread vv. 9–22 – Celebration of firstfruits vv. 9–14 – Offering of the first sheaf of barley vv. 15–22 – Offering of new wheat vv. 23–25 – Memorial shout vv. 26–32 – Day of purifications vv. 33–36 – Festival of booths vv. 37–38 – Subscription vv. 39–43 – Additional instructions for the festival of booths v. 44 – Conclusion: compliance report Figure 6.1: The Structure of Lev 23

21 By contrast, Judean texts from the third century BCE and later reveal a growing concern with time reckoning; see further James C. VanderKam, “Calendars,” ABD 1:810–20; VanderKam, Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time (London: Routledge, 1998); Sacha Stern, Calendars in Antiquity: Empires, States, and Societies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 359–79; and Jonathan Ben-Dov, “Time and Culture: Mesopotamian Calendars in Jewish Sources from the Bible to the Mishnah,” in Encounters by the Rivers of Babylon: Scholarly Conversations between Jews, Iranians, and Babylonians in Antiquity, ed. Uri Gabbay and Shai Secunda, TSAJ 160 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 217–54. 22 On the lunisolar system, see Ulfgard, Story, 37–54 and Sacha Stern, Calendar and Community: A History of the Jewish Calendar, 2nd Century BCE to 10th Century CE (Oxford: Clarendon, 2001), 1–21. 23 See further Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1950–51; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 496–98; Alexandra Grund, Die Entstehung des Sabbats: Seine Bedeutung für Israels Zeitkonzept und Erinnerungskultur, FAT 1/75 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 291; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:884–85.

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271

The first of the ‫ מועדי יהוה‬listed in Lev 23 is the sabbath (v. 3), a day of rest from all occupations on the seventh day of each week. This time stands out from those in the rest of the list because it constitutes a weekly rather than an annual event.24 In the festal list proper, beginning in v. 5, the first two annual times are the ‫‘ פסח‬Passover’ (v. 5) and ‫‘ חג המצות‬festival of unleavened bread’ (vv. 6–8), to be held on the fourteenth and the fifteenth days of the first month respectively. These are then followed by ceremonies celebrating the firstfruits of the wheat harvest (vv. 9–22): specifically the offering of the ‫‘ עמר‬first sheaf’ of barley (vv. 9–14) on the sabbath after the beginning of the harvest, and the offering of ‫‘ מנחה חדשׁה‬fresh wheat’ seven weeks later (vv. 15–22); the ‫זכרון‬ ‫‘ תרועה‬memorial shout’ (LXX µνηµόσυνον σαλπίγγων ‘memorial of trumpets’; vv. 23–25) to be held on the first day of the seventh month; ‫‘ יום כפרים‬the day of purifications’ (vv. 26–32) on the tenth day of the seventh month; and ‫חג‬ ‫‘ הסכות‬the festival of booths’ (vv. 34–36, 39–43) scheduled to begin on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. 6.1.2 Questions of Coherence in the Festal Calendar The description of these festivals in Lev 23 raises several issues of coherence that need to be considered. First, the opening of the calendar with the sabbath, in v. 3, is confusing not only because of its character as a weekly rather than an annual occasion, but also because the subscription of vv. 37–38 explicitly states that the sabbath is one of the times that are not included among the ‫מועדי‬ ‫יהוה‬. This discrepancy hints at the secondary nature of v. 3.25 The command to

24 On this discrepancy, see further §6.1.2. On the nature of the sabbath as a weekly event in H, see §7.2.3. 25 For this idea, see, e.g., Karl Heinrich Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher des Alten Testaments. Zwei historisch-kritische Untersuchungen (Leipzig: T. O. Weigel, 1866), 78; Bruno Baentsch, Das Heiligkeits-Gesetz Lev. XVII–XXVI: Eine historisch-kritische Untersuchung (Erfurt: H. Güther, 1893), 49–50; Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, HKAT 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1903), 413; Rudolf Kilian, Literarkritische und formgeschichtliche Untersuchung des Heiligkeitsgesetzes, BBB 19 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1963), 104; Peter Laaf, Die Pascha-Feier Israels: Eine literarkritische und überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studie, BBB 36 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1970), 59; Martin Noth, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. J. E. Anderson, 2nd ed., OTL (London: SCM, 1977), 166, 178; Gnana Robinson, The Origin and Development of the Old Testament Sabbath, BBET 21 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1988), 256; Levine, Leviticus, 154; John H. Hartley, Leviticus, WBC 4 (Dallas, TX: Word, 1992), 372; Lester L. Grabbe, Leviticus, OTG (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993), 88; Grabbe, “Leviticus,” in The Oxford Bible Commentary, ed. John Barton and John Muddiman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 145; Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1995), 14–19; Klaus Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität: Beschneidung, Passa und Sabbat in der Priesterschrift, BBB 85 (Frankfurt am Main: A. Hain, 1992), 207–8; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 77; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1953; Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 12; Wagenaar, Origin, 75–

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count the sabbath among the ‫ מועדי יהוה‬was possibly added to the chapter in an attempt to position sabbath observance as the “main commandment” (Hauptgebot) of the festal calendar as a whole, owing to the special significance of this sacred time.26 To facilitate its introduction, a second superscription was added in v. 2aβ–b in a classic case of repetitive resumption (Wiederaufnahme).27 The second instance of editorial reworking in the calendar seems to be the supplementary rites for the festival of booths in vv. 39–43. The first set of rites for this celebration, in vv. 33–36, commands the Israelites to observe an eightday festival of booths, starting on the fifteenth day of the seventh month and lasting eight days in total. The second, beginning after the superscription in vv. 37–38 and v. 39, prescribes a ‫ חג יהוה‬to commence on the fifteenth day of the seventh month and requires the Israelites to live ‫‘ בסכת‬in booths’ for the festival’s duration. The presence of two sets of commands for this festival suggests multiple compositional stages; the location of the second set of instructions after the superscription of vv. 37–38 strongly suggests that these verses are secondary.28 They were most likely added by a scribe who accepted the date set for this festival in v. 34 but sought to provide new details for the celebration, including the command to dwell in the booths for seven days, as well as a new motivation for the festival that tied the celebration to the exodus from Egypt. The new instructions in vv. 39–43 also clarify that only ‫‘ כל־האזרח בישׂראל‬all the natives in Israel’ (v. 42) must live in booths for the eight days of the festival. This confirms that the scribes who composed and edited the festal calendar 76; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 498; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 188; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:880. 26 Otto, Theologische Ethik, 240. See further Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 303 and Grund, Die Entstehung, 290. 27 On this, see esp. Bernard M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1997), 19–20. Note, however, that Levinson parts with the classical reading by arguing that v. 2aβ, and not v. 4, is the original superscription. This interpretation is ultimately unconvincing, because the strength of the parallel between vv. 4 and 37b strongly suggests that these constitute the original super- and subscription. 28 For this conclusion, see, e.g., Johann F. L. George, Die älteren jüdischen Feste mit einer Kritik der Gesetzgebung des Pentateuch (Berlin: E. H. Schroeder, 1835), 143–44; Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher, 78; Noth, Leviticus, 175; Elliger, Leviticus, 304–6; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 92; Hartley, Leviticus, 372–73; Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Leviticus: A Commentary, trans. D. W. Stott, OTL (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 348; Ulfgard, Story, 82–83; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 77–78; Corinna Körting, Der Schall des Schofar: Israels Feste im Herbst, BZAW 285 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 99–101; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2036; Jacob Milgrom, “From the Workshop of the Redactor HR: An Egalitarian Thrust,” in Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov, ed. Shalom M. Paul et al., VTSup 94 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 742; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 499; and Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 187–88.

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of Lev 23 were particularly concerned to emphasize the distinctly Israelite character of the annual program of festal celebrations. A third, more complicated issue is raised by the description of the firstfruits ceremonies in vv. 9–22. To begin with, the description does not follow the same standardized formula used by H in vv. 5–9 and 23–36.29 For all the other festivals, H follows a pattern: mandating a date in the year on which the festivals must be observed (vv. 5–6, 24, 27, 34); ascribing a specific festal name to the celebration (vv. 5–6, 24, 27, 34); and designating the day a ‫‘ מקרא־קדשׁ‬holy day’.30 A list is then provided of the sacrifices that must be offered as part of the festivities (vv. 8, 12–13, 16–20, 25, 27, 36). The firstfruits celebrations, however, do not conform to this pattern. They are not given fixed dates or even specific festal names. Moreover, the instructions for the offering of the ‫ עמר‬in vv. 10–14 do not describe this offering as a ‫מקרא קדשׁ‬, nor do they include a ban on work. Instead the instructions, both here and also for the wheat offering

29 As observed by Laaf, Die Pascha-Feier, 63; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 285; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 497. 30 The expression ‫ מקראי קדשׁ‬has traditionally been translated ‘holy convocations,’ because many scholars assume that the festal times listed in Lev 23 are all occasions on which “the community congregated at the Sanctuary, after being summoned there”; Levine, Numbers 21–36, 382. See, e.g., ‫מקרא‬, BDB 896; ‫מקרא‬, DCH 5:470–74; Elliger, Leviticus, 313; Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus, NICOT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1979), 301; Hartley, Leviticus, 371; Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 72–73; Bryan C Babcock, Sacred Ritual: A Study of the West Semitic Ritual Calendars in Leviticus 23 and the Akkadian Text Emar 446, BBR 9 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 80; and Gard Granerød, Dimensions of Yahwism in the Persian Period: Studies in the Religion and Society of the Judaean Community at Elephantine, BZAW 488 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016), 171. Levine, Numbers 21–36, 381–82 has even suggested that the term ‫ קדשׁ‬in the expression ‫ מקראי קדשׁ‬could be the noun ‘sanctuary’ rather than the adjective ‘holy,’ in which case the expression should be translated ‘sanctuary convocations.’ However, there is no indication in Lev 23 that an assembly must necessarily be called at the shrine on the occasions that are designated a ‫מקראי‬ ‫ ;קדשׁ‬as argued by, e.g., Ernst Kutsch, “‫ִמ ְק ָרא‬,” ZAW 24 (1953): 248–49; Noth, Leviticus, 168–69; Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 343; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 303; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1957; Wagenaar, Origin, 192; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 179 n. 9; Grund, Die Entstehung, 292; and Schwartz, “Miqraʾ Qodesh,” 17. The expression ‫ מקראי קדשׁ‬seems instead to be used in the sense of “proclaiming a special day/holiday,” that is, a “sanctum…on which no labor is to be done”; Schwartz, “Miqraʾ Qodesh,” 15. Indeed, the command in vv. 2, 4, 21, and 37 to “proclaim” (‫ קרא‬qal) the ‫ מקראי קדשׁ‬strongly supports the idea that the term ‫ מקראי קדשׁ‬refers to the festal dates, which must be proclaimed as holy, rather than a command to convene an assembly. All of these holy days are accompanied by a command to cease either ‫‘ כל־מלאכה‬all work’ or ‫‘ מלאכת עבדה‬ordinary work’; see vv. 3, 7, 8, 21, 24, 27, 35, 36; cf. Exod 12:16; Num 28:18, 25–26; 29:1, 7, 12. It therefore seems that the expression ‫ מקראי קדשׁ‬refers primarily to the type of day that must be proclaimed by the Israelites; namely, one that must be free from labor; see further Wagenaar, Origin, 192.

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in vv. 15–21, focus on the offerings and accompanying sacrifices that must be presented to the deity during these celebrations. An additional major difference evident in vv. 9–22 is the manner in which the time of the firstfruits celebrations is determined. Whereas the celebrations detailed in vv. 5–9 and 23–36 all fall on fixed dates in the first or seventh month of the year, the firstfruits celebrations are set in relation to the time of the harvest (v. 10). The day on which the ‫ עמר‬is to be presented to the deity is said in v. 11 to be “the morning of the sabbath,” which most likely refers to the sabbath that directly follows the first harvest of barley (see the translation note on p. 264 n. 9 above). The offering of fresh wheat is then to follow fifty days later. The Israelites are to count “seven sabbaths” from the day on which they offer the first sheaf and then present their new wheat on the day that follows the seventh sabbath (vv. 15–16). How do we account for H’s more flexible treatment of the timing of the firstfruits? One answer may be simply pragmatic: the offering of the ‫ עמר‬and fresh wheat was dependent on the appearance of the new crop and the successful harvest of wheat in the weeks that follow. The timing of the harvest would have varied from year to year, as well as from region to region in the land. Nevertheless, the question remains why H would include in Lev 23 festal rites that seem to sit somewhat uneasily with the overall theme of the calendar of fixed dates, and why it would depart from the standardized formula employed in vv. 5–9 and 23–36 when describing them. Many scholars have argued that the differences in vv. 9–22 reveal the complex literary history of the festal calendar. The trend in classical scholarship was to consider these verses the original core of the calendar, written at the same stage as the instructions for the festival of booths in vv. 39–43*, which were later supplemented with the festal instructions that comprise vv. 1–8 and 23–38.31 However, as Christophe Nihan notes, this explanation has always faced the problem that the festivals described in vv. 9–22 and 39–43, if they stand alone, constitute a very limited calendar.32 Furthermore, the treatment of the firstfruits in vv. 9–22 has numerous parallels with the rest of the materials in Lev 23, as well as with P, which classical scholars assumed to be later than

31 See e.g., George, Die älteren jüdischen Feste, 120–44; Julius Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 4th ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963), 159–63; Abraham Kuenen, An Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch, trans. Philip H. Wicksteed (London: Macmillan, 1886), 90, 282; Lewis Bayles Paton, “The Original Form of Leviticus xxiii., xxv,” JBL 18 (1899): 35–37; Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 45–50; Alfred Bertholet, Leviticus, KHC 3 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1901), 78; Julian Morgenstern, “Supplementary Studies in the Calendars of Ancient Israel,” HUCA 10 (1937): 29–31; and Kilian, Literarkritische und formgeschichtliche Untersuchung, 108–9. 32 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 500.

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H.33 Scholars who traditionally read vv. 9–22 and 39–43 as the earliest materials in Lev 23 were thus forced to argue that at least the firstfruits regulations were heavily redacted by a later Priestly editor, or that the sacrificial regulations were themselves supplementary.34 An alternative reading, first suggested by Karl Elliger, proposes that vv. 9– 22* and 39–43* are later additions to an earlier calendar rather than its original core.35 While these additions were probably modeled on preexisting festal instructions, they were reshaped and inserted into the calendar in Lev 23 by a later redactor (Ph4), who was also responsible for vv. 2aβ–3 and 39–43, as well as vv. 26–31 (v. 32 was added in an even later stage). More recently, Israel Knohl has proposed a similar reconstruction of the literary history of Lev 23 but suggests that the earliest materials originally constituted a P calendar that was later reworked by HS.36 In his view, the new rites added by H in vv. 2aβ– 3, 9–22*, 28aβ–32*, 38, and 39–43 manifest a more agricultural and populist focus than the earlier P materials and thus confirm the “priestly-popular” outlook that characterizes H as a whole.37 However, the proposal for viewing vv. 9–22*, 26–32* and (in Knohl’s case) 38 as forming part of the same redactional layer as vv. 2aβ–3 and 39–43 has its own limitations. As Klaus Grünwaldt, Jacob Milgrom, and Nihan argue, it is difficult to identify any thread uniting the verses singled out by Elliger, Knohl, and others as forming a late redactional layer.38 The features that supposedly distinguish one set of verses as a later addition are not always shared by the other texts said to belong to the same layer. For example, Elliger and Knohl argue that the absence of a fixed festal date for the celebration of the firstfruits in vv. 9–22 is a key indicator of the secondary nature of these verses. 33 In particular, the rite for the offering of the ‫ עמר‬in 23:10–14 has strong links to P’s instructions in Lev 2:14–16 for the bringing of ‫‘ מנחת בכורים‬cereal offerings of firstfruits’. On this, see further §6.1.3. Parallels with the rest of Lev 23 were noted already by Noth, Leviticus, 166. 34 See, e.g., Baentsch, Das Heiligkeits-Gesetz, 46–47, 49–50; Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 414; Bertholet, Leviticus, 78; Walter Kornfeld, Levitikus, NEchtB 6 (Würzburg: Echter, 1983), 92; Levine, Leviticus, 159–60; and Kilian, Literarkritische und formgeschichtliche Untersuchung, 105. 35 Elliger, Leviticus, 304–12. See further Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 82–94; Sun, “Investigation,” 399–401; Hartley, Leviticus, 372–74; Körting, Der Schall, 95–105; and Wagenaar, Origin, 78–90. 36 Israel Knohl, “The Priestly Torah versus the Holiness School: Sabbath and the Festivals,” HUCA 58 (1987): 65–117 and Knohl, Sanctuary, 1–45. See also Ulfgard, Story, 81. 37 Knohl, Sanctuary, 45. 38 For instance, why would this earlier calendar have lacked prescriptions for the bringing of firstfruits, especially since this is commanded in all the other pentateuchal calendars (Exod 23:16; 34:22; Deut 16:10, 16; cf. Num 28:26–31)? See further Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 76–89; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1948; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 500–2.

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But in vv. 39–43, which contain instructions that are supposed to exhibit similar features to vv. 9–22, the festival of booths is given the fixed date of the fifteenth day of the seventh month (v. 39; cf. v. 34). Finally, it is difficult to imagine how the so-called original calendar that remains once scholars have removed vv. 2aβ–3, 9–22, 28–31*, 38/39–43 could have constituted a complete festal program.39 Attempts to explain the awkward place of vv. 9–22 in the structure of Lev 23 by reconstructing a complex literary growth of Lev 23:4–36 therefore raise more problems than they solve. There is insufficient evidence to suggest that large blocks of secondary material can be reconstructed from Lev 23:4–38, whether the later supplements identified in vv. 1–8 and 23–38 by classical scholars, the Ph4 layer identified by Elliger in vv. 2aβ–3, 9–22*, 26–32*, 39– 43, or the H layer that Knohl contends was superimposed on an earlier P calendar. A third option is proposed by Milgrom, who argues that, while “Lev 23 is totally the product of the H Source,” multiple H scribes had a hand in writing the firstfruits regulations of Lev 23:9–22.40 As described in §3.3.2, Milgrom proposes a three-stage evolution of these verses, which he considers to explain the somewhat conflicted and awkward description of the firstfruits rites in the present text.41 In H1, which consists of vv. 10–11aβγ, b, 11*, 14a, 15a, 16aβ, b, 17, 20*, the Israelite farmers are commanded to bring their offerings to the sanctuary whenever the grain ripen within their local contexts.42 This base instruction is then supplemented by H2, who adds vv. 11b⍺, 15b, 16* to further regulate the celebration of the firstfruits of the harvest. Finally, H3 – “the true H” – added the references to communal offerings in vv. 12–13, 18–19, and parts of 20, 21.43 However, Milgrom frequently asserts the distinctions among the three scribal hands without justification, and those explanations he does provide are highly subjective; for instance, the idea that the expression ‫ממחרת‬ ‫ השׁבת‬in v. 11b following the statement ‫ והניף את־העמר לפני יהוה לרצנכם‬must be a late interpolation because “the term lirṣōnĕkem in H always begins the apodosis (for example, Lev 19:5, 22:9).”44 Hence, if we are to account for the uneasy place of vv. 9–22 in the calendar, we need a different kind of explanation. In his seminal commentary, Martin Noth laid the seeds for this by suggesting that the awkwardness of the calendar reveals that H was trying to combine two distinct festal traditions into a single, unified scheme in Lev 23.45 The first of these traditions, known from the nonNihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 186–95. Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2056. 41 Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 89. 42 Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 84. 43 Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 87. 44 Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 82. 45 Noth, Leviticus, 165–76. 39 40

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

277

priestly calendars of Exod 23:14–17; 34:18–23; and Deut 16:1–17, divides the year according to three ‫חגים‬, one of which is the offering of the firstfruits. The second tradition, known from Ezek 45:18–25, divides the year into two equal halves, with festivals clustered in the first and seventh months and no provision for the offering of firstfruits. Leviticus 23, Noth argues, was attempting to unite these two concepts of the Israelite year to form a synthesized, unified calendrical program, but the structure of the calendar became complex as a result. This idea was subsequently taken up and expanded by Grünwaldt and Nihan, and in a modified form by Jan Wagenaar.46 The merit of this interpretation is that it does not see the awkwardness of vv. 9–22 within Lev 23 as a dilution of H’s attempt to provide a fixed calendar of all the festal times to be observed by the Israelites. Rather, as I will argue below, its inclusion can be read as an integral element of an ongoing process of centralizing the ritual practice of the community of Israel. 6.1.3 Leviticus 23 and the Standardization of Festal Programs As part of this process of centralizing the ritual calendar and thus producing a new authoritative synthesis, H appears to have engaged with other, non-priestly texts. The major festive occasions described in Lev 23 have some striking similarities with the three feasts identified in the non-priestly calendars; namely, ‫‘ חג המצות‬the festival of unleavened bread’ (Exod 23:15; 34:18; Deut 16:16); ‫‘ חג הקציר‬the festival of harvest’ (Exod 23:16), which is called ‫‘ חג שׁבעת‬the festival of weeks’ in Exod 34:22 and Deut 16:10; and ‫‘ חג האסף‬the festival of the ingathering’ (Exod 23:16; 34:22), which is termed ‫‘ חג הסכות‬the festival of booths’ in Deut 16:13. Beyond this, as mentioned, H’s festal calendar often shows strong resemblances to the festal regulations of Deuteronomy and directly parallels its wording at points.47 These echoes are clearest in the introduction to the firstfruits in Lev 23:10: ‫כי־תבאו אל־הארץ אשׁר אני נתן לכם וקצרתם‬ ‫‘ את־קצירה והבאתם את־עמר ראשׁית קצירכם אל־הכהן‬when you will come to the land that I am giving to you and you reap its harvest you shall bring the first sheaf of your harvest to the priest’. While similar language concerning the 46 Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 76–89; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 502–7; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 186–95; and Wagenaar, Origin, 124–39. 47 As has been observed in numerous studies; see, e.g., Louis Horst, Lev. XVII−XXVI und Hesekiel. Ein Beitrag zur Pentateuchkritik (Colmar: Eugene Barth, 1881), 63–64; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 179–216; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 287–88; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 153–61; Eckart Otto, “pāsaḥ; pesaḥ,” TDOT 12:1–24; Christophe Nihan, “The Holiness Code between D and P: Some Comments on the Function and Significance of Leviticus 17–26 in the Composition of the Torah,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk, ed. Eckart Otto and Reinhard Achenbach, FRLANT 206 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 88–91; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 505–9; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 212–19; and Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 70–72.

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entry into the land appears occasionally in Leviticus (14:34; 19:23; 25:2), the strongest echo is undeniably of the introduction to law of the firstfruits in Deut 26:1–3aα.48 Not only does this text include a comparable reference to the entry into the land, it also contains a very similar, if more detailed, command to the Israelites to bring the firstfruits ‫‘ אל־הכהן‬to the priest’. Deut 26:1–3aα ‫ ולק ח ת מ רא שׁ ית כל־‬2 ‫ והיה כי־תבוא אל־הארץ א שׁ ר יהוה אלהיך נתן לך נחלה וירשׁ ת ה וישׁ בת בה‬1 ‫פרי האדמה אשׁ ר תביא מארצך אשׁ ר יהוה אלהיך נתן לך ושׂ מת בטנא והלכת אל־המקום אשׁ ר יבחר‬ (…) ‫ ובאת אל־הכהן אשׁר יהיה בימים ההם‬3 ‫יהוה אלהיך לשׁכן שׁמו שׁם‬ 1 When you come into the land that Yhwh your god has given to you as an inheritance, and you possess it and dwell in it, 2 you shall take some of the firstfruits of all the fruit of the ground that you gather in from your land that Yhwh your god is giving to you, and you shall put them in a basket and go to the place that Yhwh your god will choose for his name to dwell there and 3 you shall go to the priest who will be there in those days (…)

Further resonance with Deuteronomy can be found in H’s description in vv. 15–21 of a seven-week interval between the first harvest and the festal celebration. This has a clear parallel in the instructions of Deut 16:9–12, where this festival is named ‫‘ חג שׁבעת‬the festival of weeks’ owing to its association with a seven-week count.49 Because Lev 23:15–21 and Deut 16:9–12 are the only two texts in the Hebrew Bible to refer to a count of seven weeks during harvest time, the argument that they are directly related to one another gains considerable weight.50 In the case of the other two festivals, of unleavened bread and booths, there is less evidence of H’s direct dependence on the non-priestly festal calendars, although there are still hints that H is influenced by Deut 16:1–17. Scholars frequently note that Lev 23:5–8 share with Deut 16:1–8 the idea that the celebration of unleavened bread is connected to that of Passover, although the texts differ as to whether these are to constitute a single, unified festival (D), or two successive celebrations (H).51 Because the juxtaposition of Passover with the As observed by, e.g., Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 287–88; Körting, Der Schall, 107–8; and Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 70–72. 49 See Wagenaar, Origin, 136 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 505. 50 See further Jonathan Ben-Dov, “The History of Pentecontad Time Units (I),” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam, ed. Eric F. Mason et al., VTSup 153 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 107. 51 The question of H’s dependence on Deut 16:1–8 is complicated by evidence that the latter underwent a process of complex literary growth, and that the connection asserted there between Passover and unleavened bread may be secondary. For different theories on the literary history of Deut 16:1–8, see Rosario Pius Merendino, Das deuteronomistische Gesetz: Eine literarkritische, gattungs- und überlieferungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu Dt 12–26, BBB 31 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1969), 125–49; Laaf, Die Pascha-Feier, 69–86; Gottfried Seitz, Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Deuteronomium, BWA(N)T 93 (Stuttgart: 48

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

279

festival of unleavened bread is not found in P’s account of Passover in Exod 12:1–13, it is possible that H inherited the idea from D.52 However, given that Ezek 45:21 also commands the Israelites to eat unleavened bread for seven days during Passover, we cannot rule out the possibility that H was influenced in writing Lev 23:5–8 by a broadly diffused tradition that linked these two celebrations, but that has been preserved only in select biblical texts.53 A final case of H’s possible dependence on D concerns the prescriptions for the festival of booths in Lev 23:33–36. The expression ‫ חג הסכות‬again hints at H’s knowledge of D’s festal list because Deut 16:13–15 are the only verses in the Pentateuch that describe the final festival of the year using this expression.54 However, again we cannot rule out the possibility that this was a widely used term for this festival by the time Lev 23 was composed. Whatever the extent of the direct verbal correspondences between Lev 23 and the non-priestly festal calendars, clearly H shares the same basic assumption as Deut 16:1–17,and Exod 23:14–17, as well as 34:18–23, that the Israelite year is to be punctuated by three major festal times consisting of unleavened bread, firstfruits, and booths. The clear verbal parallel between Lev 23:10 and Deut 26:1–3aα further strengthens the idea not only that Lev 23 postdates the Kohlhammer, 1971), 196–98; Jörn Halbe, “Passa-Massot im deuteronomischen Festkalender. Komposition, Entstehung und Programm von Dtn 1–8,” ZAW 87, no. 2 (1975): 147–68; Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 179–81; Timo Veijola, “The History of the Passover in the Light of Deuteronomy 16,1–8,” ZABR 2 (1996): 54–55; Veijola, Das fünfte Buch Mose. Deuteronomium (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 330–33; Jan Christian Gertz, “Die Passa-Massot-Ordnung im deuteronomischen Festkalender,” in Das Deuteronomium und seine Querbeziehungen, ed. Timo Veijola, Schriften der Finnischen Exegetischen Gesellschaft 62 (Helsinki: Finnische Exegetische Gesellschaft and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 66–67; Levinson, Deuteronomy, 81–89; Körting, Der Schall, 42–43; Eckart Otto, Das Deuteronomium: Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und Assyrien, BZAW 284 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 328–29; Reinhard G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, trans. John Bowden (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 122; Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 32–39; Wagenaar, Origin, 58–65; Peter Altmann, Festive Meals in Ancient Israel: Deuteronomy’s Identity Politics in Their Ancient Near Eastern Context, BZAW 424 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 192–95; and Shimon Gesundheit, Three Times a Year: Studies on Festival Legislation in the Pentateuch, FAT 1/82 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 96–133. 52 Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 189–94; Otto, “pāsaḥ; pesaḥ”; Grünwaldt, Exil, 104– 5; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 505; and Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 214. 53 John H. Choi, Traditions at Odds: The Reception of the Pentateuch in Biblical and Second Temple Period Literature, LHBOTS 518 (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2010), 80– 81. 54 The alternative term ‫‘ חג האסף‬the festival of ingathering’ is found in Exod 23:16 and 34:22, while P contains no reference to this festival by either term. All other occurrences of ‫ חג הסכות‬in the Hebrew Bible are in late texts: 2 Chr 8:13; Ezra 3:4; Neh 8:14; Zech 14:16, 18–19.

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D festal materials, but also that H drew on these materials when composing the new calendar. Yet, at the same time, Lev 23 diverges from the non-priestly conception of the Israelite year in two important respects. First, H’s idea that the festivals should be assigned particular dates in the year according to ordinal numbers is an innovation vis-à-vis the non-priestly festal traditions. In Exod 23:14–17; 34:18–23; and Deut 16:1–17, the annual feasts are timed according to major agricultural events as opposed to being given fixed dates in ordinally registered months.55 Even the command in Exod 23:15; 34:18; and Deut 16:1 to hold unleavened bread (Passover/unleavened bread in the case of Deut 16:1–8) in ‫חדשׁ‬ ‫‘ האביב‬the month of Abib’ most likely refers to an agricultural event, “the time of ingathering,” rather than a month of the year, as Wagenaar has convincingly demonstrated.56 Leviticus 23, by contrast, seeks a greater degree of conformity in the timing of the festivals from year to year. It reduces the discretion of setting festival times with reference to local agricultural cycles and asserts a more fixed schedule of the festivals that must be honored every year. For the majority of festivals in Lev 23, there is no explicit connection to agriculture in setting the dates of the celebrations. Rather, the timing of the ceremonies is prescribed by Yhwh as binding, a provision that denies the possibility of any contestation. This goes hand in hand with the use of the distinctive terminology of ‫ מועדי יהוה‬in H’s calendar, which reiterates the need for the festivals to be honored at fixed, regular intervals. Second, Lev 23 does not echo the requirement found in Exod 23:17; 34:23; and Deut 16:16 that ‫‘ שׁלשׁ פעמים בשׁנה יראה כל־זכורך אל־פני האדן יהוה‬three times in the year all your males shall appear before the lord Yhwh’. Instead, H limits the number of ‫‘ חגים‬pilgrimage festivals’ to two.57 These are the sevenday ‫ חג המצות ליהוה‬beginning on the fifteenth day of the first month (23:6–9) and ‫ חג הסכות‬beginning on the fifteenth day of the seventh month and lasting 55 See Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 104–5; Samuel H. Kellogg, The Book of Leviticus (New York, NY: A. C. Armstrong, 1891), 448; Jan van Goudoever, Biblical Calendars (Leiden: Brill, 1961), 3; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 509; and Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 213. 56 Wagenaar, Origin, 139–41. 57 Scholars widely agree that ‫ חג‬is best translated ‘pilgrims’ feast’ or ‘pilgrimage festival’; see, e.g., ‫ַח ג‬, BDB 290; ‫ַח ג‬, HALOT 1:289–90; Benjamin Keder-Kofstein, “ḥag,” TDOT 4:201–13 (205); and Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 290. Hebrew Bible references to ‫ חגים‬occur in the context of festal rejoicing and celebration that involve the gathering of large numbers of people at a sacred site; cf., e.g., Deut 16:14–15; Isa 30:29; Amos 5:21–23; 8:10. It is also employed with this sense in H’s calendar, as can be seen from the command in Lev 23:36 that the Israelites convene an ‫‘ עצרה‬assembly’ on the eighth day of ‫חג הסכות‬. This command supports the view that H envisages the Israelites meeting as a congregation with a shared purpose during the two annual ‫חגים‬. On this, see further §6.1.4.

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

281

a total of eight days. H sets this limit by avoiding any suggestion in Lev 23 that the firstfruits celebrations constitute a ‫חג‬. While H prescribes a seven-week count as part of the celebrations of firstfruits, it does not adopt D’s expression ‫‘ חג שׁבעת‬festival of weeks’ for this occasion. Nor does it apply the (presumably earlier) expression ‫‘ חג הקציר‬festival of the harvest’ found in Exod 23:16. Instead, H avoids any suggestion that the celebration of firstfruits necessitates communal pilgrimages to the deity’s residence. Such pilgrimages are instead to be limited to the first and seventh months alone. This division of the year has an important parallel in the list of festal sacrifices in Ezek 45:18–25. In Ezek 45:18–20, the year begins with rites for the purification of the temple (‫ חטא‬piel) on the first and the seventh days of the month in order to atone (‫ כפר‬piel) for Yhwh’s sanctuary. Then, on the fourteenth day of the first month, the Israelites are to celebrate a combined festival of Passover and unleavened bread lasting seven days, during which the royal figure must present offerings on behalf of the community. These rites are balanced by an unnamed festival on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, during which the ‫‘ נשׂיא‬prince’ must again present offerings for seven days.58 The conception of the year found in Ezek 45:18–25 has a number of striking parallels to Lev 23. First, both calendars attest to the idea that the Israelites must observe only two ‫ חגים‬per year, in the first and seventh months. Second, both presume the same date for the Passover (the fourteenth day of the first month), as well as the same date for the second and final ‫ חג‬of the year (the fifteenth day of the seventh month). Third, they share the notion that Passover and unleavened bread must be held together, although they disagree on whether they constitute a single festival (Ezek 45:21) or two distinct celebrations (Lev 23:5–8). Finally, both calendars prescribe purification ceremonies with the purpose of achieving ‫כפר‬: in Ezek 45:18–20, the purification of the temple is 58 Wagenaar, Origin, 108–39 has raised the intriguing possibility that this conception of the Israelite festal year in Ezek 45:18–25 reflects the influence of Babylonian New Year rites (namely, the akītu festivals). These took place twice a year exactly six months apart: once in the month of Nisan, the first month, and the other in Tashritu, the seventh month. The purification of the temple also played a major part in the festivities, as did the royal leader; see further Karel van der Toorn, “The Babylonian New Year Festival: New Insights from the Cuneiform Texts and Their Bearing on Old Testament Study,” in Congress Volume Leuven 1989, ed. John A. Emerton (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 332; Mark E. Cohen, The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993), 437–46; and Wagenaar, Origin, 108–39. For an edition of the texts from first millennium Uruk attesting to the akītu festivals (AO 6459, 6465; 6461; VAT 7849), see François Thureau-Dangin, Rituels accadiens (Paris: E. Leroux, 1921), 86–111. Less is known about the akītu festival of the seventh month than about the one held in the first month of the year. The ceremony in the seventh month is nonetheless attested in a letter to the Assyrian king Esarhaddon that dates to 670 BCE; see Simo Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part 2: Commentary and Appendices (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1983), 186–87 and Toorn, “Babylonian New Year Festival,” 332 n. 4.

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explicitly commanded, while the prescriptions for ‫ יום הכפרים‬in Lev 23:26–32 seem to presuppose the purification rites outlined in Lev 16. There are, however, two major differences between the two calendars. The first concerns the place of the royal figure in the celebration of the annual festivals. While Ezek 45:18–20 clearly reserve a role for the prince in presenting the festal sacrifices, Lev 23 speaks only of ‫ הכהן‬as receiving the Israelites’ donations and presenting them to the deity. Indeed, the presence of the ‫ נשׂיא‬in Ezekiel’s calendar distinguishes this festal program from all those found in the Pentateuch, none of which describe a royal functionary administering the festal rites. A second major difference involves their treatment of the firstfruits celebrations. Ezekiel 45:18–25 fail to mention this celebration. In fact, Ezekiel’s calendar is devoid of agricultural connection; it makes no mention of the time of ingathering (‫ )אסף‬or any other seasonal event.59 Leviticus 23, on the other hand, retains the offering of firstfruits as an intrinsic part of the Israelite festal year. While the firstfruits of the harvest are no longer a pilgrimage festival, the Israelites are nonetheless required to recognize this time as one among Yhwh’s fixed times of the year and celebrate it accordingly. In order to accommodate the firstfruits within its semiannual structuring of the year, H fashions a new, two-part celebration that can apparently be made without convening a ‫חג‬. As identified by Andreas Ruwe and Milgrom, the number of animal sacrifices specified by vv. 18–19 strongly suggests that H imagines the offerings of firstfruits to be made by communal representatives rather than individual families.60 This is implied in the sheer quantity of the sacrifices required: two loaves made of choice flour and baked with leaven (v. 17), seven one-year-old lambs without blemish, one young bull and two rams as a burnt offering, cereal offerings, drink offerings, a sin offering, and two male lambs for well-being sacrifices (vv. 18–19). These are surely beyond the The expression ‫ חג שׁבעות‬does occur in Ezek 45:21 MT: ‫בראשׁון בארבעה עשׂר יום לחדשׁ‬ ‫יהיה לכם הפסח חג שׁבעות ימים מצות יאכל‬. However, the reference to a festival of weeks at this point in the calendar clearly interrupts the regulations for Passover and the accompanying stipulation to eat unleavened bread. The LXX reads ἑπτὰ ἡµέρας ἄζυµα ἔδεσθε, which may suggest that the Hebrew originally read ‫‘ שׁבעת ימים מצות יאכל‬seven days unleavened bread shall be eaten’. The reading ‫ שׁבעות ימים‬could possibly have been added by a scribe who considered it problematic that the firstfruits went entirely unmentioned in Ezek 45:18– 25 and sought to fill this lacuna; for this idea, see Hartmut Gese, Der Verfassungsentwurf des Ezechiel (Kap. 40–48). Traditionsgeschichtlich untersucht, BHT 25 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1957), 75 n. 3; Ernst Kutsch, “Erwägungen zur Geschichte der Passafeier und des Massotfestes,” ZTK 55, no. 1 (1958): 18 n. 3; Laaf, Die Pascha-Feier, 101; Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel. Chapters 25–48, ed. Paul D. Hanson, trans. James D. Martin, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 1158– 59; and Jan Wagenaar, “Passover and the First Day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread in the Priestly Festival Calendar,” VT 54, no. 2 (2004): 256 n. 27. 60 Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 308 and Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1992. 59

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

283

capacity of a single family to provide. Yet, if individual family units are not to be obliged to travel to the sanctuary to personally present the required offerings, they are nonetheless required to ensure that offerings are brought on their behalf, presumably by select representatives, at the appropriate time. The firstfruits thus remain a part of H’s calendar, per the festal tradition reflected in the non-priestly calendars, but H does not require that a third pilgrimage festival be held each year. The Israelites are required to travel to the sanctuary only in the first and seventh months of the year, according to the calendrical tradition preserved in Ezek 45:18–25. H’s compromise solution may have been intended to benefit farmers in ancient Israel. As Milgrom suggests, it might have aimed to erase the expectation of the non-priestly calendars that farmers interrupt the busiest time of the agricultural year by undertaking a trip to the sanctuary.61 They could have remained at home, secure in the knowledge that communal offerings were being made on their behalf at the sanctuary. If they wished to make voluntary offerings of the firstfruits at other times of the year, they were free to do so. Indeed, instructions for such offerings are already present in the earlier P instructions of Lev 2:14–16, which outline the procedure by which individual Israelites (the “you” [singular] of vv. 14–15aα) are to bring ‫‘ מנחת בכורים‬cereal offerings of firstfruits’. But, as far as H is concerned, there is no obligation on the Israelites to undertake a communal pilgrimage to the sanctuary during the wheat harvest. We can thus affirm Noth’s seminal insight that the calendar of Lev 23 appears to be a combination of two, originally distinct types of calendars: one in which the Israelites must celebrate three festivals each year, including a celebration of the firstfruits; the other in which the year is divided into two equal parts, introduced by festivals in the first and seventh months. H bridges these different traditions in Lev 23 to form a new, integrated program of reckoning the festal year. Reading the calendar in this light, there is no need to assume that vv. 9–22 were written in a different stage from the rest of the calendar. We can rather join Noth, Grünwaldt, and Nihan in seeing the somewhat awkward place of these laws in H’s calendar as evidence of the difficulties that came from integrating firstfruits into a semiannual calendrical tradition that did not include a harvest festival. Thus, with the exception of the interpolations of vv. 2aβ–3 and 39–43, Lev 23 can be read as a unified composition intended to combine different conceptions of the Israelite festal year into a single, standardized scheme (see Figure 6.2).

61

Milgrom, “Firstfruits Festivals,” 87.

29.07.19

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Chapter 6: Temporal Symmetry

Non-P Calendars

Ezek 45:18–25

Three part division of the year

Two part division of the year

Three ‫‘ חגים‬pilgrimage festivals’: 1. Unleavened bread (+ Passover in Deut 16:1–8) 2. Firstfruits 3. Booths (Deut 16:13–15) or ingathering (Exod 23:16; 34:22)

Festivals in the first month: 1. Passover and unleavened bread 2. Festival in the seventh month (unnamed ‫)חג‬ No provision for firstfruits

Lev 23 brings together these two concepts of the Israelite year to form a coherent scheme

Celebrations in the First Month v. 5 – ‫‘ פסח‬Passover’: fourteenth day of the first month vv. 6–8 – ‫‘ חג המצות‬festival of unleavened bread’: fifteenth day of the first month Firstfruit Celebrations vv. 10–14 – ‫‘ עמר‬first sheaf’: the first sabbath after the beginning of the harvest vv. 15–22 – ‫‘ מנחה חדשה‬fresh wheat’: seven sabbaths later Celebrations in the Seventh Month vv. 24–25 – ‫‘ זכרון תרועה‬memorial shout’: first day of the seventh month vv. 27–32 – ‫‘ יום הכפרים‬the day of purifications’: tenth day of the seventh month vv. 33–36 – ‫‘ חג הסכות‬festival of booths’: fifteenth day of the seventh month

Figure 6.2: The Standardized Festal Scheme of Lev 23

This conclusion goes against Knohl’s idea that Lev 23 contains traces of an earlier P calendar, which was inherited by H and used as the foundation of its festal scheme. However, one issue that remains is what relationship Lev 23 might have with another another priestly text that refers to the annual festals; namely, the priestly list of festal donations found in Num 28–29. There are clear verbal parallels between Lev 23 and Num 28–29: both refer to the festal G S P ublisherVersion 0.0.100.100

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

285

occasions as ‫( מועדי יהוה‬Lev 23:2, 4, 37, 44; Num 28:2; 29:39) and as ‫מקראי‬ ‫( קדשׁ‬Lev 23:2–4, 7–8, 21, 24, 27, 35–37; Num 28:18, 25–26; 29:1, 7, 12), the two lists share the same pattern of festivals and many of the same dates for the festive occasions (e.g., the three celebrations dated to the first, tenth, and fifteenth of the seventh month), and certain laws (including the regulations for Passover and unleavened bread in Lev 23:5–8 and Num 28:16–25) are formulated in nearly identical ways in both calendars. The major difference between the two lists is that Num 28–29 provide much more detailed instructions for the various offerings and sacrifices that must be made during the festivals and includes regular offerings among the ‫( מועדים‬28:3–15). Among classical scholars, there was widespread agreement that Num 28–29 constitutes the later of the two texts.62 These two chapters of Numbers were seen to supplement H’s calendar with more specific details about the offerings to be made during the festal celebrations. This interpretation not only explained why longer sacrificial prescriptions are found in Num 28–29 as opposed to those contained in Lev 23, but it also accorded with the compositional history of the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch prevalent at the time: because H was considered to be a pre-P composition, it could safely be assumed that the calendar of Num 28–29 was written with full knowledge of the earlier H instructions in Lev 23. Now that scholars have all but universally reversed the direction of dependence between H and P, the place of Num 28–29 among the priestly traditions has become a matter of renewed debate. Most commentators maintain the classical reading that Num 28–29 are a late attempt to fashion a more complete set of instructions for the festal sacrifices. They now simply assign that attempt to a late phase in the composition of the priestly traditions that postdates the composition of P, as well as the H materials of Lev 23.63 In this case, Num 28–29 were most likely intended to fill a lacuna in the priestly traditions concerning the precise nature of the sacrifices that were to be made during the annual festivals. This reading, however, has been challenged by Knohl, Milgrom, and Weyde, who argue that Num 28–29 are part of the P materials that predate Lev 23.64 According to their reading, Lev 23 is a complement to P’s earlier calendar and was intended by H to unify and consolidate P’s festal instructions of Num 28–29. In fashioning the new calendar of Lev 23, H omitted the details of the 62 See, e.g., Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher, 91; Wellhausen, Die Composition, 161; George Buchanan Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Numbers, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1903), 403; and Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 640–41. 63 See, e.g., Reinhard Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora. Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch, BZABR 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), 602–4; Wagenaar, Origin, 146–55; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 195–212; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:887. 64 Knohl, “Priestly Torah”; Knohl, Sanctuary, 8–45; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1950– 2053; and Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 27–29, 79–84.

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various sacrifices to be made during the festivals because these were already specified in the earlier calendar of Num 28–29. However, the idea that Num 28–29 predate H raises more problems than it solves. As has been argued in detail by Grünwaldt, Reinhard Achenbach, Wagenaar, and Nihan, it is difficult to explain why, if H had known and relied on Num 28–29, Lev 23 would have omitted the details for the daily burnt offering and the new moon offerings found in Num 28:3–15.65 It is also unclear, if H presupposes the festal sacrifices detailed in Numbers, why the summary in Lev 23:37b of the offerings to be presented during the festivals says nothing of the ‫ חטאת‬of one goat that is repeatedly mentioned in Num 28–29.66 Furthermore, there are numerous problems with attempting to extract from Num 28–29 a version of the calendar that evinces no knowledge of Lev 23.67 Leviticus 23 can therefore be appropriately understood as the first priestly text of the Pentateuch to provide a calendrical program of festal dates to be honored by the Israelite community. However, it continues to look to earlier P texts when relevant, referencing them in its creation of a new synthesis. The most striking illustration of this can be found in H’s description of the Passover in Lev 23:5. In this verse, H commands the Israelites to observe the Passover on the fourteenth day of the first month ‫‘ בין הערבים‬at twilight’. This date is not presupposed in Deut 16:1–8, which instead command that the feast be held in ‫( חדשׁ האביב‬Deut 16:1). It is, however, prescribed in Exod 12:6 in the P account of the first Passover in Egypt.68 In adopting this date, H references the only P instruction for an annual feast and ensures that this stands at the head of its own festal program, investing it with the authority of the earlier tradition. The brevity of the description of the Passover in Lev 23 – this important feast 65 Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 297; Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 602–4; Wagenaar, Origin, 146–55; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 195–212. 66 The ‫ חטאת‬of one goat is commanded in Num 28:15, 22, 30; 29:5, 11, 16, 19, 22, 25, 28, 31, 34, 38. 67 For instance, Num 28:26 commands the Israelites to bring a ‫‘ מנחה חדשׁ ה‬new cereal offering’ – an instruction that makes little sense in this context given that Num 28 contains no earlier command to bring a cereal offering. To explain why P would have employed the expression ‫מנחה חדשׁה‬, Knohl, Sanctuary, 24 suggests that P envisaged that individual Israelites would bring private cereal offerings before bringing the communal gift of new wheat to the deity. However, this is speculative, since such a command was never made explicit in the text of Num 28. A more logical explanation is that the author of Num 28:26 spoke of a new cereal offering, because it presupposes the instruction of Lev 23:16 to bring ‫מנחה חדשה‬ ‫‘ ליהוה‬a new cereal offering to Yhwh’ seven sabbaths after the appearance of the first sheaf. (H’s description of the cereal offering as ‫‘ חדשה‬new’ is entirely fitting, because it is to be offered in addition to the ‫ מנחה‬that is commanded in Lev 23:13.) For this argument, see further Wagenaar, Origin, 146–47. This example and others strongly suggest that Num 28– 29 is a post-priestly list of festal sacrifices that was intended to build on and complement the earlier calendar of Lev 23. 68 On the ascription of this verses to P, see further §5.3.2.

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

287

gets the shortest treatment of any of the festivals, described in only one short verse, Lev 23:5 – might reflect H’s acceptance of the earlier P instructions for this celebration as normative.69 Presumably H assumed that its audience would be familiar with the detailed descriptions of the rites of the Passover in Exod 12:1–13 and felt no need to repeat them.70 In a similar manner, H incorporates P’s instructions in Lev 2:14–16 for the offering of firstfruits into its calendrical prescriptions for the communal celebration of the wheat harvest. The instructions for the offering of the first sheaf in Lev 23:10–14 strongly resemble the instructions in Lev 2:14–16 for the bringing of individual offerings of fresh ears of grain (see Table 6.2). These correspondences include the occurrence of the term ‫‘ כרמל‬fresh ears of grain’ and the reference to “parched” (‫ קלה‬qal passive particle) cereal, as well as the expression ‫‘ אשׁה ליהוה ריח ניחח‬a food gift to Yhwh, a soothing odor’, which occurs both in Lev 2:2, 9 and in Lev 23:13 and 18.71 As noted by Nihan, all Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1971. One difficulty with this reading is that P leaves some ambiguity about the permissibly of slaughtering the Passover lambs in individual homes, which, as discussed in §5.3.2, might conflict with Lev 17:3–7. If H has such a commitment to prohibiting local butchery, as Lev 17:3–7 suggest, why, then, does it not in Lev 23:5 eliminate any ambiguity about where the Passover lamb must be slaughtered? This question is difficult to answer definitively. One possibility is that H did indeed find a way to challenge the domesticity of P – not by explicitly correcting it, but by adjoining a new festival to the annual celebration of Passover. Leviticus 23:6–8 introduce an entirely new command that has no counterpart in Exod 12:1–13, but that is attested in a modified form in Deut 16:1–8 and Ezek 45:21–24: the Israelites must celebrate a seven-day ‫ חג‬commencing the very morning after the Passover has finished. Perhaps Lev 23:5–8 offers a subtle challenge to P’s prescriptions for a domestic Passover: H pairs Passover and the ‫ חג‬of unleavened bread with the aim of positioning the Passover meal as the introduction to a seven-day collective rite in which the Israelites must travel to the shrine. In addition, H now incorporates this feast into a yearlong program of systematized calendrical festivals to be observed as a unified collective. H therefore places the communal nature of the feast front and center, while remaining silent on the role of the meal within the home. For a similar reading, see Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 189–91. 71 The meaning of the term ‫ אשׁ ה‬is disputed. Traditionally, ‫ אשׁ ה‬was thought to be derived from ‫‘ אשׁ‬fire’ and was therefore rendered “fire offering.” However, few scholars today consider this to be the primary etymology of ‫אשׁה‬. The term is used in the Hebrew Bible to describe offerings that do not come into contact with fire, such as the loaves and frankincense displayed on the sanctuary table in Lev 24:7, 9, or the ‫‘ נסך‬drink offering’ of wine listed in Num 15:10; see further George Buchanan Gray, Sacrifice in the Old Testament: Its Theory and Practice (Oxford: Clarendon, 1925), 9; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 161; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 151–52 n. 208. The majority of scholars now link ‫ אשׁה‬to the Ugaritic term ’itt ‘gift’ and therefore propose the translation “(food) gift”; see, e.g., Jacob Hoftijzer, “Das sogenannte Feueropfer,” in Hebräische Wortforschung. Festschrift zum 80. Geburtstag von Walter Baumgartner, ed. Benedikt Hartmann and Walter Baumgartner, VTSup 16 (Leiden: Brill, 1967), 133; Rolf Rendtorff, Leviticus, BKAT 3 (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1985), 63–65; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 162; and Roy E. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy (Winona Lake, 69 70

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other occurrences of ‫ אשׁה ליהוה‬in Lev 23 (vv. 8, 25, 27, 36) omit the additional expression ‫ריח ניחח‬.72 Its presence in Lev 23:13 and 18 thus seems to confirm that H was building on the earlier P legislation of Lev 2 when composing the rites of the firstfruits. Table 6.2: Comparing Lev 2:14–16 and Lev 23:10aβ–b, 13–14a Lev 2:14–16 ‫ ואם־תקריב מנחת בכורים ליהוה אביב קלוי‬14 ‫באשׁ גרשׂ כרמל תקריב את מ נחת בכוריך‬ ‫ ונתת עליה שׁמן ושׂמת עליה לבנה מנחה הוא‬15 ‫ והקטיר הכהן את־אזכרתה מגרשׂה ומשׁמנה‬16 ‫על כל־לבנת ה אשׁ ה ליהוה‬

14 If you bring a cereal offering of firstfruits to Yhwh, you shall bring fresh ears, parched with fire, crushed fresh grain as a cereal offering of your firstfruits. 15 You shall add oil to it and lay frankincense on it: a cereal offering. 16 And the priest shall turn its memorial portion into smoke: some of its grain and its oil along with all its frankincense, as a food gift to Yhwh.

Lev 23:10aβ–b, 13–14a ‫( כי־תבאו אל־הארץ אשׁר אני נתן לכם‬...) 10 ‫וקצרתם את־ קצירה והבאתם את־עמר ראשׁ ית‬ (...) ‫קצירכם אל־הכהן‬ ‫ ומנחתו שׁני עשׂרנים סלת בלולה בשׁמן אשׁה‬13 ‫ ולחם‬14 ‫ליהוה ריח ניחח ונסכה יין רביעת ההין‬ ‫וקלי וכרמל לא תא כלו עד־עצם היום ה זה עד‬ ‫הביא כם את ־קרבן אלהיכם‬ 10 (…) When you will come to the land that I am giving to you and you reap its harvest, you shall bring the first sheaf of your harvest to the priest (…) 13 And its cereal offering shall be two tenths of flour, mixed with the oil; a food offering to Yhwh, a soothing odor; the drink offering of wine shall be one fourth of a hin. 14 You shall not eat bread or roasted grain or fresh ears of grain until that very day that you have brought the offering of your god.

Milgrom also argues that H’s dependence on Lev 2:14–16 can be detected not only in the similar phraseology of the two texts but also in the absence of any description in Lev 23:10–14 of the ritual for the presentation of the firstfruits of the barley.73 This, he suggests, indicates H’s knowledge of the earlier instructions for this rite in Lev 2:14–16: “another indication that H takes P’s texts for granted and, therefore, must be chronologically later.”74

IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 8 n. 22. It remains possible nonetheless that, in the cases when ‫אשׁה‬ denotes offerings that were burnt upon the altar, the term retained a close connection with ‫אשׁ‬. In the case of Lev 23:8 LXX, e.g., the Greek translator renders the term ‫ אשׁה‬with ὁλοκαυτώµατα ‘burnt offerings’, while in the context of the display bread the translator uses the participle of the more general verb θυσιάζω; see further Gray, Sacrifice, 12; Christian Eberhart, Studien zur Bedeutung der Opfer im Alten Testament. Die Signifikanz von Blutund Verbrennungsriten im kultischen Rahmen, WMANT 94 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2002), 43–47; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 151–52 n. 208. 72 Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 223. 73 Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1985. 74 Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1985.

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Yet, for all these correspondences, H’s instructions for the offering of firstfruits move in a new discursive direction when compared to the earlier P instructions of Lev 2. First, while the latter imagines individual farmers making their voluntary offering of firstfruits whenever they please, H prescribes “a communal event taking place at a specific date in the year – namely, the day after the first Sabbath following the beginning of the barley harvest.”75 Second, this collective ritual performance by the entire community must be performed at the same time and on the fixed days that Yhwh has prescribed for them. Thus, the instructions for the celebrations of firstfruits – indeed, the festal calendar as a whole – can be read as introducing a new emphasis on temporal symmetry to the priestly traditions. The Israelites must undertake the same rites in accordance with a shared ritual standard; that is, to worship “in sync.”76 Although a concern for temporal symmetry was present in P to some extent, notably in the provision of a date for the Passover in Exod 12:1–13, H’s calendar takes this to a new level by punctuating the entire year with occasions on which the Israelites must offer collective homage to the deity. The calendar thus enables the community to conceive the year as being structured by shared, cultically significant events that enable it to worship the deity in the unified way that it requires. As part of this innovation in Lev 23, H also introduces the notion of collective pilgrimages to the priestly traditions. It is striking that the earlier P materials never employ the term ‫חג‬. Leviticus 23 is the first time this occurs in the priestly traditions, where it is now used to provide a new structure for the year in which the Israelites must undertake pilgrimages in the first and seventh month respectively. By introducing the term ‫ חג‬to the priestly traditions, H extends P’s concept of standardized ritual practice so it requires the Israelites to ritually enact their communal unity by assembling on specific days of the year in order to present Yhwh his required festal donations as a unified community. The introduction of the idea of annual pilgrimage to the priestly traditions thus provides an important mechanism of amplifying the requirement for collective unity in paying homage to their shared patron divinity. It allocates at least two periods in the year when the Israelites must display their loyalty to the god as a collective, while also providing greater clarity about the frequency and predictability of the donations that the god requires of them when they gather in festal celebration.

75 76

Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 225. Drawing here on the terminology of Zerubavel, Hidden Rhythms, 65.

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6.1.4 Standardization and Centralization in Lev 23 H’s attempt in Lev 23 to fuse two types of calendars has been noted before.77 So, too, has H’s attempt to introduce to the priestly traditions a stronger emphasis on annual festivals. However, the question of how these features of Lev 23 might shape our understanding of H and centralization has thus far been given little scholarly attention. To begin with, the sophisticated manner in which Lev 23 combines various calendars to create a new synthesis suggests that it is too limiting to assume that D provides the determinative logic for H’s calendar, as far as centralization of the festivals is concerned. Lev 23 does betray knowledge of D’s calendar of Deut 16, and the engagement with D in this chapter of H is stronger than that which was observed in the analysis of Lev 17 above. However, the centralizing impulse in Lev 23 is arguably not limited to the way in which it develops Deut 16, and it is striking that the key statements in Deut 16:1–17 that explicitly command centralization of the festivals, especially the references to Yhwh’s chosen ‫ מקום‬in the land, are never taken up by H in the wording of Lev 23. Rather than simply teasing out D’s program of centralization, H appears to forge its own case for centralization in Lev 23 that is predicated on its combination of a variety of early calendrical traditions. In this, Lev 23 seems designed to produce a calendar that is singular in its normativity and authority. Indeed, the very process of accommodating different calendrical traditions infuses Lev 23 with a heightened sense of legitimacy – a kind of hyper-agency – because H’s calendar appears as the culmination of all the earlier Israelite festal programs. Its standardized calendar thus effectively renders alternative festal programs unnecessary. “These are the fixed times of Yhwh,” declares the deity (23:4, 37), implying that “this, and not anything else, is the authoritative regulation” for the Israelite festal year.78 The refrain “Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows” that is repeated throughout the calendar (vv. 1, 5, 9, 23, 26, 33) also ensures that the attention of readers and hearers is continuously brought back to the divine authority that sanctions Lev 23 and thus reinforces the calendar’s claim to present the deity’s authorized program for the Israelite year. Having combined and supplanted the previous calendars, H calls on the entire community to defer to one calendar if they are to offer the deity the unified festal worship it requires. The timing of all the festal occasions of the Israelite year are now set in accordance with this centralized authority: the calendar of Lev 23. In addition, the emphasis on fixed festal time in Lev 23 continues to reinforce the need for unity in collective practice and conformity with central 77 As noted above, see Noth, Leviticus, 165–76; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 76– 89; Wagenaar, Origin, 124–39; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch; and Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars.” 78 Watts, Ritual, 59.

6.1 Centralized Time in the Festal Calendar of Lev 23

291

authority. By establishing set times for each of the festivals, H leaves little room for variability according to local agricultural cycles. Even the timing of the firstfruits celebrations is standardized as much as possible given its nature as a harvest celebration, as H uses the weekly sabbath to regulate the start date of the festivities.79 All Yhwh’s festal occasions are to be considered ‫מועדי יהוה‬ and thus unable to be moved in accordance with local needs. To be sure, the calendar is not totalizing in its standardizing tendency. The details of the festal rites are sketched in a very limited way, such that there arguably remains room for custom to shape how they should be celebrated. Despite this room for variation, the calendar is unequivocal that the entire community must recognize the same dates of the year as the sacred times of Yhwh and thereby ensure that the timing of their collective worship is synchronized in accordance with a shared calendrical authority. In this synchronizing tendency, Lev 23 shows important resonance with the centralizing discourse of the earlier P materials, while also moving beyond it. Just as standardized ritual practice is essential to the centralizing logic of Lev 1–16 (see §4.2), so temporal standardization is used to a similar effect in Lev 23: it obliges the Israelites to acknowledge that Yhwh demands conformity to a ritual standard, and to display their unity by adhering to a centrally determined festal calendar. The standardized scheme of Lev 23 therefore continues to integrate the Israelites within a cultic system in which local discretion to determine when and how the Israelites discharge their cultic obligations is reduced in favor of centrally mediated norms and ritual practice. In this light, H’s decision to address the festal calendar to the Israelite community rather than its priests takes on new significance. It suggests that H is again employing a similar strategy to that which was observed in P, whereby it incorporates the community into a shared responsibility for cultic conformity and thereby solicits communal consent to standardized ritual programs. Thus, the festal calendar of Lev 23 attests to H’s innovation in supplementing P, as well as the other calendrical traditions, in offering a more expansive discourse of centralization. The calendar continues P’s interest in the nexus between ritual standardization and the centralization of the cult and community and, in this way, moves beyond the model of centralization provided by Deut 16:1–17. However, Lev 23 also extends the discourse of centralization in the priestly traditions by introducing a much stronger focus on how temporal symmetry is integral to the centralized worship Yhwh requires. By directing the Israelites to acknowledge a central, standardized festal program, the calendar of Lev 23 adds a new dimension to the Israelites’ deference toward shared centers. In sum, the Israelites have been given by H a common way of conceiving the sacred events of the year, which in turn eliminates the possibility that they

79

Ben-Dov, “History,” 107.

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will conduct their festal worship in accordance with a truly decentralized form of cultic practice. A question remains as to how this emphasis on centralized calendrical authority might serve to funnel the community’s attention and resources toward the spaces and authorities that are presumably integral to these rituals. As mentioned above, Lev 23 curiously lacks any references to the central sanctuary or priesthood. The ‫ אהל מועד‬goes entirely unmentioned in Lev 23. While the Israelites are commanded in Lev 23:11 to bring the first sheaf of their harvest ‫‘ אל־הכהן‬to the priest’, who shall wave it ‫‘ לפני יהוה‬before Yhwh’ (v. 11), the setting of the priest is unspecified both here and in v. 20, where the priest is again mentioned as ‫‘ הניף‬waving’ offerings of new wheat before Yhwh on the Israelites’ behalf. In addition, the priesthood is described without reference to Aaron or his sons, using only the generic descriptor ‫הכהן‬. H’s silence about the sanctuary and Aaron might be associated with the shift of focus in Lev 23:10–22 from the wilderness to a future setting in the land. H may have considered it ill fitting to mention the wilderness shrine or the figure of Aaron in such a context, because the future of these imaginary aspects of the wilderness cult once the Israelites have come into the land is somewhat ambiguous (see further §4.4.1). As a result, the festal calendar of Lev 23 is characterized by a peculiar ambiguity about the location of the celebrations it mandates once the Israelites have left the wilderness. That is to say, while the calendar speaks clearly about the need for the Israelites to present festal offerings on the fixed dates of the calendar and thus presumes the existence of a sanctuary and cultic officials in the land, it leaves unspoken what these might resemble. Nevertheless, Lev 23 contains several hints that its standardizing calendar works to reinforce the call, expressed elsewhere in P and H, to unify in service to a shared sanctuary. One of these is the reference to the ‫‘ מושׁבת‬settlements’ and especially the mention of communal sacrifices sent ‫‘ ממושׁבתיכם‬from your settlements’, which will be discussed in detail in §6.2.1. However, the idea of conducting two annual pilgrimages already supports the idea that the Israelites are required to structure their year so that they can come together as a community and present festal donations to the deity as a collective. This system of biannual pilgrimage might be framed as engaging with what the anthropologist Victor Turner calls “the center out there.”80 Turner’s study of pilgrimages suggests that these processes are intrinsically connected to the creation of centers in that undertaking a pilgrimage consolidates the connection pilgrims feel toward a sacred space or site, as well as their sense of obligation to defer to it. This center is almost invariably located away from the everyday, local sphere, yet it requires the attention and deference of the wider social group, deference

80

Victor W. Turner, “The Center Out There: Pilgrim’s Goal,” HR 12 (1973): 191–230.

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that is manifested through the ritualized processes of traveling to the center at set times each year. Of course, the call to undertake biannual ‫ חגים‬in Lev 23:6, 34, 39 and 41 does not prove that H required the Israelites to travel to one central shrine exclusively. However, the emphasis on standardizing the pilgrimages such that the entire community performs them on the same date each year arguably reinforces a logic in which the Israelites prioritize sociocultic unity rather than operating as local factions. This might, in turn, have normalized the idea that the Israelites should not have their own decentralized festal celebrations, performed at their own timing and at the site of their choosing. Rather, they should orient themselves toward shared centers as a sign of their unity as a cultic community. This reading gains weight when we consider the call, in Lev 23:36 to convene an ‫‘ עצרת‬assembly’ on the eighth day of the festival of booths.81 This assembly again underscores the need for the Israelites to display their collective unity before the god at its set times, and to gain a sense of common purpose from gathering as a community on fixed dates each year. This, in turn, furthers H’s imagining of a thoroughly centralized cult, directed by a shared calendar of fixed festal dates and oriented toward sociocultic unity when gathering before the patron divinity.

6.2 A Shared Calendar in “All Your Settlements” Integral to this discourse of centralized time is H’s claim that the calendar must be honored and adhered to ‫‘ בכל משׁבתיכם‬in all your settlements’; that is, its assertion of the normativity of this calendar for all Israelites regardless of where they live. At first glance this claim may seem difficult to reconcile with a logic of centralization. Does the mention of settlements not suggest, as Weyde and Brett argue, that H is permitting a local approach to festal worship? I argue that it can be read as suggesting the contrary; namely, that H’s reference to settlements affirms its discursive strategy of centralization. This interpretation rests on an alternative reading of the references to the ‫ מושׁב‬in Lev 23 that

81 The translation of ‫ עצרה‬is debated. The verb ‫ עצר‬has the primary meaning ‘to hold back, restrain’; see ‫עצר‬, HALOT 2:870. It has therefore sometimes been proposed that ‫עצרה‬ is “a special technical term” for a day of rest; Noth, Leviticus, 174; see further Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 188 n. 35 and Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 113–15. However, it seems much more likely that the term, as it is employed in Lev 23:26, means ‘assembly’. A cultic assembly is clearly implied in texts such as 2 Kgs 10:20–21; Joel 1:14; 2:16–18; Neh 8:18. The term is also used in D’s calendar (Deut 16:18) with a similar meaning. See further Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2029–31 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 508 n. 438.

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demonstrates that the term does not signal H’s sanctioning of multiple sanctuaries in ancient Israel. 6.2.1 References to the Settlements in Lev 23 The interest in settlements is a distinctive feature of H’s calendar. No other festal list in the Hebrew Bible includes the term ‫ מושׁב‬within its prescriptions. The reference to the settlements also differentiates the calendar of Lev 23 from the rest of Lev 17–26. The term ‫ מושׁב‬occurs only once in H outside Lev 23, when referring to the sale of a ‫‘ בית־מושׁב עיר חומה‬dwelling in a walled city’ in Lev 25:29. The specific statement ‫בכל־מושׁבתיכם‬, however, occurs nowhere else in Lev 17–26 besides the calendar. The precise meaning of ‫ מושׁבת‬in Lev 23 is open to interpretation. The noun ‫ מושׁב‬is derived from the verb ‫‘ ישׁב‬sit, dwell’ and is used in the Hebrew Bible to designate a seat, the site of a city, a dwelling place or home, or the territory of a given group.82 In Lev 23, the term ‫ מושׁב‬seems to be used as a generic descriptor of Israelite domestic space – it refers simply to the place where the Israelites live – although scholars debate whether it refers strictly to settlements within the land of Israel, or to communities outside the land, such as those in the diaspora.83 The term ‫ מושׁבת‬most likely accommodates both settings; because H never reveals the location or precise character of the place where the Israelites will live once they have left the wilderness, we cannot rule out that H had in mind sites both within and outside the land. The settlements are mentioned five times in H’s festal calendar. These occurrences are never in the context of the annual pilgrimage festivals to be held in the first and seventh months. Rather, they are always in reference to nonpilgrimage celebrations: sabbath (v. 3), the offering of the firstfruits (vv. 14, 17, 21), and the day of purifications (v. 31). As can be seen in Table 6.3 below, four of these five occurrences of the term ‫ מושׁב‬form part of the expression ‫בכל־‬ ‫‘ מושׁבתיכם‬in all your settlements’ (vv. 3, 14, 21, 31), while a fifth occurrence is part of a command to bring the offering of new wheat ‫‘ ממושׁבתיכם‬from your settlements’ (v. 17).

‫מוָֹשׁב‬, BDB 444 and ‫מוָֹשׁ ב‬, HALOT 2:561–62. For settlements in the land, see Jan Joosten, People and Land in the Holiness Code: An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26, VTSup 67 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 163 and Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, AB 3A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1991), 215. For settlements outside the land, see Pierre Grelot, “La dernière étape de la rédaction sacerdotale,” VT 6, no. 2 (1956): 178–79 and Elliger, Leviticus, 313. 82 83

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Table 6.3: References to the Settlements in Lev 23 Lev 23:3 ‫שׁ שׁ ת ימ ים ת עשׂ ה‬ ‫מלאכה וביום‬ ‫השׁ ביעי שׁ בת‬ ‫שׁ בתון מקרא ־‬ ‫קדשׁ כל־מלאכה‬ ‫לא תעשׂו שׁבת‬ ‫הוא ליהוה בכל‬ ‫מושׁבתיכם‬ Six days one may work, but on the seventh day, it is a sabbath of total cessation, a holy day. You shall not do any work; it is a sabbath to Yhwh in all your settlements.

Lev 23:14 ‫ולחם וקלי‬ ‫וכרמל לא‬ ‫תאכלו עד־עצם‬ ‫היום הזה עד‬ ‫הביא כם את ־‬ ‫קרבן אלהיכם‬ ‫חקת עולם‬ ‫לדרתיכם בכל‬ ‫משׁ בתיכם‬ You shall not eat bread or roasted grain or fresh ears of grain until that very day that you have brought the offering of your god; it is an eternal statute throughout your generations in all your settlements.

Lev 23:17 ‫ממושׁ בתיכם‬ ‫תביאו לחם‬ ‫ת נופה שׁ תים‬ ‫שׁ ני עשׂ רנים‬ ‫סלת תהיינה‬ ‫חמץ תאפינה‬ ‫בכורים ליהוה‬

Lev 23:21 ‫וקראתם בעצם‬ ‫היום הזה מקרא ־‬ ‫קדשׁ יהיה לכם‬ ‫כל־מלאכת‬ ‫עבדה לא תעשׂו‬ ‫חקת עולם בכל־‬ ‫מושׁבתיכם‬ ‫לדרתיכם‬

Lev 23:31 ‫כל־מלאכה לא‬ ‫תעשׂ ו חקת עולם‬ ‫לדרתיכם בכל‬ ‫משׁ בתיכם‬

From your settlements you shall bring bread to be waved, two loaves. They shall be of choice flour, baked [with] leaven: firstfruits for Yhwh.

And on that very day you shall make a proclamation: it shall be a holy day for you; you shall not do any ordinary work. It is an eternal statute in all your settlements throughout your generations.

You shall not do any work. This is an eternal statute throughout your generations in all your settlements.

Notably, H employs the expression ‫ בכל־מושׁבתיכם‬only when discussing domestic activities. In the case of the weekly sabbath (v. 3) and the day of purifications (v. 31), H commands that the Israelites observe a ban on all types of work “in all your settlements.” A similar but less restrictive ban on ordinary work is also to be observed ‫ בכל משׁבתיכם‬on the day when the priest waves the firstfruits of the wheat harvest before Yhwh (v. 21); that is, fifty days after the offering of the ‫עמר‬. Finally, in v. 14 the Israelites are prohibited from eating the new grain crop ‫ בכל משׁבתיכם‬until the first sheaf of the harvest has been offered to Yhwh. None of these activities constitute sacrificial rites that require a priest, altar, or shrine.84 They could instead be honored within the sphere of individual households. However, while the expression ‫ בכל משׁבתיכם‬always occurs in Lev 23 in the context of domestic prescriptions, Weyde suggests that the settlements are significant beyond the four specific verses in the calendar where this expression occurs. (Weyde overlooks the expression ‫ ממושׁבתיכם‬in v. 17, a point on which I shall say more below.) He bases this reading on the position of the expression 84

As observed by Levine, Leviticus, 155 and Levine, Numbers 21–36, 419.

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‫ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬at the end of the two sets of instructions for the offering of firstfruits in vv. 14 and 21, specifically at the end of the instructions for the offering of the first sheaf (vv. 10–14) and at the end of the prescriptions for the offering of the new wheat (vv. 15–21). In both cases, the settlements are mentioned within a longer formulation that asserts the normativity of the law for subsequent generations of Israelites. Weyde argues that these formulae in vv. 14 and 21 pertain not only to the rites mentioned just prior – the restrictions on eating the first sheaf and on ordinary work during the offering of new wheat – but to the entire list of festal prescriptions that precede them. H thus requires the Israelites to undertake all the rites involved in the celebration of the firstfruits, including the making of sacrifices, within their local context. In order for this command to have been feasible, Weyde reasons that there must have been local sanctuaries available to farming communities within their settlements, at which they could congregate during the feast to offer the firstfruits to the deity. However, there are a number of reasons to question whether vv. 14b and 21b serve as summary statements for the laws of vv. 10–14 and vv. 15–21 in their entirety. In the case of v. 14b, the reference to settlements occurs after the instructions for the bringing of the new sheaf and its accompanying offerings have already concluded in v. 13. In v. 14a, H introduces an entirely new rite that is to take place before the sacrificial rites stated in vv. 11–13 have been completed: the Israelites must abstain from eating of the new grain “until that very day”; that is, the day when the priest will elevate their offerings before the deity. With this change of timing in v. 14 comes a change of topic from sacrificial to nonsacrificial rites. While vv. 11–13 catalogue the rites that must be performed by the priest as he offers the required sacrifices, v. 14a is entirely concerned with what the Israelites eat (or do not eat) between the time of harvesting and the delivery of the first sheaf to the priest. It is therefore erroneous to view vv. 10–14 as a single set of commands governed by the concluding refrain ‫ חקת עולם לדרתיכם בכל־מושׁבתיכם‬in v. 14b. It seems more appropriate to read this formula as pertaining to the rites prescribed in v. 14a alone: the Israelites are prohibited to eat of the new crop “in all your settlements” until it has been presented to the deity. Likewise, it is untenable to read the reference to settlements in v. 21b as governing the full set of rites for the offering of the new wheat outlined in vv. 15–20. The sacrificial instructions have already concluded in v. 20. Verse 21 then adds a new instruction for practices that are to be observed at the same time as the communal sacrifices are presented to the deity. Again, these practices do not involve the making of sacrifices. Rather, the Israelites must proclaim this day as a holiday and observe a ban on regular activities of work. It is therefore inappropriate to read the concluding refrain of v. 21b, ‫חקת עולם‬ ‫בכל־מושׁבתיכם לדרתיכם‬, as referring to the command of v. 15 to bring an elevation offering. It seems to relate only to those domestic rites that can be

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carried out wherever the Israelites may find themselves on the day when the firstfruits are presented to the deity. A further indication that the sacrificial rites of vv. 15–20 do not need to be performed “in all your settlements” is the wording of v. 17, a verse that, as mentioned above, is overlooked by Weyde but is clearly important for the discussion of the settlements in Lev 23. Here the Israelites are commanded to bring two loaves of bread ‫‘ ממושׁבתיכם‬from your settlements’, loaves that will then be waved by the priest and offered to the deity. The use of the preposition ‫ מן‬is significant: it shows that H considers the settlements to be the origin of the offering of new wheat, not its destination. This supports the idea that H requires the local Israelite communities to bring their offerings out of the settlements because the festal sacrifices are to be made at the central shrine. The command in v. 17 to bring the firstfruits “from your settlements” therefore hints at the centralized nature of the sacrificial rites prescribed by H in Lev 23: the Israelites must not offer their festal gifts within their local context but must instead send them through communal representatives to the priest, presumably officiating at a central destination (“the center out there”). This reading is consistent with H’s avoidance of the designation ‫ חג‬when describing the celebrations of the firstfruits.85 As mentioned above, Milgrom makes a convincing case that the prescribing of a collective offering of firstfruits might have been motivated by a desire to alleviate the practical burden on farmers of presenting offerings during the busy time of harvest. Yet he fails to take this point to its logical conclusion. If local sanctuaries were readily available to Israelite farming communities, as he suggests, why would it have been impractical to expect farmers to deposit their firstfruits at the local shrine? It seems more likely that this rite became impractical during the harvest because H required the Israelites to centralize their worship and therefore to travel to a central sanctuary located a lengthy distance from local farming communities.86

85 This point seems to be missed by Weyde, Appointed Festivals, 72–73, who argues that H must have required the Israelites to undertake a pilgrimage during the harvest, because this is the status of the feast in other biblical calendars. However, Weyde does not explain why H avoids the term ‫ חג‬when describing this celebration if H assumes that the firstfruits are to be offered as part of a pilgrimage festival. The absence of this term in Lev 23 is especially striking precisely because it occurs in all the non-priestly festal calendars as a descriptor for the offering of the firstfruits (Exod 23:16; 34:22; Deut 16:10). Such an omission strongly supports the hypothesis that H no longer requires the Israelites to undertake a collective pilgrimage to the sanctuary but instead permits them to send a communal offering on behalf of the settlements. 86 Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 209; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 308; Levine, Numbers 21–36, 419; and Simeon Chavel, Oracular Law and Priestly Historiography in the Torah, FAT 2/71 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 158–59 with n. 230.

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Indeed, the difficulties posed by the wheat harvest festival for a centralized cult were already acknowledged by the authors of Deut 16:9–12. Here, D maintains that the Israelites must undertake a ‫ חג‬in celebration of the wheat harvest. In order to give farmers enough time to harvest their crops and travel to the central place, D delays the pilgrimage festival until seven weeks after the beginning of the wheat harvest. H takes the different approach of entirely removing the requirement that the Israelites undertake a pilgrimage during the harvest. Now the Israelites are to send communal offerings of barley, wheat, and accompanying sacrifices but may spend the actual day of the celebration within their local settlements. This does not exempt them from the obligation to actively participate in the celebration. They must practice a form of temporal symmetry by undertaking nonsacrificial rites within their settlements while their communal offering of new wheat is presented at a central shrine. Hence, far from being permissive about local cultic installations, H’s command to undertake nonsacrificial rites “in all your settlements” forms an integral part of its strategy for integrating the community into a centralized cult. By specifying nonsacrificial activities which can be performed at home, H ensures that the whole community, including those unable to physically participate in ritual practice at the central altar, remains obliged to participate in festal worship at the same fixed times. H makes no provision for rites to be performed in the settlements in the case of two pilgrimage festivals presumably because it envisages that the majority of the community would be undertaking a pilgrimage to a central shrine during these sacred times. For those celebrations during which most of the community remains at home, however, H provides dual instructions for rites to be held at the cultic center and in the local settlements. Thus, H’s references to the settlements do not signal H’s permission for local sanctuaries in ancient Israel. Rather, they form part of a design for ensuring that all members of the Israelite community, by sharing festal time, can remain focused on a shared cultic center irrespective of their physical location. 6.2.2 The Settlements in H-Like Texts outside Lev 23 What of the other occurrences of the expression “in all your settlements” in Hlike texts in the Pentateuch? Might these present evidence of a decentralized approach to the festivals by the scribes who were responsible for Lev 17–26, as Brett proposes? This question raises a larger methodological issue, discussed in chapter 2 (§2.1 and §2.2.2), concerning the identification of H-like material in the Pentateuch and the extent to which the study of H and centralization should include texts outside Lev 17–26. To Brett and others, a text like Lev 23 should not be read in isolation but as part of a constellation of H-like passages in the priestly traditions, passages that can be identified on account of their linguistic, stylistic, thematic, or ideological affinity with Lev 17–26 and other H texts in the Pentateuch (see §3.3.2).

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6.2 A Shared Calendar in “All Your Settlements”

The expression ‫ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬is found five times in the Pentateuch outside Lev 23, always in the context of the priestly traditions (see Table 6.4).87 Table 6.4: Occurrences of the Expression ‫ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬outside Lev 23 Exod 12:20 ‫כל־מחמצת לא‬ ‫תאכלו בכל‬ ‫מושׁבתיכם‬ ‫תאכלו מצות‬

Exod 35:3 ‫לא־תבערו אשׁ‬ ‫בכל משׁבתיכם‬ ‫ביום השׁ בת‬

You shall not eat any leaven in all your settlements; you shall eat unleavened bread.

You shall not kindle a fire in all your settlements on the day of the sabbath.

Lev 3:17 ‫חקת עולם‬ ‫לדרתיכם בכל‬ ‫מושׁבתיכם כל־‬ ‫חלב וכל־דם לא‬ ‫תאכלו‬ An eternal statute throughout your generations in all your settlements: you shall not eat any fat or any blood.

Lev 7:26 ‫וכל־דם לא‬ ‫תאכלו בכל‬ ‫מושׁ בת יכם לעוף‬ ‫ולבהמה‬ You shall not eat any blood in all your settlements, from either the bird or from the quadruped.

Num 35:29 ‫והיו אלה לכם‬ ‫לחקת משׁפט‬ ‫לדרתיכם בכל‬ ‫מושׁבתיכם‬ These [laws pertaining to cases of homicide] shall be for you an ordinance throughout your generations in all your settlements.

Only one of these texts deals with the topic of festal worship: Exod 12:20, where Yhwh commands the Israelites to abstain from eating leaven “in all your settlements” during the festival of unleavened bread. The other occurrences of the expression are in the context of the prohibition of kindling a fire on sabbath (Exod 35:3), the prohibition of ingesting blood (Lev 7:26), or blood and fat (Lev 3:17), and the conditions under which a murderer may be put to death (Num 35:29). It is again striking that all of these occurrences of the expression ‫בכל‬ ‫ מושׁבתיכם‬are in the immediate context of instructions for nonsacrificial rites, just as they are in Lev 23:3, 14, 21, and 31. Four of the five occurrences refer to ritual prohibitions in the domestic sphere such as dietary restrictions or limitations on what kind of work may be done during certain sacred times. Numbers 35:29 is unusual in its concern with a public adjudication of the appropriate punishment for those guilty of homicide rather than a household practice. However, as with all the other passages in which the expression occurs, there is no connection in Num 35:29 with the sanctuary or its ritual cult. Rather, it relates to local civic affairs. All five verses where the expression ‫ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬is found evince an affinity, to a greater or lesser degree, with the language and legislative interests of Lev 17–26. The formulation of Num 35:29 is strikingly similar to that of Lev 23:14, 21, and 31. It contains a very close equivalent to the ‫חקת עולם בכל־‬ 87

It also occurs twice in the book of Ezekiel; see Ezek 6:6, 14.

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‫ מושׁבתיכם‬formula, but it substitutes ‫ משׁפט‬for ‫ עולם‬and omits H’s standard reference to “your generations.” In the case of Lev 3:17 and 7:26, these texts are found in passages that evince numerous H-like formulae such as ‫חקת עולם‬ ‫‘ לדרתיכם‬an eternal statute throughout your generations’ (3:17a) and the ‫כרת‬ formula (Lev 7:27). Both texts also contain parallels to the blood prohibition of Lev 17:10–14 (although the prohibition of the consumption of fat is not found in Lev 17). Exodus 35:3, for its part, is paired with a command in 35:2 to keep the sabbath that is virtually identical to that of Lev 23:3. However, the Exodus law adds the command that anyone who violates the work ban on this holy day must be put to death; this includes anyone who kindles a fire on sabbath “in all your settlements” (35:3).88 The verse of particular relevance to this study, Exod 12:20, comes at the end of a set of ritual prescriptions that contains particularly striking correspondences with Lev 17–26. As is widely agreed among scholars, Exod 12:14–20 seem almost certainly to constitute (a) secondary addition(s) to earlier P instructions in vv. 1–13 for the first Passover in Egypt, which provide(s) new ritual prescriptions for the celebration of the festival of unleavened bread.89 This judgment is based, first, on the observation that Exod 12:13 forms a clear conclusion to the preceding account of Yhwh’s instructions for how the Israelites are to celebrate the first Passover; the materials that follow in Exod 12:14– 20 thus have the appearance of forming a later supplement to preexisting instructions. Second, the style, language, and themes of Exod 12:14–20 differ markedly from those of Exod 12:1–13 and seem to be heavily influenced by See further the Excursus in chapter 7. On the secondary nature of Exod 12:14–20, see among recent studies, e.g., Grünwaldt, Exil, 90–96; Shimon Gesundheit (Bar-On), “Zur literarkritischen Analyse von Ex 12,21– 27.” ZAW 107, no. 1 (1995): 25–26; Gesundheit, Three Times, 76–89; Jan Christian Gertz, Tradition und Redaktion in der Exoduserzählung. Untersuchungen zur Endredaktion des Pentateuch, FRLANT 186 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 3l–37; Wagenaar, Origin, 93–96; Christoph Berner, Die Exoduserzählung. Das literarische Werden einer Ursprungslegende Israels, FAT 1/73 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 320–34; Ranier Albertz, Exodus 1–18, ZBK 2/1 (Zürich: TVZ, 2012), 199–200; and Christophe Nihan, “The Priestly Laws of Numbers, the Holiness Legislation, and the Pentateuch,” in Torah and the Book of Numbers, ed. Christian Frevel et al., FAT 2/62 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 114. Scholars disagree about whether Exod 12:14–20 was written in one stage or two; scholars such as Grünwaldt, Exil, 90–96; Gertz, Tradition, 31–37; and Gesundheit, Three Times, 79–89 argue that vv. 14–17 stem from a different hand than vv. 18–20. For the purposes of the present discussion, however, this issue can be put to one side. Knohl, Sanctuary, 19–21, 52 has argued that not only vv. 14–20 but all the regulations of Exod 12:1–20 concerning Passover and unleavened bread stem from the hand of the HS. Milgrom, “From the Workshop,” 33 has similarly suggested that the original P instruction for Passover consisted only of Exod 12:1–6, which was then supplemented with vv. 7–20 by the “Holiness Redactor” (HR). However, neither scholar explains why vv. 1–13 evince virtually no correspondence with Lev 17–26 except for the date for the celebration of Passover (cf. Exod 12:2–6; Lev 23:5) if H was responsible for all or most of the prescriptions of Exod 12:1–20. 88 89

6.2 A Shared Calendar in “All Your Settlements”

301

the H materials of Lev 17–26. The new regulations begin in v. 14 with a formulation that takes up H’s description of unleavened bread in Lev 23:6a as a festival ‫‘ ליהוה‬for Yhwh’ and combines this with a variant of the formula ‫חקת‬ ‫‘ עולם לדרתיכם‬an eternal statute throughout your generations’ known from Lev 23:14, 21, 31, and 41. We then find in v. 16 a virtual quotation of the description in Lev 23:7–8 of the special status of the first and seventh day of the festival of unleavened bread (see Table 6.5). Table 6.5: Similar Language in Exod 12:16 and Lev 23:7–8 Exod 12:16 ‫וביום הראשׁ ון מקרא ־קדשׁ וביום השׁ ביעי מקרא ־‬ ‫קדשׁ יהיה לכם כל־מלאכה לא יעשׂ ה בהם אך‬ ‫אשׁ ר יאכל לכל־נפשׁ הוא לבדו יעשׂ ה לכם‬ On the first day, it shall be a holy day, also on the seventh day, it shall be a holy day to you; on them you shall not do any work. Only what each person is to eat shall be prepared for you.

Lev 23:7–8 ‫ ביום הראשׁ ון מקרא־קדשׁ יהיה לכם כל־‬7 ‫ והקרבתם אשׁ ה ליהוה‬8 ‫מלאכת עבדה לא תעשׂו‬ ‫שׁ בעת ימים ביום השׁ ביעי מקרא ־קדשׁ כל־‬ ‫מלאכת עבדה לא תעשׂו‬ 7 On the first day, it shall be a holy day to you; you shall not do any ordinary work. 8 For seven days you shall present food offerings to Yhwh. On the seventh day, it shall be a holy day; you shall not do any ordinary work.

This is followed in v. 19 with a command that leaven should not be found in the homes of either ‫‘ בגר ובאזרח הארץ‬immigrant or the native in the land’, a command that is reminiscent of H texts such as Lev 17:15; 18:26; 19:34; 24:16, and 22 which state that certain laws are to apply to ‫ אזרח‬and ‫ גר‬alike.90 Finally, the supplement concludes with the specification in Exod 12:20 that nothing leavened is to be eaten ‫‘ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬in all your settlements’, a formula that echoes passages such as Lev 23:3, 14, 21 and 31 discussed above. The strength of the H-like terms and ideas in Exod 12:14–20 suggest that this addition was inserted by scribes who wished to align the earlier P Passover law with Lev 17–26 in order to achieve greater continuity throughout the priestly materials. By introducing regulations for unleavened bread after P’s Passover account, the scribes responsible for Exod 12:14–20 ensure that these two festivals are already conceptualized as a duo in the P account of the first Passover, and not only with the arrival of the calendar of Lev 23.91 However, while Exod 12:14–20 contains strong similarities to Lev 17–26, and especially Lev 23:5–8, that warrant their classification as H-like materials, there are also certain differences between them. Most notable of these is the date each assigns to the celebration of unleavened bread. While Lev 23:5–8 insist that unleavened bread is to commence on the fifteenth day of the first month – that is, one See further Grelot, “La dernière étape,” 177 and Nihan, “Priestly Laws,” 116. As argued by Gertz, Tradition, 36; Wagenaar, Origin, 94–96; and Nihan, “Priestly Laws,” 116–17. 90 91

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day after the celebration of Passover – Exod 12:14–20 present the two feasts as sharing the same start date: “the first (month), on the fourteenth day of the month, at twilight, you shall eat unleavened bread, until the twenty-first day of the month, in the evening” (12:14). This difference in date may reflect a broader change in how ancient Israelites determined the beginning and end of a given day, in which a single day was thought to last from sunset to sunset rather than from sunrise to sunrise.92 It also creates a stronger link between Passover and unleavened bread than that found in the calendar of Lev 23, where the two feasts are simply juxtaposed. A further point of difference between the two texts is the nature of the work ban that is to be implemented on the first and seventh days of the festival. According to Exod 12:16, the Israelites are prohibited from doing ‫‘ כל־מלאכה‬any work’ besides food preparation on these days, while Lev 23:7 prohibits the Israelites only from performing ‫מלאכת עבדה‬ ‘ordinary work’. As outlined in §3.3.2, Brett argues that the reference to the settlements in Exod 12:14–20 reveals a willingness to accommodate local worship at multiple sanctuaries. Unlike other occurrences of the phrase in Lev 23 and elsewhere in the Pentateuch, the author of Exod 12:20 employs this expression at the conclusion of the prescriptions for the seven-day ‫ חג‬of unleavened bread. Since this festival would almost certainly have involved a gathering at a sanctuary and the making of sacrifices, Brett reasons that the mention of the settlements in Exod 12:20 reveals that it was permissible to hold the festival in its entirety within individual communities. Such openness to “cultic diversity” strongly suggests, in Brett’s view, that H did not support a centralized approach to Israelite worship but expected that the Israelites would gather at local sanctuaries when celebrating Yhwh’s festivals.93 However, there are reasons to question whether Exod 12:20 betrays a decentralized approach to festal worship. Certainly, it is curious that the settlements are mentioned in 12:20 in the context of instructions for a ‫חג‬, given that in Lev 23 the settlements are only mentioned in the context of nonpilgrimage festivals. Nevertheless, the expression “in all your settlements” “implies that the people are at home, not at the sanctuary.”94 Although the presence of the term ‫ חג‬in v. 14 implies that the Israelites must travel to the sanctuary to celebrate the feast, the actual content of the supplement in vv. 14–20 concerns only the domestic rites that the Israelites must undertake during the seven days of the feast; namely, abstaining from eating leaven for the full seven days and avoiding work activities on the first and seventh days. Hence, there is no need to suppose that the reference to the settlements in Exod 12:20 signals the 92 Jan Wagenaar, “Passover and the First Day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread in the Priestly Festival Calendar,” VT 54, no. 2 (2004): 262–66. 93 Brett, “Politics,” 59. 94 Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1991.

6.2 A Shared Calendar in “All Your Settlements”

303

authors’ willingness to permit local worship at multiple sanctuaries in ancient Israel. The expression ‫ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬in Exod 12:20 seems instead to reinforce the total ban on eating leaven during the festival by asserting its normativity for those Israelites who have stayed at home during the festival. Because it is possible that only male members of the community were required to appear before Yhwh during the annual ‫( חגים‬cf. Exod 23:17; 34:23; Deut 16:16), it is likely that the rest of the community – presumably women, children, and possibly the aged – would have remained in the “settlements” during a festival like unleavened bread. By including the additional command in v. 20, the authors of this supplement ensured that those members of the community who had not convened for the ‫ חג‬still participated in its most important rite: abstaining from eating leaven. We might, then, conclude that the references to settlements in H-like texts outside Lev 17–26, like those within Lev 23, do not betray a centrifugal tendency and expectation on H’s part of decentralized worship. On the contrary, they are perhaps H’s most explicit statement in favor of a centralized cult for the entire community. In order to ensure that all Israel keeps to a single calendar and avoids worshipping at local shrines, H specifies nonsacrificial rites that can be practiced by those members of the community who are not present at the central sanctuary when the deity receives its festal offerings and sacrifices. These local rites do not compromise the exclusive claim of the central sanctuary to blood sacrifice (see Lev 17:3–9). Far from it: their nonsacrificial character highlights the absence of local options for sacrificial worship during the annual festivals. The Israelites, having sent their festal offerings out of the settlements (23:17), are obliged to observe only work bans and dietary restrictions within their local settings. Hence, by emphasizing the normativity of the calendar “in all your settlements,” H asserts the community’s obligation to remain temporally synchronized in their worship of Yhwh even in the potentially fractured and geographically dispersed context of the post-wilderness future. Once the Israelites are no longer encamped at Sinai but live in various settlements, the shared calendar of Lev 23 will remain normative in setting the time of their collective worship each year. The calendar of Lev 23 thereby serves as far more than a practical device for organizing the Israelite year. It serves the strategic purpose of structuring the way the Israelites are to conceive of themselves as a community. A fixed calendrical scheme, with dates set by a single central authority, directs attention toward the cultic center. It reduces local discretion to convene the festivals according to local agricultural rhythms or other temporal schemes. And it affirms centralized authority, as H insists that the Israelites are to celebrate the same festivals at the same time in accordance with Yhwh’s revelation to Moses as far as is possible. In so doing, the Israelite community will maintain the centralized ideal established by the deity at the tent of meeting at Sinai

304

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once they have come into the land: a united community with a standardized ritual cult, integral to which is a fixed, central calendar.

6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9 The above discussion has shown that H’s centralized calendar forms part of a wider discursive strategy of directing the attention of the Israelite community to central ritual authorities and is consistent with the expectation that Israel will defer to a central shrine. This interpretation finds an important confirmation in the appendix to the calendar in Lev 24:1–9. These verses bring the focus strongly back to the central wilderness sanctuary: they refer to the ‫אהל מועד‬ and reference particular items within it, while also focusing heavily on the ritual actions of Aaron within the sanctuary.95 Leviticus 24:1–9 also correspond with earlier P instructions in several precise ways, especially the references to the sanctuary candelabrum and display bread mentioned in the sanctuary account of Exod 25–31, 35–40. The significance of the appendix of Lev 24:1–9 is thus its explicit integration of the concept of centralized calendrical time in Lev 23 with other centralizing motifs elsewhere in H and P; namely, promotion of communal obligations to the central shrine and deference to members of the Aaronide priesthood, who undertake such rites. In this way, H reminds the Israelites of the ritualized rhythm of the central sanctuary immediately after presenting the calendar and thereby forges a sophisticated link between its concept of temporal symmetry achieved via the annual festivals and the communal obligation to defer to and maintain a centralized shrine. 6.3.1 Sanctuary Time and Ritual Centralization To confirm this reading, we need first to review the contents of Lev 24:1–9 and their relationship with Lev 23. The appendix to the calendar reads as follows. Lev 24:1–9 1 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: 2 “Command the Israelites: they shall bring to you pure oil of beaten olives for the light to kindle a flame regularly. 3 Aaron96 shall arrange it outside the curtain of the testimony in the tent of meeting, from evening until morning before Yhwh

95 Items referenced include the ‫‘ פרכת העדת‬curtain of the testimony’ (v. 3), the ‫מנרה‬ ‘candelabrum’ (v. 4), and ‫‘ השלחן הטהר לפני יהוה‬the pure [gold] table before Yhwh’ (v. 6). 96 SP and LXX read ‫‘ אהרן ובניו‬Aaron and his sons’. MT’s reading, which attributes this task to Aaron alone, should be preferred. The inclusion of Aaron’s sons in Lev 24:3 LXX and SP seems to be a secondary attempt at harmonizing the texts of Lev 24:2–4 and Exod 27:20–21 because, in the latter, this task is assigned to Aaron and his sons; see further Hartley, Leviticus, 395. On the parallels between these two texts, see pp. 307–8 below.

6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9

305

regularly; it is an eternal statute throughout your generations. 4 He shall arrange the flames upon the pure [gold] candelabrum before Yhwh regularly.”97 5 “You shall take choice flour and bake twelve loaves; two-tenths shall be [in] each loaf. 6 You shall place them in two rows, six in a row, on the table of pure [gold] before Yhwh. 7 You shall put pure frankincense upon the rows; it shall be for the bread as a memorial food offering for Yhwh. 8 Every sabbath day98 he shall arrange them before Yhwh regularly, as a permanent requirement from the Israelites. 9 They shall be for Aaron and for his sons; they shall eat them in a holy place, for they are holy portions for him from the food offerings of Yhwh: it is a perpetual due.”

The instructions comprise an introduction (v. 1) to divine speech followed by two laws for offerings of oil (vv. 2–4) and bread (vv. 5–9) to be put to use within the interior of the wilderness sanctuary. The regular rites laid out in Lev 24:2–9 have many linguistic and conceptual parallels to the festal calendar of Lev 23. First, both texts concern ceremonies that take place at fixed intervals. Yet these intervals differ: Lev 23 prescribes annual festivals, while Lev 24 details daily (vv. 2–4) and weekly rites (vv. 5–9).99 A second correspondence between the two texts is their shared descriptions of specific cereal offerings required of the Israelites. The ingredients of the display bread in Lev 24:5–9 are very similar to those of the two cereal offerings that must be brought during the celebration of the firstfruits of the wheat harvest in Lev 23:10–21.100 Of all the cereal offerings described in the priestly ritual materials in Leviticus, the firstfruits offerings and the display bread are the only ones to consist of ‫שׁני‬ ‫‘ עשׂרנים סלת‬two tenths of choice flour’. Moreover, the display bread and the two loaves of new wheat (Lev 23:15–21) are the only two cereal offerings said to be baked without oil. To be sure, the cereal offerings prescribed in Lev 23 and 24:5–9 are not identical. None of the loaves in Lev 23 is offered along with frankincense, while Lev 24:7 states explicitly that frankincense must be added to the display bread. Furthermore, the two loaves to be waved in Lev 23:15–21 must be baked with leaven, a unique quality when compared to all the offerings in Leviticus, including the display bread of Lev 24:5–9. Nevertheless, the similarities between the two sets of instructions position the display bread as sharing a certain likeness with the firstfruits offering detailed in Lev 23 and thereby strengthen the connection between the two sets of instructions. A third parallel between 97 SP and LXX read ‫‘ עד בקר‬until morning’ rather than ‫‘ תמיד‬regularly’, but their reading is difficult in this context because it is unclear how Aaron could be expected to arrange the lamp until morning. It seems, therefore, to reflect the influence of v. 3, where ‫ עד בקר‬is found; see further Sun, “Investigation,” 410. 98 MT, SP, and 4QLev b (4Q24) all preserve the distributive expression ‫ביום הש בת ביום‬ ‫‘( השבת‬every sabbath day’). While LXX omits the second ‫ביום השבת‬, and reads only τῇ ἡµέρᾳ τῶν σαββάτων, this seems to be a scribal error. 99 As highlighted by Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 91; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 298; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 511. 100 Alfred Marx, Lévitique 17–27, CAT 3b (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2011), 165.

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Lev 23 and 24:1–9 is the inclusion of the refrain ‫‘ חקת עולם לדרתיכם‬an eternal statute throughout your generations’ in Lev 23:14, 21, 31, 41 and Lev 24:3 (see also the related expression ‫ חק־עולם‬in 24:9). This refrain occurs in Lev 17–26 only in these verses of Lev 23 and 24, and on one other occasion in Lev 17:7. The use of this formula in the two chapters, as well as the related form ‫חק־עולם‬ in 24:9, therefore creates a strong connection between the calendrical prescriptions of Lev 23 and the sanctuary rites of Lev 24:1–9.101 Despite these commonalities, there are also formal indicators of a structural distinction between Lev 23 and Lev 24:1–9. The two chapters are headed by different speech command formulae, and the introduction in 24:1–2aβ (in which Yhwh instructs Moses to ‫‘ צו את־בני ישׂראל‬command the Israelites’) is unique within Lev 17–26. Furthermore, the compliance formula in Lev 23:44 (‫‘ וידבר משה את מעדי יהוה אל בני ישׂראל‬Moses declared to the Israelites the fixed times of Yhwh’) signals a significant break between the festal calendar and the material of Lev 24:1–9. When considered alongside their distinctive foci on different temporal intervals (annual time in Lev 23, and weekly and daily intervals in Lev 24:1–9), it seems that Lev 23 should not be seen as fully integrated with Lev 24:1–9. The latter is better imagined as an appendix to the calendar that “deals with a sub-theme of Lev 23”; namely, sacred occasions that occur at regular intervals.102 Scholars have rarely treated the laws of Lev 24:1–9 as an integral part of H’s discursive strategy. This is due in the main to their strong links with P: they heavily reference the wilderness setting at the tent of meeting and draw on specific P instructions concerning regular rites at the sanctuary. These associations have traditionally been considered evidence that these verses did not stem from H’s hand but were written by a later scribe who sought to align the earlier Holiness Code and the Priestly legislation.103 Even scholars who no longer read H as a pre-P composition frequently maintain that Lev 24:1–9 comprise a late insertion into Lev 17–26, owing to these verses’ close proximity to the late narrative of 24:10–23 and their unusually strong echoes of P when

101 It is significant, however, that Lev 24:1–9 never repeat the longer version of the formula in Lev 23, which includes the command to honor the statutes “in all your settlements” ( ‫)חקת עולם לדרתיכם בכל משׁבתיכם‬. By avoiding any mention of the settlements in Lev 24:1– 9, H may have sought to avoid the suggestion that sanctuary rites, which in 24:3 are said to take place at the ‫אהל מועד‬, are to be performed in the settlements. 102 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 511. 103 For this view, see, e.g., Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher, 79; August Dillmann, Die Bücher Exodus und Leviticus, KHAT (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1897), 651; Lewis Bayles Paton, “The Original Form of Leviticus xvii–xix,” JBL 16 (1897): 44; Samuel Driver, An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament, 9th ed., International Theological Library (New York, NY: Meridan, 1956), 56; Wellhausen, Die Composition, 163–64; Kuenen, HistoricoCritical Inquiry, 89–90; Noth, Leviticus, 176–77; and Hartley, Leviticus, 396.

6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9

307

compared to Lev 23 and 25.104 However, while the secondary character of Lev 24:10–23 is clear (see §2.2.1), there are few grounds for arguing that Lev 24:1– 9 were secondary to Lev 17–26. As just mentioned, Lev 24:1–9 have strong linguistic and thematic links to Lev 23 and form the logical progression from H’s calendar of annual times to a focus on more regular intervals.105 By contrast, Lev 24:1–9 share very few correspondences with the secondary material of Lev 24:10–23. In addition, while Lev 24:1–9 do contain various echoes of the P materials, these alone do not warrant separating them from Lev 23 as a secondary addition. The links to P in Lev 24:1–9 should be read not so much as indicating that these verses are a secondary intrusion to H but as a discursive strategy on H’s part when conceptualizing sacred time. H integrates its innovative focus on calendrical time, articulated in Lev 23, with two interests of the earlier P materials: the timing of ‫‘ תמיד‬regular’ rites at the central sanctuary and the ritual agency of Aaron to ‫‘ תמיד‬continually’ represent the Israelites before the god.106 In so doing, it articulates the continuity between its new emphasis on centralized annual celebrations and the key facets of P’s discourse of centralization. The command at Lev 24:2–4 that the Israelites are to bring oil for the sanctuary light corresponds in a number of ways to P texts concerned with daily rites at the central shrine. Its clearest parallel is Exod 27:20–21, where Yhwh commands the same donation during the construction of the wilderness sanctuary. Exodus 27:21 and Lev 24:3 contain nearly identical descriptions of Aaron’s ritual actions in arranging the light in the outer sanctum every morning and evening (although Exod 27:21 states that Aaron should perform this action together with his sons).107 Knohl argues that the verbal overlaps between Exod 27:20–21 and Lev 24:2–4 suggests that both texts are the handiwork of HS.108 To support this conclusion, he cites the long-standing scholarly consensus that Exod 27:20–21 constitute a late addition to Exod 25–29.109 However, there are See Elliger, Leviticus, 324–29; Volker Wagner, “Zur Existenz des sogenannten ‘Heiligkeitsgesetzes’,” ZAW 86, no. 3 (1974): 314 n. 29; Otto, Theologische Ethik, 240; Otto, “Innerbiblische Exegese,” 75; and, more tentatively, Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2085–86. 105 As argued, e.g., by Knohl, Sanctuary, 119–21; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 298; Leigh M. Trevaskis, “The Purpose of Leviticus 24 within Its Literary Context,” VT 59, no. 2 (2009): 295–312; Didier Luciani, “Une autre intention pour Lv 24. Réponse à Leigh M. Trevaskis,” VT 60, no. 4 (2010): 591–600; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:871–73, 939. 106 On the use of ‫ תמיד‬as both an adjective and an adverb, see ‫ָת ִמ יד‬, HALOT 4:1774, §1 and §2. 107 Cf. Exod 27:21 ‫באהל מועד מחוץ לפרכת אשׁ ר על־העדת יערך אתו אהרן ובניו מערב עד ־בקר‬ ‫ ;לפני יהוה חקת עולם לדרתם מאת בני ישׂראל‬Lev 24:3 ‫מחוץ לפרכת העדת באהל מועד יערך אתו‬ ‫אהרן מערב עד־בקר לפני יהוה תמיד חקת עולם לדרתיכם‬. 108 Knohl, Sanctuary, 47. 109 The oil instruction at Exod 27:20–21 sits somewhat awkwardly in ch. 27, since the immediate context concerns the construction of the sanctuary court (Exod 27:9–18) and the shrine’s utensils (Exod 27:19) with no mention of the sanctuary light. It is also curious that 104

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some inconsistensies in Knohl’s reasoning. One question that Knohl does not address when assigning Exod 27:20–21 to HS is why these verses are presupposed in the incense altar instructions at Exod 30:7–8. Here Yhwh instructs Aaron to present a ‫ תמיד‬incense offering at the same time as he “dresses (‫יטב‬ hiphil) the lamps” each morning and evening. Knohl argues that Exod 30:1–37 are original to P and therefore predate H. According to his model, then, the oil instructions of Exod 27:20–21 must logically also form part of P. A more likely possibility is that Exod 27:20–21 were added to P at the same time as the incense altar instructions of Exod 30 (or in a closely-related compositional phase).110 In this case, Exod 27:20–21 would be an insertion to the Priestly sanctuary account, but nonetheless one that predated the composition of Lev 24:2–4.111 The presence of the phrase ‫חקת עולם לדרתם מאת בני ישׂראל‬ in Exod 27:21b is curious, since this language is typically found in Lev 17–26 and H-related passages. However, it could be a late gloss, which was added to Exod 27:20–21a in a bid to coordinate this instruction with the new H regulation at Lev 24:2–4. Moreover, while Lev 24:2–4 and Exod 27:20–21 are very similar in their phrasing, the H commandment contains an additional instruction that has no equivalent in the Exodus text; namely, the statement in Lev 24:4 that Aaron shall arrange the lamp upon the ‫‘ מנרה‬candelabrum’ regularly. The presence of this additional detail arguably reveals Lev 24:2–4 as the later of the two instructions, which adds a new point of clarification; namely, that the ‫ נר‬mentioned in Exod 27:20 refers not to a single lamp but to the sevenbranched candelabrum known from Exod 25:37.112 In addition to Exod 27:20–21, Lev 24:2–4 also correspond in several ways to the ‫‘ תורת העלה‬instruction of the burnt offering’ found in Lev 6:1–6 MT (= 6:8–13 LXX), which describes the ‫‘ תמיד‬continual’ fire that must be kept burning upon the altar. Leviticus 6:1–6 and 24:2–4 share the distinctive introduction (found nowhere else in the priestly materials in Leviticus), in which the imperative form of the verb ‫‘ צוה‬command’ is used immediately after the the instructions for the oil come so much later than the command in Exod 25:31–40 to construct the ‫‘ מנרת זהב טהור‬candelabrum of pure gold’ mounted with seven lamps. See further Kuenen, Historico-Critical Inquiry, 74; Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, 236; Wellhausen, Die Composition, 141; Jens Voss, Die Menora: Gestalt und Funktion des Leuchters im Tempel zu Jerusalem (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 42; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1338. 110 On the evidence of the secondary character of Exod 30–31, see the detailed discussion at §2.2.2. 111 This conclusion is similar to those reached by Hartley, Leviticus, 399; Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 91; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 511 n. 450; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:942. On H’s knowledge of the incense altar instructions of Exod 30:1–10, see §2.2.2. 112 As argued by Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 324; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 511 n. 450.

6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9

309

phrase ‫‘ וידבר יהוה אל־משׁה לאמר‬and Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows’.113 The two laws also share the thematic overlap of commanding the provision of a perishable item – wood in the case of Lev 6:1–6, and oil in the case of Lev 24:2–4 – which must be ‫‘ תמיד‬regularly’ replenished in order to ensure the daily maintenance of the altar fire. The major difference between the two texts is that Lev 6:5–6 MT (= 6:12–13 LXX) hold the priests responsible for providing wood for the altar fire, while Lev 24:2–4 emphasize the communal responsibility to maintain the sanctuary’s stocks of oil. This is consistent with the distinctive focus of Lev 23:1–24:9 on “[t]he responsibility of the people to maintain the public cult,” a point to which I will return below.114 A final parallel between these two chapters may also be observed later in Lev 6:13 MT (= 6:20 LXX), in the timing of the ‫ תמיד‬cereal offering that is to be offered by Aaron and his sons at their ordination: this must be completed twice per day, once in the morning and once in the evening, like the lighting of the lamps. Additional parallels with earlier P texts can be observed in Lev 24:5–9 in the description of the weekly display of twelve loaves on the golden table. Here H builds on the statement at Exod 25:30 ‫ונתת על־השׁלחן לחם פנים לפני תמיד‬ ‘you shall set the bread of the presence on the table before me regularly’ to provide new instructions for how the ritual should be performed: how the bread should be prepared, displayed by Aaron on the golden table, replenished each sabbath, and subsequently distributed among the priests on the day of the sabbath.115 In providing these details, H places a stronger emphasis on the temporal aspect of the rites; while Exod 25:30 speaks only of the need to place the display bread before Yhwh ‫‘ תמיד‬regularly’, H now sets a fixed, regular time for this rite to be performed every week (see §7.2.3). This new detail is entirely in keeping with the focus in the festal calendar of Lev 23 on establishing clear, repeatable patterns for the timing of the Israelites’ worship, although the focus in Lev 24:5–9 is now on those rites that transpire on a more frequent basis. In particular, Lev 24:5–9 seem to develop H’s interest in Lev 23 with the link between fixed time and communal unity. In much the same way that the festal calendar ensures that the Israelites synchronize their worship and 113 Leviticus 6:1–2aα MT (= 6:8–9aα LXX): ‫וידבר יהוה אל־משׁ ה לאמר צו את ־אהרן ואת ־בניו‬ ‫‘ לאמר‬Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: Command Aaron and his sons as follows’; cf. Lev 24:1–2a: ‫‘ וידבר יהוה אל־משׁה לאמר צו את בני ישׂראל‬Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: Command the Israelites’. 114 Direct quote from Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2082. 115 See further Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 358; Marx, Lévitique 17–27, 163 n. 13; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:941. Aaron is not explicitly mentioned in Lev 24:5–8, but he is mentioned in v. 9 in the context of the removal and distribution of the discarded loaves. In addition, MT, SP, and LXX all use a third person masculine singular verbal form in v. 8 when describing the arrangement of the display bread ( ‫ ערך‬qal MT; ‫ ערך‬hiphil SP; προτίθηµι future middle LXX), which strongly suggests that it is Aaron who is to display the bread before the deity each sabbath. 2 ‫׃‬

2 ‫׃‬

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therefore present themselves before the god as a communal unity, so, too, does the weekly rite of the display bread in Lev 24:5–9 ensure that the god perceives the Israelites as a unified, centralized collective. A particularly important detail added by H to the bread rite, which is not found in Exod 25:30, is the number of loaves that must be displayed on the golden table: in Lev 24:5–6, Moses is commanded to bake twelve loaves, which are then to be displayed by Aaron before Yhwh in two rows of six loaves each.116 Scholars have long suspected that the twelve loaves of bread represent the twelve tribes of Israel and serve as a continual reminder of the community before the deity.117 The use of twelve objects to represent the tribes is observed in a number of other passages in the Hebrew Bible.118 Furthermore, this interpretation of the loaves in Lev 24:5–6 is supported by the occurrence of the root ‫ זכר‬in Lev 24:7: “you shall put pure frankincense upon the rows; it shall be for the bread as a memorial (‫)אזכרה‬ food offering for Yhwh.” The term ‫ אזכרה‬is used by P to describe the special capacity of the portion of the ‫מנחה‬, which consists of a handful of flour mixed with oil with frankincense added, to ensure that the deity is favorably disposed towards the offerer.119 The root ‫ זכר‬elsewhere in the priestly traditions has strong covenantal connotations, as Yhwh is said to have “remembered” his covenantal obligations (see Gen 9:15–16; Exod 2:24; 6:5; cf. Jer 14:21; Ezek 16:60; Amos 1:9; Ps 106:46). Its occurrence in Lev 24:7 therefore suggests that the twelve loaves must be displayed before Yhwh not only as part of the Israelites’ permanent requirement (‫ )ברית עולם‬to honor the deity but also as a prompt for the deity to remember its obligations towards the community as their patron. This reading gains weight when we consider the important echoes of Exod 28, the description of Aaron’s vestments, within the wording of the display bread rite of Lev 24:5–9. The command to Aaron to regularly (‫ )תמיד‬arrange 116 The use of second masculine singular verbs in MT and SP ( ‫‘ לקחת‬you shall take’ in v. 5 and ‫‘ שׂמת‬you shall put’ in v. 6) suggests that Moses was the one expected to prepare the twelve loaves, which were then displayed by Aaron on the golden table; on this division of tasks, see further Noth, Leviticus, 177; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 323; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2095; Trevaskis, “Purpose,” 303; Luciani, “Une autre intention,” 597–98; and Marx, Lévitique 17–27, 163. In the LXX, by contrast, we find second person masculine plural verbs for both actions (λήµψεσθε ‘you shall take’ and ἐπιθήσετε ‘you shall lay them), which would seem to suggest that the priests were intended to undertake the task of preparing and displaying the loaves. 117 See, e.g., Dillmann, Die Bücher Exodus und Leviticus, 653; Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions, trans. John McHugh, 2 vols. (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1973), 422; Roy E. Gane, “‘Bread of the Presence’ and Creator-in-Residence,” VT 42, no. 2 (1992): 179–203; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 326; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2095; Trevaskis, “Leviticus 24 Purpose”; Marx, Lévitique 17–27, 163 with n. 17; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:871, 947. 118 Cf. Exod 24:4; 28:9–12, 21; Josh 4:1–7; 1 Kgs 18:31. 119 Cf. the term ‫ ריח ניחח‬in Lev 2:2, 9; 6:15.

6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9

311

the twelve loaves for an ‫ אזכרה‬creates a curious allusion to the description of Aaron’s ‫ אפוד‬and breastpiece. In Exod 28:12, 29, Aaron is said to wear semiprecious stones – one on each shoulder of the ‫אפוד‬, and twelve in four rows on the breastpiece – which are to be engraved with the names of the twelve tribes. As outlined in §4.3.1, these stones play a crucial role in construing the high priest as the authorized agent of the entire community, because he literally embodies the twelve tribes in the clothes that he wears. Of particular note in the present context is the wording of Exod 28:29. Here Aaron is said to bear the names of the Israelites ‫‘ לזכרן לפני־יהוה תמיד‬for a memorial before Yhwh continually’. This language is very similar to that of Lev 24:7–8, which describes the frankincense of the twelve loaves of display bread as a ‫( אזכרה‬v. 7) and then also states that the loaves must be arranged by Aaron ‫לפני יהוה תמיד‬. The focus in these texts on the numeral twelve, the adverb ‫תמיד‬, the root ‫זכר‬, and the ritual agency of the high priest to represent the community ‫ לפני יהוה‬all suggest that the display bread is seen by H to perform a similar function to that of the semiprecious stones in Exod 28: it affirms the high priest’s unique ability to display before Yhwh a unified Israel, expressed in the ideal of the twelve tribes, and thus ensure that the god remains favorably disposed towards them. A major difference between the display bread and the stones on Aaron’s garments is that the former is a perishable item that requires weekly renewal rather than a permanent fixture of the high priest’s garb; it must be regularly replenished if it is to fulfill its ritual role within the central shrine. The weekly display bread might therefore also serve as a reminder of the Israelites’ core duty as Yhwh’s client to provide the material resources needed by the central shrine if it is to continue the regular rituals at the god’s stated intervals, a responsibility that has already been emphasized in Lev 24:2–4 in the instruction for the regular donation of oil. Although the responsibility to display the loaves falls to Aaron (v. 8a), H describes the rite in v. 8b ‫‘ מאת בני ישראל ברית עולם‬as an everlasting requirement from the Israelites’.120 This description appears to affirm the Israelites’ collective obligation to supply the grain that was needed to bake and display the loaves each week. Alfred Marx suggests that this communal aspect of the display bread rite is further underscored by H’s description of the ingredients for the bread in Lev 24:5.121 As mentioned above, there are a number of striking parallels between the ingredients for the display bread and 120 On the translation of ‫ מאת‬as ‘from, due from,’ see ‫ֵא ת‬, HALOT 1:101 §2. The translation of ‫ ברית עולם‬is debated. Scholars such as Joosten, People, 19–20, Milgrom, Leviticus 23– 27, 2095, and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:951 suggest that it refers to the “eternal covenant” between Yhwh and the Israelites mentioned in Gen 9:16; 17:7. However, as seen by Elliger, Leviticus, 329, the structural parallel between the statement in v. 8b that the display of twelve loaves is a ‫ ברית עולם‬from the Israelites and the command in v. 9b that the loaves be withdrawn each sabbath and given to the priest as a ‫‘ חק־עולם‬perpetual due’ suggests that the translation ‘permanent requirement’ should be preferred. 121 Marx, Lévitique 17–27, 165.

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those prescribed in Lev 23:9–22 for the offering of the firstfruits of the wheat harvest. Marx argues that H might have intended to construe the offering of weekly display loaves as resembling firstfruits. While the display bread would not have been considered an offering of the firstfruits of the harvest, which was by nature an annual event, he contends it was “the firstfruits of the daily food of Israel” (des prémices de la nourriture consommée quotidiennement par Israël).122 The act of arranging the twelve loaves of display bread was thus a way of ensuring that the deity received its weekly portion of the food that represented the basis of the Israelite diet. It therefore served as a continual reminder of the Israelites’ obligation to donate a portion of their crop to the god at its central sanctuary. Furthermore, the rite of the display loaves also serves as a reminder of the symbiosis between the Israelites’ donations to the god in its central shrine and their shared responsibility to support its priesthood. The sophisticated wording of vv. 8–9 creates a symmetry between the permanence of the Israelites’ requirement to donate the display loaves and the permanence of Aaron and his sons’ right to receive the loaves as a prebend. The statement in v. 8b, that the display of twelve loaves is a ‫ ברית עולם‬from the Israelites, parallels the command in v. 9b that the loaves be withdrawn each sabbath and given to the priest as a ‫‘ חק־עולם‬perpetual due’. It also links back to the ‫ חקת עולם‬formula in v. 3 concerning Aaron’s role in regularly displaying the candelabrum. Leviticus 24:5–9 thus place new emphasis on the permanent rights of the Aaronide priests to material benefit from the offerings and donations that the Israelites must present to the deity, owing to their unique agency to perform the regular rites within the sanctuary interior. Beyond the twelve loaves being perishable, a further difference between them and the stones embroidered on Aaron’s garments is where they are to be displayed. Unlike the engraved stones, which must always be worn by Aaron or his descendants (see Exod 29:29–30 and §4.3.1.4), the twelve loaves are to be housed on the golden table in the outer sanctum, where they are to be regularly displayed before Yhwh. While Aaron plays an important role in arranging the display bread on the table, the space of the sanctuary is integral to ensuring that these donations represent the unified community of Israel before Yhwh. In this way, the rite of Lev 24:5–9 speaks to the emphasis in H, as in P before it, on the crucial importance of the central sanctuary for ensuring that all Israel, ideally represented as the twelve tribes, is presented before its shared patron deity. Hence, Lev 24:5–9, together with the oil rites in 24:1–4, provide an intricate portrayal of the importance of the regular ritual cult in advancing H’s discourse of centralization. The heavy referencing of P in these verses reveals H’s concern to affirm the core facets of P’s centralizing logic – the importance of 122

Marx, Lévitique 17–27, 165.

6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9

313

central sanctuary space, a standardized ritual cult, and a hegemonic priesthood – while also bringing to the fore the critical importance of fixed time in the centralized cult and community. H positions the standardized rhythm of regular rites at the central shrine as essential to maintaining the partnership between Yhwh and his chosen clients, the Israelites, by reminding the deity of the unity of the tribes and their dedication to the central shrine and its priestly attendants. The placement of these ritual instructions immediately after the festal calendar of Lev 23 is therefore highly significant: it confirms that the Israelites’ duty to observe Yhwh’s holy days according to a calendar of fixed times could never negate their obligation to defer to a centralized sanctuary cult. To the contrary, H underscores the complementarity between the annual fixed festal rites and the more frequent rhythm of the daily and weekly rituals at the central sanctuary, under the leadership of the Aaronide priesthood. When read in tandem, then, Lev 23 and Lev 24:1–9 bring to the fore the manner in which H uses time to reinforce and enhance its discourse about the centrality of the sanctuary and priestly authority. In these materials, H provides a “temporal map” for the way the Israelites should conceive and evaluate their place within the cultic order.123 This map punctuates every year, week, and day with the obligations of deferring to central spaces, processes, and authorities, deference that almost invariably involves soliciting sacrifices and donations from the Israelites. In the festal calendar, these include the donations the Israelites must bring to the shrine when they undertake unified pilgrimages, but they also include the contributions they must send from their settlements via communal representatives (see esp. Lev 23:17). In Lev 24:1–9, these include raw materials such as oil, by which the regular ritual cult of the central shrine might be sustained, as well as cereals and grains from which the display loaves might be made. While there is no suggestion in Lev 24:1–9 that the Israelites are required to travel to the sanctuary every day with gifts of oil, or every week with cereal, H underscores the community’s responsibility to internalize the timing of the regular rites performed by Aaron as a means of emphasizing their collective responsibility for maintaining the centralized cult and its stocks of perishable donations. In so doing, H construes the obligation for the regular cult as essentially shared between the priesthood and the community, the former responsible for undertaking the rites, the latter for ensuring that the raw materials are available to the sanctuary to guarantee that these can be performed. Finally, Lev 24:5–9 show how H’s discourse of time entrenches the authority of the Aaronide priests not only to handle but to profit from the Israelites’ donations to the sanctuary. By concluding the regular rites at the sanctuary with the statement that the priests have a permanent right to the display bread – it is a ‫‘ חק־עולם‬perpetual due’ – H construes the priests’ rights to material benefit 123

Returning here to the terminology of Zerubavel, Hidden Rhythms, 14.

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from centralized cultic practice as timeless and unquestionable. It also makes clear that the expectation to maintain the priesthood with regular donations does not end in the foundational past but remains binding for subsequent generations. Together, then, the ritual instructions of Lev 23 and 24:1–9 provide a vivid demonstration of how discourses about time serve to entrench the privileges of central powers, as well as the fundamental connection between centralization and economic power.124 By controlling the mechanisms by which time is reckoned, central elites are given a valuable tool for structuring the way groups conceive and evaluate the distribution of rights and resources in ways that favor the concentration of authority and privileges. 6.3.2 New Insights from 4QReworked Pentateuch C 23 This reading of the complementarity of Lev 23 and Lev 24:1–9 in H’s discourse of centralization gains weight when we consider a lengthy ritual supplement that is preserved in a fragment of a manuscript discovered in Cave Four at Qumran; namely, 4QReworkedPentateuch 23 (4Q365).125 This supplement brings to the fore the close connection between H’s concept of centralized time and its expectation that the Israelites have a duty to maintain a centralized sanctuary cult. Moreover, it offers rare evidence of how scribes in the Second Temple period understood the centralizing ideals of the foundational past at Sinai to justify the construction of a central temple in the land, around which all twelve tribes were to rally in unified ritual service. 4Q365 is a mid-first-century BCE pentateuchal copy of a harmonistic/expansionist text type. It exhibits a tendency to rearrange, paraphrase and add to earlier versions of the Pentateuch.126 It was originally published as a “parabiblical” text, owing to the extensive manner in which it reworks the Pentateuch when compared to other manuscripts.127 Scholars now widely agree that this is a misclassification, and that the manuscript probably comprised a copy of the Pentateuch rather than a new composition.128 Much of its extant material Cf. Gell, Anthropology, 300–13 and Stern, Calendars, 1–2. This analysis of 4Q365 23 develops the ideas presented in Julia Rhyder, “‘The Temple which You Will Build for Me in the Land’: The Future Sanctuary in a Textual Tradition of Leviticus,” DSD 24, no. 2 (2017): 271–300. 126 Sidnie White Crawford, “The Pentateuch as Found in the Pre-Samaritan Texts and 4QReworked Pentateuch,” in Changes in Scripture: Rewriting and Interpreting Authoritative Traditions in the Second Temple Period, ed. Hanne von Weissenberg, Juha Pakkala, and Marko Marttila, BZAW 419 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 126; and George J. Brooke, “4Q158: Reworked Pentateuchª or Reworked Pentateuch A?” DSD 8, no. 3 (2001): 219–41. 127 Emanuel Tov and Sidnie White, “4QReworked Pentateuchc,” in Qumran Cave 4. XIII. Parabiblical Texts, Part 1, ed. Harold W. Attridge et al., DJD 13 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), 255–318. 128 See, e.g., Eugene Ulrich, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Biblical Text,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls After Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment, ed. Peter W. Flint and James C. 124 125

6.3 Shared Time and the Central Sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9

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reproduces the known Pentateuch without major variation; even when additional text is introduced, it is inserted in such a way as to be in keeping with the surrounding material. Moreover, the rationale behind making such additions seems to have been exegetical: They alleviate potential contradictions or seeming omissions within the known Pentateuch.129 Fragment 23 preserves a set of ritual instructions in Lev 24:2aβ–9, not found in any other version of Leviticus, that concern the bringing of offerings of wood and oil to a new sanctuary: ‫[‘ ]הב[ית אשר תבנו לי בארץ‬the tem]ple which you will build for me in the land’ (line 6).130 The addition begins in lines 1–3 at the conclusion of the instructions for the celebration of the festival of booths found in Lev 23:42–44. Line 4 then commences with the distinctive introduction formula of Lev 24:2aα: “command [‫ צוה‬piel imperative] the Israelites.” However, where we would normally find the material concerning the bringing of oil for the sanctuary candelabrum (Lev 24:2aβ–9), 4Q365 23 describes the bringing of wood by the twelve tribes to “the temple which you will build for me in the land.” 4Q365 23:4–12 ‫ וידבר יהוה אל מוש ה לאמור צו את בני יש ראל לאמור בבואכמה אל הארץ אש ר‬4 [‫ ]א[ ֯נוכי נותן לכמה לנחלה וישבתם עליה לבטח תקריבו עׄשׄצים לעולה ולכול מׄל֯א כ]ת‬5 ‫ ]הב[ית אשר תבנו לי בארץ לערוך אותם על מזבח העולׄה ]ו[ׄאת ה֯ע ֯גל]י[֯ם‬6 ] ‫ ] [◦ׄם לפסחים ולשלמים ׄולת ֯ו֯דות ולנדבות ולעולות דבר יוׄם‬7 ] 8 [ ‫[ל ◦][ל◦] [◦מים ולׄד]ל[֯ת ות ולכול מלאכת הבית יקׄר ֯י]בו‬ ] 9 ] ‫מ[ ֯ועד היצהר יקריבו את העצים שנים‬ ] 10 ]◦ ‫[◦◦י המק֯ריבים ביום הריׄש ]ו[ ֯ן לוי‬ ] -- ‫ ראו[֯בן ושמע ׄון] וב[ ֯יום הר֯ב ]יעי‬-- ] ] 11 ]‫[ׄל‬ ] 12 4 Yhwh spoke to Moses as follows: Command the Israelites as follows: when you come into the land that VanderKam (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 88; Michael Segal, “4QReworked Pentateuch or 4QPentateuch?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years After Their Discovery, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman et al. (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000), 391–99; Brooke, “4Q158,” 222–27; Emanuel Tov, “From 4QReworked Pentateuch to 4QPentateuch(?),” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism, ed. Mladen Popović, JSJSup 141 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 79–81, which reverses the view expressed in Tov and White, “4QReworked Pentateuchc,” 187−351; and Molly M. Zahn, Rethinking Rewritten Scripture: Composition and Exegesis in the 4QReworked Pentateuch Manuscrips, STDJ 103 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 98–121. 129 See further Emanuel Tov, “The Textual Status of 4Q364–367 (4QRP),” in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid 18–21 March, 1991, ed. Julio Trebolle Barrera and Luis Vegas Montaner, STDJ 11 (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 49–52; and George J. Brooke, “Power to the Powerless: A Long-Lost Song of Miriam,” BAR 20, no. 3 (1994): 62–65. 130 Text and translation adapted from Tov and White, “4QReworked Pentateuchc,” 290−91.

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5 I am giving to you for an inheritance, and you dwell upon it securely, you shall bring wood for a burnt offering and for all the wor[k of 6 the tem]ple which you will build for me in the land, to arrange them upon the altar of burnt offering, [and] the calv[es 7 ]m for Passover sacrifices and for sacrifices of well-being and for thanksgiving offerings and for freewill offerings and for burnt offerings, daily [ 8 ] and for the doors and for all the work of the temple the[y] will bri[ng] 9 ] the [fe]stival of new oil. They will bring the wood, two [ 10 ] the ones who bring on the fir[st] day: Levi [ 11 Reu]ben and Simeon [and on t]he fou[th] day 12 ]l[

While the first reference to the ‫‘ בית‬temple’ in line 6 is partly reconstructed, it is confirmed by the second mention of the ‫ בית‬in line 8, where the word is preserved in full. This offering of wood is to be brought to the temple by the tribes on set days in conjunction with ‫‘ מועד היצהר‬the festival of new oil’ (line 9).131 131 There are strong indications that the offerings of wood and oil had an established place in the ritual cult of the Second Temple period. Both festivals are mentioned in the Temple Scroll. For the wood offering, see 11QTemplea (= 11Q19) 23; 43:3–4 and very likely 11QTempleb (= 11Q20) 6:11–18. For the festival of new oil, see 11Q19 21–22. Moreover, 4Q365 23 contains a number of striking overlaps with the description of the wood offering and festival of new oil found in these mss of the Temple Scroll. As I have discussed in detail elsewhere, 4Q365 23 is best understood as preserving source material used by the author of the Temple Scroll when describing the festivals; see Rhyder, “Temple,” 276–78; see further John Strugnell, quoted in Ben-Zion Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran: The Sectarian Torah and the Teacher of Righteousness (Cincinnati, OH: Hebrew Union College, 1983), 205–6; George J. Brooke, “The Rewritten Law, Prophets and Psalms: Issues for Understanding the Text of the Bible,” in The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries, ed. Edward D. Herbert and Emanuel Tov (London: British Library, 2002), 33; Armin Lange, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Date of the Final Stage of the Pentateuch,” in On Stone and Scroll: Essays in Honour of Graham Ivor Davies, ed. James K. Aitken, Katharine J. Dell, and Brian A. Mastin, BZAW 420 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 296; and Molly M. Zahn, “4QReworked Pentateuch C and the Literary Sources of the ‘Temple Scroll’: A New (Old) Proposal,” DSD 19, no. 2 (2012): 152. This suggests that, even though 4Q365 is a midfirst-century BCE manuscript, it could point to a much earlier Torah tradition known to the author of the Temple Scroll and received as authoritative scripture. Because scholars generally agree that the Temple Scroll was most likely written sometime during the middle of the second century BCE, if 4Q365 preserved traces of a source text for the Temple Scroll, a version of Leviticus that already included the additional festivals in fragment 23 might have been in circulation by the early second or perhaps even late third century BCE. On the dating of the Temple Scroll, see further, e.g., Florentino García Martínez, “Temple Scroll,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 931–32; Casey Deryl Elledge, The Statutes of the King: The Temple Scroll’s Legislation on Kingship (11Q19 LVI 12–LIX 21), CahRB 56 (Paris: Gabalda, 2004), 37–45; and Simone Paganini, “Nicht darfst du zu diesen Wörtern etwas hinzufügen.” Die Rezeption des Deuteronomiums in der Tempelrolle. Sprache,

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What might have been the purpose of the ritual addition at 4Q365 23? The mention of ‫‘ מועד‬fixed time’ in 4Q365 23:9 strongly suggests that the ritual supplement in fragment 23 was intended to introduce two new festivals as a supplement to the festal calendar of Lev 23. This conclusion finds additional support in the wording of the introduction to the ritual supplement in 4Q365 23:5–6. Here, following Yhwh’s instruction to Moses to “command the Israelites,” the fragment attests the following description of the entry into the land: “when you come into the land that I am giving to you for an inheritance, and you dwell upon it securely, you shall bring wood.” This statement is strongly reminiscent of the introduction to the firstfruits laws in Lev 23:10: “when you will come to the land that I am giving to you and you reap your harvest, you shall bring the first sheaf of the harvest to the priest.” This link to Lev 23:10 may reflect the perceived continuity between the offering of new oil and of wood and celebrations of firstfruits: in the Temple Scroll, a festival of new oil is listed as a firstfruits festival to take place after the festival of new wine.132 The decision to introduce the offerings of new oil and wood with similar wording to that of Lev 23:10 might therefore be an attempt to position these festivals as legitimate extensions of the earlier firstfruits instructions and thus as a fitting addition to the festal calendar. However, it is noteworthy that the addition is not inserted directly into the festal calendar of Lev 23 but follows the introduction at Lev 24:1–2aα. To explain this curious placement of the addition, Milgrom insightfully suggests that the scribe responsible for 4Q365 23 might have perceived a common focus in the new rituals and in Lev 24:2aβ–9 on communal offerings to the sanctuary.133 Indeed, despite its fragmentary description, the purpose of the wood offering is clear: it supplies the materials required for the sanctuary’s upkeep, specifically for ‫‘ מלאכת הבית‬the work of the temple’ (lines 5–6, 8) and restocking the altar (line 6). A similar focus on the service of the sanctuary is evident in Lev 24:2aβ–4, which, as discussed above, instruct the Israelites to bring an offering of ‫‘ שׁמן זית זך כתית‬pure beaten olive oil’ to the tent of meeting so that Aaron might keep the sanctuary lamps continually burning. The fragment admittedly differs from Lev 24:2aβ–4 by including wood in its offering, but its combination of wood with oil still intriguing echoes the focus of the original materials in Lev 24:2aβ–4 on the Israelites’ duty to make a regular donation of oil to the Autoren, Hermeneutik, BZABR 11 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009), 265–71. A wood offering is also mentioned in Neh 10:35 and 13:31, and the former text even claims that this offering was performed ‫‘ ככתוב בתורה‬as it is written in the law’. However, for a detailed discussion of Neh 10:35, 13:31, and 4Q365 23, and why a direct literary relationship between Nehemiah and 4Q365 23 is improbable, see Rhyder, “Temple,” 278–80. 132 See 11Q19 21–22. Nehemiah 13:31 also refers to a wood offering that was presented at the same time as firstfruits. 133 Jacob Milgrom, “Qumran’s Biblical Hermeneutics: The Case of the Wood Offering,” RevQ 16, no. 3 (1994): 454.

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sanctuary.134 Furthermore, there are phraseological connections between the two texts: the same verb is used in Lev 24:3 to describe Aaron’s act of arranging (‫ )ערך‬the candelabrum before the sanctuary curtain and in 4Q365 23:6 to indicate the act of arranging (‫ )ערך‬of the wood offering upon the altar. It therefore appears that the person responsible for the addition perceived a common focus between the new rituals and the earlier materials of Lev 24:2aβ–4: both texts deal with the Israelites’ duty to service the sanctuary with communal donations, especially those of oil. In addition, the person responsible for 4Q365 23 may have considered that Lev 24:5–9 set a precedent for the supplement’s focus on all twelve tribes contributing to the maintenance of the central temple via their donations of wood. As argued above, the display of twelve loaves on the golden table was most likely intended to represent the twelve tribes within the space of the sanctuary. It is therefore possible that the person responsible for 4Q365 23 saw an additional point of continuity in this chapter of Leviticus with its new command that the tribes present wood at the temple on set days. Yet, unlike Lev 24:5–9, which emphasize Aaron’s role of arranging the loaves before the deity as a memorial food offering, 4Q365 23 stresses the responsibility of the tribes themselves to ensure that they are represented before Yhwh at the central shrine by convening at the temple at the allocated intervals to present communal offerings to the deity. In this way, 4Q365 23 might also echo an additional priestly text, located outside Leviticus, which concerns the tribes’ representation at the central shrine; namely, the account in Num 7 of the rededication of the wilderness shrine.135 As discussed in §4.1.2, Num 7 relates how representatives from the tribes bring offerings to the wilderness shrine over a twelve-day ceremony in which each of the tribes is allocated a specific day to come to the sanctuary. The ceremony culminates in the dedication of the altar and the representation of the tribes in the “twelve silver plates, twelve silver basins, twelve golden dishes” (v. 84) that are to be housed within the sanctuary. Unfortunately, we are limited in our capacity to evaluate the extent to which Num 7 might have influenced the depiction of the wood offering in 4Q365 23 because the fragment breaks off at this point in the text. But, as they are, the texts are strikingly similar in their notion of a celebration in which tribal leaders, representing the

Zahn, Rethinking, 108. Cana Werman, “The Wood-Offering: The Convoluted Evolution of a Halakhah in Qumran and Rabbinic Law,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005, ed. Esther G. Chazon and Betsy Halpern-Amaru, STDJ 88 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 157. 134 135

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whole community, bring offerings to the central sanctuary over a period of set days.136 The fragment thus combines, to sophisticated effect, interrelated interests in centralization found in the priestly traditions, especially (but not exclusively) Lev 23:1–24:9. Its new festivals affirm the intrinsic connection between worshipping Yhwh in accordance with a standardized temporal scheme and uniting in collective service to a central shrine. Positioned between the calendar of Lev 23 and the regulations of Lev 24:1–9, the new rituals introduced in 4Q365 23 provide a kind of fulcrum between festal time and sanctuary service. There is no sense here that the Israelites might be discharged of their duties toward the central sanctuary as long as they keep the same festal time; to the contrary, shared festal time and sanctuary space cannot be divorced from each other. Both are core to the centralized cult. In addition, the fragment provides clear evidence that ancient scribes intended the cultic ideal of all twelve tribes coalescing around a shared sanctuary to persist beyond the imagined wilderness period and to shape life in the land. This is particularly clear from the setting of the ritual supplement at 4Q365 23 at a ‫‘ בית‬temple’ to be built in the land. The mention of a ‫ בית‬is a major innovation on the part of the scribe responsible for the fragment. It constitutes the only known passage in any extant version of Leviticus, or of the Pentateuch as a whole, in which Yhwh reveals to Moses the instructions for rituals to be performed at a future temple in the land. By introducing this future sanctuary into the ritual instruction of Lev 24:1–9, the person responsible for 4Q365 23 confirms that the logical continuation of the cult established at Sinai is a central temple, one that is to be built using the collective donations of the entire community and serviced in accordance with a shared scheme of annual offerings and donations. There is no sense in 4Q365 23 that the Israelites will be discharged of their duty to unify in service of a collective sanctuary once they are living in the land and no longer deferring to the tent of meeting. To the contrary, it confirms the god’s expectation that the Israelites will continue to maintain a shared sanctuary, to which they owe a collective responsibility, as twelve tribes, for its ongoing upkeep and ritual cult. Thus, the fragment confirms a broader point that has been made throughout this study; namely, that ancient scribes saw a central temple as the heir to the centralized cult established at Sinai. Only such a space could fulfill the deity’s requirement that all Israel appear before it as a unified collective and offer it ritual service in accordance with a fixed temporal standard. While neither P, 136 Admittedly, Num 7 describes a twelve-day festival, while 4Q365 23 stipulates that tribes are to present two-by-two over a six-day period. This difference may indicate that the person responsible for 4Q365 23 was working according to an inherited conception of how the wood offering fits within the festal calendar, such that there were limited days available for the presentation of wood at the sanctuary in conjunction with the festival of new oil.

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nor H, nor the supplement at 4Q365 23 states precisely where this sanctuary is to be located, these materials are united in their insistence that the Israelites must commit in all time periods to worshipping as one, gathering together on fixed dates each year, and pooling their resources to present festal donations as a centralized community.

6.4 Strategies of Centralization in the Persian Period: Fixed Festal Dates and the Evidence from Elephantine One of the recurring issues that confront us when considering centralization in H, as already noted in the discussion of Lev 17 (§5.4), is the interrelationship between discourse and actual cultic practice in ancient Israel. While the supplement in 4Q365 23 takes us one step forward in reconstructing how H’s centralizing discourse might have influenced later scribes, the fragment is not in itself a historical source. It tells us little about the impact of H’s concept of centralized time on ritual practices in ancient Israel, or about the historical impetus for H’s concept of centralized time, as articulated in Lev 23 and 24:1–9. As always, historical evidence that might enable us to explore these questions further is very limited. As we shall see below, when discussing the Elephantine correspondence, the relatively few sources that have survived can provide potentially useful insights, but the weight that can be placed upon such materials remains limited. Hence, there will always be a lack of precision in our understanding of the context within which H’s calendar in Lev 23 emerged and the degree to which its prescriptions were followed during the Persian period. Before I address these issues, it is worth considering what we might infer about H’s sociocultic aims from the internal evidence contained within H’s discourse of centralized time and its correspondences with other centralizing discussions considered thus far in this study. Put another way, if the interest in Lev 23 in standardizing time is a counterpart to P’s concern with standardizing ritual practice, it may be reasonable to infer that a similar historical context to that which influenced the authors of P may similarly have conditioned H. This is of course speculative, but it seems reasonable to propose that H shares with P not just thematic correspondences but also a discursive intent to funnel attention and resources towards the sanctuary and ritual leaders of the Second Temple in Jerusalem and thereby bolster its claim to sociocultic centrality.137 As we have seen, H continues P’s focus on construing local diversity and decentralized worship as incompatible with the standards set at Sinai. It thereby discourages behaviors that might dilute the central sanctuary’s claim to collective deference and attention. H’s laws of regular offerings remind the Israelites, On why the Priestly traditions were most probably written in Jerusalem and seek to bolster the centrality of its temple institution, see the detailed discussion in §4.4.1. 137

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as does P, of the deity’s expectation that all Israel will be represented in the donations that will be displayed in the central shrine by the Aaronide high priest; the rite of the display loaves in particular adds a powerful argument for why the Israelites must unify under the leadership of a centralized priesthood and view the high priest as the central ritual agent to which the community must defer. So, too, does it call on the Israelites to regularly defer to the central shrine and its priesthood with material offerings and donations and view the priest’s right to material benefit from the centralized cult as natural and appropriate. From this it may be surmised that H, like P, is concerned with shoring up the viability of the temple in Jerusalem in the face of the economic challenges in the Persian period, as well as affirming the rights of its priesthood to materially benefit from the donations that are directed towards it (cf. §4.4.1). Yet even if H shares certain elements with P in its centralizing discourse, its particular focus on fixed, standardized time moves beyond the sociocultic aims of P. As we have seen, H exhibits a distinctive concern to affirm the normativity of a central calendar regardless of where the Israelites may live in “settlements” in the post-wilderness future. This shift in Lev 23 to a future period, and to an interest in regulating life in the settlements, might possibly suggest an attempt on the part of the scribal authors to assert the right of central cultic authorities in Jerusalem to manage the ritual practice of those Yahwists living in the diaspora. This, as ever, involves some speculation. But it arguably finds support in the work of Sacha Stern, a preeminent scholar not only of the Jewish calendar of late antiquity and the Middle Ages, but also of the broader history of fixed calendars in the ancient Mediterranean and Near East.138 While Stern does not analyze Lev 23 specifically, he does explore the relationship between fixed and stabilized calendars and “the development, expansion, and increasing centralization of the great empires of late Antiquity.”139 In particular, Stern argues that fixed calendrical schemes were critical tools for consolidating sociopolitical power in empires as diverse as those of Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome. In each of these contexts, the calendar played a major role in imposing economic and administrative regularity across often vast geographical distances.140 By promoting fixed calendars in which future dates could be predicted “well in advance, and could thus be circulated in good time across the Empire,” imperial authorities provided a sense of political unity and cultural cohesion across the empire and affirmed the authority of the imperial center to reckon time for all its subjects.141 The standardization and fixation of Stern, Calendar and Community; Sascha Stern, Time and Process in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2003); Stern, Calendars; and Sascha Stern and Charles Burnett, eds., Time, Astronomy, and Calendars in the Jewish Tradition, TS 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2015). 139 Stern, Calendars, 5. 140 Stern, Calendars, 3. 141 Stern, Calendars, 94. 138

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the calendar thus contributed to the formation of a sense of unity in an otherwise fractured and geographically dispersed imperial context and thus to the construction of a shared sense of a temporal center within the empire. Importantly, Stern argues that geographical expansion might explain why fixed and standardized calendars emerged in other contexts in antiquity, even in contexts in which imperial power was not the driving force of calendrical reform. In his analysis of the ancient Jewish calendars of late antiquity to the Middle Ages, Stern notes a similar trend toward the standardization of time reckoning.142 As rabbinic Judaism expanded to Babylon, Egypt, North Africa, and southern and western Europe, a fixed calendar, which regulated the annual Jewish festal rites in accordance with an agreed method of time reckoning, proved essential to ensuring solidarity, cohesion, and unity among the various dispersed rabbinic communities.143 Stern’s research on the relationship between stabilized calendars and geographical expansion in antiquity suggests that H’s interest in calendrical fixity and the standardization of time “in all your settlements” might have stemmed from a perceived need to address the practical issues arising from of the geographical dispersion of the community of ancient Israel in the Persian period. The calendar of Lev 23 insists that even those who live at a distance from the cultic center do not have permission to reckon their own festal dates. To the contrary, they maintain the same obligation as the rest of the Israelites to defer to centralized authorities in the reckoning of festal time and, in so doing, remain synchronized with the other members of the community living in different locales. In addition, they must attempt to travel to the “center out there” for the two annual pilgrimages as much as feasible and internalize the rhythm of the central shrine’s regular rituals and its need for the appropriate offerings and donations. It formed a site, no less powerful for being beyond their physical reach, to which collective attention should be directed, and around which the entire community should ideally strive to congregate as a sign of their collective unity and their dedication to meeting their patron deity’s requirements. Leviticus 23, of course, speaks to H’s discursive ideals rather than actual cultic realities. We have little evidence that H’s calendar was dispersed among diasporic groups in the Persian period. Geographical distance would have also made biannual pilgrimages almost impossible for diasporic groups to undertake every year, and we know little of how the regular cult at the central sanctuary at Jerusalem, or at Gerizim, might have benefited from donations from the diaspora in the Persian period.144 Nevertheless, the discourse of temporal centralization promoted by H in Lev 23 and 24:1–9 suggests that the scribes Stern, Calendar and Community, vi. Stern, Calendar and Community, 211–56. 144 For evidence that the diaspora sent donations to Gerizim in the Hellenistic period, see §3.1.2. 142 143

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responsible for these materials saw the potential of a fixed calendar and program of regular sanctuary rites to integrate diverse groups in a centralized cult. The standardization of the festal calendar would thus have formed a key plank in the argument of the H scribes to normalize the value of cultic centralization and support for their temple institution. For all the paucity of historical evidence from this period, there are certain sources that throw some light on the intersection between H’s ideal of temporal symmetry and actual cultic practice in the diaspora: the papyri and ostraca discovered on the island of Elephantine. While such evidence may not necessarily betray the direct influence of H’s calendar, it suggests that H’s interest in standardized time might have formed part of a broader matrix of attempts made by sociocultic authorities in the Persian period to assert control over when the Israelite festivals were celebrated “in all your settlements.” Among the Judean materials found on the island is an ostracon (TAD D7.6) containing a short letter by an unknown author to a certain Hoshaiah. Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni date this document to the first quarter of the fifth century BCE.145 The ostracon is mainly concerned with Hoshaiah’s child-minding duties: It instructs him to “look after the children until Aḥutab comes” (TAD D7.6:3–4) and to knead bread for them before their mother returns. Toward the end of the ostracon, its author makes the request to “send (word) to me when you make the Passover” (D7.6:8–10). This inquiry is significant. It confirms that there was a degree of ritual consistency between the community at Elephantine and the scribes who produced the Pentateuch, in that the same festal term (‫ )פסח‬could be employed in the Hebrew Bible and in an everyday discussion of household matters among Judeans living on this Egyptian island. However, this letter also reveals that this festival was not necessarily associated with the date assigned to it by the biblical traditions. The request to Hoshaiah to send word of when Passover was to be held suggests that the author of this ostracon did not associate this feast with a recurring date each year. We can infer from this that the timing of Passover could vary from year to year, and perhaps even from household to household, among the Judeans stationed at Elephantine. A different picture regarding the timing of festal celebrations begins to emerge if we consider a papyrus written at the end of the fifth century. The socalled Passover Papyrus (TAD A4.1) is very badly preserved, and its condition limits what we can say about its context and contents. From what is preserved, however, we can discern that the papyrus contains a letter from a certain Judean called Hananiah, written in the fifth year of the reign of Darius II (419 BCE). This may be the same Hananiah who is reported, in a letter written by Mauziah b. Nathan (TAD A4.3), to have visited the Judean garrison. He seems to have held a formal office, perhaps one that was appointed by the Persian imperial 145

See their remarks at TAD 4:158.

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administration; TAD A4.1 opens in line 2 with a reference to a message sent from Darius to Arsames, which suggests that Hananiah was a royal functionary.146 The content of Darius’s message has unfortunately not been preserved. Following the lacuna where the decree was presumably located, the papyrus lists a series of commands to Jedaniah and the Judean garrison to count certain dates and undertake certain rites. Based on the edition and translation of Porten and Yardeni, but with very limited reconstructions, the translation of lines 3–8 of the papyrus appears as follows.147 A4.1:3–8 RECTO 3 Now, you thus count four[teen] 4 [?] and from the fifteenth day until the twenty-first day of [Nisan] 5 be pure and take heed. [Do] n[ot do] work 6 do not drink. And do not [eat] anything of leaven VERSO 7 sunset until the twenty-first day of Nisa[n] 8 [b]ring into your chambers and seal (them) up during [these] days

The subject of these lines is in all likelihood the festival of unleavened bread. While the papyrus never employs the phrase ‫חג המצות‬, the reference to leaven in line 6 seems to be in the context of a prohibition against eating leaven until the twenty-first day of Nisan mentioned in the next line. Because the verb “to eat” is not attested, this reading remains somewhat speculative. However, the presence of the command to “not drink” immediately prior to the reference to leaven supports the idea that the line originally contained a parallel injunction to “not eat” anything that contained leaven. The hypothesis that the papyrus concerns the festival of unleavened bread is also supported by the dates mentioned in line 4; namely, “the fifteenth to the twenty-first of [Nisan].” Because the month of Nisan was the first month of the year according to the Babylonian calendar, the papyrus attests a date for the seven-day period of abstaining from leaven identical to that commanded in Lev 23:6. (While the word “Nisan” is not attested in line 4, we can be confident in reconstructing it on the basis of the reference in line 7 to “the twenty-first day 146 While the theory offered by Ingo Kottsieper, “Die Religionspolitik der Achämeniden und die Juden von Elephantine,” in Religion und Religionskontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden, ed. Reinhard G. Kratz, Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 22 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2002), 157 that Hananiah was responsible for obtaining formal recognition of the Judean colony is intriguing, it ultimately cannot be verified. Possible parallels with Ezra and Nehemiah raised by Reinhard G. Kratz, “Judean Ambassadors and the Making of Jewish Identity: The Case of Hananiah, Ezra, and Nehemiah,” 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, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 421−44 are interesting but also rest on limited evidence. 147 The edition and translation are found at TAD 1:54–55.

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of Nisa[n].”) In addition to not eating leaven, the Judeans at Elephantine are instructed to undertake other rites during the festival. In line 5, we find the command to “be pure and take heed,” followed by the traces of a command to abstain from work, presumably on one or some of the days “from the fifteenth day until the twenty-first day of [Nisan].” There is also the command in line 8 to bring unknown substances (leaven?) “into your chambers and seal [them] up during [these] days.” Many of these rites and prohibitions have no parallel in the biblical instructions for the celebration of unleavened bread. However, it is striking that both of the nonsacrificial rites associated with unleavened bread in Lev 23:6–8 and Exod 12:14–20 – abstaining from eating leaven for seven days and from work tasks on the first and seventh days – are attested in the papyrus. Furthermore, there are hints in line 3 of the papyrus that Hananiah might have conceived the seven days of unleavened bread as being preceded by a festal celebration on the fourteenth day of the same month. The command to “count” (line 3) is frequently used in the Hebrew Bible to introduce the celebration of festivals.148 Scholars therefore usually surmise that the papyrus originally contained a double command to observe not only unleavened bread but also to keep the Passover the evening prior.149 In this case, the papyrus would attest precisely the same dating scheme for Passover and unleavened bread as that in H’s calendar, in addition to the two nonsacrificial rites prescribed in Lev 23:6–8 for the seven-day festival. However, while it is tempting to imagine that line 3 concerns the celebration of Passover, the absence of any extant reference to Passover or any of its associated rites in the papyrus calls for a significant degree of caution in using it to reconstruct the relationship between Passover and unleavened bread in the Persian period.150 Even if we can assume with some confidence that line 3 commands the Israelites to do something on the fourteenth of Nisan, the

148 As observed by Pierre Grelot, “Le Papyrus pascal d’Eléphantine et le problème du Pentateuque,” VT 5 (1955): 257 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 572. 149 See, e.g., William R. Arnold, “The Passover Papyrus from Elephantine,” JBL 31, no. 1 (1912): 1–33; CAP 62–64; Pierre Grelot, “Etudes sur le ‘Papyrus pascal’ d’Eléphantine,” VT 4 (1954): 349–84; Mark F. Whitters, “Some New Observations about Jewish Festal Letters,” JSJ 32, no. 1 (2001): 281–85; Otto, “pāsaḥ; pesaḥ,” 19–20; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 572–73; and Bezalel Porten et al., The Elephantine Papyri in English: Three Millennia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change, 2nd ed., DMOA Studies in Near Eastern Archaeology and Civilisation 22 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 125–26. 150 As argued by Erasmus Gaß, “Der Passa-Papyrus (Cowl 21): Mythos oder Realität?” BN 99 (1999): 64–65; Kottsieper, “Die Religionspolitik,” 150–51; Reinhard G. Kratz, “Temple and Torah: Reflections on the Legal Status of the Pentateuch between Elephantine and Qumran,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 77–103; and Granerød, Dimensions, 167–68.

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fragmentary state of the papyrus prevents us from knowing precisely what the Judeans at Elephantine were required to do on this day. It is also unclear what link, if any, exists between this papyrus and the festal program of Lev 23. Scholars have traditionally assumed that the date set by Hananiah for the festival of unleavened bread reveals the direct influence of H’s calendar on the reckoning of time in the Persian period.151 The reference to Darius II at the start of the letter has even been taken as evidence of imperial authorization of H’s festal program by the end of the fifth century BCE.152 The overlaps with Lev 23:5–8 in the papyrus are certainly intriguing; because Hananiah was in all probability a Judean, it is not unreasonable to suggest that he might have been motivated to synchronize worship at the garrison with the calendrical tradition promoted by the Jerusalem Temple. However, the absence of any clear reference to the Mosaic Torah in the papyrus suggests that the direct influence of H’s festal program cannot be proven. The reference to rites as part of the festival of unleavened bread that have no biblical precedent could reveal that the papyrus uses the same date for unleavened bread as that of Lev 23:5–8 and Exod 12:1–20 not because it knew the biblical calendars but because it was influenced by a broadly diffused custom.153 The Passover Papyrus nonetheless remains important to the study of Lev 23. Even if it does not attest to the direct influence of this calendar on a diasporic community, it does suggest there was a growing impulse among Judeans in the Persian period to standardize Israelite festivals in the diaspora. Few would deny that the papyrus attempts to associate certain dates of the month of Nisan with the festival of unleavened bread. As noted by Gard Granerød, Hananiah’s letter seems to be less concerned with introducing a new festival to the Judean garrison at Elephantine as with fixing the date on which they were to celebrate the feast and thus with “regulat[ing] the (religious) calendar of the Judaean community in Elephantine.”154 This attempt stands in marked contrast to the casual request made to Hoshaiah in ostracon D7.6 to make known his choice for when to celebrate the Passover! Hananiah’s letter indeed appears to build on his authority as a royal functionary of the Persian king to assert a top-down approach to the reckoning of festal time in which local discretion was significantly reduced. Given that the contents of the decree mentioned in line 2 have not survived, it is impossible for us to know whether Hananiah had the support of the empire in this bid to standardize the festivals held by the Judean diaspora. Nevertheless, Hananiah’s letter came from outside the Elephantine community and drew on Persian authority in its bid to standardize the date on which the festival of unleavened Arnold, “Passover Papyrus,” 29–30; Grelot, “Le papyrus”; and TAD 4:125–26. Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 572–75. 153 Kratz, “Temple,” 85–86 and Granerød, Dimensions, 172–75. 154 Granerød, Dimensions, 178. 151 152

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bread (at least) was celebrated at Elephantine. The Passover Papyrus therefore provides a rare window into Persian period attempts to fix Yahwistic festivals to specific dates. It also affirms the importance attached to nonsacrificial activities such as abstaining from eating or drinking certain things during the festival or observing work bans in facilitating the participation of all Israelites in the festal celebrations regardless of their location. The Passover Papyrus therefore provides some historical context within which to position H’s interest in promoting a standardized festal calendar that might apply “in all your settlements.” It suggests that the standardization of festal time across the diaspora might have been a priority for certain Judean leaders in the late fifth century BCE, and that the local discretion attested in D7.6 was being discouraged in favor of a more centralized system of time reckoning. It is, of course, impossible to know to what extent H was fueling this historical impetus and to what extent shaped by it; like most discourses, this is a dynamic, symbiotic process. Moreover, although it is impossible to establish any direct nexus between H’s standardized calendar and festal practices at Elephantine, the congruence between Hananiah’s letter to the garrison and Lev 23 might suggest that they emerged in a similar historical timeframe; that is, toward the end of the fifth century BCE. Yet, if there are similarities between Lev 23 and Hananiah’s letter to the Judeans at Elephantine, there are also important differences. H’s concept of centralized time is much more expansive and ideologically infused than anything revealed in the admittedly fragmentary Passover Papyrus. H’s standardization of time seems to serve the purpose not only of regulating local diasporic practices but also of directing the attention of the Israelites in the diverse locales back to the central sanctuary and its Aaronide priesthood. It articulates an explicit link between the observance of fixed festal time and the making of donations to the sanctuary or the conducting of pilgrimages. Indeed, the command of Lev 23:17 to send the donations of firstfruits “from your settlements” makes explicit H’s expectation that the Israelites send material contributions to the temple even if distance prevents them from participating in the rites there. The pairing of Lev 23 and 24:1–9 works to similar effect: it makes clear that, if the Israelites wish to be counted among the clients of the god Yhwh, they must accept their permanent obligation to contribute to the regular maintenance of the central shrine and defer to its priesthood. Hence, H’s festal calendar does more than achieve temporal synchronization across dispersed communities of Yahwists and thereby create a sense of uniformity in the face of distance; it directly implicates the diaspora in supporting the ritual cult of a central temple. It provides the justification for why all the Israelites, regardless of location, should send tributes back to a central shrine at fixed times each year. While the mechanics of such a process, if it was indeed enacted in the Persian period, remain difficult to reconstruct, Lev 23

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nonetheless aspires to secure a regular stream of resources for that temple in accordance with a fixed calendar that remained firmly under centralized control.

6.5 Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated that one of the key elements of H’s strategy of centralization is its concept of fixed, standardized time. This process of centralizing time serves to affirm the ritual hierarchies and authoritative cultic leaders that were established as core to H’s centralizing discourse, which also emerged in the discussion of Lev 17 and its standardized ritual processes of blood disposal (chapter 4). H develops additional discursive strategies in Lev 23 to promote its ideal of a centralized cult and unified community. As my reading of the calendar of Lev 23 offered in this chapter has shown, H’s intent is to structure the year into discrete, repeated periods – ‫‘ מועדי יהוה‬the fixed times of Yhwh’ – during which the Israelites must undertake prescribed festive rites or avoid particular activities. This temporal structure involves a sophisticated blending of two different types of calendars in the Hebrew Bible, one which structures the year according to three annual pilgrimages (Exod 23:14– 17; 34:18–23; Deut 16:1–17), and another which divides it into two pilgrimages to be held in the first and seventh months, respectively (Ezek 45:18–25). The result is a new synthesis that establishes Lev 23 as the authoritative standard by which the Israelites must organize their time and structure their year. Although this synthesis incorporates certain aspects of D’s calendar of Deut 16:1–17, this chapter has shown that H’s centralizing logic is not necessarily derived from that tradition. Rather, H’s focus on the standardization of time reveals its own creativity in construing decentralized worship as incompatible with Yhwh’s authoritative revelation. H insists that the Israelites must present a united front before the deity not only by undertaking pilgrimages to a shared central site, where they must gather as an ‫‘ עצרת‬assembly’, but also by performing the festal rites on the same dates each year. In addition, the daily life of the Israelite community must be infused with a consciousness of a central temporal order, which pervades and shapes nonsacrificial ritual activities within their domestic contexts. The reference to the settlements forms part of this distinctive discourse of centralization. Far from signaling H’s permission to undertake festal celebrations at multiple shrines, the mention of the settlements is a strategy for integrating the cultic periphery into the centralized system by means of temporal symmetry. By requiring communities that live at a distance to synchronize their year according to the festal rituals at that sanctuary, H’s calendar works to underpin a sense of cohesion and unity within the dispersed Israelite community. Meanwhile, it underscores the obligation of

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those living in the settlements to send donations via communal representatives to a shared sanctuary at fixed times each year. This analysis of Lev 23 has also thrown further light on the way in which H does not simply repeat P’s discourse of centralization even though it is thoroughly influenced by it. The calendar is a major innovation when compared to the earlier P materials. Numbers 28–29 do not predate Lev 23 but depend upon it; there is no P precedent for H’s interest in articulating an annual program of festivals or their related donations. Leviticus 23 therefore shows H’s ability to both move in new discursive directions when calling on the Israelites to standardize and centralize their ritual practice, while also drawing on the earlier P materials when they provide a relevant precedent. This chapter has also shown that the traditional absence of scholarly interest in Lev 24:1–9 in the study of H limits our understanding of its discourse of centralization. These verses, with their focus on fixed rituals at the central shrine, reveal the link between the standardization of time and the concentration of material resources and cultic authority to the central shrine and its monopolistic priesthood. By serving as a powerful reminder to the Israelites of their need to be fully attuned to the rhythms of the sanctuary, and particularly to its need for regular donations, H uses time to reinforce the Israelites’ obligation to sponsor a central shrine and defer to its centralized priestly order. These ideas are given fresh expression in the ritual addition at 4Q365 23, where two new celebrations at the future sanctuary have been shown to merge the interests of Lev 23 and 24:1–9 with two new festivals which are directly implicated in providing raw materials for the works of the central shrine. Meanwhile, the new setting for these festivals at a temple in the land confirms that the ritual obligations established at Sinai were binding in all future time periods and thus required the united community, ideally represented as twelve tribes, to remain committed to supporting a central temple once they entered the land. The reading of Lev 23 and 24:1–9 offered here, then, has affirmed the broader relevance of H’s calendar and regular rituals for understanding the link between time, power, and centralization. These texts confirm, as social theorists and historians studying fixed calendars and standardized temporal schemes argue, that attempts to control time are integral to the promotion of social cohesion and centralized authority.155 Although we face considerable difficulty in identifying the historical authorities that might have been behind the temporal program promoted by H, and how it might have been implemented in practice, Lev 23 and 24:1–9 still attest to how standardized time can be used to creative discursive effect in promoting centralization. In addition, the similarities between H’s concept of standardized time and the Passover Papyrus allow us to speculate about the possible historical impetus behind H’s interest Cf. Durkheim, Elementary Forms, 10–11; Zerubavel, Hidden Rhythms, 9; Gell, Anthropology; and Stern, Calendars. 155

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in articulating a fixed temporal scheme as a strategy of centralization in the Persian period. In sum, the study of H’s calendar has brought to the fore H’s interest in articulating the relationship between center and periphery, and in using time to direct the attention of Israelites toward a central sanctuary cult in their day-today lives. It has also demonstrated how the appropriate management of domestic activities, which take place away from the shrine, is integral to H’s centralizing logic. Hence, it is now appropriate to integrate into this study of H those texts in Lev 17–26 that assert control over other extrasanctuary aspects of the Israelites’ communal life in accordance with centralized authorities. In particular, it is possible from this vantage point to reassess arguably the most distinctive interest of the Holiness legislation: the very notion of holiness itself.

Chapter 7

Holiness as Hegemony: The Centralizing Logic of Communal Sanctification The preceding two chapters examined key aspects of H’s discourse of centralization. The first, evident in Lev 17, is H’s call for the Israelites to restrict slaughter and sacrifice to the central sanctuary on account of the primacy of ritual blood disposal; the second, found in Lev 23 and 24:1–9, is H’s promotion of a central calendar of fixed annual festivals and a regular rhythm of daily and weekly rituals at the central shrine. In this chapter, I turn to examine a third dimension of H’s centralizing logic, the motif that provides its legislation with its conceptual underpinning: holiness. An interest in holiness pervades the laws of Lev 17–26; the root ‫ קדשׁ‬occurs over sixty times in Lev 19–23 alone. Notably, H’s use of the term ‫ קדשׁ‬involves a major innovation vis-à-vis the earlier P materials. In P, ‫ קדשׁ‬is employed to refer almost exclusively to spaces, persons, and objects that are associated with Yhwh’s sanctuary and its ritual cult. H, however, does not restrict holiness to those persons who have direct access to the deity’s shrine and sancta; while the root is frequently employed in H with reference to the sanctuary cult, H widens the concept to make holiness accessible to – indeed mandatory for – the Israelite community as a whole.1 This extended conception of holiness, which incorporates the everyday life of the Israelites, informs certain distinctive interests of H that we have observed in earlier chapters, including the development of a calendar that structures the year in accordance with Yhwh’s sacred times (§6.1) and the subtle rejection, in H’s carrion law in Lev 17:15–16, of the nonpriestly idea that the Israelites are innately holy (§5.3.1; cf. §7.2.1). 1 Even the very term for “sanctuary” that is most frequently used by H is the mem-preformative ‫( מקדשׁ‬Lev 19:30; 20:3; 21:12; 26:2, 31), a term that highlights the fundamental connection between holiness and the shrine. H’s expansive conception of holiness has been frequently noted by scholars; for noteworthy discussions of the past few decades, see, e.g., David P. Wright, “Holiness in Leviticus and Beyond: Differing Perspectives,” IBC 53 (1999): 351–64; Saul Olyan, Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 121–22; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17– 22, AB 3B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2000), 1397–400; Baruch J. Schwartz, “Israel’s Holiness: The Torah Traditions,” in Purity and Holiness: The Heritage of Leviticus, ed. Marcel J. H. M. Poorthuis and Joshua Schwartz, Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 52–58; and Leigh M. Trevaskis, Holiness, Ethics, and Ritual in Leviticus, Hebrew Bible Monographs 29 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2011), 1–2.

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The manifest importance of holiness in H has generated a considerable amount of scholarly literature. As elaborated in further detail below, recent research is concerned primarily with considering why H moves in a different direction from P on the question of who or what might be called “holy.” Scholars tend to argue that H presents a dynamic concept of holiness, while holiness in P is static – that is, while holiness in P is a state of spaces, objects, and persons associated with Yhwh’s sanctuary, holiness in H is a dynamic category, predicated on right behavior in both ritual and nonritual contexts. This idea is often paired with the view that the call to the Israelites to be holy is a call to imitate Yhwh (imitatio dei) in their behavior (see §7.1.2). Yet, for all this scholarly attention, very few studies have considered the role that H’s expanded concept of holiness might have played in its discourse of centralization. Select studies have explored the possibility that H’s incorporation of everyday contexts into its expectations of holiness might have been related to the negotiation of what is central to the Israelite community. However, as discussed in §3.3.3, the scholars who have approached holiness from this perspective have reached opposing conclusions. For Jan Joosten, H’s interest in everyday holiness is emblematic of its provincial outlook, which reveals its origins among scribes seeking to affirm the importance of life on Israel’s rural margins rather than direct attention to the cultic center at Jerusalem.2 For Israel Knohl, by contrast, everyday holiness is a centralizing tool whereby the Jerusalem Temple seeks to justify its exclusive control over the Yahwistic cult by expanding its reach into all aspects of Israel’s collective experience.3 By picking up the lexeme ‫קדשׁ‬, which is used throughout P to refer to the holiness of the sanctuary cult and its priestly agents, and applying it to all Israel, H “imbues the daily life of every Israelite with something of the atmosphere of the Temple service,” and thereby “strengthen[s] the bond between the people and the Temple.”4 In this way, the Jerusalem priesthood asserted its right to the allegiance and loyalty of the entire community. Its assertion of this right bolstered the priests’ attempt to solicit the consent of the provincial population to centralize the slaughter and sacrifice of their animals to the central altar of Jerusalem. This chapter sides with Knohl in arguing that H’s expansion of holiness to incorporate all aspects of Israelite life is best understood as a device that seeks to enhance the authority of the central sanctuary and its priesthood. By broadening a concept – holiness – that was previously confined to the sanctuary so that it applies to noncultic domains and insisting that holiness can be attained 2 Jan Joosten, People and Land in the Holiness Code: An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26, VTSup 67 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 203. 3 Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1995), 204–24. 4 Knohl, Sanctuary, 190 and 195, respectively.

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only if the Israelites defer to the central law in all aspects of their lives, H develops a powerful centralizing strategy. It provides a rationale beyond the fear of sanctions, powerful though this is in H, for creating the conformity required to sustain the centralized cult, and for positioning the sanctuary as the social, cultic, and economic center of the entire community. Hence, rather than revealing a limited interest in the central shrine on H’s part, this concept of collective sanctification, I argue, creates the necessary discursive context within which H can claim that the Israelites must be a centralized community: They must be willing to defer to central authorities in all aspects of their everyday lives, including in economic domains, and to strive to avoid divisions or local factions. The sections that follow will therefore build on the insights of Knohl’s study of H to offer a fresh interpretation of holiness in Lev 17–26 as a means of soliciting consent in a centralized cultic system. It will move beyond Knohl’s analysis by complementing the analysis of holiness in H with social theories that explore the mechanisms by which collective consent is secured in centralized social systems. In particular, it will explore how H’s concept of communal sanctification might be illuminated by Antonio Gramsci’s theory of “hegemony,” described in chapter 1 (§1.2.3), and by the notion of “conventionalism” outlined by Theodor W. Adorno and other social theorists; that is, the form of a groupthink that promotes obedience to central authorities, and the associated rejection of behaviors that characterize outsiders. Moreover, in contrast to Knohl, I will position H’s conceptualization of holiness in the historical context of the Jerusalem Temple in the Persian period as opposed to the cult of the Neo-Assyrian period.5 After reviewing the differences between H and P’s concepts of holiness (§7.1), the chapter will turn to explore how the call to holiness in Lev 17–26 generates collective consent to centralization (§7.2.1 and §7.2.2), which is consolidated via H’s heightened focus on the sabbath (§7.2.3), and the land (§7.3.1). Specifically, it will explore how holiness might have reinforced a hegemonic discourse of centralization that aimed at normalizing the reach of the Jerusalem Temple into extrasanctuary domains and particularly its right to direct how the Israelites managed their economic and agricultural resources (§7.3.2).

7.1 The Distinctive Concept of Holiness in H “Holiness” is a deeply subjective and imprecise term, not only in the Hebrew Bible, but also in other cultural contexts. The seminal work of Mary Douglas has shown holiness to be a “relative categor[y]” in that describing something

5

For Knohl’s dating of H and its problems, see further §1.2.3.

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as “holy” is essentially a way of differentiating it from other elements.6 Holiness in the Hebrew Bible has been understood as a way of articulating the fundamental difference between human beings and Yhwh.7 It is a positive category that constitutes Yhwh’s quintessential attribute.8 Those spaces, persons, items, or times that are deemed holy are those that enjoy proximity to the deity. The main term for holiness in the Hebrew Bible is ‫קדשׁ‬, which occurs as a verb, a noun, and an adjective.9 The root ‫ קדשׁ‬is one element in the binary pair ‫קדשׁ‬/‫‘ חל‬holy/common’ (e.g., Lev 10:10; 1 Sam 21:5–6; Ezek 22:26; 44:20, 23). “Common” is the normal state of things in the world. In order to become holy, things or persons must have this common status removed and enter a sphere that has direct contact with the deity. Once classified as holy, they are frequently described as Yhwh’s possessions.10 In the Hebrew Bible, the holiness category is described in greatest detail in the materials that can be broadly described as “priestly”; namely, the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch (including H) and the book of Ezekiel.11 The concentration of references to ‫ קדשׁ‬in these traditions already points to a significant feature of holiness in the Hebrew Bible: it is a category that is most frequently associated with sanctuary spaces and their priestly staff. The term ‫ קדשׁ‬thus occurs with particular frequency in the description of the wilderness shrine (see esp. Exod 25–31, 35–40), and in the portrayal of the visionary temple in Ezek 40–48.

6 Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge, 1966), 9. 7 See, e.g., Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation, JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 256 and Alfred Marx, Lévitique 17–27, CAT 3b (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2011), 81. 8 Walther Eichrodt, Theology of the Old Testament, trans. John Baker, 5th ed., 2 vols. (London: SCM, 1961), 1:273–74; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, AB 3A (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1991), 47; John H. Hartley, Leviticus, WBC 4 (Dallas, TX: Word, 1992), lvi–ii; David P. Wright, “Holiness (Old Testament),” ABD 3:238; Olyan, Rites, 17; and Anna Angelini and Christophe Nihan, “Holiness (Hebrew Bible/Old Testament),” EBR 12:34–40. 9 The etymology of ‫ קדשׁ‬has long been debated with little consensus among scholars; see, e.g., Walter Kornfeld and Helmer Ringgren, “qdš,” TDOT 12:521–45; Philip Peter Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World, JSOTSup 106 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 40–55; William H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 2B (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2006), 682; and Michael B. Hundley, Keeping Heaven on Earth: Safeguarding the Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle, FAT 2/50 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 71–73. 10 See, e.g., Exod 13:2; 28:3–4; Lev 27; Num 3:13; 8:17. See further Jenson, Graded Holiness, 48 and Angelini and Nihan, “Holiness,” 34–35 11 Wright, “Holiness (Old Testament),” 238.

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7.1.1 Comparing Holiness in P and H For P, holiness is a category that applies almost exclusively to the sanctuary and its associated personnel and paraphernalia.12 The degree to which these spaces are considered holy depends on how close they are to the deity. The shrine’s inner sanctum, where Yhwh is said in Exod 25:22 to “meet” (‫ יעד‬niphal) with Moses above the ‫כפרת‬, is ‫‘ קדשׁ הקדשׁים‬most holy’ (Exod 26:34), and the outer sanctum is a ‫‘ קדשׁ‬holy place’ (e.g., Exod 26:33; 28:29, 35; 35:19), while the court with the bronze altar is of lesser holiness. These differentiated spaces within the sanctuary establish hierarchical distinctions within the Israelite community.13 As explained in §4.3.1.1, only the descendants of Aaron may approach Yhwh’s holy altar in the outer court and so officiate there as priests. The rest of the non-priestly community may access only the area between the entrance of the court and the bronze altar. The outer and inner sancta are subject to further restrictions which, as explained, underscore Aaron’s unique cultic status among the priests.14 However, while P insists on strict guidelines by which holiness might be conferred on spaces and their associated objects and personnel, the potency of holiness is such that, as P sees it, any person or thing that comes into contact with sancta might inadvertently acquire a holy status. In this case, P construes such a transfer of holiness as inherently dangerous. For example, Lev 6:18– 23 MT (= 6:25–30 LXX) warn that the ‫ חטאת‬must be eaten only by the priests, and only in a holy place, because ‫‘ כל אשׁר־יגע בבשׂרה יקדשׁ‬whatever touches its flesh will become holy’ (v. 20 MT = v. 27 LXX]). Even the vessel in which the ‫ חטאת‬is boiled must either be broken, if made of earthenware, or scoured and rinsed, if made of bronze (v. 21 MT = v. 28 LXX). The need to avoid the 12 As argued by, e.g., Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 175–87; Frank H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time and Status in the Priestly Theology, JSOTSup 91 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 32–52 et passim; Jenson, Graded Holiness, 89–114; Michael B. Hundley, “Sacred Spaces, Objects, Offerings, and People in the Priestly Texts: A Reappraisal,” JBL 132, no. 4 (2013): 755–56. 13 Olyan, Rites, 116 et passim and Mark K. George, Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space, AIL 2 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2009), 111–35; see further Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual, CSHJ (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 54–57. 14 While both Aaron and his sons may enter the outer sanctum, the ritual tasks that take place there – the daily incense rites, the lighting of the candelabrum, and the arranging of the display bread – are the principal responsibility of Aaron. As a result, the presence of the high priest’s sons within this space seems to be predicated on the assistance they offer him, as opposed to their own cultic agency within it (see, e.g., Exod 27:20–21; 30:1–10). The inner sanctum, by contrast, is inaccessible to all members of the community except Aaron. Yet even he is permitted to enter this space only under strict ritual conditions (and, according to Lev 16:29–33a, only on one day of the year). See further the discussion in §4.3.1.1.

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transfer of holiness from Yhwh’s sacred spaces and objects to common elements, or to destroy those elements that have been contaminated, therefore imposes an ongoing obligation on the priesthood as custodians of the cult. However, while P invests both space and objects with holiness, there is ambiguity in these materials about the holy status of time. As established in §6.1.3, P does not include a festal calendar detailing the sacred festivals of the year; the list of festal sacrifices in Num 28–29 depends upon the H calendar of Lev 23 and supplements it with additional details concerning the festal sacrifices, and attempts to uncover a P calendar in Lev 23 are unconvincing. While P supplies a date for Passover (Exod 12:3), other texts that assert the date of particular rituals, such as the day of purifications (Lev 16:29–33a), appear to know and develop H and its festal calendar. Yet, if there is an absence of a strong interest in festal time in P, a more complex issue concerns the degree to which P acknowledges the holiness of the sabbath. The large majority of scholars argues that Gen 2:2–3, which describe the cessation (‫ שׁבת‬qal) of the deity’s creative work on the seventh day and its consecration (‫ קדשׁ‬piel) by the god, belong to the earliest Priestly narrative.15 However, a growing minority maintains that Gen 2:2–3 were added to P in a late stage. According to this view, the earliest creation account of Gen 1:1–2:1* did not assign the god’s acts of creation to specific days of the week, and so did not refer to the seventh day as a time of cessation.16 The motif of days of creation and seventh-day cessation See recently, e.g., Michaela Bauks, “Le Shabbat. Un temple dans le temps,” ETR 77, no. 4 (2002): 473–90; Ludwig Schmidt, “Die Priesterschrift in Exodus 16,” ZAW 119, no. 4 (2007): 483–98; Philippe Guillaume, Land and Calendar: The Priestly Document from Genesis 1 to Joshua 18, LHBOTS 391 (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2009), 41–45; Mark S. Smith, The Priestly Vision of Genesis 1 (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2009); Alexandra Grund, Die Entstehung des Sabbats. Seine Bedeutung für Israels Zeitkonzept und Erinnerungskultur, FAT 1/75 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 193–237; and Jeffrey Stackert, “How the Priestly Sabbaths Work: Innovation in Pentateuchal Priestly Ritual,” in Ritual Innovation in the Hebrew Bible and Early Judaism, ed. Nathan MacDonald, BZAW 468 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016), 79–112. While the substantive ‫ ַשׁ ָבּת‬is curiously missing from these verses, the majority of commentators suggest that the weekly sabbath is hinted at in the verb ‫שׁ ב ת‬. 16 See Christoph Levin, “Tatbericht und Wortbericht in der priesterschriftlichen Schöpfungserzählung,” ZTK 91, no. 2 (1994): 115–33; Thomas Krüger, “Schöpfung und Sabbat in Genesis 2,1–3,” in Sprachen, Bilder, Klänge. Dimensionen der Theologie im Alten Testament und in seinem Umfeld. Festschrift für Rüdiger Bartelmus zu seinem 65. Geburtstag, ed. Christiane Karrer-Grube, AOAT 359 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009), 155–69; Krüger, “Genesis 1:1–2:3 and the Development of the Pentateuch,” in The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research, ed. Thomas B. Dozeman et al., FAT 1/78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 125–38; Jürg Hutzli, “Tradition and Interpretation in Gen 1:1–2:4a,” JHebS 10 (2011): 17, doi:10.5508/jhs.2010.v10.a12; Reinhard Achenbach, “The Sermon on the Sabbath in Jeremiah 17:19–27 and the Torah,” in The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel, and North America, ed. Jan Christian Gertz et al., FAT 1/111 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 874 n. 4; and Christoph Berner, 15

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may have been added in an attempt to align the creation account with Lev 17– 26, where the sabbath features prominently.17 Similar debates surround the references to sabbath in Exod 16:16–25. These verses describe how, when Yhwh provides food to the Israelites in the wilderness, he ensures that an extra portion of food is made available on the sixth day so that the Israelites will not gather food on the seventh, because, as the god explains,‫שׁבתון שׁבת־קדשׁ ליהוה מחר‬ ‘tomorrow is a day of total cessation, a holy sabbath to Yhwh’ (Exod 16:23aβ). Traditionally, both the passage describing the collection of the manna (vv. 16– 21) and the reference to sabbath cessation (vv. 22–25) have been assigned to Pg.18 However, an increasing number of scholars maintain that either vv. 22– 25 or the entire episode of vv. 16–25 are late additions to the priestly materials of the chapter.19 Scholars also note several points of linguistic and thematic overlap with Lev 17–26 in Exod 16:22–25, which might suggest that they were added to the chapter after H had been written.20 “Der Sabbat in der Mannaerzählung Ex 16 und in den priesterlichen Partien des Pentateuch,” ZAW 128, no. 4 (2016): 573–75. 17 See Achenbach, “Sermon,” 874 n. 4; Berner, “Der Sabbat,” 575. Cf. Bill Arnold, Genesis, NCBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 12–18; Yairah Amit, “Creation and the Calendar of Holiness,” in In Praise of Editing in the Hebrew Bible: Collected Essays in Retrospect, trans. Betty Sigler Rozen, Hebrew Bible Monographs 39 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2012) 3–23; Edwin Firmage, “Genesis 1 and the Priestly Agenda,” JSOT 82 (1999): 97–114; and Jacob Milgrom, “HR in Leviticus and Elsewhere in the Torah,” in The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Reception, ed. Rolf Rendtorff and Robert A. Kugler, VTSup 93 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 33–34, who argue that all of Gen 1:1–2:4 should be assigned to H. On the issues with removing the entire creation account from P, see §5.3.2. 18 See recently, e.g., Joel S. Baden, “The Original Place of the Priestly Manna Story in Exodus 16,” ZAW 122, no. 4 (2010): 491–504; Grund, Die Entstehung, 238–57; and William Johnstone, Exodus 1–19, SHBC (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2014), 327–42. 19 Cf. among others Paul Maiberger, Das Manna. Eine literarische, etymologische und naturkundliche Untersuchung, ÄAT 6 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1983), 138–42, 423–24; Christoph Levin, Der Jahwist, FRLANT 157 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 352–55; John Van Seters, The Life of Moses: The Yahwist as Historian in Exodus–Numbers, CBET (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1994), 181–91; Christian Frevel, Mit Blick auf das Land die Schöpfung erinnern. Zum Ende der Priestergrundschrift, Herders biblische Studien 23 (Freiburg: Herder, 2000), 118 with n. 64; Reinhard Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora. Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch, BZABR 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), 232; Suzanne Boorer, The Vision of the Priestly Narrative: Its Genre and Hermeneutics of Time, AIL 27 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2016), 54–58; and Berner, “Der Sabbat.” 20 For instance, the term ‫ שבתון‬occurs is typical H-like passages that refer to the sabbath (see Exod 31:15; 35:2; Lev 16:31; 23:3, 24, 32, 39; 25:4), while the expression ‫שבתון שבת‬ ‫ קדש ליהוה‬has a direct parallel in Exod 31:15 and 35:2 (on these passages, see further pp. 338–37 and the Excursus below). The emphasis on sixth-day abundance and seventh-day cessation of agricultural production also shows thematic similarities to the conception of sabbath cessation in Lev 25:2–8. See further Knohl, Sanctuary, 17 (although note that Knohl extrapolates from the H-like features of Exod 16:22–25 that all the priestly materials in the

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A further matter of scholarly disagreement is the status of the sabbath commandments of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 within the priestly traditions. Exodus 31:12–17 consist of detailed commands to keep the sabbath that are revealed to Moses after he has received the instructions for constructing the wilderness sanctuary (Exod 25–31). These commands are complemented by Exod 35:1– 3, which report Moses telling the Israelites to keep the sabbath before beginning the construction works in language that closely resembles Exod 31:12– 17. Most scholars agree that both Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 are late priestly additions.21 Not only do these texts blend priestly and non-priestly terminology and ideas about sabbath in a manner that is characteristic of late pentateuchal materials, but they are also located in sections of the priestly sanctuary account that are widely considered secondary.22 However, Jeffrey Stackert has suggested that Exod 31:12–17 and also Exod 35:1–3 contain traces of an original Priestly sabbath commandment, which he reconstructs in Exod 31:12–13aα, 15–17* and 35:1–2*.23 To retrieve the original P sabbath commandment, Stackert must argue that Exod 31:15 has been glossed by HS to explain the presence of the expression ‫ שבתון קדש‬and ‫( מות‬qal [infinitive absolute]) within chapter are HS, a conclusion which lacks substantiating evidence); Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 568 n. 666; Stackert, “How the Priestly Sabbaths Work,” 102–4. 21 See recently, e.g., Klaus Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität: Beschneidung, Passa und Sabbat in der Priesterschrift, BBB 85 (Frankfurt am Main: A. Hain, 1992), 170–84; Walter Groß, “‘Rezeption’ in Ex 31,12–17 und Lev 26,39–45. Sprachliche Form und theologischkonzeptionelle Leistung,” in Der ungekündigte Bund? Antworten des Neuen Testaments, ed. Hubert Frankemölle, QD 172 (Freiburg: Herder, 1998), 44–63; Walter Groß, Zukunft für Israel. Alttestamentliche Bundeskonzepte und die aktuelle Debatte um den Neuen Bund, SBS 176 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1998), 71–84; Reinhard Achenbach, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz und die sakralen Ordnungen des Numeribuches im Horizont der Pentateuchredaktion,” in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, ed. Thomas Römer, BETL 215 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 159; and Chirstophe Nihan, “Das Sabbatgesetz Exodus 31,12–17, die Priesterschrift und das Heiligkeitsgesetz. Eine Auseinandersetzung mit neueren Interpretationen,” in Wege der Freiheit. Zur Entstehung und Theologie des Exodusbuches. Die Beiträge eines Symposions zum 70. Geburtstag von Rainer Albertz, ed. Reinhard Achenbach et al., ATANT 104 (Zürich: TVZ, 2014), 134–42. On the compositional history of Exod 25–31, 35–40, see §2.2.2. 22 Non-priestly sabbath texts presupposed in Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 include Exod 20:8–11, 23:12, and Deut 5:12–15. On this, see further the detailed discussion in Groß, “Rezeption” and Groß, Zukunft für Israel, 71–84. On the vocabulary of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3, see the Excursus in §7.2.3. 23 Jeffrey Stackert, “Compositional Strata in the Priestly Sabbath: Exod 31:12–17 and 35:13,” JHebS 11 (2011): 2–20, doi:10.5508/jhs.2011.v11.a15. Cf. Saul Olyan, “Exodus 31:12–17: The Sabbath according to H, the Sabbath according to P and H,” JBL 124, no. 2 (2005): 201–9, who similarly argues that Exod 31:12–17 can be divided between P and H strands, but contends that the P materials (which he isolates to vv. 16–17) stem from a late priestly stage that post-dates H. On the connections between Exod 31:12–17; 35:1–3 and Lev 17–26, see the Excursus in §7.2.3 below.

7.1 The Distinctive Concept of Holiness in H

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its wording. He also claims that 31:16 has been glossed by a pentateuchal redactor, to explain why it includes ‫( נפש‬niphal). While Stackert offers a rich analysis, there are few indications within the text of Exod 31:12–17 to support removing these terms as secondary.24 The decision to remove them seems to be driven less by the evidence of their awkwardness within the passage as it stands than by Stackert’s conviction that the Priestly narrative must have originally contained a sabbath commandment to complement the reference to sabbath cessation at Gen 2:2–3.25 Yet the present debates that surround the place of these verses in the P creation account, as well as those of Exod 16, suggest that the topic of sabbath observance may have entered the priestly traditions in multiple stages, and perhaps only in relatively late phases of their development. For the purposes of the present discussion, a complete literary history of the priestly sabbath texts of the Pentateuch is not required. Even if we were to embrace the idea that Gen 2:2–3 and Exod 16:16–25 are original to P, these passages clearly offer a different interest in the sanctity of the sabbath than that which is found in Lev 17–26. They do not stress the Israelites’ obligation to observe the sabbath in all circumstances or use this weekly event to calculate other sacred times in the year. They also show no interest in the sabbath as a time of regular sacrifices and donations. In H, by contrast, the sabbath is elevated to a position of major significance in the Israelites’ experience of holiness, both inside and outside the sanctuary. As we shall see below (§7.2.3), the sabbath features prominently in Lev 23–25, where it serves as a key structuring device for the timing of Yhwh’s festivals, regular rites at the shrine, the fallow year for the land, and redemption laws for slaves. The command to keep the sabbath is also found in Lev 19:3, 30 where it is mentioned, alongside showing reverence to Yhwh’s sanctuary, as a key obligation within the call to collective sanctification (Lev 26:2). In addition, H pairs the expectation of a work ban on the sabbath with instructions for collective sacrifices and donations that must be presented to the god each week. In all these ways, H goes in a different direction from other priestly texts when conceptualizing the holiness of the sabbath, and evinces a much more pronounced interest in this sacred occasion than is evident in P. H’s heightened focus on the sabbath speaks to a broader shift in Lev 17–26 concerning the possible ways in which the Israelites might experience holiness; the sanctuary category ‫ קדשׁ‬is expanded to incorporate not only a variety of holy times, such as the sabbath and the annual festivals, but virtually all aspects of Israelite social existence. This is seen most vividly in Lev 19:2, where, as Robert Kugler notes, H “expand[s] the domain of holiness” to all the Israelites in their daily comings and goings; they must “be holy for I Yhwh your god am See further the detailed discussion offered by Nihan, “Das Sabbatgesetz,” 140–42. See his comments concerning narrative considertaions in Stackert, “Compositional Strata,” 10–13. 24 25

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holy.”26 No longer is the distribution of holiness beyond the shrine, its sancta, and priests an inherently dangerous prospect. To the contrary, holiness is not only accessible to non-priests but also becomes a mandatory aspiration of ‫כל־‬ ‫‘ עדת בני־ישׂראל‬all the congregation of the Israelites’.27 This is a distinctly Israelite requirement: the immigrant goes unmentioned among the addressees of Lev 19, the chapter that details most clearly H’s expectation of communal holiness, and is not obliged elsewhere in Lev 17–26 to undergo a process of sanctification. Only the native Israelites are called by the god to be sanctified by acting in accordance with its ‫‘ חקת‬statutes’ (‫ חקים‬in Lev 26:46), ‫‘ משׁפטים‬ordinances’, ‫‘ מצות‬commandments’, and ‫‘ תורת‬instructions’ (only in Lev 26:46). 7.1.2 Holiness, Obedience, and Centralization There has been considerable scholarly debate about why H applies such an expanded concept of holiness when compared to the earlier P materials. As mentioned at the start of this chapter, scholars have frequently resorted to the theory that H enshrines a dynamic concept of holiness predicated on right behavior, while P’s is a static understanding of holiness as a fixed state of certain spaces, objects, and persons.28 However, the idea that holiness in P is static arguably overlooks its emphasis in on the manner in which holiness is acquired by the sanctuary, its staff, and paraphernalia via ritual process.29 In Lev 8, for example, the central shrine, its paraphernalia, and priesthood acquire their intrinsic holiness by being consecrated (‫ קדשׁ‬piel) and anointed (‫ משׁח‬qal) with oil. Elsewhere in P, offerings of animals, cereals, oil, incense, semiprecious stones, or money acquire a holy status by being dedicated to the deity, a process that removes their common status and transfers them to the god (e.g., Lev 2:3, 10; 6:10, 18, 22; 7:1, 6; 10:12, 17; 14:13). Finally, P’s concern with the risk of common items and persons inadvertently contracting holiness underscores the dynamic understanding of holiness that pervades P, even as it seeks to restrict holiness to the shrine and its associated objects and personnel. An alternative theory is that H embraces an expanded concept of holiness compared to P because it has a distinctive understanding of sanctification as a form of divine imitation (imitatio dei).30 This interpretation is based primarily 26 Robert A. Kugler, “Holiness, Purity, the Body, and Society: The Evidence for Theological Conflict in Leviticus,” JSOT 76 (1997): 16. 27 On the meaning of the term ‫ עדה‬and its usage in the priestly traditions, see §4.1.1. 28 See, among others, Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1397 and Trevaskis, Holiness, 1–2 et passim. 29 Haran, Temples, 175–81; Wright, “Holiness in Leviticus,” 354; and Schwartz, “Israel’s Holiness,” 55. 30 See, e.g., Eichrodt, Theology, 373; Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus, NICOT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1979), 18–25; Hartley, Leviticus, lxi–lxii; Joosten, People, 131–33; Jonathan Klawans, “Pure Violence: Sacrifice and Defilement in Ancient Israel,” HTR 94, no. 2 (2001): 142; Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study

7.1 The Distinctive Concept of Holiness in H

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on the statement “You shall be holy for I Yhwh your god am holy” in Lev 19:2. Here H is thought to measure holiness by how closely the Israelites’ behavior mirrors Yhwh’s own traits. Subsequent commands, such as to love one’s neighbor as oneself (Lev 19:18), would therefore be considered sanctifying because they are a reflection of Yhwh’s own obligation to be faithful and loyal toward his human subjects.31 However, as pointed out by Walther Zimmerli, Hans Peter Mathys, and Baruch J. Schwartz, reading Lev 19 as promoting a form of imitatio dei is problematic because it implies that Yhwh’s commandments provide precepts that should be followed in equal measure by Yhwh and human agents.32 Yet the majority of the laws in this chapter concern conduct that relates only to human beings, not to a deity; it is fanciful to imagine that Yhwh might “defer to the old” (19:32), refrain from sowing different types of seed in a single field (19:19), or desist from eating the fruit of his trees for their first three germinating years (19:23), to name but a few examples. To be sure, few of those scholars who interpret H’s concept of holiness as a form of imitatio dei would insist on a one-to-one equivalence between the commandments of Lev 19 and Yhwh’s own actions. Imitatio dei is usually understood to explain the aim of communal holiness, as H conceives it, rather than its method; that is, the Israelites must strive to be holy because, in so doing, they can become more like Yhwh, who is holy. Nevertheless, the question remains as to whether “imitation” is an appropriate term to convey this idea, because it implies that the Israelites will somehow mimic the actions of the god rather than simply acquire a trait that is shared with the deity. Another approach to H’s distinctive concept of holiness, which has often been combined with the imitatio dei interpretation, is to argue that H reveals its primary motivation to be the fusion of “the realms of cult and morality” by incorporating prohibitions concerned with “social justice” under the rubric of holiness.33 This interpretation is again based largely on the content of Lev 19, in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT 2/25 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 479–80; and Thomas Hieke, Levitikus, 2 vols., HThKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2014), 2:710– 12. 31 Eckart Otto, “Forschungsgeschichte der Entwürfe einer Ethik im Alten Testament,” VF 36 (1991): 19; Otto, Theologische Ethik des Alten Testaments, ThW (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 248; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus: A Book of Ritual and Ethics, Continental Commentaries (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2004), 217–18; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 477. 32 Walther Zimmerli, “‘Heiligkeit’ nach dem sogenannten Heiligkeitsgesetz,” VT 30 (1980): 511–12; Hans-Peter Mathys, Liebe deinen Nächsten wie dich selbst. Untersuchungen zum alttestamentlichen Gebot der Nächstenliebe (Lev 19,18), OBO 71 (Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986), 103; and Schwartz, “Israel’s Holiness,” 56–57. 33 Direct quotes from Knohl, Sanctuary, 176 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 461, respectively. See further Eichrodt, Theology, 277–78; Hartley, Leviticus, 323–

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where the call to holiness in v. 2 is followed in vv. 3–36a with laws that require the Israelites not only to show loyalty to Yhwh – to avoid idolatry (v. 4), to keep his sabbaths (vv. 3, 30), to revere his sanctuary (v. 30), and to abstain from worshipping other gods (v. 3) and practicing necromancy (v. 26) – but also to show loyalty to other members of the community. In particular, the laws in vv. 11–18 show a clear concern with the justice, compassion, and love that the Israelites must show others if they are to uphold Yhwh’s commandment to be holy. However, while H certainly aspires to influence behavior, its concept of holiness has little to do with the Israelites exercising their individual capacities for moral judgment. Put another way, there is little to suggest that the Israelites will exercise individual discretion and choose as virtuous persons to engage in moral behavior. This is not to deny that the laws of Lev 19 are presented as pertaining to each individual member of the congregation; this is signaled on a formal level by the mixing of singular and plural forms of second person address in the laws of Lev 19.34 But the responsibility for achieving holiness is a communal enterprise, to be achieved by the ‫‘ עדה‬congregation’ of Israel as a whole (19:2); the community must acknowledge the normativity of the standards laid down by the deity and commit to applying them as a collective. This communal obedience and concern for legal interpretation is a sign of their shared loyalty to Yhwh as their patron, which, as we shall see in §7.2.2, requires that the Israelites show loyalty to the other members of the community of Israel, as well as to Yhwh’s central sanctuary. But this concern for the law, which forms so central a part of H’s expanded view of holiness, arguably has little connection to personal piety or morality in Lev 17–26. This study therefore asserts that the difference between P and H in their conceptualizations of holiness is primarily in how they conceive the need for compliance with the law outside the space of the sanctuary, and thus in their view of the scope of the law and its effects. To be sure, the difference between P and H on the normativity of the law beyond sanctuary matters should not be overstated. As discussed in §4.2.1, in Lev 11–15, P offers extensive instructions about the relevance of Yhwh’s laws outside the sanctuary in situations involving purity and impurity, although it does not suggest that these laws are 24; Bryan D. Bibb, Ritual Words and Narrative Worlds in the Book of Leviticus, LHBOTS 480 (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2009), 138–63; Trevaskis, Holiness, 2; Marx, Lévitique 17–27, 96–97; Esias E. Meyer, “From Cult to Community: The Two Halves of Leviticus,” Verbum et Ecclesia 34, no. 2 (2013): 4; John J. Collins, Introduction to the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2014), 151, 155; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:702–4. 34 Cf. the second person plural address in Lev 19:2–6, 9a, 11–12a, 15aα, 19aα, 23, 25– 27a, 28, 30–31, 33, 35–37 and the second person singular address in Lev 19:9aβ–b, 10, 12b– 14, 15aβ–b, 16–18, 19aβ–b, 27b, 29, 32, 34. On this oscillation, see further Joosten, People, 47–54; Jan Joosten, “‘Tu’ et ‘vous’ dans le Code de sainteté (Lév. 17–26),” RevScRel 71, no. 1 (1997): 3–8.

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necessarily related to the Israelites’ sanctification.35 Rather than separating the Israelites as holy people, P positions obedience to the law in noncultic spaces as being essential to maintaining Yhwh’s sanctuary as a holy space in the midst of the Israelites (Lev 15:31). P affirms the need to properly interpret and apply the ritual instructions in mundane contexts if the sanctuary is to be preserved, thereby affirming the authority of the priests as experts in Yhwh’s ritual standard, in extrasanctuary domains. In addition, by empowering the Israelites themselves to look for the signs of impurity in their everyday lives, and to perform select domestic rites that may mitigate its effects, P initiates the Israelites into a form of communal knowledge in which cultic norms direct day-to-day practice, and in which interpreting the law becomes a major focus of everyday life.36 The hierarchies and centralized structures reinforced by such norms are thereby positioned as normal and appropriate. H’s concept of communal holiness takes up these ideas found in Lev 11–15 and infuses them with a new, expansive logic: whereas Lev 11–15 are focused on how the Israelites must apply the law when dealing with potentially defiling To be sure, Lev 11:43–45 exhort Israel to strive to be holy in the context of the dietary laws. However, there are a number of indications that Lev 11:43–45 were not originally part of P’s dietary prescriptions but were added under the influence of Lev 17–26. To begin with, the link made in Lev 11:43–45 between the exodus from Egypt and the process of Israel’s sanctification is very similar to the conclusion to the first half of H, in Lev 22:32b–33. While it is possible that H modeled Lev 22:32b–33 on Lev 11:43–45 rather than the other way around, this seems unlikely. The exodus is cited as a motivation for sanctification and law observance throughout H’s parenetic frame (see, e.g., Lev 18:3; 19:34, 36; 22:33, 43; 25:38, 42, 55; 26:13), while it is almost never found in P. A further link between Lev 11:43–45 and H concerns the relation between communal holiness and the ‫ תורה‬on edible and inedible animals. While this idea is not anticipated anywhere else in Lev 11, it directly parallels the later command of Lev 20:25–26. The extent of the parallels with H in this section of P strongly suggests that Lev 11:43–45 are a supplement to Lev 11 that was written under the influence of Lev 20:25–26; for this idea, cf., e.g., Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 685–88, 694– 96; Knohl, Sanctuary, 69; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 298–99. For earlier arguments for the secondary character of Lev 11:43–45, see August Klostermann, “Ezechiel und das Heiligkeitsgesetz,” in Der Pentateuch: Beiträge zu seinem Verständnis und seiner Entstehungsgeschichte, (Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1893), 377; Samuel Driver, An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament, 9th ed., International Theological Library (New York, NY: Meridan, 1956), 59; Bruno Baentsch, Exodus – Leviticus – Numeri, HKAT 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1903), 361; and Alfred Bertholet, Leviticus, KHC 3 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1901), 33. 36 See further Christophe Nihan, “Forms and Functions of Purity in Leviticus,” in Purity and the Forming of Religious Traditions in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Ancient Judaism, ed. Christian Frevel and Christophe Nihan, Dynamics in the History of Religion 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 362 and James W. Watts, “From the Torah of Polluted and Inedible Meats to Diet as a Marker of Jewish Identity,” paper presented at the 9th Enoch Seminar: From tôrāh to Torah: Variegated Notions of Torah from the First Temple Period to Late Antiquity, Camaldoni, 18–23 June 2017. 35

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elements such as skin disease and bodily emissions, H expands the laws’ purview to cover mundane activities and behaviors that have little connection with ritual matters. Now the law extends into virtually all aspects of the Israelites’ daily lives, requiring a higher level of conformity with a central legal standard, in both ritual and nonritual contexts, than that demanded by P. As a result, law observance is positioned as essential not only to ensuring that the sanctuary remains set apart and free from defilement, but also that the Israelites themselves are the separated, holy possessions of the god. The call, in Lev 19:2, to “be holy for I Yhwh your god am holy” can thus be understood as stressing the complementarity between the Israelites’ holiness and that of their patron god that resides in their obligation to be set apart from other elements; just as Yhwh is set apart from all other things, so, too, must the Israelites commit to being set apart by adopting norms and customs that ensure their distinctiveness and so bring honor to Yhwh as their patron.37 This does not require imitation or moral piety per se. It is predicated instead on obedience to the law, and an ability to interpret it for both everyday and ritual activities. This more intensified form of daily application of the law might be appropriately understood as a form of “conventionalism.” This term has been used by social theorists such as Adorno, Bob Altemeyer, and Marinus van Ijzendoorn to describe a form of groupthink that maintains the unity and integrity of the collective by promoting obedience to central authorities and rejecting behaviors that characterize outsiders.38 Conventionalism is a trait of authoritarianism because it encourages compliance with authority over local discretion and thereby contributes to the subordination of the collective to central powers. (The precise manner in which this is achieved and the measures by which it might be identified among different populations remain matters of significant debate.) H’s focus on law obedience might also resonate with Gramsci’s concept of “hegemony.” As his influential theories of the 1920s argued, the consolidation of central power requires not just coercion but also the consent of those members of a population who occupy lower places in the political or social hierarchy. Through their ability to set the standards of judgment and cultural norms by which everyday life is evaluated, the authorities at the center ensure that consent to their control appears to be the “common sense” and beneficial way in which everyday existence should be organized.39 This consent need not be proactive. Indeed, the very internalization of the values Schwartz, “Israel’s Holiness,” 57. Theodor. W. Adorno et al., The Authoritarian Personality (New York, NY: Harper & Row, 1950); Bob Altemeyer, Enemies of Freedom: Understanding Right-Wing Authoritarianism (San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 1988), 2, 6–7 et passim; and Marinus van Ijzendoorn, “Moral Judgment, Authoritarianism, and Ethnocentrism,” Journal of Social Psychology 129, no. 1 (1989): 38. 39 Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, trans. Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith (New York, NY: International, 1971), 325. 37 38

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articulated in the hegemonic discourse neutralizes the capacity for resistance even by those whose material interests it may not serve. In the sections that follow, the theories of Adorno and Gramsci will be leveraged to offer a fresh interpretation of how holiness might have reinforced a hegemonic discourse of centralization that aimed at normalizing the reach of the sanctuary into extrasanctuary domains. H’s extension of holiness is not simply a minor support for the centralizing logic already explicit in its prohibition of extrasanctuary slaughter and sacrifice in Lev 17:3–9 and its standardization of time in Lev 23 and Lev 24:1–9. In some ways, it can be read as an even more powerful discursive strategy, in that the requirement for communal holiness pervades all dimensions of social life; it infuses everyday contexts with the logic of deferring to central authorities and thereby entrenches and normalizes the right of those authorities to direct the activities of everyday settings. As is the case with many other centralized systems, H’s all-inclusive notion of holiness incorporates the Israelites into the centralized cult by prescribing not just how they should participate in that cult but also how they should interpret their own experience in light of its centrality.40 Their participation must be seen through the lens of those central authorities that are constitutive of holiness: the central shrine, with its Aaronide priesthood and ritual standards, and the central law, governing both mundane and cultic behavior.

7.2 Holiness and Soliciting Consent If we read H’s discourse of sanctification via law observance as a means of soliciting the consent of the Israelite population to a centralized cultic system, what discursive strategies does H use to achieve this effect? In the following section, I explore, first, how H’s discourse works to entrench the need for the Israelites to defer to the priests in all matters related to the shrine, even as H extends the application of the holiness category to all Israel. Second, I consider how the discourse of sanctification via law observance works, again with a centralizing effect, to convince the Israelites that they must separate themselves from others and commit as a collective to aligning their behavior with a Cf. Joseph Rogers Hollingsworth and Robert Hanneman, Centralization and Power in Social Service Delivery Systems: The Cases of England, Wales, and the United States, International Series in Social Welfare 3 (Boston, MA: Kluwer-Nijhoff, 1984); John Gledhill, “Legacies of Empire: Political Centralization and Class Formation in the Hispanic-American World (1988),” in State and Society: The Emergence and Development of Social Hierarchy and Political Centralization, ed. John Gledhill, Barbara Bender, and Mogens Trolle Larsen, One World Archeology 4 (London: Routledge, 2005), 297–314; Bin Liang, The Changing Chinese Legal System, 1978–Present: Centralization of Power and Rationalization of the Legal System, East Asia: History, Politics, Sociology, Culture (New York, NY: Routledge, 2007). See further §2.2.3. 40

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central legal tradition. In this way, holiness provides the conceptual underpinning for the idea that the community of Israel acquires its core identity from standardized norms – common laws, communal loyalty, the absence of factions, and the intolerance of fissures – which reinforce the foundational requirement to unite in service to a central shrine. 7.2.1 Hierarchies of Holiness The widening of holiness to all Israel might seem initially to pose a paradox in relation to the consolidation of the centralized cult. All theories about centralization, including those that accept the need for social consent to hegemonic power, assume that there are hierarchies of power, and that the purpose of centralizing discourses is generally to consolidate these. But if H claims that all Israel must strive to be holy, what are the implications for the status of the central priesthood? Is their monopoly of the status of holiness, as well as their associated central authority, thereby diluted? That is, if all within the community are now permitted to acquire holiness, has the distinction between priests and nonpriests been effectively eroded in favor of “democratized” holiness?41 H insists not. It makes clear that the call to collective holiness in Lev 17–26 does not bestow on the Israelites a comparable status to that of the priesthood. Rather, H carefully distinguishes between the holiness available to the priests and that accessible by the people.42 In essence, holiness is permanently bestowed on the priesthood by virtue of their ritual consecration, while the holiness of the people is conditional on their observance of the law. A useful illustration of this distinction is found in the two laws in Lev 17:15– 16 and 22:8–9 that deal with the consumption of carrion. As discussed in §5.1, carrion raises issues of defilement and problems of blood disposal because the blood of an animal that has been dead for some time is at risk of coagulation. In Lev 17:15–16, H establishes the conditions under which the ‫‘ אזרח‬native’ or ‫‘ גר‬immigrant’ might eat ‫‘ נבלה וטרפה‬a carcass, a torn animal’. H does not ban the consumption of such meat by either group but permits the practice as long as the Israelites and immigrants wash their clothes, undergo ritual bathing, and consider themselves unclean until evening (v. 15). Harsh sanctions apply in the case of noncompliance (v. 16). Yet, later in the legislation, H again takes up the issue of eating ‫נבלה וטרפה‬, this time with reference to the Aaronide priests, and now applies a much more stringent ruling: ‫נבלה וטרפה לא יאכל‬ ‫ל ט מ א ה ב ה א נ י י ה ו ה ו ש מ ר ו א ת מ ש מ רת י ו ל א י ש א ו ע ל י ו ח ט א ו מ ת ו ב ו כ י י ח ל ל ה ו א נ י‬ 41 Kugler, “Holiness,” 25 with n. 50; Robert A. Kugler and Patrick Hartin, An Introduction to the Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2009), 86; and Bibb, Ritual Words, 164. 42 As argued by Knohl, Sanctuary, 180–86; Andreas Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Priesterschrift. Literaturgeschichtliche und rechtssystematische Untersuchungen zu Leviticus 17,1–26,2, FAT 1/26 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 85–86; Milgrom, Leviticus 17– 22, 19; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 486.

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‫יהוה מקדשם‬, ‘[The priest] shall not eat a carcass, a torn animal, becoming unclean by it: I am Yhwh! They shall keep my charge so that they shall not bear guilt upon it [the sanctuary] and die in it for having profaned it: I am Yhwh who sanctifies them!’ (Lev 22:8–9). This ruling is part of a broader set of regulations in H (Lev 21:1–22:16) that pertain only to the priests, affirming their special status and obligations. H frames these regulations as necessary to ensure that the priests do not profane themselves (Lev 21:1–15), the shrine and its sancta (Lev 21:16–23), or the holy donations (Lev 22:1–16). This risk of profanation speaks to the intrinsic holiness of Aaron and his sons on account of their consecration (‫ קדשׁ‬piel) and anointing (‫ משׁח‬qal) with oil (see Lev 8). Consecration enables the priests to enter the holy areas of the sanctuary (although with restrictions), and to handle its sancta. With this priestly prerogative comes additional responsibility: the priests must avoid contact with persons or things that might defile them, or risk transmitting pollution to the shrine or its sancta. In addition to abstaining from eating carrion, they are forbidden from practicing mourning rites for deceased relatives except their nearest kin (Lev 21:1b–5). They must follow strict marriage regulations, being sure not to marry a prostitute, a ‫‘ חללה‬defiled’ woman, or a divorcee (Lev 21:7). Even the daughter of a priest who prostitutes herself must be burned to death, because such behavior ‫‘ את־אביה היא מחללת‬profanes her father’ (Lev 21:9). The high priest must follow an even stricter set of rules, owing to his singular status as “the one on whose head the oil of anointing has been sprinkled and who has been consecrated (‫ מלא‬piel) to wear the vestments” (Lev 21:10). He is forbidden to marry anyone outside his kinship group (Lev 21:13–15), or to defile himself by paying respects to any deceased member of his family, even his mother and father (Lev 21:11). He is even prohibited from leaving the sanctuary precinct, in order to “not profane (‫ חלל‬piel) the sanctuary of his god; for the crown of the anointing oil of his god is upon him: I am Yhwh!” (Lev 21:12). These standards do not apply to nonpriests. Because those members of the community have not been consecrated, they are forbidden from approaching Yhwh’s altar or entering the interior of the sanctuary, but they are free to undertake behaviors that are prohibited to the priests. The consumption of carrion (under certain ritual conditions) is one such behavior, as far as H is concerned. The special significance of this permission by H is thrown into relief if we consider how the question of eating carrion is prohibited in select texts from the non-priestly legal traditions. CC and D both contain laws that explicitly forbid the Israelites from consuming a carcass (‫ )נבלה‬or an animal torn by wild beasts (‫)טרפה‬. But, crucially, these texts link the prohibitions to the Israelites’ status as a holy community, Yhwh’s chosen people. Deuteronomy 14:21a states: ‫לא תאכלו כל־נבלה לגר אשׁר־בשׁעריך תתננה ואכלה או מכר לנכרי כי עם קדושׁ‬ ‫‘ אתה ליהוה אלהיך‬You shall not eat any carcass; you may give it to the immigrants in your towns to eat, or sell it to a foreigner. For you are a people holy

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to Yhwh your god’. This command has a parallel in Exod 22:30, which likewise forbids the Israelites from eating an animal torn by beasts (‫ )טרפה‬on account of their holy status: ‫ואנשׁי־קדשׁ תהיון לי ובשׂר בשׂדה טרפה לא תאכלו לכלב‬ ‫‘ תשׁלכון אתו‬You shall be a people consecrated to me. Therefore, you shall not eat the meat of an animal torn in the field; you shall throw it to the dogs’. These texts differ in their recommendations of what should instead be done with the animal; while Exod 22:30 insists that no human should eat it – the carcass should instead be given to dogs – Deut 14:21a permits the Israelites to give the carcass to the ‫גר‬. This difference aside, these texts share the assumption that the eating of carrion is incompatible with holiness. This is a view that H, too, seems to hold when it regulates the priests’ interactions with carrion; priests are strictly forbidden to eat such animals because of the risks of defilement entailed in this behavior (Lev 22:8–9). But H does not consider the same conditions to apply to the rest of the community; a more lenient stance towards the consumption of carrion is permissible. What we can infer, then, from Lev 17:15–16 is that H considers priests and nonpriests in Israel to possess holiness of a fundamentally different type: while the former are inherently holy and therefore never permitted to consume carrion, the latter do not possess intrinsic holiness and so may engage in the same practices as the ‫ גר‬in eating carrion, as long as they take the necessary ritual precautions (namely, ritual bathing).43 It is particularly significant that this law is positioned at the head of the legislation of Lev 17–26, immediately prior to the first exhortation at Lev 18:2b–5, because it is here that H begins its call to the Israelites to be sanctified via law observance (see further §7.2.2). This positioning suggests that H might consider the issue of carrion a suitable launching pad for the reconceptualization of the Israelites’ holiness that begins in the verses immediately following; by disassociating the nonconsumption of carrion from communal holiness, against CC and D, H prepares for its innovation of making holiness entirely dependent on the Israelites’ ability to obey the law rather than on their election by Yhwh. This reading gains weight when we consider the echoes of Exod 22:30 and Deut 14:21a in the wording of Lev 17:15. As discussed in §5.3.1, H’s description of the animal carcass using the expression ‫ נבלה וטרפה‬appears to combine the two terms for the dead animal used in Exod 22:30 (‫ )טרפה‬and Deut 14:21a (‫)נבלה‬.44 This echo of the previous laws is admittedly faint, but it might suggest that H is using the issue of carrion to underscore a point of difference in how it conceptualizes the Israelites’ holiness when compared to the non-priestly legal codes: whereas in CC and D the Israelites were deemed to be intrinsically 43 See further Otto, Theologische Ethik, 241–42; Schwartz, “Israel’s Holiness,” 51; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 429, 550. 44 See Otto, Theologische Ethik, 241–42 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 429.

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holy on account of their status as Yhwh’s people, H requires them to undergo a constant process of sanctification. Holiness, then, will ebb and flow in accordance with their commitment to obey Yhwh’s precepts. H’s concept of communal holiness therefore does little to undermine the ritual standards and cultic hierarchies promoted in P. Rather, it enhances them. The expansion of holiness to all Israel, given that it is conditional rather than inherent to their status, throws into relief the singular holiness that the priesthood derives from its consecration and proximity to the shrine. Holiness in Lev 17–26 therefore remains essentially hierarchical. The high priest is afforded the greatest holiness, which allows him to perform a unique role within the sanctuary cult and enjoy exclusive access to its holiest space, and the priests have an elevated degree of holiness, which allows them to access Yhwh’s sanctuary and offer him his food. But the Israelites continue to have the lowest degree of holiness, which provides no access to the shrine or its sacred objects and prebends, and which is predicated on their obedience to Yhwh’s law. True, the Israelites occupy a privileged position when compared to immigrants and foreigners, who are not even permitted to undergo a process of sanctification, but their communal holiness does not entail the redistribution of resources or privileges within the cult in a way that challenges the foundational distinctions of the earlier P materials. This hierarchy of holiness finds explicit confirmation in a key command, located at the beginning of the instructions for the conduct of the priests, in which H articulates the responsibilities of the non-priestly members of the community to maintain the holiness of the priesthood. In Lev 21:8, H affirms the deity’s expectation that the Israelites must preserve the sanctity of the priests on account of their unique right to officiate within the sanctuary cult: ‫‘ וקדשׁתו כי־את־לחם אלהיך הוא מקריב קדשׁ יהיה־לך כי קדושׁ אני יהוה מקדשׁכם‬You [the Israelite] shall sanctify him [the priest], for he offers the food of your god; he will be holy to you, for holy am I, Yhwh, who sanctifies you’. As this verse makes clear, the expansion of holiness in Lev 17–26 does not undermine the claims of the Aaronide priesthood to greater rights and privileges. Rather, paradoxical though this may seem, the sanctification of the nonpriests ultimately serves to underscore their lower place in the sociocultic hierarchy. Although communal holiness widens the role of the community within the sociocultic order and empowers the Israelites to actively participate in that order, it does so in a way that reinforces established ritual hierarchies and authoritative cultic leaders. The normative value of the law is also entrenched because it alone offers the Israelite community the means by which it can acquire holiness. This, in turn, mobilizes consent to the centralizing ideals that are promoted by that law, which again affirm the sanctuary and its priesthood. Hence, H’s reconceptualization of holiness serves to demand more of the people in how they relate to central authorities because it requires not only that they recognize the exclusive privileges of the priests to control the sanctuary and its sancta, but

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also that they consent to the new obligations and constraints that come from applying the law at all times. 7.2.2 The Parenetic Framework of Lev 18–22 Consent, then, is an important element of the sociocultic order of holiness in H. But how is it secured? As already mentioned, social theorists mount compelling arguments that coercion alone is insufficient to ensure compliance with a centralized system. How then does H frame its new expectation of communal sanctification via law observance so that it appears to be common sense (to use Gramsci’s term) to defer to central legal standards, as well as the central sanctuary and its priesthood? H clearly employs diverse strategies in its effort to normalize its demands of the Israelite congregation, but the series of exhortations in Lev 18–22 that forms part of the parenetic framework is particularly significant (see Lev 18:2b–5, 24–30; 19:2–4, 19aα, 36b–37; 20:7–8, 20–22; 22:31–33; 25:18–19, 38, 42a, 55; 26:1–2). As discussed in §2.2.1, these verses move beyond explaining why individual laws should be followed and provide an overarching rationale for why the Israelites must commit to obeying Yhwh’s statutes and what collective benefits will accrue from such obedience. Each exhortation (with the exception of Lev 19:2) reprises the claims of earlier statements within the framework, and together they produce a repetitious and therefore intensified call to collective obedience.45 Moreover, they build upon the critical theme of the link between sanctification and law observance, continuously repeating the need to “keep” (‫ )שׁמר‬and “practice” (‫ )עשׂה‬Yhwh’s ‫‘ חקת‬statutes’ and ‫‘ משׁפטים‬judgments’. This intensified focus on holiness, obedience, and the conditions of Yhwh’s patronage of Israel suggests that these exhortations provide a suitable starting point for considering how H solicits consent to its call for collective deference to central authorities. In particular, I will focus here on the parenetic framework in Lev 18–22; these are the chapters that deal most explicitly with the sanctification of the Israelites, and their exhortations focus specifically on the link between holiness, law observance, and the preservation of Yhwh’s central sanctuary. Moreover, the exhortations of Lev 25 raise a distinct set of issues concerning the relationship between holiness and the land, which warrants treating them separately (see §7.3.1).

45 As shown with particular clarity by Frank Crüsemann, The Torah: Theology and Social History of Old Testament Law, trans. Allen W. Mahnke (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 301– 6 and Otto, Theologische Ethik, 237–43.

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7.2.2.1 Othering and Standardization From its first exhortation in Lev 18:2b–5, H’s parenetic frame affirms a crucial aspect of conventionalism; namely, the need for the Israelites to protect themselves from the corrupting influences and behaviors of people construed as other if they are to maintain collective unity and fulfill the requirements of their patron god. Leviticus 18:2b–5 open with an affirmation of Yhwh’s patronage of the Israelites with the emphatic statement “I am Yhwh your god!” (v. 2b). This patronage, H explains, comes with consequences: the Israelites must utterly reject the ‫‘ חקת‬statutes’ of the Egyptians, as well as those of the Canaanites, and instead embrace the ‫‘ משׁפטים‬judgments’ and ‫‘ חקת‬statutes’ Yhwh has decreed. Lev 18:2b–5 ‫ כמעשׂ ה ארץ־מצרים א שׁ ר ישׁ בתם־בה לא תעשׂ ו וכמעשׂ ה ארץ־כנען א שׁ ר א ני‬3 ‫ א ני יהוה אלהיכם‬2 ‫ את ־משׁ פטי תעשׂ ו ואת ־חקתי ת שׁ מרו ללכת בהם‬4 ‫מביא את כם שׁ מ ה לא תעשׂ ו ובחקתיהם לא תלכו‬ ‫ ושׁ מרת ם את ־ח קת י ואת ־מ שׁ פטי א שׁ ר יעשׂ ה את ם האדם וחי בהם א ני יהוה‬5 ‫א ני יהוה אלהיכם‬ 2 I am Yhwh your god! 3 You shall not do as they do in the land of Egypt, in which you lived, and you shall not do as they do in the land of Canaan, to which I am bringing you: you shall not follow their statutes. 4 My judgments you shall practice, and my statutes you shall keep, following them: I am Yhwh your god! 5 You shall keep my statutes and my judgments, which, if one practices them, he will live by them: I am Yhwh!

Because this exhortation introduces the lengthy speech in Lev 18:6–23 prohibiting illicit sexual practices, Yhwh’s ‫ חקת‬and ‫ משׁפטים‬seem here to refer to the specific laws that the god is just about to declare to Moses. The ‫ חקת‬of the Egyptians and Canaanites are the incestuous practices that Yhwh is about to forbid. This reading is confirmed by the corresponding exhortation at the end of the chapter, in Lev 18:24–30. This serves as a complement to the exhortation in Lev 18:3–5, which resumes the call to Israel to keep (‫ )שׁמר‬Yhwh’s ‫ חקת‬and ‫( משׁפטים‬v. 26a) and to reject the ‫ חקת‬of the previous inhabitants of the land. But now it explicitly accuses ‫‘ הגוים‬the nations’ that previously inhabited the land of defiling themselves (‫ טמא‬niphal) by engaging in the forbidden practices which the god has just warned the Israelites never to engage. Lev 18:24–30 ‫ ותטמא הארץ ואפקד‬25 ‫ אל־תטמאו בכל־אלה כי בכל־אלה נטמאו הגוים אשׁר־אני משׁלח מפניכם‬24 ‫ את־חקתי ואת־משׁפטי ולא תעשׂו מכל התועבת‬46 ‫ ושׁמרתם אתם‬26 ‫עונה עליה ותקא הארץ את־ישׁביה‬ ‫ כי את־כל־התועבת האל עשׂו אנשׁי־הארץ אשׁר לפניכם ותטמא‬27 ‫האלה האזרח והגר הגר בתוככם‬ ‫ כי כל־אשׁר‬29 ‫ אשׁר לפניכם‬47 ‫ ולא־תקיא הארץ אתכם בטמאכם אתה כאשׁר קאה את־הגוי‬28 ‫הארץ‬

‫ אתם‬is not attested in SP or LXX. LXX reads the plural τοῖς ἔθνεσιν τοῖς πρὸ ὑµῶν ‘the nations that were before you’. The singular is attested not only in MT and SP but also 11Q1. It should be preferred, because LXX here seems to be harmonizing v. 28 with v. 24, where the plural occurs. 46 47

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‫ ושׁמרתם את־משׁמרתי לבלתי עשׂות‬30 ‫יעשׂה מכל התועבות האלה ונכרתו הנפשׁות העשׂת מקרב עמם‬ ‫מחקות התועבת אשׁ ר נעשׂ ו לפניכם ולא תטמאו בהם אני יהוה אלהיכם‬ 24 Do not defile yourselves in any of these ways, for by all these the nations that I have cast out before you have defiled themselves. 25 Thus the land has become defiled and I have called it to account for its wrongdoing; the land has vomited out its inhabitants. 26 You shall keep my statutes and my judgments, and shall commit none of these abominations, neither the native nor the immigrant who lives among you. 27 (For the inhabitants of the land who were before you did all of these abominations, and the land became defiled.) 28 If not, the land will vomit you out for your defiling it, as it vomited out the nation that was before you. 29 For whoever commits any of these abominations, they will be cut off from the midst of their people. 30 You shall keep my charge not to commit any of these statutes – the abominations that they did before you – and not to defile yourself by them: I am Yhwh your god!

The need for complete obedience is reinforced by H’s vivid description of what befell the nations when they engaged in such prohibited practices: the land became defiled, with the result that Yhwh held it liable for ‫‘ עון‬wrongdoing’, forcing it to vomit out (‫ קיא‬hiphil, v. 25) the nations. This reaction on the land’s part fulfills an important discursive role in soliciting consent to H’s call to collective obedience. As seen by Jeffrey Stackert, the land’s reaction to the abominations provides, in a sense, a model of how the Israelites should behave in that it expels foreign influence in favor of total compliance with the law by all those who inhabit it.48 In addition, the land’s agency in applying the law leaves the Israelites no choice but to avoid the practices that are prohibited in vv. 6– 23; if they do not, they will experience the same fate as the previous nations who were vomited out (‫ קיא‬hiphil, v. 28). This warning extends to the immigrant who inhabits the land alongside the Israelites, since that person, too, is bound by the obligation to avoid those practices that would risk the land’s defilement.49 In this way, then, H frames the Israelites’ social cohesion in the land as contingent on their rejection of the practices of foreign nations – a rejection that has been modeled by the land – in favor of obedience to Yhwh’s decrees. To follow Yhwh’s statutes is not only a sign of the Israelites’ loyalty to their patron god but also the means of maintaining the boundary between Israel and the defilement that characterizes foreign practices.50 This might be described, using the insights of philosopher Lajos Brons, as a “dialectic of identification Jeffrey Stackert, “The Sabbath of the Land in the Holiness Legislation: Combining Priestly and Non-Priestly Perspectives,” CBQ 73, no. 2 (2011): 246. 49 See further Joosten, People, 68 and Christophe Nihan, “Resident Aliens and Natives in the Holiness Legislation,” in The Foreigner and the Law: Perspectives from the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East, ed. Reinhard Achenbach et al., BZABR 16 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 126. 50 See further Doug C. Mohrmann, “Making Sense of Sex: A Study of Leviticus 18,” JSOT 29, no. 1 (2004): 71–73 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 441. 48

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and distantiation” that essentializes the behavior of the other nations, in order to warrant their eradication and the spurning of their practices in favor of compliance with Yhwh’s statutes.51 The result is a logic for law obedience that employs to powerful effect a process of Othering – that is, casting a group (the previous nations) as the Other and establishing a sense of Israelite collectivity through its opposition to, and vilification, of this Other.52 Othering has been described as a tool of “exclusion, and privilege, the centralizing of a norm against which otherness is measured, meted out, marginalized.”53 Othering is thus consistent with H’s discourse of centralization because it perpetuates “monolithic, normative notions” of collective unity by construing an outside threat that is antithetical to the cohesive social group.54 With the threat posed by the Other enshrined in their statutes, the Israelites have no choice but to reject its influences by conforming to Yhwh’s decrees. They must unify in obedience to a set of mutually agreed prohibitions of illicit sexual unions. This discourse of law observance and Othering in Lev 18 finds a strong echo in Lev 20. The core of this chapter, which again consists of a lengthy speech concerning sexual transgressions (vv. 10–21), is framed by two exhortations, in vv. 7–8 and 22–26, that call on the Israelites to obey the law. Lev 20:7–8 ‫ ושׁ מרת ם את ־ח קת י ועשׂ ית ם את ם א ני יהוה‬8 ‫והיית ם קדשׁ ים כי א ני יהוה אלהיכם‬

7 ‫מקדשׁכם‬

55 ‫והתקדשׁ תם‬

7 You shall be holy, for I am Yhwh your god. 8 You shall keep all my statutes, and you shall practice them: I am Yhwh who sanctifies you!

Lajos Brons, “Othering: An Analysis,” Transcience 6 (2015): 86. On Othering, see Edward W. Said, Orientalism (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1978), 92–112 et passim; Beyza Ç. Tekin, Representations and Othering in Discourse: The Construction of Turkey in the EU Context, Discourse Approaches to Politics, Society, and Culture 39 (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2010), 14–18; and Anthonie Holslag, “The Process of Othering from the ‘Social Imaginaire’ to Physical Acts: An Anthropological Approach,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 9, no. 1 (2015): 96–113. 53 Nathaniel Mackey, “Other: From Noun to Verb,” in The Jazz Cadence of American Culture, ed. Robert G. O’Meally (New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 1998), 513. 54 Delphine Nakache, “The ‘Othering’ Process: Exploring the Instrumentalization of Law in Migration Policy” (PhD diss., McGill University, 2008), 105. 55 ‫ והתקדשׁ תם‬is missing from Lev 20:7 SP and LXX. This omission is perhaps an attempt to bring the wording of the opening exhortation into closer alignment with the concluding command at v. 26; see further Henry T. C. Sun, “An Investigation into the Compositional Integrity of the So-Called Holiness Code (Leviticus 17–26),” (PhD diss., The Claremont Graduate School, 1990), 228. 51 52

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Lev 20:22–26 ‫ ושׁמרתם את־כל־חקתי ואת־כל־משׁפטי ועשׂיתם אתם ולא־תקיא אתכם הארץ אשׁר אני מביא אתכם‬22 ‫ אשׁר־אני משׁלח מפניכם כי את־כל־אלה עשׂו ואקץ בם‬56 ‫ ולא תלכו בחקת הגוי‬23 ‫שׁמה לשׁבת בה‬ ‫ ואמר לכם אתם תירשׁו את־אדמתם ואני אתננה לכם לרשׁת אתה ארץ זבת חלב ודבשׁ אני יהוה‬24 ‫ והבדלתם בין־הבהמה הטהרה לטמאה ובין־העוף הטמא‬25 ‫אלהיכם אשׁר־הבדלתי אתכם מן־העמים‬ ‫לטהר ולא־תשׁ קצו את־נפשׁ תיכם בבהמה ובעוף ובכל אשׁ ר תרמשׂ האדמה אשׁ ר־הבדלתי לכם לטמא‬ ‫ והייתם לי קדשׁים כי קדושׁ אני יהוה ואבדל אתכם מן־העמים להיות לי‬26 22 You shall keep all my statutes and my judgments, and you shall practice them. Then the land to which I am bringing you to settle in will not vomit you out. 23 You shall not follow the statutes of the nation[s] that I drove out before you; it is because they did all these things that I loathed them 24 and have said to you, ‘You shall possess their land. I will give it to you to possess, a land flowing with milk and honey.’ I am Yhwh your god who separated you from the peoples! 25 Thus you shall separate between clean and unclean animals and between the unclean and clean birds. You shall not make yourselves unclean by animal or bird or by anything with which the ground teems, which I have separated from you as unclean. 26 You shall be holy to me, for I Yhwh am holy; I have separated you from the peoples to be mine.

The exhortations contain numerous verbal and thematic parallels to Lev 18:2b– 5, 24–30; these are especially clear in the wording of v. 22, which repeats the threat that the land will vomit out (‫ קיא‬hiphil) the Israelites if they do not keep Yhwh’s statutes and judgments. However, these exhortations move in a new discursive direction when compared to Lev 18 by explicitly affirming that the Israelites have an obligation to be sanctified by keeping the totality of Yhwh’s statutes. Of particular significance is the link in the closing exhortation of Lev 20:22–26 between holiness, law observance, and separation. In much the same way that Lev 18:24–30 call upon the Israelites to reject the statutes of other nations if they are to reside on the land, these closing verses of Lev 20 affirm that the Israelites must avoid the practices that characterize the earlier inhabitants of the land if they are ever to attain holiness. This expectation of rejecting the Other is now positioned in a crucially important context: in Lev 20:30, Yhwh asserts that he has separated (‫ בדל‬hiphil) the Israelites from the other peoples to be his own personal possession, ‫‘ להיות לי‬to be mine’. This provides a key framing for the nature of the patron-client relationship between Yhwh and Israel: the god has the expectation that it can call the Israelites his own. Thus, the rationale for Othering is given an even stronger rhetorical force. As possessions of the god, the Israelites can do nothing but aspire to holiness by practicing separation (‫ בדל‬hiphil) in their everyday lives (vv. 25–26). They must assume the responsibility for being unlike other people by adopting

56 LXX and SP read the plural ‫גוים‬/ἔθνη, which suits the third person common plural verb in v. 23b, as well as Yhwh’s claim ‫‘ ואקץ בם‬I loathed them’. However, it is possible that ‫גוי‬ in MT serves as a collective noun, such that there is no conflict when using third person common plural forms in the second half of the verse; cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1759.

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distinctive norms and customs and, in so doing, show their loyalty to their patron deity. In particular, H highlights the distinction between clean and unclean animals and birds as emblematic of the Israelites’ separation as Yhwh’s holy people. The Israelites must diligently apply Yhwh’s instructions for ensuring that they never consume that which the god has “separated (‫ בדל‬hiphil) from you as unclean” (v. 25). This is almost certainly a reference to the earlier P dietary regulations in Lev 11.57 H returns to these regulations when addressing Israel’s separation as Yhwh’s people in order to build on earlier themes within P concerning the link between communal unity and standardization in applying Yhwh’s law to everyday life. As discussed in §4.2.1, the dietary norms laid out in Lev 11 are striking on account of their generality and permanence for all Israel. H thus appears to have taken up P’s conceptualization of the dietary laws as an exemplar of the kind of behavior it considers to be of intrinsic value in defining the community’s relationship with its god. By mentioning the obligation to separate between clean and unclean animals in the context of defining what make the Israelites Yhwh’s personal possessions, H positions the standardization and conformity that is inherent in the dietary prohibitions as being of paradigmatic significance to the Israelites’ special status. For the Israelites to manifest their commitment to being the chosen client of Yhwh, they must maintain their separation through everyday conformity to the law; that is, sanctification must be given practical form and repeated on a day-to-day basis. Whenever and wherever they select food for consumption, the Israelites must manifest their distinctive status as Yhwh’s holy people and their willingness to act with a shared sense of obligation to the law. Thus, the separation of clean and unclean foods entrenches the distinctions between Israel and the Other that are essential to the former’s separation as Yhwh’s holy possession; the revelation of the dietary laws to the Israelites alone means that they serve as a distinguishing marker between them and the other nations. This discourse of sanctification via law observance, then, is an ideological tool for compliance. H requires the Israelites to show unity and conformity with legal norms, even in the most ordinary of daily contexts. By doing so, H 57 Klaus Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26. Ursprüngliche Gestalt, Tradition und Theologie, BZAW 271 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 52–54, 219–20 has argued that the absence of any mention in Lev 20:25 of the differentiation between clean and unclean fish reveals that H did not have the P ritual instructions of Lev 11 in mind. However, the terminology of v. 25, especially the conclusion ‫‘ אשׁר־הבדלתי לכם לטמא‬which I have separated from you as unclean’, strongly suggests that H understands Yhwh to have already laid out the relevant dietary instructions in an earlier set of laws; namely, Lev 11. While it is indeed peculiar that H does not mention clean and unclean fish, given that these are included in Lev 11 (see vv. 9–12), Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1763 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 459 n. 246 have argued that this omission probably reflects the diminished role fish played in the Israelite diet when compared with animals and birds.

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imagines the Israelites emerging as a people whose holiness is made concrete through their conformity. They must present themselves to the deity as a genuine community, in the sense of being a group with unified characteristics and attitudes, as well as clearly defined boundaries. While some of these ideas are already present in P, H invests them with a new gravity by making observance of standardizing customs the mark of the Israelites’ status as a holy people, a status without which they cannot remain the god’s chosen client. In effect, then, the Israelites are obliged to assume the responsibility for centralizing themselves as a social collective, standardizing their norms and customs to a central legal authority, looking inward and fostering a sense of collectivity in accordance with that law; thus they attain and maintain holiness. 7.2.2.2 Collective Loyalty H’s centralizing logic has a further important dimension. Conventionalism is classically understood to imply not simply obedience to central authority and behavioral modification in accordance with the rejection of the corrupting influences of Others. It also assumes a positive sense of common endeavor across the community in implementing that behavioral adaptation. H expects that the Israelites will not only defer to centralized authorities and conform to the laws that differentiate them from Others but also to manifest mutual obligation to other members of the sacral community in all their social interactions – that is, they must be characterized at all times by communal loyalty as a mark of their collective sanctification. This is particularly clear from the exhortations of Lev 19 (vv. 2, 19aα, 36b– 37) and the material they frame. As already mentioned above, Lev 19:2 offers perhaps H’s clearest statement requiring the Israelites to strive towards a holy status: ‫דבר אל־כל־עדת בני־ישׂראל ואמרת אלהם קדשׁים תהיו כי קדושׁ אני יהוה‬ ‫‘ אלהיכם‬Speak to all the congregation of the Israelites and say to them: “You shall be holy for I Yhwh your god am holy”’. This statement is bookended with a corresponding exhortation in Lev 19:36b–37 that reminds the Israelites of Yhwh’s act of bringing them out of Egypt and their resultant obligation to obey his statutes and his judgments: ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם אשר הוצאתי אתכם מארץ מצרים‬ ‫‘ ושמרתם את כל חקתי ואת כל משפטי ועשיתם אתם אני יהוה‬I am Yhwh your god, who brought you out of the land of Egypt! You shall keep and practice all my statutes and all my judgments: I am Yhwh!’. Between these two exhortations (vv. 2, 36b–37), the Israelites are commanded to uphold the law in a host of situations pertaining to social, ritual, economic, and agricultural matters, including those that enhance societal cohesion. The Israelites must not worship idols, here termed ‫‘ אלילים‬nothings’ (19:4, 26–31), but be loyal to Yhwh’s name (19:12). They must be careful not to mishandle Yhwh’s sacrifices, particularly the ‫( זבח שׁלמים‬19:5–8; cf. 22:17–25). They must revere their parents (Lev 19:3; cf. 20:9) and show justice in economic dealings (19:35–36). They

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must cultivate the land in accordance with the deity’s wishes (19:9–10, 23–25), be loyal towards the Israelite ‫‘ רע‬neighbor’ (19:13, 17–18), and show compassion to the ‫( גר‬19:9, 33–34) and to vulnerable members of the community (19:14–15). A further exhortation in 19:19aα reinforces the need to apply all these various rulings to everyday life with a simple reiteration of the foundational connection between law observance and collective sanctification: ‫את־‬ ‫‘ חקתי תשׁמרו‬You shall keep my statutes’. “The message is clear,” as Schwartz remarks, “the indiscriminate and scrupulous compliance with every sort of law and statute is the means by which Israel is to fulfill the command ‘sanctify yourselves; be holy.’”58 Of particular interest for the present study is the manner in which the exhortations in Lev 19:2, 19aα, and 36b–37 structure Lev 19 so that laws related to communal solidarity are juxtaposed with those concerned with loyalty to the god.59 The overarching call in Lev 19:2 to “be holy” and the final statement in Lev 19:36b–37 frame two main sections of legislative material. The first comprises vv. 3–18, the second vv. 19–36a. The exhortation in 19:19aα functions as the transition between them. In both sections, H moves from foundational requirements (vv. 3–4 // 9aβ–b), to casuistic laws (vv. 5–10 // 20–25) dealing with sacrifice (vv. 5–8 // 20–22) and land (vv. 9–10 // vv. 23–25), and then to laws that deal with loyalty to Israelites (vv. 11–18), or with loyalty to Yhwh as well as to fellow community members (vv. 26–36). Within the first panel, the command to “love” (‫ )אהב‬one’s neighbor occupies an important place as the conclusion to both the series in vv. 11–18 concerned with the treatment of others, as well as to the first half of the chapter as a whole.60 A similar device can be observed in the second panel (vv. 26–36), where a series of laws concerned

Schwartz, “Israel’s Holiness,” 56. See Otto, Theologische Ethik, 244–47; Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 191–92; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 461–68. 60 Otto, Theologische Ethik, 246. As was convincingly demonstrated over fifty years ago by William L. Moran, “The Ancient Near Eastern Background of the Love of God in Deuteronomy,” CBQ 25, no. 1 (1963): 77–87, the term ‫ אהב‬is used in the Hebrew Bible not only to denote affection between two people, but also to refer to political and covenantal loyalty (e.g., 1 Sam 16:21; 2 Sam 19:6–7; 1 Kgs 5:15). See further Udo Rüterswörden, “Die Liebe zu Gott im Deuteronomium,” in Die deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerke. Redaktions- und religionsgeschichtliche Perspektiven zur “Deuteronomismus”-Diskussion in Tora und Vorderen Propheten, ed. Jan Christian Gertz et al., BZAW 365 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 229– 38. This usage has a clear parallel in Hittite and Neo-Assyrian treaties in which the term “love” is used to refer to the loyalty and friendship between rulers (e.g., EA 8:8–12; 27:72– 73), as well as the servitude and loyalty that a vassal must direct towards its sovereign (e.g., EA 121:61; 123:23; 158:6). In his monograph devoted entirely to the love commandment of Lev 19:18, Mathys, Liebe, 20–28, at 28 convincingly demonstrates that the “unconditional, unrestricted love” (unbedingte, uneingeschränkte Liebe) that H requires the Israelites to show one another functions as a means to enact this type of sociopolitical allegiance. 58 59

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primarily with loyalty to Yhwh are followed in vv. 33–36 with laws concerned with the issue of loyalty to vulnerable members of the community. Consequently, the laws that concern the Israelites’ obligations to one another, and especially the command to show communal loyalty, are presented as not only complementing but also completing the commandment to show loyalty to the deity. The structural parallel between vv. 11–18 (concerned with communal obligations) and vv. 26–36 (concerned with loyalty to Yhwh and others) further positions communal solidarity as an analogue to loyalty to Yhwh as patron. Because the laws of vv. 11–18 and 26–36 occupy a similar structural role within the two panels that comprise the chapter – they follow immediately from casuistic laws (vv. 5–10, 20–25) and serve as conclusions to their respective panels – the Israelites’ social responsibilities again appear functionally equivalent in the making of a holy community to their responsibilities to honor the god.61 Finally, the link between communal loyalty and loyalty to the god is evident on the level of individual laws. In v. 32, H explicitly links the Israelites’ responsibility to show respect to the elderly with the need to show loyalty to the deity, decreeing, “You shall rise before the aged and defer to the old; and you shall fear (‫ ירא‬qal) your god. I am Yhwh!” As noted by Didier Luciani, this dual command echoes the content of vv. 3–4, where loyalty to parents is contrasted with the prohibition of idolatry.62 It thus further highlights the complementarity between these two forms of loyalty across the chapter as a whole. This emphasis on communal loyalty has no obvious counterpart in the earlier P materials. These offer few instructions for how the Israelites must conduct themselves in situations that require collective solidarity; there are also no explicit statements that communal loyalty is an analogue to loyalty to Yhwh. However, Lev 19 does build on ideas present in the non-priestly legal traditions, especially the laws of the Decalogue (Exod 20:1–17 // Deut 5:6–21). Already in the Decalogue we find a sophisticated interweaving of five commandments that deal with the loyalty that the Israelites must show to the deity, as well as to parents (Exod 20:3–12 // Deut 5:7–16), and a second set of five laws that concern the loyalty that the Israelites must show to fellow community members (Exod 20:13–17 // Deut 5:17–21). There are strong indications that H had such laws in mind when composing its treatise on communal holiness in Lev 19; it even directly quotes a number of the Decalogue’s key commands.63 Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 464–65. Didier Luciani, “‘Soyez saints, car je suis saint’. Un commentaire de Lévitique 19,” NRTh 114 (1992): 222–23. 63 This idea is now widely preferred to the form-critical idea that Lev 19 originated as a version of the Decalogue, which then underwent heavy revision. For the form-critical reading, see, e.g., Julian Morgenstern, “The Decalogue of the Holiness Code,” HUCA 26 (1955): 1–27; Henning Reventlow, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz formgeschichtlich untersucht, WMANT 6 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1961), 65–57; and Karl Elliger, Leviticus, HAT 61 62

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359

This is especially obvious at Lev 19:3–4, which open the first section of the chapter by referencing four of the ten commandments in Exod 20:1–17 // Deut 5:6–22. H begins in v. 3 by commanding the Israelites to revere (‫ ירא‬qal) their parents (cf. Exod 20:12; Deut 5:16) and to keep the sabbath (cf. Exod 20:8; Deut 5:12), and then moves in v. 4 to prohibit the worship of other gods and the making of idols. Furthermore, the first command in Lev 19:11–18, in v. 11, is a nearly verbatim citation of the prohibition of theft in Exod 20:15 // Deut 5:19. These links to the Decalogue suggest that H sought to affirm the nonpriestly idea that communal solidarity and loyalty to the deity are interdependent in the shaping of the Israelite community. Notably, however, H subsumes these two aspects of Israelite conduct in Lev 19 directly under the command to be sanctified via law observance. This concept has no direct parallel in Exod 20 // Deut 5 and thus constitutes an innovation on H’s part. Through this discursive strategy, H makes the Israelites’ status as Yhwh’s chosen people contingent on their ability to show loyalty to one another. To be an Israelite, and thus part of Yhwh’s sanctified possessions, is to be bound by mutual obligation to other members of the sacral community. Thus, H effectively precludes any possibility that the Israelites might retain their holy status if they operate as splintered factions. They must act as one and be unified. Communal loyalty thus emerges as another means by which H advances a centralizing mandate, a mandate to embrace behavioral norms that ensure the community’s participation in a cohesive social system focused inward toward fellow community members and their shared patron deity. The attainment of this is possible only when they live in accordance with a central legal authority, and with a commitment to remain loyal to the broader collective. 7.2.2.3 Protecting the Central Shrine A final, and highly significant insight that we can gain from the parenetic framework of Lev 18–22 is found in the final exhortation in Lev 22:31–33. Here we see the intersections between H’s discourse concerning the need for conformity and communal loyalty in accordance with the law, on the one hand, and its interest in reinforcing the Israelites’ responsibilities towards the central sanctuary, on the other. In effect, this exhortation shows how H embeds its call for holiness within a broader call to maintain Yhwh’s sanctuary as the cultic epicenter of the Israelite collective.

4 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1966), 247–79. For the interpretation of Lev 19 as a case if innerscriptural exegesis, see, e.g., Otto, Theologische Ethik, 244; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1609; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 465, 477; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:706–8.

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Lev 22:31–33 ‫ ולא תחללו את־שׁם קדשׁי ונקדשׁתי בתוך בני ישׂראל‬32 64‫ ושׁמרתם מצותי ועשׂיתם אתם אני יהוה‬31 ‫ המוציא אתכם מארץ מצרים להיות לכם לאלהים אני יהוה‬33 ‫אני יהוה מקדשׁכם‬ 31 Thus you shall keep my commandments and practice them: 32 You shall not profane my holy name, that I may be sanctified among the Israelites. I am Yhwh who sanctifies you, 33 the one who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your god: I am Yhwh!

This exhortation reiterates the themes of the earlier exhortations of Lev 18–20: it repeats the call to obey Yhwh’s laws, here referred to as ‫‘ מצות‬commandments’ (v. 31); it returns to the theme of the exodus in language strikingly similar to Lev 19:36b; and it restates the paradigmatic significance of this event in establishing Yhwh’s claim to possess the Israelites, and therefore to require their unfettered loyalty. As Zimmerli, Frank Crüsemann, and Eckart Otto have demonstrated, the parallel participial expressions ‫ מקדשׁכם‬and ‫ המוציא‬in vv. 32b–33 identify the sanctification of the Israelites and the exodus from Egypt as one and the same process (cf. Lev 11:44–45); when Yhwh takes the Israelites out of Egypt, he sets them apart from the rest of the peoples of the world to be his chosen possession.65 In order to maintain this separation beyond the initial act of the exodus, the Israelites must now commit to obeying Yhwh’s commandments, and thus to continuing the work of sanctification that was started by the god in Egypt. However, Lev 22:31–33 make an additional and noteworthy comment regarding the effect of the Israelites’ sanctification on their patron deity. First, in v. 32aα, Yhwh declares that the Israelites must commit to observing Yhwh’s commandments because, in so doing, they avoid profaning his holy name. This statement arguably reflects the topic of the immediately preceding materials, Lev 22:17–30, which deal with the collective responsibility of Aaron, his sons, and ‫‘ כל־בני ישׂראל‬all the Israelites’ to handle sacrificial donations responsibly. Failure to keep impurity away from Yhwh’s sacrifices is identified in Lev 22:2 as an act that profanes Yhwh’s name. “Tell Aaron and his sons,” the god instructs Moses, “to be scrupulous with the sacred donations of the Israelites, which they consecrate to me, so they shall not profane my holy name: I am Yhwh!” H’s decision to return to this issue in Lev 22:32aα underlines that this is not only a responsibility of the priesthood when handling Yhwh’s sacrifices. It is a collective responsibility, shared by all Israel, to ensure that any interaction with a sacrificial donation is conducted in accordance with Yhwh’s commandments; specifically, livestock must be properly chosen when offering a

64 65

239.

The phrase ‫ אני יהוה‬is not attested in SP or LXX. Zimmerli, “‘Heiligkeit’,” 503; Crüsemann, Torah, 302; and Otto, Theologische Ethik,

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sacrifice (vv. 18–27), and the community must agree to eat the meat of the thanksgiving offering on the same day that it is sacrificed (vv. 28–30). Yhwh then offers an additional and particularly striking rationale for the Israelites’ call to obedience in Lev 22:32. Here he states that the Israelites must keep the law not only to avoid profaning his name but also to ensure that he might be “sanctified (‫ קדשׁ‬niphal) among the Israelites.” This is a remarkable claim because it would seem to suggest that the pursuit of communal holiness by the Israelites is part of a broader process of “reciprocal sanctification” – that is, the Israelites sanctify Yhwh through law observance at the same time Yhwh sanctifies them through the provision of his law.66 How should we interpret such a statement? It seems highly unlikely to imply that Yhwh’s holiness is contingent on the willingness of the Israelites to obey his law; his holiness is intrinsic to his being a deity. Rather, H seems to be seeking to ensure that the Israelites maintain the conditions whereby Yhwh can manifest his holiness within the community; this would explain why H mentions Yhwh’s sanctification not in abstract terms but specifically within the context of his being ‫‘ בתוך בני ישׂראל‬among the Israelites’. From this we might infer that H is directing the Israelites’ attention to the need to maintain Yhwh’s shrine. Where else within the community would Yhwh dwell in a manner that allowed him to be “sanctified”; that is, set apart from profaning elements and venerated by his chosen client? The idiom ‫ בתוך בני ישׂראל‬also unmistakably recalls those texts in P that refer to the founding of the sanctuary after the exodus from Egypt. Consider how in Exod 25:8 Yhwh instructs Moses to have the ‫“ בני ישׂראל‬make a sanctuary for me so I might dwell among them (‫)ושׁכנתי בתוכם‬,” and how he declares in Exod 29:44–46, “I will consecrate the tent of meeting and the altar; and I will also consecrate Aaron and his sons to serve me as priests. I will dwell among the Israelites (‫ )ושׁכנתי בתוך בני ישׂראל‬and be their god. And they shall know that I am Yhwh their god who brought them from the land of Egypt to dwell among them (‫)לשׁכני בתוכם‬: I am Yhwh their god!” The presence of the idiom ‫ בתוך בני ישׂראל‬in Lev 22:32 therefore strongly suggests that the mention of the sanctification of Yhwh is intended to remind the Israelites of their responsibility to protect the sanctity of his shrine at all times, a responsibility they acquired when the god brought them out of Egypt. In particular, it suggests that the reciprocal sanctification highlighted in this exhortation is a means of emphasizing the interconnection between the sanctification of the Israelites through the exodus and their responsibility to maintain the central sanctuary that Yhwh brought them out of Egypt to construct for him. 66 Reinhard Müller, “The Sanctifying Divine Voice: Observations on the ‫אני יהוה‬-formula in the Holiness Code,” in Text, Time, and Temple: Literary, Historical, and Ritual Studies in Leviticus, ed. Francis Landy, Leigh M. Trevaskis, and Bryan D. Bibb, Hebrew Bible Monographs 64 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2015), 82.

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This reading of Lev 22:32 is further confirmed by the position of the exhortation within the broader literary context of Lev 21–22. These chapters consist of a lengthy series of regulations for priestly conduct in Lev 21:1–22:16, followed by the sacrificial instructions in Lev 22:17–30 mentioned above. Common to these materials is a concern with protecting the central shrine, its paraphernalia, or its personnel from being profaned.67 Most importantly, they share an important structural marker: the recurrence of the formula ‫ אני יהוה‬+ the suffixed form of the participle ‫מקדשׁ‬, which is found at the end of each speech unit (21:15, 23; 22:16, 32) and also at 21:8 and 22:9.68 As seen in Figure 7 below, in four cases of the ‫ אני יהוה‬+ ‫ מקדשׁ‬formula, the participle “the one who sanctifies you” is affixed with third person singular or plural suffixes and refers to the sanctification of either the priests (21:15; 22:9, 16) or Yhwh’s sancta (21:23). In the first (21:8) and last (22:32) formulae, however, the object of sanctification is again the Israelites, because the participle ‫ מקדשׁ‬is in these two instances affixed with second person plural endings. Lev 21:8bβ ‫כי קדושׁ א ני יהוה מקדשׁ כם‬ For I Yhwh, the one who sanctifies you, am holy. Lev 21:15b ‫כי א ני יהוה מקדשׁ ו‬ For I am Yhwh who sanctifies him (a priest). Lev 21:23b ‫כי א ני יהוה מקדשׁ ם‬ For I am Yhwh who sanctifies them (the altar and veil). Lev 22:9b ‫אני יהוה מקדשׁ ם‬ I am Yhwh who sanctifies them (the priests). Lev 22:16b ‫כי א ני יהוה מקדשׁ ם‬ For I am Yhwh who sanctifies them (the priests). Lev 22:32b ‫אני יהוה מקדשׁ כם‬ I am Yhwh who sanctifies you. Figure 7: The ‫ אני יהוה‬+ ‫ מקדשׁ‬Formula in Lev 21–22

H uses these formulae to build a frame around Lev 21–22, culminating in 22:31–32, to present communal sanctification and the preservation of the shrine, its sancta, and its priests as interdependent processes. The sanctuary’s holiness cannot be preserved without the willingness of the Israelites to guard

Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 481. On this structural marker, see Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1793 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 482. 67 68

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it; in turn, there is no chance for the community to be sanctified if the sanctuary cult is not protected from profanation. In this way, then, H avoids giving the impression that the Israelites can maintain their distinctive status as Yhwh’s chosen community by keeping his law in extrasanctuary contexts alone. Indeed, such a possibility is never entertained in Lev 17–26. Rather, H insists that the Israelites must recognize the essential connection between the loyalty Yhwh requires from them as his holy community and their willingness to protect the space of the sanctuary and the activities of its ritual cult. In sum, the final exhortation of Lev 22:32 confirms the intrinsic link in H between the Israelites’ responsibility to be made holy by deferring to the law and their obligation to maintain the cult by deferring to the central sanctuary and its monopolistic priesthood. This exhortation thus suggests that it is impossible, as H sees it, for Yhwh (as a holy god) to reside among the people he led out of Egypt if the Israelites are not willing to continue the process of sanctification through their law observance. It is incumbent upon the Israelites to structure their everyday lives in a way that is constantly attentive to the requirements of Yhwh for a suitable environment for his shrine, and thus to ensure that the god is not forced to depart from his central dwelling on account of their behavior. This can only be achieved if the Israelites commit, as a collective, to the task of guarding the central shrine from elements that would threaten it and ensure that their everyday lives are constantly shaped by vigilant law observance. This expansion of holiness can therefore be said to function as a form of hegemonic discourse. It consolidates the authority of the central authority of law and sanctuary, along with the interests of those whose place is at the apex of the hierarchy (the priests), by normalizing the idea that the entire community has an inalienable obligation to defer to and sustain them. By promoting communal holiness as a divine imperative, and loyalty to the central shrine as integral to the Israelites’ sanctification, the laws of Lev 17–26 solicit the Israelites’ consent to a social system in which the shrine occupies the central position and thus the greater share in the distribution of power; the law, meanwhile, provides the means of maintaining the ritual cult and sacral community it requires. H’s conception of holiness further justifies the place of the Israelites within this hierarchical holiness as assistants to that shrine. While they are still excluded from entering the sanctuary’s holy precincts or eating the sacred donations, the Israelites are incorporated into the central sanctuary’s broader staff, so to speak, on account of their sanctification, which entails unified collective action in order to ensure the shrine’s ongoing survival and protection.

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7.2.3 Sabbath and Sanctification The discussion thus far has established that H’s distinctive concept of communal holiness in Lev 17–26 strengthens the case for the centralization of the cult and community: it promotes conformity in everyday life in accordance with a legal standard, collective unity as an expression of loyalty to the god, and deference to the central sanctuary and its ritual agents, the epicenter of holiness in the community. These multiple, interconnected dimensions to holiness in Lev 17–26 are brought together to sophisticated effect in H’s description of sabbath observance and the importance of this practice to Israel’s collective sanctification. The importance of sabbath observance to H’s notion of holiness is especially clear from Lev 19, H’s central treatise on communal sanctification. The sabbath is the only holy time to be mentioned in this chapter. Moreover, its observance is the only practice mentioned twice in Lev 19. It is first introduced in v. 3, where it is paired with reverence of parents as the first commandment after the exhortation “you shall be holy” in 19:2, a position that further underscores its significance: ‫אישׁ אמו ואביו תיראו ואת־שׁבתתי תשׁמרו אני יהוה אלהיכם‬ ‘Each of you shall revere his mother and his father,69 and you shall keep my sabbaths: I am Yhwh your god!’. The importance of sabbath observance is again stressed in Lev 19:30, where it complements the command to revere Yhwh’s shrine in the collective project of sanctification: ‫את־שׁבתתי תשׁמרו‬ ‫‘ ומקדשׁי תיראו אני יהוה‬You shall keep my sabbaths and revere my sanctuary:70 I am Yhwh!’. This juxtaposition of sabbath observance and revering the shrine “in the same breath” speaks to H’s high regard for the sabbath and the holiness of this occasion.71 Furthermore, the significance of this dual command, to keep the sabbath and revere the sanctuary, is highlighted by its verbatim repetition in Lev 26:2 at the close of the legislation. This effectively positions the obligations of sabbath observance and sanctuary loyalty as framing all the laws of

69 The LXX lists the father before the mother (ἕκαστος πατέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ µητέρα αὐτοῦ φοβείσθω), which may reflect an attempt at harmonization with the wording of the Decalogue (cf. Exod 20:12 // Deut 5:16). 70 The Greek translator reads the same consonantal text as MT and SP but vocalizes ‫ מקדשׁי‬as a plural (καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν ἁγίων µου φοβηθήσεσθε). The same reading is attested at Lev 26:2 LXX, where this command is repeated verbatim. However, the presence of a plural does not necessitate that we translate here “revere my sanctuaries.” In the case of abstract things, Greek neuter plural is very often used to express a singular collective; the ensemble of sacred spaces and objects could thus be understood to collectively form Yhwh’s sanctuary. See further ἅγιος, GELS 5–6, which supplies the translation “sanctuary” for Lev 19:30 (and in Lev 20:3; 21:12; Ezek 37:36, where the plural also occurs) and Paul Harlé and Didier Pralon, La Bible d’Alexandrie. Le Lévitique (Paris: Cerf, 1988), 172, who have dismissed reading the plural in 19:30 LXX as anything other than a reference to a single shrine. 71 Wright, “Holiness in Leviticus,” 362.

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Lev 19–25, and thus as forming the two central pillars of the Israelites’ experience of sanctity.72 It is noteworthy that both Lev 19:3 and 7 juxtapose the command to keep (‫ )שׁמר‬the sabbath with the obligation to show reverence (‫)ירא‬: in v. 3, it is reverence toward parents, and v. 30 toward Yhwh’s sanctuary. In both cases, the term ‫ ירא‬expresses the god’s expectation that the Israelites will manifest loyalty and deference in their dealings with other members of the community, the parents being the head of the family unit (cf. Lev 18:7; 20:9), and with their patron deity, whose presence is manifest in the sanctuary. This suggests that sabbath observance is considered a fitting complement to both the communal solidarity and loyalty to the god which, in H’s view, form interlocking aspects of the Israelites’ sanctification via law observance. The reference to sabbath of Lev 19:3 shows clear signs of dependence on the sabbath commandment of the Decalogue. As argued (see §6.2.2.2), Lev 19:3–4 rely strongly on the Decalogue; they repeat four of the ten commandments in Exod 20:1–17 // Deut 5:6–22 (to revere parents, to observe the sabbath, and to abstain from both apostasy and idolatry) but arrange them according to a distinctive order, thereby positioning Lev 19 as an authoritative reinterpretation of the earlier tradition. We can thus confidentially assume that H was familiar with at least one version of the Decalogue in which the call to the Israelites to observe the ‫ שׁבת‬as a weekly rest day had already been included. However, the idea of keeping the sabbath as a means of collective sanctification is a novel invention on H’s part; it has no counterpart in either version of the Decalogue. In keeping with its broader understanding of communal holiness, H calls on the Israelites to make their sanctification concrete in their weekly experience of observing a unified conception of time, and by applying a standardized rhythm to their everyday lives. Through such conformity, the Israelites are afforded the experience of community solidarity, as well as collective unity in their loyalty to Yhwh, both of which are essential to their sanctification via law observance. Indeed, Lev 17–26 are emphatic that the Israelites have an obligation to observe the sabbath at the same standardized time. Specifically, the Israelites must keep the sabbath according to mutually agreed intervals of seven, the most basic of which is the seventh day. This is explicitly stated in Lev 23:3, which commands “six days one may work, but on the seventh day, it is a sabbath of total cessation,” but it is also attested elsewhere in the calendar, in Lev 23:16, where H instructs the Israelites to count ‫‘ השׁבת השׁביעת‬seven sabbaths’ during the celebration of firstfruits, which is to amount to a period of ‫חמשׁים‬ ‫‘ יום‬fifty days’.73 The agriculture and redemption laws of Lev 25 extrapolate 72 See further Knohl, Sanctuary, 16; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1699; and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 478. 73 On the secondary status of Lev 23:3, see §6.1.2.

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from the weekly rest day a broader principle for organizing the seventh-year fallow period granted to the land. In Lev 25:2–7, the Israelites are commanded to observe a ‫‘ שׁנת שׁבתון‬year of total cessation’ every seventh year, in which they must cease their work in agricultural contexts and grant the land rest. This is followed, in 25:8–10, by the command to calculate the jubilee by counting ‫‘ שׁבע שׁבתת שׁנים‬seven sabbatical years’ (v. 8) and sanctifying the fiftieth year (‫ ;וקדשׁתם את שׁנת החמשׁים שׁנה‬v. 10).74 Here H develops the expectation of sabbath conformity to a new level; the entire land must participate in the ideal of collective rest from labor, and the fifty-year framework of redemption of indentured servants on the jubilee provides an ever larger means for conceiving socioeconomic practices through the standardized lens the sabbath provides. This use of sabbath in timing agricultural and manumission practices is again an innovation on H’s part; it has no counterpart in Decalogue or any other nonpriestly tradition.75

On the calculation of the jubilee and its occurrence every fifty years, see Robert S. Kawashima, “The Jubilee, Every 49 or 50 Years?”, VT 53, no. 1 (2003): 117–20. 75 Exodus 23:10–11 command the Israelites to let the land lie fallow in the seventh year but do not employ the term ‫שׁבת‬. Deuteronomy 15:1–11 also lack any mention of ‫ שׁבת‬when they build on Exod 23:10–11 to present new laws for debt remission in the seventh year. The non-priestly slave laws, in Exod 21:2–11 and Deut 15:12–18, also fail to mention ‫ שׁבת‬when commanding the release of indentured servants in the seventh year. As has long been observed, H’s concept of a fifty-year jubilee is without parallel in the other legal codes of the Hebrew Bible. For further discussion of H’s unique conception of Israel’s debt and remission practices, see Jesudason B. Jeyaraj, “Ownership, Tenancy, and Care of Land in Leviticus 25–27,” Arasaradi Journal of Theological Reflection 4 (1991): 18–31; Gnana Robinson, “Das Jobel-Jahr. Die Lösung einer sozial-ökonomischen Krise des Volkes Gottes,” in Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte. Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Erhard Blum and Rolf Rendtorff (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990), 471–94; Jeffrey A. Fager, Land Tenure and the Biblical Jubilee: Uncovering Hebrew Ethics through the Sociology of Knowledge, JSOTSup 155 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993); Rainer Albertz, “Die Tora Gottes gegen die wirtschaftlichen Sachzwänge. Die Sabbat- und Jobeljahrgesetzgebung Lev 25 in ihrer Geschichte,” Ökumenische Rundschau 44, no. 3 (1995): 290–310; Joosten, People, 169–89 et passim; Didier Luciani, “Le jubilé dans Lévitique 25,” RTL 30 (1999): 456–86; John S. Bergsma, “The Jubilee: A Post-Exilic Priestly Attempt to Reclaim Lands?” Bib 84 (2003): 225–46; Bergsma, The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of Interpretation, VTSup 115 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 9–12; Jean-Franco̧is Lefebvre, Le jubilé biblique. Lv 25: exégèse et théologie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003); Bernard M. Levinson, “The Manumission of Hermeneutics: The Slave Laws of the Pentateuch as a Challenge to Contemporary Pentateuchal Theory,” in Congress Volume Leiden 2004, ed. André Lemaire, VTSup 109 (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 281–324; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 520–35; Jeffrey Stackert, Rewriting the Torah: Literary Revision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation, FAT 1/52 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 141–58; Guillaume, Land, 102–21; and Jonathan Morgan, “Transgressing, Puking, Covenanting: The Character of Land in Leviticus,” Theology 112, no. 867 (2009): 172–80. 74

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How are we to interpret this unique concern on H’s part to expand the applicability of the sabbath? One explanation might be that, by the time H was written, the sabbath had become so closely associated with intervals of seven and with cessation from labor that its extension to the fallow year and the calculation of the manumission year seemed natural; because these practices were held every seven years according to CC (Exod 21:2–11; 23:10–11) and D (Deut 15:1–11, 12–18) and involved cessation or remission, their link to the sabbath might have seemed logical from H’s point of view. While this explanation remains possible, another interpretation seems more probable in light of the analysis of holiness and conventionalism offered above; namely, that H’s use of ‫ שׁבת‬to give overall structure to the timing of agricultural and economic activities reflects a broader concern on H’s part to underscore the interdependence of collective unity and standardization, on the one hand, and loyalty to the central shrine, on the other, in Israel’s communal sanctification. H insists that the Israelites must honor the sabbath not only by ceasing labor, but also by presenting the god with offerings at its central shrine. This is affirmed at the conclusion of the festal calendar, in Lev 23:37–38. Lev 23:37–38 ‫ אלה מועדי יהוה אשׁר־תקראו אתם מקראי קדשׁ להקריב אשׁה ליהוה עלה ומנחה זבח ונסכים דבר־‬37 ‫ מלבד שׁבתת יהוה ומלבד מתנותיכם ומלבד כל־נדריכם ומלבד כל־נדבותיכם אשׁר תתנו‬38 ‫יום ביומו‬ ‫ליהוה‬ 37 These are the fixed times of Yhwh that you shall proclaim as such; holy days for presenting food offerings for Yhwh – the burnt offering and the cereal offering, sacrifice and drink offerings, each on its proper day – 38 besides the sabbaths of Yhwh, and besides your cereal offerings and besides all your votive offerings and apart from all your freewill offerings that you give to Yhwh.

Here the expression ‫“ שׁבתת יהוה‬sabbaths of Yhwh ” is found immediately after the description, in v. 37b, of holy days on which the Israelites are required to present (‫ קרב‬hiphil infinitive construct) offerings and donations. The expression also heads a list, in v. 38, in which all the other items are sacrifices or donations (‫מנחת‬, ‫נדרים‬, and ‫)נדבות‬. This strongly suggests that H mentioned the sabbath here in order to close the calendar with a reminder to the Israelites of their duty to present sacrifices and donations on the sabbath ‫‘ מלבד‬besides’ those of the annual festivals.76 Furthermore, Lev 24:5–9 nominate the sabbath as the time when Aaron must present donations on the community’s behalf within the sanctuary interior. As discussed at length in §6.3.1, H nominates the sabbath as the day when Aaron must replenish the twelve display loaves, representing the twelve tribes of Israel, on the golden table and distribute the discarded loaves among the priests. See further Hartley, Leviticus, 389; Knohl, Sanctuary, 56; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–25, 2034–35. 76

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These references to sabbath donations together underscore the communal obligation to ensure that the deity is paid homage at its sanctuary on the sabbath day, and that the high priest has the resources to perform the required rituals within the outer sanctum. This double expectation – to cease labor and offer sacrifice – is distinctive when compared to Exod 20:8–11 and Deut 5:12–15, which do not reference sabbath sacrifices but focus on the seventh-day rest alone. It is also a novel feature of Lev 17–26 when compared to the vast majority of other priestly texts that mention sabbath, which lack any hint that the sabbath will be a time of sacrifice, as mentioned in §7.1.1. The main exception is the list of festal sacrifices in Num 28–29, which commands the Israelites to present regular sacrifices and donations to the god each sabbath (Num 28:9–10). However, as argued in §6.1.3, this text presupposes Lev 17–26 and offers a later development of its program of festal and regular donations, including those made on sabbath. H’s distinctive concept of sabbath suggests that the importance of this sacred time in Lev 17–26 is indicative of a broader strategy to fuse the extrasanctuary experience of sanctity, which might be experienced when ceasing work according to a standardized rhythm, with the holiness that is associated with the sacrificial cult of Yhwh’s central shrine and its priestly agents. Indeed, the extraordinary significance of this holy time in H might again speak to its aspiration to use diverse categories and expectations to direct the Israelites back to the central sanctuary in the comings and goings of their everyday lives. By mandating a sabbath that requires both the cessation of labor and ritual practice at the shrine, H ensures that the rest required of the Israelites on the sabbath becomes indivisible from their obligations to the sanctuary; that is, the idea of applying the term ‫ שׁבת‬to both the Israelites’ shared experience of the week and the fallow year, and to the regular timing of weekly rituals at the shrine shows H’s imagination in applying concepts which stress the link between sanctuary and extrasanctuary space in Israel’s collective experience. H encourages the Israelites to see all aspects of their shared experience in ways that can never be dissociated from the authority of the central sanctuary, its ongoing need for donations and sacrifices, and the singular authority of its priesthood to represent the community before a holy god. Every sabbath day, the Israelites are reminded of their obligation not only to show communal solidarity by ceasing work at the same time, but also to remember the sacrificial rites taking place at the shrine on their behalf and the ritual agency of the Aaronide high priest, who presents the united tribes of Israel within the space of the outer sanctum. The elevation of the sabbath in the community’s project of sanctification thus serves as a further, powerful means of normalizing the reach of sanctuary authorities into extrasanctuary domains, while also entrenching the need for standardization and conformity across the community. The timing and rhythm of labor, a core element of everyday life, is to be viewed not as a matter of

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pragmatic organization of the working cycle but through the lens of the authority of the central shrine and its law. This serves to reinforce the deference of the Israelites to these centers: the shrine’s reach extends into the extrasanctuary domains of everyday life, ensuring that, if the Israelites are to be truly holy, daily practices that might seem to be beyond the jurisdiction of the sanctuary now fall within its domain. At the same time, the law emerges with a far greater authority to direct the Israelite community than if its influence were restricted to either ritual domains or everyday life alone. Excursus: Exodus 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 This link between sabbath rest and the central sanctuary is developed even further in the Hlike passages of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3. These two texts supplement the account of the construction of the wilderness shrine in Exod 25–31, 35–40 with strict regulations for the observance of the sabbath. Specifically, they introduce the command to cease all labor on the sabbath at the conclusion of Yhwh’s instructions for the construction of the sanctuary (Exod 31:12–17) and at the very beginning of the building work (Exod 35:1–3). Exod 31:12–17 ‫ ואתה דבר אל בני ישׂראל לאמר אך את שׁבתתי תשׁמרו כי אות הוא‬13 ‫ ויאמר יהוה אל משׁה לאמר‬12 ‫ ושׁמרתם את השׁבת כי קדשׁ הוא לכם מחלליה‬14 ‫ביני וביניכם לדרתיכם לדעת כי אני יהוה מקדשׁכם‬ ‫ שׁשׁת ימים יעשׂה מלאכה וביום‬15 ‫מות יומת כי כל העשׂה בה מלאכה ונכרתה הנפשׁ ההוא מקרב עמיה‬ ‫ ושׁמרו בני ישׂראל את‬16 ‫השׁביעי שׁבת שׁבתון קדשׁ ליהוה כל העשׂה מלאכה ביום השׁבת מות יומת‬ ‫ ביני ובין בני ישׂראל אות הוא לעלם כי שׁשׁת ימים עשׂה‬17 ‫השׁבת לעשׂות את השׁבת לדרתם ברית עולם‬ ‫יהוה את ה שׁ מים ואת הארץ וביום השׁ ביעי שׁ בת וינפש‬ 12 Yhwh said to Moses as follows: 13 “You yourself shall speak to the Israelites as follows: ‘However, you shall keep my sabbaths, for it is a sign between you and me throughout your generations, so you may know that I am Yhwh who sanctifies you. 14 And you shall keep the sabbath, because it is holy to you; the one who defiles it shall surely be put to death. Anyone who does work on it, that person shall be cut off from the midst of his people. 15 Six days one may work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of total cessation, holy to Yhwh. Anyone who does work on the day of the sabbath shall surely be put to death. 16 Thus the Israelites shall keep the sabbath, observing the sabbath throughout their generations as a permanent requirement. 17 It shall be a permanent sign between me and the Israelites that in six days Yhwh made the heavens and the earth, but on the seventh day he ceased and was refreshed.’” Exod 35:1–3 ‫ שׁ שׁ ת‬2 ‫ ויק ה ל מ שׁ ה א ת כ ל ע ד ת ב נ י ישׂ ר א ל ויא מ ר א ל ה ם א ל ה ה ד ב ר ים א שׁ ר צ וה יה וה ל ע שׂ ת א ת ם‬1 ‫ לא‬3 ‫ימים תע שׂ ה מ לא כה וביום ה שׁ ביעי יה יה לכם קדשׁ שׁ בת שׁ בתון ליהוה כל הע שׂ ה בו מ לא כה יומ ת‬ ‫תבערו א שׁ בכל משׁ בתיכם ביום השׁ בת‬ 1 Moses assembled the whole congregation of the Israelites and said to them, “These are the things that Yhwh has commanded [you] to do: 2 Six days one may work, but on the seventh day you shall have a holy sabbath of total cessation for Yhwh. Anyone who does work on it shall be put to death. 3 You shall not kindle a fire in all your settlements on the day of the sabbath.”

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Both passages are clearly dependent on H language and concepts. In Exod 31:12–17, this dependence on Lev 17–26 can be observed in the command ‫‘ שׁבתתי תשׁמרו‬you shall keep my sabbaths’ (Exod 31:13; cf. Lev 19:3, 30; 26:2), the expression ‫‘ אני יהוה מקדשׁכם‬I am Yhwh who sanctifies you’ (Exod 31:13; cf. Lev 20:8; 21:8, 15, 23; 22:9, 16, 32), the command that the Israelites must keep the sabbath ‫‘ לדרתם‬throughout their generations’ (Exod 31:13; cf. Lev 17:7 and see 23:14, 21, 31, 41; 24:3), and the warning that anyone who works on the sabbath will be ‫‘ ונכרתה הנפשׁ ההוא מקרב עמיה‬cut off from among his people’ (Exod 31:14; cf. Lev 17:4, 9–10, 14; 18:29; 19:8; 20:3, 5–6, 17–18; 23:29). In Exod 35:1–3, the sabbath commandment of v. 2 is a nearly verbatim quotation of Lev 23:3, with the addition of the command to put to death anyone who violates the sabbath in 35:2b (cf. Exod 31:14) and the prohibition on kindling a fire on the sabbath in 35:3. These resonances with H have often been considered evidence that Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3, either in part or in whole, should be assigned to H.77 Other scholars suggest that both passages stem from a late stage in the composition of the Pentateuch that may have postdated the composition of Lev 17–26 by a significant degree.78 These texts certainly build most directly on Lev 17–26; in this, they are properly understood as forming part of the H-like supplements to the priestly traditions discussed in §2.2.2. However, it should be noted that they also blend H’s language and ideas concerning the sabbath with non-priestly ideas and vocabulary. This is particularly evident in Exod 31:12–17, which conclude in v. 17 with the idea that Yhwh was “refreshed” (‫ נפשׁ‬niphal, v. 17) when he ceased his labor on the seventh day of creation, drawing on the language of Exod 23:12. In addition, Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 both introduce a number of distinctive aspects to their descriptions of the sabbath that go far beyond H in asserting the normativity and holiness of this time; these aspects include the introduction of the death penalty for nonobservance (Exod 31:14 and 35:2), the idea that the sabbath is an outward ‫‘ אות‬sign’ of the Israelites’ sanctification in Exod 31:13, and, that it is a means of maintaining the ‫ ברית עולם‬between Yhwh and Israel in 31:16. Even if Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 move in directions not yet anticipated in Lev 17–26, they illustrate the manner in which H’s concept of the sabbath was developed in order to affirm the indivisible connection between the cessation of labor and the central sanctuary cult in the Israelites’ experience of holiness. The insertion of the sabbath commandment directly into the account of the construction of the sanctuary underscores the sanctity of the sabbath: it cannot be violated even during the construction of the central shrine for Yhwh. Moreover, as Knohl argues, the decision to reveal the sabbath commandment at the same moment as the instructions for the shrine ensures that the observance of the sabbath and the establishment of Yhwh’s sanctuary are positioned as interdependent: it strongly implies that the Israelites could receive the command to keep the weekly sabbath only once the shrine was established.79 Although Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 do not mention the sacrificial rites that are to take place on the sabbath, their juxtaposition of the sabbath commandment and See, e.g., Knohl, Sanctuary, 16–18; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1338, 1342–43; Olyan, “Exodus 31:12–17,” 204; and Jared C. Calaway, The Sabbath and the Sanctuary: Access to God in the Letter to the Hebrews and Its Priestly Context, WUNT 2/349 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 33. On the literary-critical reconstruction proposed by Stackert, “Compositional Strata”, see §7.1.1. 78 See Grünwaldt, Exil, 170–84; Groß, “Rezeption”; and Reinhard Achenbach, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz und die sakralen Ordnungen des Numeribuches im Horizont der Pentateuchredaktion,” in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, ed. Thomas Römer, BETL 215 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 159. Cf. Nihan, “Das Sabbatgesetz,” 134–42. 79 Knohl, Sanctuary, 16–17. 77

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the building of the shrine reinforces H’s notion that the obligation to keep the sabbath can never be disassociated from that of maintaining Yhwh’s sanctuary and its ritual cult. They therefore powerfully reinforce H’s case that the Israelites’ experience of sanctity when ceasing work on the sabbath is intertwined with that of showing loyalty to Yhwh as he dwells in his central shrine.

7.3 Holiness and Land The logic of H’s centralizing discourse outlined so far is given further expression in a final aspect of H’s depiction of the Israelites’ sanctification: the claim in Lev 25 that the Israelites are Yhwh’s slaves, living on his land and tending it for him. At first sight, Lev 25 might seem to have little to do with communal holiness or cultic centralization. None of its legislative materials refer directly to the holiness of the Israelite community. Nor do they mention the sanctuary, its holy objects, or its personnel. The root ‫ קדשׁ‬occurs only once in all of Lev 25, in v. 10, when Yhwh commands the Israelites to “consecrate” (‫ קדשׁ‬piel) the fiftieth year as a year of jubilee. Despite this lack of any explicit mention of communal holiness, these materials bring together the different threads of H’s depiction of communal sanctification to provide an overarching image of how the status of the Israelite community as the deity’s possession invests them with concrete obligations to materially support the central shrine and to acknowledge its socioeconomic authority. 7.3.1 Slaves on the God’s Temple Estate Leviticus 25 outlines a series of regulations for the treatment of the land and of impoverished Israelites.80 Following an introduction (vv. 1–2aα) and the 80 Classical studies have devoted considerable attention to tracing various compositional layers or discrete sources behind the present text of Lev 25; see, e.g., Julius Wellhausen, Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 4th ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963), 167; Louis Horst, Lev. XVII−XXVI und Hesekiel. Ein Beitrag zur Pentateuchkritik (Colmar: Eugene Barth, 1881), 27–30; Bruno Baentsch, Das HeiligkeitsGesetz Lev. XVII–XXVI. Eine historisch-kritische Untersuchung (Erfurt: H. Güther, 1893), 53–55; Bertholet, Leviticus, 86–87; Reventlow, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 347–49; Rudolf Kilian, Literarkritische und formgeschichtliche Untersuchung des Heiligkeitsgesetzes, BBB 19 (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1963), 147–48; Elliger, Leviticus, 335–49; Alfred Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Deuteronomium. Eine vergleichende Studie, AnBib 66 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1976), 101–18; Sun, “Investigation,” 439–559; and Hartley, Leviticus, 425–27. However, there is a growing recognition among scholars that the structural and thematic coherence of the chapter militates against dividing it into multiple redactional layers. While this point has been made in various studies in the past two decades, see esp. Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, 105–6; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, AB 3C (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2001), 2149–51; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 520–23; and Hieke, Levitikus, 2:983. This does not mean, however, that the chapter does not contain glosses and

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laws for the sabbatical year for the land (vv. 2aβ–7), H commands the Israelites to count ‫‘ שׁבע שׁבתת שׁנים‬seven sabbath years’ and declare the fiftieth year a jubilee. They are to proclaim ‫‘ דרור‬liberty’ (Lev 25:10) throughout the land, and each Israelite is to be permitted to return to his ancestral land holding (‫אחזה‬, v. 13). Nothing shall be sown in the sabbath year (vv. 11–12); the Israelites are instead exhorted to eat only what the land provides (v. 19). This obligation is framed by a further exhortation in which the Israelites are assured that their commitment to obeying Yhwh’s statutes and judgments will result in a prosperous life in the land: 81‫ועשׂיתם את־חקתי ואת־משׁפטי תשׁמרו ועשׂיתם אתם‬ ‫‘ וישׁבתם על־הארץ לבטח ונתנה הארץ פריה ואכלתם לשׂבע וישׁבתם לבטח עליה‬You shall keep my statutes and my judgments, and you shall practice them, so that you may live on the land securely. The land will give up its fruit, and you will eat abundantly and live securely upon it’ (Lev 25:18–19). The law of the jubilee is then followed by a set of laws in vv. 23–54 that concerns the different situations in which land (vv. 23–34) or persons (vv. 35–54) may be redeemed (‫)גאל‬. These laws are introduced in vv. 23–24 with an overarching statement explaining why each Israelite must be granted the right to redeem his ‫אחזה‬: the land is the exclusive possession of Yhwh and therefore must never be permanently sold. The Israelites reside upon it simply as ‫‘ גרים‬resident aliens’ and ‫‘ תושׁבים‬tenants’. The jubilee legislation is then followed by three legal sections, all of which begin with the phrase ‫‘ כי־ימוך אחיך‬if your brother becomes impoverished’ (vv. 25, 35, 39). The first section (vv. 25–34) grants the Israelite the right to redeem his ‫ אחזה‬should he become so impoverished that he is forced to sell (‫ מכר‬qal) it.82 The second (vv. 35–38) explains that the Israelite who is forced to sell his land must be treated with economic fairness, being permitted to live like a ‫גר‬ ‫‘ ותושׁב‬immigrant or sojourner’ (v. 35) in the land and to borrow money or small additions, for instance the reference to Levitical cities in vv. 32–34 (on this see p. 372 n. 82 below). 81 The LXX reads a slightly different text: καὶ ποιήσετε πάντα τὰ δικαιώµατά µου καὶ πάσας τὰς κρίσεις µου, καὶ φυλάξασθε καὶ ποιήσετε αὐτά ‘You shall observe all my statutes and all my judgments, and you shall guard yourselves and do them’. This may reflect the influence of Lev 20:22a, where very similar wording is found. 82 Leviticus 25:32–34 also include a series of instructions for the redemption of houses in the ‫‘ ערי הלוים‬cities of the Levites’. However, these verses seem almost certainly to constitute a late addition; see, e.g., Kilian, Literarkritische und formgeschichtliche Untersuchung, 128; Elliger, Leviticus, 339–40; Achenbach, Die Vollendung, 72 n. 131; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 522 with n. 503; Christian Frevel, “Ending with the High Priest: The Hierarchy of Priests and Levites in the Book of Numbers,” in Torah and the Book of Numbers, ed. Christian Frevel, Thomas Pola, and Aaron Schart, FAT 2/62 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 143 n. 12; and Harald Samuel, Von Priestern zum Patriarchen. Levi und die Leviten im Alten Testament, BZAW 448 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 327. The absence of any reference within Lev 17–26 besides 25:32–34 to the Levitical cities or to the Levites more generally leaves these verses orphaned within the surrounding materials.

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acquire food without incurring interest (vv. 36–37). This is followed by another exhortation (v. 38), which picks up the theme of the exodus from the parenetic frame of Lev 18–22: ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם אשׁר־הוצאתי אתכם מארץ מצרים לתת לכם‬ ‫‘ את־ארץ כנען להיות לכם לאלהים‬I am Yhwh your god who brought you out from the land of Egypt to give you the land of Canaan, to be god to you!’. Then, in the third section (vv. 39–54), H goes further by claiming that Yhwh’s ownership of the land means not only that the land can never be sold, but also that the Israelites can also never become the property of another person by being enslaved.83 Instead, the Israelite who becomes so impoverished that he must sell himself should be treated as a hired worker (‫ ;כשׂכיר כתושׁב‬v. 40), who is to serve a maximum period of indenture of fifty years. The possibility of redemption remains open between the jubilees, should the indentured worker acquire the necessary finances, or in the year of jubilee itself, when each indentured Israelite must be allowed to return ‫‘ אל־משׁפחתו ואל־אחזת אבתיו‬to his family and to the landholding of his forefathers’ (v. 41b). This right to redemption does not extend to non-Israelites, who may still be enslaved as the ‫אחזה‬ ‘holding’ of their Israelite master and passed on to his descendants (vv. 44– 46). This ban on Israelite slavery is attributable to the relationship Yhwh has with his land and with the people he has chosen to live upon it. Because the land is owned by Yhwh exclusively, it can never be permanently sold, but neither can it be alienated from the Israelite to whom it has been granted as an ‫‘ אחזה‬holding’. As convincingly demonstrated by Matthias Köckert and Michaela Bauks, the term ‫ אחזה‬should not be understood to mean ‘possession’ in the sense of personal property; rather, it indicates a holding of land that the Israelites may use.84 In this, ‫ אחזה‬differs from other terms, such as ‫נחלה‬, that refer to the bestowal of land to the Israelites on a permanent basis and therefore have a stronger sense of ‘possession’. Yhwh’s gift of an ‫ אחזה‬to each of the Israelites thus grants the impoverished ‫ אח‬an inalienable right to use the 83 This idea conflicts with the non-priestly slave laws of Exod 21:2–11 and Deut 15:12– 18. These texts consider the enslavement of impoverished Israelites to be legitimate as long as it is restricted to a six-year period (Exod 21:2 // Deut 15:12). After this time, the Israelite slave may decide whether he wishes to depart as a free person, or to remain in the service of his master, after which time he would become the latter’s lifelong property (Exod 21:6b // Deut 15:17). Leviticus 25:39–54 clearly constitute a radical departure from this legal precedent, because they deny the possibility that the Israelites might be considered permanent slaves. 84 Matthias Köckert, “Das Land in der priesterlichen Komposition des Pentateuch,” in Von Gott reden. Beiträge zur Theologie und Exegese des Alten Testaments. Festschrift für Siegfried Wagner zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Dieter Vieweger and Ernst-Joachim Waschke (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1995), 155 and Michaela Bauks, “Die Begriffe ‫ מוֹ ָרָשׁה‬und ‫ ֲאֻח ָזּה‬in Pg. Überlegungen zur Landkonzeption der Priestergrundschrift,” ZAW 116, no. 2 (2004): 174–75.

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portion of land the deity has assigned to him, while ensuring that the land remains the property of the god. Such a claim has important socioeconomic implications: it means that the Israelites can never permanently forfeit their status as landed individuals no matter what economic hardships they may experience. The ‫ אחזה‬therefore functions as a permanent escape from slavery.85 This idea of the land’s inalienability is in many ways the intellectual heir to the concept of land already found in P.86 While there is no reference in P to the kind of land tenure and debt- or slave-release legislation espoused in Lev 25:8– 55, there is a P precedent for the idea that the land is the possession of the deity and that the Israelites must dwell upon it as resident aliens. In Gen 17:3–8, the god promises Abraham that the land on which he is currently residing as a ‫גר‬ will be given to his descendants ‫‘ לאחזת עולם‬as a perpetual holding’ (Gen 17:8) as a result of his ‫ ברית עולם‬with Abraham and his seed ‫היות לך לאלהים ולזרעך‬ ‫‘ אחריך‬to be god to you and to your seed after you’ (Gen 17:6). Use of the term ‫ אחזה‬in this context establishes the promise of the land as one of permanent use as opposed to personal ownership, with the result that the descendants of Abraham will effectively remain ‫ גרים‬on the land even after the god’s promise of the land has been realized in future generations. The time of the patriarchs is thus established by P as a model for how the Israelites must conceptualize their status on the deity’s land in all subsequent time periods. Use of the term ‫ אחזה‬in Lev 25 to describe the Israelites’ ancestral landholdings creates an unmistakable echo of this key land promise text in Gen 17:7– 8. This echo is all the more striking given that the term ‫ אחזה‬occurs nowhere else in H besides Lev 25:10–46, and in no other passage in the priestly materials in Leviticus besides a single occurrence in 14:34. In addition, the parallel between Lev 25 and Gen 17:3–8 is strengthened by the statement in Lev 25:23 that the Israelites are to be ‫ גרים‬and ‫ תושׁבים‬on the land, but with a permanent right to benefit from the usufruct of the ‫ אחזה‬to which they have been assigned. By employing these terms, H picks up P’s concept of the land to both affirm its relevance for the post-wilderness future and explore its concrete effects once the Israelites are living in the land. H explains that Yhwh’s gift of the land affords each Israelite family an ‫ אחזה‬as a permanent holding, from which they are to benefit from its usufruct. 85 This has been convincingly argued in numerous studies; cf. e.g., Joosten, People, 1519; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2212–13; Lefebvre, Le jubilé, 321–22; Bernard M. Levinson, “The Birth of the Lemma: The Restrictive Reinterpretation of the Covenant Code’s Manumission Law by the Holiness Code (Leviticus 25:44–46),” JBL 124, no. 4 (2005): 617–39; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 528; Hieke, Levitikus, 2:1010; Stephen C. Russell, “Biblical Jubilee Laws in Light of Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Period Contracts,” ZAW 130, no. 2 (2018): 190–91. 86 As argued by Köckert, “Das Land,” 156; Bauks, “Die Begriffe,” 174–75; Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 63–68; and Mark G. Brett, “Permutations of Sovereignty in the Priestly Tradition,” VT 63, no. 3 (2013): 383–92.

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More than simply affirming P’s concept of the land, H introduces in Lev 25:39–55 a concept of the Israelites’ status vis-à-vis Yhwh’s land that has no precedent in the P materials. In addition to living as ‫גרים‬, the generation of the exodus must take on a new status: they are to become the personal ‫עבדים‬ ‘slaves’ of Yhwh, living on his estate and tending it for him: ‫כי־עבדי הם אשׁר־‬ ‫‘ הוצאתי אתם מארץ מצרים לא ימכרו ממכרת עבד‬For they are my slaves, whom I brought out from the land of Egypt. They shall not be sold as slaves are sold’ (Lev 25:42). With this idea, H adds another, crucial reason why Israelite slavery is impossible: to claim to own another Israelite would be “to take on a divine privilege.”87 This statement is then elaborated in v. 55 with the final exhortation of Lev 25, which draws the entire chapter to a close: ‫כי־לי בני־‬ ‫‘ ישׂראל עבדים עבדי הם אשׁר־הוצאתי אותם מארץ מצרים אני יהוה אלהיכם‬For to me the Israelites are slaves. They are my slaves whom I brought out from the land of Egypt: I am Yhwh your god!’. With the idea that the Israelites are the slaves of Yhwh, H returns to emphasize the Israelites’ status as the possession of Yhwh, but now with an added dimension: H clarifies that the exodus from Egypt was a process of transferring the Israelites from being the slaves of the Egyptians to being the slaves of Yhwh. Yhwh thus separated the Israelites from the other nations ‫‘ להיות לי‬to be mine’ (Lev 20:26) – that is, to be sanctified (or set apart) as his possessions – because they were chosen by him to live on his land and tend it for him in the capacity of his personal slaves. In return, they are permitted to enjoy the benefits of its usufruct, and the right to redemption in the jubilee on account of their permanent landholding. These statements throw valuable light on the strategies used by H to solicit consent to the obligations and controls inherent in the idea of sanctification via law observance and respect for the sanctuary. They show how H conceives the Israelites’ status as the god’s holy possessions as implying servitude and collective solidarity. If the Israelites are the god’s slaves, living on its property, it is axiomatic that they must live in accordance with the god’s wishes and so defer to the central law in all aspects of their daily lives. To do otherwise would be a flagrant sign of disloyalty and jeopardize the status afforded to them when they were led out of slavery in Egypt. In addition, since the Israelites are the slaves of the god, H adds a new and powerful explanation for why showing loyalty to other community members is an analogue to showing loyalty to Yhwh. They are his personal possessions, designated for service on his land. They therefore cannot be forced to work as the slaves of others and must always be afforded their right to access their landholding. But beyond this, the claim in Lev 25 that the Israelites are Yhwh’s slaves, living on his land, seems intended to explain how the Israelites must serve Yhwh as he dwells in his shrine. As has been occasionally mentioned in studies of Lev 25, the image of the Israelite community advanced in vv. 39–55 is 87

Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 529.

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strikingly similar to a number of Mesopotamian sources that describe temple estates, which are properties deemed to belong to a particular god and used for “a variety of productive and commercial activities” in service of the deity’s shrine.88 Perhaps the best-known cases of temple estates are those in Sumer in southern Mesopotamia in the third millennium BCE. In this society, vast estates were made up of lands acquired by sanctuaries through purchase, seizure in payment of debt, or donations. Significantly, this land was farmed by a combination of slaves, who received daily rations (šeba) of barley, wool, and oil for their services, and tenants, who were permitted to live on rental (ganaru) land for a fixed period in return for an annual payment to the temple, usually of grain.89 Temple lands are also attested in later Babylonian sources dating to the second and first millennia BCE. The kudurru or “boundary stones” found among temple documents in Uruk in southern Babylonia record royal grants of land made to Babylonian temples such as the Eanna Temple under the Kassite kings

J. Nicholas Postgate, Early Mesopotamia: Society and Economy at the Dawn of History (London: Routledge, 1992), 114. See further Joosten, People, 181–84 and Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch, 535. On additional similarities between the jubilee laws and Mesopotamian legal and administrative records, see Russell, “Biblical Jubilee Laws.” 89 Hartmut Waetzoldt, “Compensation of Craft Workers and Officials in the Ur III Period,” in Labor in the Ancient Near East, ed. Marvin A. Powell, AOS 68 (New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 1987), 117–41. See further Bruce G. Trigger, Understanding Early Civilizations: A Comparative Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 328. Classical interpretations of Sumerian temple estates as having a total monopoly on the distribution of land in Sumer, and thus of Sumerian civilization as a giant “Citizen-Temple community” (Bürger-Tempel-Gemeinde) are now widely recognized to be incorrect, because it is almost certain that temple lands coexisted with palace land and the private holdings of families and individuals; for traditional accounts, see, e.g., Anna Schneider, Die Anfänge der Kulturwirtschaft. Die sumerische Tempelstadt (Essen: Baedeker, 1920); Anton Deimel, Sumerische Tempelwirtschaft zur Zeit Urukaginas und seiner Vorgänger. Abschluss der Einzelstudien Einzelstudien und Zusammenfassung der Hauptresultate, AnOr 2 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1931); and Adam Falkenstein, The Sumerian Temple City, trans. Maria deJ. Ellis, Monographs in History: Ancient Near East 1/1 (Los Angeles, CA: Undena, 1974). For critiques, see Postgate, Early Mesopotamia, 109 and Benjamin D. Gordan, “Sacred Land Endowments and Field Consecrations in Early Judaism” (PhD diss., Duke University, 2013), 5 with n. 9. Nevertheless, it is clear that Sumerian temple estates could be of enormous size and economic influence. For example, the temple lands in the southern province of Lagaš are estimated to have reached 200–300 square kilometers of agricultural land; see esp. RTC 407 from Girsu (Ur III period), which refers to a crop area of approximately 5,000 bùr, which Johannes Renger, “On Economic Structures in Ancient Mesopotamia: Part One,” Or 63, no. 3 (1994): 178 estimates to be 318 km2! On the size of temple lands, see further Renger, “Institutional, Communal, and Individual Ownership or Possession of Arable Land in Ancient Mesopotamia from the End of the Fourth to the End of the First Millennium B.C.,” Chicago-Kent Law Review 71 (1995): 285 and Trigger, Understanding, 327. 88

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of the Third Babylonian Dynasty (ca. 1507–1155 BCE).90 These practices continued well into the first millennium BCE, and are attested in a series of cadastral texts dating to the seventh and sixth centuries BCE recording gifts of land by kings and their family members to the Uruk temples. An undated text from the seventh century (AnOr 9, 2:62–63), for example, refers to a gift from Assurbanipal “to the god Ninurta-of-Uruk” of forty-eight orchards, while a sixthcentury text speaks of the gift of arable land “to Ištar-of-Uruk” from Kaššaya the daughter of Nebuchadnezzar.91 In addition to gaining land through royal decree, Neo-Babylonian temples also acquired arable land when landholders became impoverished and accumulated debts.92 In such instances, destitute or landless persons would be integrated into the temple economy (or “household”) and thus become “oblates or bondsmen of the temples” who “then served as labor force within the temple economy, mainly as agricultural workers.”93 At the same time, portions of temple lands could be leased to elites who would manage the land, along with its labor force, on the temple’s behalf. Divinely owned land was clearly of commercial consequence in ancient Mesopotamia. Not only were temple lands in Mesopotamia “usually exempted from state taxation,” but the annual tithes levied on them also brought in significant income for temple authorities.94 As shown in Michael Jursa’s detailed 1998 study of Babylon temple tithes, a swath of documents from Sippar in Babylonia, dating from Nebuchadnezzar’s reign through the thirty-fourth year of Darius, attests to the collection of substantial tithes on temple lands.95 90 Leonard W. King, ed., Babylonian Boundary-Stones and Memorial-Tablets in the British Museum (London: British Museum, 1912), vii–xi; Renger, “Institutional, Communal, and Individual Ownership,” 303; and Bojana Janković, “Uruk,” in Aspects of the Economic History of Babylonia in the First Millennium BC: Economic Geography, Economic Mentalities, Agriculture, the Use of Money, and the Problem of Economic Growth, ed. Michael Jursa, AOAT 377 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2010), 419–28. 91 Transcription and translation (in French) by René Labat, “Domaines de la déesse Ištar d’Uruk,” RA 54 (1960): 86–87. 92 One such example, in the case of Eanna at Uruk, is a text (AOr 15, 1 rev. 1 lines 20– 24) that describes how a man named Nabû-ahhē-šullim, son of Nabû-udammiq, was required to give a plot of land to the temple in compensation for his debts; see further Janković, “Uruk,” 423 n. 2418. 93 Renger, “Institutional, Communal, and Individual Ownership,” 312. 94 J. Nicholas Postgate, “The Ownership and Exploitation of Land in Assyria in the 1st Millennium BC,” in Reflets des deux fleuves. Volume de mélanges offerts à André Finet, ed. Marc Lebeau and Philippe Talon, Akkadica Supplementum 6 (Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 145. 95 Michael Jursa, Der Tempelzehnt in Babylonien vom siebenten bis zum dritten Jahrhundert v. Chr., AOAT 254 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1998), 13–18. See also Muhammad A. Dandamaev, “Der Tempelzehnte in Babylonien während des 6.–4. Jh. v. u. Z.,” in Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte und deren Nachleben. Festschrift für Franz Altheim zum 6.10.1968, 2 vols., ed. Ruth Stiehl and Hans E. Stier (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1969–1970), 1:82–90. For examples of tithes from royal leaders to the temple, see BM 50215, BM 63594 line 4. From bīt ritti estates, see BM 61019, BM 61395, BM 64538. Privately held land appears to have been

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Indeed, such practices seem to have continued throughout the Persian period, with temples in Babylon continuing to extract tithes and manage extensive estates with the permission of the Persian administration, although they were required to pay significant amounts of their income to the imperial center.96 The claim of divine ownership thus seems to have served as a vital means of ensuring the viability of sanctuaries in the ANE because it granted sanctuary authorities a claim on the economic output of the land that was understood to belong to the god, as well as the right to the labor of those who dwelled upon the god’s lands.97 H’s description of people and land in Lev 25 resonates with the concept of a temple estate in several important ways. The claim that Yhwh is the exclusive owner of the land, coupled with his ownership of the Israelites as his personal slaves, clearly echoes those Mesopotamian sources that describe temple estates and their staff. This does not necessarily mean that H had in mind these sources specifically; the image of the Israelite community in Lev 25 more likely reflects a general awareness on H’s part of Mesopotamian sociocultic practices used to ensure the claims of sanctuary authorities to control land and manage resources, including temple slaves. Yet, what is remarkable about Lev 25 is that H does not envisage merely a section of the land or community being devoted to Yhwh and his temple household, as do the Mesopotamian examples discussed above. Nor is only a small segment of the population to be designated Yhwh’s slaves. The land of Israel in its entirety is conceived as Yhwh’s property, and the entire population as servants living on his land and tending it for him. In addition, the deity’s law is now to be used to direct the timing of all the Israelites’ redemption and remission practices, such that the god and its sanctuary have direct control over the way the Israelites structure the socioeconomic practices that surround debt and indentured servants. Israel is thus imagined by H as a colossal temple estate, in which everything is oriented towards the god who dwells in the central shrine, and whose law is the central authority for the most important socioeconomic practices of this Israelite collective.

exempt from such temple tithes; see further 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 Language, ed. Mosheh Bar-Anbar et al. (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007), 11*–12*. 96 Muhammad A. Dandamaev and Vladimir G. Lukonin, The Culture and Social Institutions of Ancient Iran, trans. Philip L. Kohl (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 360–62. 97 Cf. the evidence of economic gain made by temples on account of divinely owned land in Egypt, detailed in Joseph Gilbert Manning, Land and Power in Ptolemaic Egypt: The Structure of Land Tenure (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). See further the evidence from Greece in Beate Dignas, Economy of the Sacred in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor, OCM (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002).

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To be sure, a possible objection to this reading is that the sanctuary is never mentioned directly in Lev 25 in connection with the Israelites’ servitude to Yhwh, their usage of the land, or the timing of the remission and redemption practices. Yet the absence of any reference to the sanctuary in Lev 25 is consistent with the Mesopotamian sources cited above, which describe the land as the property of the god without referencing the sanctuary that would manage it on its behalf; the presence of the sanctuary is assumed because that is where the god lives. In addition, while the sanctuary is not mentioned in Lev 25, it is referenced in its immediate literary context. Not only do Lev 24:1–9 outline the regular rites that must take place at the central sanctuary, but Lev 26 begins with the command to show loyalty to Yhwh’s shrine in v. 2. This command is then followed in v. 11 with the promise that, if the Israelites keep Yhwh’s law, he will establish his dwelling place in their midst. In this light, the absence of any direct reference to the sanctuary in Lev 25 would not seem to preclude the idea that H is here imagining Israel as slaves of Yhwh on his temple estate, who must live and work on lands over which the shrine has a direct claim to its economic and agricultural output. Leviticus 25:8–55 thus serve as a sophisticated complement to H’s case, made throughout Lev 17–26, that the everyday lives of the Israelites are at all times to be conducted with reference to Yhwh’s central sanctuary. As suggested above, H is conceptualizing the Israelite community as Yhwh’s sanctuary staff. They are to live as though they are slaves on the god’s estate, tending to the god’s land under the auspices of the sanctuary and meeting the god’s needs for sacrifices and donations. As quasi-slaves on divinely owned property, they are denied the possibility of viewing the produce of their ‫ אחזה‬in a way that is independent of the god’s central shrine, or of dealing with their own slaves and the economic matters of debt remission without referring to the authority of the central legal standard associated with that shrine. H thus articulates a compelling case for why the sanctuary has the right to direct the socioeconomic life of the Israelite community and, moreover, to receive direct financial benefit from the Israelites’ life on the land. Because any harvest constitutes the fruit of Yhwh’s land, procured by his slaves, it is axiomatic that the Israelites must devote a portion of their produce to the god in the form of regular donations, offerings, and tithes. From this perspective, we can feel confident in concluding that the texts in Lev 17–26 describing the Israelites’ experience in agricultural, social, and economic contexts do not, as Joosten argues, enshrine a perspective that takes little interest in affirming the rights of the central sanctuary. To the contrary, it is precisely through its legislation concerned with the Israelites’ activities beyond the shrine that H completes its discourse of centralization: it construes all of Israel’s collective existence as affirming its members’ obligations to defer to the central law and fulfill their material duties to show loyalty to the god as it dwells in its shrine. As Yhwh’s possessions, the Israelites have acquired the

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responsibility to unify in common service to the sanctuary that dwells at the center of his territory, while acknowledging the right of the god to directly dictate their economic dealings with other members of the sacral community. 7.3.2 Economics and Centralization in the Persian Period: Generating Consent Leviticus 25 offers valuable evidence of the material benefits that could accrue to the central sanctuary from the concept of the Israelites’ possession by Yhwh, as well as of its discursive potential in normalizing the idea that Israel is a community that is defined by its shared deference to a common shrine and central legislation. Yet there is, as ever, considerable ambiguity about how this might actually have played out in practice in ancient Israel. There is no doubt that Lev 25, arguably even more than other aspects of H’s discourse, articulates an ideal that stands at a considerable distance from reality. Scholars are virtually unanimous in reading the regimented, centralized timing of the practices prescribed in Lev 25:8–55 as differing significantly from the way the Israelites actually structured their agricultural, remission, and redemption activities. There is also no historical evidence that the temples of Jerusalem or Gerizim were in possession of temple estates that encompassed all Yehud or Samaria! Unfortunately, very little is known about the possible landholdings of the Jerusalem or Gerizim temples during the Persian period. While the absence of temple archives means that we cannot know whether or not these temples possessed land or associated workforces, it seems unlikely that they did. In the case of Jerusalem, Benjamin Gordan argues in detail that there is no evidence in biblical or extrabiblical sources to support the idea that the temple held tracts of land that it leased to other members of the community.98 While temple authorities might have encouraged gifts of land that could be used by priests, there is little indication that this resulted in the Jerusalem priesthood amassing large properties in the Persian period.99 In the case of Gerizim, the absence of

Gordan, “Sacred Land Endowments.” Leviticus 27 preserves one such attempt to encourage the devotion of land to Yhwh. Following a discussion of the consecration of persons (vv. 2–8) or animals (vv. 9–13), the chapter turns to the manner in which houses (vv. 14–15) and fields (vv. 16–24) might be consecrated ( ‫ קדשׁ‬hiphil) to Yhwh, and subsequently redeemed ( ‫ גאל‬qal) should the person who owns the property change his mind. Importantly, vv. 20–21 state that if a field is not redeemed by the jubilee it becomes a ‫‘ שׂדה החרם‬dedicated field’ in the jubilee year; namely, a plot of land which cannot be deconsecrated but which “belongs to the priest” (v. 21b) as an inalienable holding; on this, see further Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2385 and Gordan, “Sacred Land Endowments,” 110–13. Joseph Blenkinsopp, “Temple and Society in Achaemenid Judah,” in Persian Period, vol. 1 of Second Temple Studies, 4 vols., ed. Philip R. Davies, JSOTSup 117 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991), 50 has remarked: “Unless this is purely theoretical,” Lev 27:14–24 “may be taken to reflect a situation in which the temple 98 99

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evidence makes it difficult to be sure whether the temple and its priesthood might have managed any of the surrounding land. Nevertheless, it seems highly unlikely that the temple would have gained much estate in the Persian period given that it was constructed only in the early to mid-fifth century. A question remains as to whether the Persian imperial powers might have permitted the temple at Jerusalem and/or Gerizim to control the lands within their respective provinces, or to manage the community’s economic resources. Joel Weinberg suggests that the Jerusalem temple might have been granted permission from the Persian authorities to manage the province of Yehud as a “citizen-temple community” in the early Persian period.100 In this scenario, the land of Yehud might have been considered the property of the Jerusalem temple and fallen under its economic and administrative jurisdiction not because the Jerusalem temple had such a large landholding that it encompassed the entire territory, but because ANE society was infused with the idea that the deity always had the right to control the broader area surrounding its temple. In arguing thus, Weinberg was influenced by the theories of the Russian historian Igor M. Diakanoff concerning precapitalist modes of production and particularly the notion that ancient Israel was emblematic of an “Asian” mode in which the temple was always the center of the local economy, and thus also of the political and social life of the community.101 However, it is doubtful whether the temple in Jerusalem (or the temple at Gerizim) was positioned at the center of a citizen-temple community. First, there is little historical evidence to support the theory that the so-called Asian mode of production described by Diakanoff, in which all land was considered the property of the god, was present in the ANE.102 In the Mesopotamian examples discussed above, temples did not have an overarching claim to manage the land in its entirety, or to extract resources from the entire population. There is ample evidence of land being held by palaces, families, and individuals, in addition to the specific tracts of land that were dedicated to temples.103 Second, given what we know of the imperial administration of Yehud and Samaria in the Persian period, it is difficult to imagine the temples in Jerusalem or at Gerizim functioning as the undisputed centers of socioeconomic power in and its personnel drew part of their revenue from real estate as was the case elsewhere in the Persian empire.” 100 Joel Weinberg, The Citizen-Temple Community, trans. Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, JSOTSup 151 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 26. 101 Igor M. Diakonoff, “The Rural Community in the Ancient Near East,” JESHO 18, no. 2 (1975): 121–33. 102 Peter Altmann, Economics in Persian-Period Biblical Texts: Their Interactions with Economic Developments in the Persian Period and Earlier Biblical Traditions, FAT 1/109 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 180–81. 103 Postgate, Early Mesopotamia, 109 and Gordan, “Sacred Land Endowments,” 5 with n. 9.

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their respective provinces. There is no evidence that Jerusalem was an urban hub during the Persian period or that it was granted an official role within the economic system of the imperial regime.104 Indeed, as mentioned in §3.1.2, recent studies by Oded Lipschits, Yuval Gadot, and Dafna Langgut show that Jerusalem did not house the residence of the Persian governorship in the Persian period and thus was unlikely to have been the administrative center of the province.105 Rather, archaeological remains from Ramat Raḥel, especially the numerous stamped jar handles and evidence of a large residence and garden complex, suggest that the seat of the Persian governorship was located at this site from the late sixth through fourth centuries BCE. Jerusalem’s standing within the province would have remained relatively weak, because the center of the imperial administration was located approximately five kilometers south of the city. The temple at Gerizim was probably in a somewhat stronger economic position than its Jerusalem counterpart owing to the relative wealth of the province of Samaria. As mentioned in §3.1.2, Samaria was largely spared the demographic decline that afflicted Judah in the transition from the NeoBabylonian period to the Persian and does not seem to have experienced the same degree of poverty as that which afflicted the inhabitants of Yehud.106 Nonetheless, there is no suggestion that the temple at Gerizim was given an official role within the imperial management of the province. It was also located at a relative distance (approximately 12 km) from the imperial administrative center, which was situated in the city of Samaria.107 That said, Joachim Schaper makes the case that the Jerusalem Temple at least performed an important role within the imperial administration in Yehud: collecting taxes on behalf of the empire.108 This conclusion is based mainly on Persian period evidence that Babylonian temples housed treasuries, which were managed by imperial officials charged with collecting and storing precious metals paid from the population to the imperial power. Schaper builds on earlier arguments that the Hebrew term ‫ יוצר‬in Zech 11:13 refers to an official ‘founder’ responsible for melting down the silver donated to the empire (he

104 On the urban status of Jerusalem, see, e.g., Oded Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem (Winona Lake, IN: Eerdmans, 2005), 214–16. On its place in the Persian economic system, see Altmann, Economics, 177–87. 105 Oded Lipschits, Yuval Gadot, and Dafna Langgut, “The Riddle of Ramat Raḥel: The Archaeology of a Royal Persian Period Edifice,” Transeu 41 (2012): 57–79. 106 Altmann, Economics, 150–55, 303–4. 107 Benedikt Hensel, Juda und Samaria. Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen, FAT 1/110 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 35. 108 Joachim Schaper, “The Jerusalem Temple as an Instrument of the Achaemenid Fiscal Administration,” VT 45, no. 4 (1995): 528–39.

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assumes that Zech 11 relates to the Persian period).109 As Schaper then sees it, the only institution in Yehud where such a foundry could have been located was the Jerusalem Temple, meaning that the Persian administration must have directed the population of Yehud to deposit their imperial taxes there.110 Furthermore, this position of the Jerusalem Temple at the heart of the taxation system in Yehud enabled it to extract religious taxes and tithes from the population to assist in its day-to-day management. Despite Schaper’s interesting insights, a number of factors suggest that the Jerusalem Temple did not have the economic authority he imagines for much of the Persian period at least. On a general level, there is limited evidence to support the view that it was standard practice for the Persian administration to situate its treasuries within temple buildings.111 Indeed, as pointed out by Peter Bedford, administrative texts from Persepolis “identify perhaps as many as nineteen local treasuries/storehouses, none of which are temples.”112 Mesopotamian temples certainly extracted taxes from those who resided on their territory and were required to pay a portion of their income to the imperial administration in tax, but this does not necessarily mean that these temples acted as the official collection point for the taxes of the broader population. Rather, it reflects their role in managing their own temple estates and processing the proceeds from the workers on their lands. Furthermore, the hypothesis that the imperial official responsible for tax collection was located at the temple is significantly weakened by the evidence that the governor of Yehud resided away from the city, at Ramat Raḥel.113 As detailed by Muhammad Dandamaev and Vladimir Lukonin, oversight for collecting taxes across the empire was assigned by the imperial powers to “the satrap, nomarchs, governors of cities and rural headmen.”114 It is difficult to imagine that the main centers for handling imperial taxes were in Jerusalem if the seat of the governors was at Ramat Raḥel. It therefore seems, on balance, that the Jerusalem Temple had the right to exert economic or sociopolitical power only when managing its own cultic economy, which was unlikely to have been substantial given its probable absence of lands, workers, or a large population of wealthy donors.115

For the idea that ‫ יוצר‬means ‘founder’, see Charles C. Torrey, “The Foundry of the Second Temple at Jerusalem,” JBL 55, no. 4 (1936): 247–60. 110 Schaper, “Jerusalem Temple,” 530–35. 111 Dandamaev and Lukonin, Culture, 206–9. 112 Peter R. Bedford, “Temple Funding and Priestly Authority in Achaemenid Judah,” in Exile and Return: The Babylonian Context, ed. Jonathan Stökl and Caroline Waerzeggers, BZAW 478 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 17*. 113 Altmann, Economics, 182. 114 Dandamaev and Lukonin, Culture, 190. 115 Altmann, Economics, 175–76; see further §3.1.2. 109

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All this suggests that H’s discourse in Lev 25 in support of a temple estate of sorts does not mirror historical reality in the Persian period. Yet this does not mean that we should discount the power of the centralizing logic of H’s discourse in Lev 25. As I have argued at various points in this study, idealized discourses have their own function and power regardless of the degree to which they accord with social and economic realities. In the case of Lev 25, H articulates a discourse in which the Israelites are required to accept that what they do in the agricultural and economic spheres can never be divorced from the sanctuary. How they structure the timing of harvesting and of letting the land lie fallow, how they manage debt remission, how they understand their rights to have indentured servants, and how they view their claim to property – all these activities are positioned by H within a discursive context in which the land is ultimately owned by Yhwh, and the Israelites are slaves living on his estate. It follows, therefore, that the sanctuary where the deity resides has the ultimate right to determine the allocation of the community’s resources and the timing of their socioeconomic and agricultural practices. Thus, Lev 25 provides the ideological scaffolding whereby the central shrine can assert the right to centrality not just in cultic practice – such as ritual blood disposal and the timing of the festal calendar – but in socioeconomic and agricultural domains as well. This claim is possible because of H’s call to collective sanctification. As the god’s possessions, whose defining characteristic is their conformity with the law in all circumstances, the Israelites must organize their everyday life so that all they do gives honor to Yhwh as he dwells in his sanctuary and can ensure their separation as a holy people; more practically, they must structure their cultic, agricultural, and economic worlds through the channels of the central temple. There is no differentiation, then, in H’s vision of the central order, between the centralization of ritual practice and of socioeconomic obligations. Put another way, H aspires to ensure that the temple serves as both the exclusive site of deference and attention in the Yahwistic cult but also functions as the economic center to which the Israelites defer. To deny this right to the sanctuary would run counter to the Israelites’ call to sanctification and therefore jeopardize their special status as the clients of the god Yhwh. We know nothing, of course, about the dissemination or reception of Lev 25 in the Persian period, or whether its discursive strategy was effective in convincing the Israelites to recognize the sanctuary’s economic centrality. But we can surmise that the intended aim of this discourse is to legitimate the claim of the Jerusalem temple in Yehud over the Israelites’ resources. As argued at length at various points in this study (see esp. §4.4 and, in reference to H, §5.4 and §6.4), the subtle Judean bias in certain priestly passages suggests that the scribes responsible for Lev 17–26 might have been particularly concerned to bolster the economic standing of the temple in Jerusalem, although without excluding the possibility that the temple at Mount Gerizim in Samaria would

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also use to text to bolster its own claim to centrality. Even though the Persian authorities may not have recognized these temples as administrative or economic centers, its priestly scribes aspired to convince the Israelites that they must voluntarily defer to the central sanctuary as a site worthy of their material resources as an expression of their sanctification. In addition, they should recognize the authority of the law, written by priests, to directly influence economic practices involving debt release and the terms of their indentured servants. This reading of Lev 25 echoes Bedford’s analysis of the strategies used by the Jerusalem Temple in the Persian period to shore up its economic position.116 Bedford analyzes how the Jerusalem Temple, in the absence of the official authority to extract taxes or tithes from the Judean population, was forced to rely on a funding model based on voluntary donations; these had to be solicited by convincing the people of their obligations towards the cultic center. Even in Neh 10, which speaks of the Judean population committing to provide an annual payment of “one-third of a shekel for the service of the house of our god” (Neh 10:33b), the text states that the “binding agreement” (Neh 10:1) for such a regular payment was entered into freely by the Judeans. Despite the imagined role of the governor Nehemiah in brokering the agreement, there is no suggestion that he employed an imperial edict to force the Judeans to direct economic resources to the Jerusalem temple. The historicity of Neh 10, it must be said, is difficult to verify, but it clearly attests to the importance of persuasion in ensuring the economic viability of the Jerusalem sanctuary in the memory of the Persian period. A similar logic can be seen at work in Lev 25. Although no temple in Yehud or Samaria could claim all land held by the Israelites or oblige them to follow its stipulations for when and how they redeemed indentured servants or discharged their debts, H’s discursive strategy aimed to ensure voluntary deference to centralized authority in socioeconomic practice, as well as to direct material resources to the central temple. Thus, H’s discourse functioned not to mirror socioeconomic realities, but to provide a compelling rationale whereby those who considered themselves part of the people of Israel would consent to defer to the central sanctuary, whatever its actual capacity to demand this.

7.4 Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated the multifaceted ways in which H’s discourse of cultic centralization is advanced through its new and more expansive conceptualization of holiness when compared to that of the earlier P materials. H reimagines the obligations of the Israelites on account of their status as Yhwh’s 116

Bedford, “Temple Funding.”

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client such that they must shape their behavior in all manner of mundane situations to be in accordance with the central legal tradition that was made known to Moses at Sinai, and to show loyalty to Yhwh as he dwells in his central shrine. The focus on obedience to divine decree suggests that H’s concept of communal holiness does not reveal a concern with imitating the god, or with individual morality. Rather, H promotes uniformity across the community, which can be achieved only when the Israelites consent to live in accordance with a central legislative standard. In order to be set apart as Yhwh’s holy possession, the Israelites must be transformed into a community defined by a network of behaviors that might be described as “conventionalism,” in that they maintain their separation from the other nations and avoid those behaviors that are antithetical to Yhwh’s decrees. In addition, the Israelites must show loyalty to other members of the sacral community as an expression of their shared loyalty to Yhwh. In turn, they must recognize the god’s derision of factions, divisions, and variations among its chosen community and thus the call to establish a centralized cult and community. This call, we have seen, is given further weight by H’s emphasis on the interconnections between communal holiness and loyalty to the shrine. The Israelites’ sanctification depends on their willingness to preserve the central shrine as an appropriate dwelling for the deity: to regularly provide material donations in accordance with Yhwh’s legal standard, and to protect the shrine against hostile forces by scrupulously applying Yhwh’s decrees to all aspects of their lives. Moreover, the Israelites must accept that their collective sanctification depends on their willingness to preserve the sociocultic hierarchy in which the Aaronide priests have exclusive control over the sanctuary and its ritual cult. These various dimensions to communal holiness – collective unity, standardization, separation from Others, preservation of the central sanctuary and of its priestly personnel – therefore combine as a sophisticated hegemonic discourse that mobilizes consent to a centralized system. We have also seen how the prominence of the sabbath in H’s conception of communal holiness plays an integral role in this hegemonic discourse. The promotion of sabbath as a weekly rest day enables the Israelites to experience the collective solidarity that comes from standardized norms and customs, and from showing their loyalty to the god by ceasing work as a unified community. In addition, H’s description of sacrificial rites that must take place at the central shrine on the sabbath ensures that the regular rhythm of ceasing work each week reinforces the critical importance of the centralized cult in the everyday lives of the Israelites. The laws in Lev 25 for land and slave redemption go even further in construing the community as living permanently within the circle of the shrine’s influence. By depicting the Israelites as Yhwh’s slaves, living on his estate, and in permanent servitude to his central shrine, H creates new context for the

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claim that the Israelites are the possession of the deity: all their activities, in agricultural and socioeconomic domains, are integral to their being the possession of the god. Thus, H solicits the consent of the Israelites to a system in which they must devote themselves to the task of maintaining the central sanctuary, providing a portion of their produce from the land in the form of regular offerings and donations, and conducting their redemption and remission practices in accordance with the deity’s statutes and ordinances. Finally, we have considered what this discourse might reveal about the claims to power and resources on the part of the centralized temple cult in ancient Israel. While our knowledge of the actual economic status of the temple in Jerusalem at the time H was written is limited by the lack of historical sources, H’s discourse manifestly stakes a claim on the priesthood’s behalf that the god’s sanctuary dwelling is to be an economic center as well as a cultic center. Although the ideal articulated in Lev 25 almost certainly stands at a considerable distance from the actual power wielded by Jerusalem in the Persian period, this does not dilute the force of its discourse. By claiming that the god requires the Israelites to be a holy people in all aspects of everyday life, H asserts the temple’s right to control not only ritual process but also what the Israelites do in their agricultural and economic domains. The Judean bias identified at different points in the priestly traditions suggests that Jerusalem was most probably the central temple that H had in mind, although we cannot rule out that such a discourse would have equally benefitted the temple at Gerizim. This analysis of holiness in Lev 17–26 thus confirms that H’s centralizing discourse extends beyond the effort to centralize slaughter and sacrifice and mandate temporal symmetry within the Israelite community, to articulate a more pervasive concept of collective sanctification. H advances this discourse via “a variety of mechanisms of control,” which includes expanding the boundaries of holiness to ensure long-term compliance with a centralized system.117 However, as a hegemonic discourse, it simultaneously solicits the consent of the Israelite community by making it appear natural and beneficial for them to defer to and commit their resources to the maintenance of this system. Thus, while it might seem that the expansion of holiness to the community dilutes the monopoly of sanctity by the center, in fact H’s discourse serves to reinforce the power of that center by mobilizing the consent and compliance of all those who thought themselves members of the community of Israel.

117 Drawing here again on the terminology used by Karen Barkey, Bandits and Bureaucrats: The Ottoman Route to State Centralization, The Wilder House Series in Politics, History, and Culture (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994), 231.

Chapter 8

Conclusion: Reframing Cultic Centralization This study has developed a sustained argument that the Holiness legislation of Lev 17–26 develops a more complex and multifaceted discourse in favor of cultic centralization than has been acknowledged in the scholarship of the past. Moving significantly beyond traditional explanations, it has offered a new framework for understanding the centralizing logic of H, as well as that of the earlier P materials to which, I have shown, H predominantly looks. In arguing thus, this study has parted ways with the classical theory that H merely presumes, with minor modifications, a concept of centralization articulated by Deuteronomy. It has also opened new avenues for appreciating the complexity of centralizing processes in the history of ancient Israel and the evolution of its literary traditions and cultic practices.

8.1 Summary The study began by arguing that research into centralization and the pentateuchal traditions should be broadened beyond traditional bounds for three reasons: to give due weight to the evidence of the contribution of the priestly traditions, especially H, to the development of ideas about centralization in the Pentateuch; to consider the light that H’s centralizing discourse might throw on the history of centralization in ancient Israel, particularly during the Persian period; and to develop a more expansive understanding of centralization that moves beyond a narrow interest in where the Israelites worship to include other issues that promoted the processes of cultic centralization (§1.1). Drawing on the insights provided by social theorists, I argued (§1.2.1) that centralization should be understood as the various processes that structure power relations and social organization so that authority, decision making, and resources are (to a greater or lesser degree) concentrated rather than dispersed. These processes of centralization can direct social actors to a range of sociocultural centers – not only places and spaces but also institutions, authorities, personnel, and processes. In adopting such theoretical insights, I laid the groundwork for a more dynamic and nuanced understanding of the term “center” in H and the P materials on which it depends, one that moves beyond an exclusive interest

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in where the Israelites worship (central places) to explore other dimensions of cultic practice and everyday life (§1.2.2). I also foreshadowed an argument that informed later chapters of this study; namely, that the nexus between centralization and standardization that is strongly developed in H, as well as in the earlier P materials, serves as a device for developing norms and scripts that regulate behavior in order to silence local discretion in favor of conformity with centralized authority. Chapter 1 also stressed the challenges of studying literary discourses of centralization such as those encountered in Lev 17–26 and the priestly traditions more generally (§1.2.3). I argued that these discourses should not necessarily be expected to mirror the social reality or the power relations that prevailed at the time of their writing. Rather, drawing on the theories of Michel Foucault, with insights from Antonio Gramsci and others, I established that discourse is a means of enabling such relations to emerge, in that discourse seeks to normalize social obligations and the distribution of authority and resources so that these will be considered normal and proper. Discourse thereby generates the consent that is needed, beyond measures of coercion, if a social system with an uneven distribution of power is to be sustained. Theories of memory studies were also introduced at this point of the study (§1.2.4), given the insights they provide into the way in which discourses about the past can serve to mobilize deference and attention to particular social, religious, and political centers. The study went on to demonstrate that priestly traditions construct a powerful social memory in the form of a foundational narrative, or history of origins, about ancient Israel’s cult and community, depicting a time when ritual hierarchies were ideally configured, the sanctuary unrivaled in its centrality, and the community of Israel ideally united. The introductory theoretical discussion was then complemented with a detailed analysis in chapter 2 of those aspects of Lev 17–26 that inform my understanding of H’s centralizing discourse and its place in ancient Israel’s history: its structure, date, and relationship with other scriptural traditions. Through this analysis, I demonstrated (§2.2.1) that, despite the presence of later additions and supplements, Lev 17–26 generally evince structural integrity and a distinctive linguistic and thematic profile that warrants treating them as a subsection of the priestly traditions. Furthermore, I sided (§2.2.2) with the majority view that Lev 17–26 comprise a relatively late priestly composition (H) that evinces a heightened concern for innerscriptural exegesis when compared to earlier P materials, as well as several new thematic interests, most notably its idea of communal sanctification. I also concluded that H was written at a time when the priestly traditions were already at a fairly advanced compositional stage, with a well-developed sanctuary account in Exod 25–31 and 35–40, as well as the majority of the ritual legislation of Lev 1–16. The composition of Lev 17–26, it was argued, resulted in the addition of several Hlike supplements to the priestly traditions outside these chapters, with the

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primary aim of bringing P into alignment with the new legislation of Lev 17– 26, or developing the ideas or language of H to formulate new rulings. Finally, the time period of the composition of H was established (§2.2.3) as being the Persian period, a conclusion supported, among other factors, by relative chronology and the reference to the exile and return in Lev 26. Chapter 3 went on to review the history of cultic centralization in ancient Israel and, in particular, the complex cultic situation of the Persian period. It argued (§3.1.1) that it is no longer possible to accept the classical view that processes of centralization of the cult were linear, or that the Persian period was the centralized epoch it was once considered to be. Jerusalem did not have a cultic monopoly but existed alongside another central sanctuary in Samaria at Mount Gerizim (§3.1.2). It also was probably in a position of economic weakness on account of the difficulties that accompanied the transition from the Neo-Babylonian period to the Persian and the loss of the Judean monarchy, which would have significantly hampered its capacity to function as a cultic center. In addition, while these two shrines were effectively the major cult centers of the provinces of Yehud and Samaria, a small number of Yahwistic sanctuaries continued to operate in the diaspora and possibly in Idumea (§3.1.3). The scholarly acceptance of the need for a more nuanced understanding of centralization in the Persian period has brought with it a recognition that the biblical traditions of this period must themselves be revisited. Yet, as my review of scholarship demonstrated (§3.1.4), the place of the priestly traditions in the study of cultic centralization in the Persian period remains a marginal topic despite the fact that they provide some of the most valuable data for reconstructing the processes of negotiating cultic centralization in the Persian period, because they offer the most detailed description of the ritual practices that were considered important to priestly elites writing at that time. The scholarly tendency has been to limit research on centralization in the priestly materials by assuming that they inherit and extend the concept of centralization as developed in D (§3.2.1). However, I examined (§3.2.2) those few studies that have critiqued this classical assumption, noting that these are very often concerned with demonstrating that P and/or H either predate D and are thus unaware of the concept of centralization it promotes, or (more rarely) critically reject D’s call for a centralized cult in favor of a local or regional approach to Israelite worship. Following a detailed review (§3.3) of the specific place of Lev 17–26 in this history of research on centralization and the priestly traditions, I proposed that there is need to move beyond the dominant models for reconstructing the development of centralization by exploring how these traditions might present their own distinctive logic of centralization, one that may resemble certain aspects of D’s logic, but that also has its own particular interests. In chapter 4 I turned to examine what this logic of centralization might entail in the Priestly source materials that were known to the authors of Lev 17–26

8.1 Summary

391

(which I referred to as “P”). I argued that P articulates a centralizing discourse that comprises three distinctive elements. The first is the call to all Israelites to demonstrate their unity before their patron god by constructing and maintaining a central sanctuary (§4.1.1). P articulates a pan-Israelite ideal in which all members of the community will coalesce around the building of a shared shrine, although in a hierarchal relationship in which P accords subtle primacy to leaders of the tribe Judah (§4.1.2). In addition, any traditional role for a royal leader in constructing the central sanctuary has been eschewed in favor of a thoroughly communal enterprise, in which traditional monarchic functions have been reconfigured and the financial sponsorship of the building work is shared by the Israelites as a collective (§4.1.3). While the sanctuary is core to P’s discourse of centralization, I went on to argue that there are further dimensions to P’s centralizing logic. I particularly considered (§4.2.1) a second and related aspect of P’s ritual legislation of Lev 1–16; namely, its promotion of a standardized concept of Israel’s ritual obligations. I examined the strategies whereby P discourages variation in ritual practice in favor of conformity with the prescriptions of a central legal authority, arguing that the ritual standard that P promotes is thoroughly incompatible with decentralization. Rather, it promotes conformity with centralized authority and collective commitment to guarding and protecting a shared cult, a commitment that again compensates for the absence of a royal sponsor (§4.2.2). I then considered (§4.3.1) a third aspect of P’s discourse of centralization: the ideal of centralized priestly competence in the form of a monopoly held by a single priestly family. Focusing on the description of the priestly garments in Exod 28 and related texts in Exod 29 and Lev 16, I explored how P positions the Israelite cult as monopolistically controlled by a centralized priesthood descended from Aaron that has the exclusive right to officiate within the central sanctuary. Furthermore, I demonstrated how P’s description of distinctive features of the garments assigned to Aaron positions this figure as the central mediator between Yhwh and the twelve tribes of Israel and thus establishes the need for a thoroughly centralized high priesthood in which this figure represents the united community before Yhwh in the central sanctuary. Beyond this, I examined (§4.3.2) attempts in certain late texts (esp. Exod 6:13–27) to assert a privileged connection between the high priest and the leaders of the tribe of Judah. I then turned to explore (§4.4) the question of how P’s discourse of centralization might have related to actual cultic practice in ancient Israel. However fraught may be the exercise of reading the priestly materials as a window onto the historical past, I argued (§4.4.1) that we can find within P evidence of the scribes’ attempts to promote a restriction in the number of sanctuaries that should command the attention of the Israelite community in the Persian period. While the P scribes are manifestly committed to the ideal of a cultic community united in its support for a central sanctuary, the specific detail about where this

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sanctuary might be established in ancient Israel is never spelled out in the text. This silence creates an ambiguity and leaves open the possibility that the scribes were aware that their ideal of a single shrine was potentially divisive in the cultic situation prevailing at the time of writing. The study explored the possibility that the priestly scribes were particularly concerned to negotiate the dual centrality of the sanctuaries at Jerusalem and Gerizim by promoting a centralized cult but without explaining where this should be located in the land. However, it was shown that this interpretation faces the challenges that the earliest Priestly narrative (Pg) was probably composed sometime in the midto late sixth century BCE, meaning it is unlikely that the priestly scribes were aware of the need to accommodate the perspective of cultic leaders at Gerizim, because there is no evidence of a Samarian temple operating at this site prior to the mid-Persian period (§4.4.1.1). It was concluded that we can perhaps surmise nothing more than that the scribes responsible for Pg sought to ensure that the imperative of cultic centralization would be accepted by diverse Yahwists, whether Samarian or otherwise, by leaving open the question of where the central shrine should be established in the land. This left enough room for interpretation, such that both Samarians and Judeans could – and later did – claim continuity with and legitimacy from its cultic prescriptions for their central sanctuaries at Jerusalem and Gerizim, once these had been constructed. However, the study also argued that we can detect in the subtle bias toward Judah present especially in later strata some suggestion that the priestly scribes sought to claim for Judeans a privileged status in the hierarchy of the centralized cult (§4.4.1.2). Although the priestly traditions do not explicitly align the wilderness sanctuary with the temple in Jerusalem, it subtly presents Judean leaders as the natural candidates to lead the centralized cult and share special proximity with the central shrine and its priestly officiants. Beyond this, the manner in which P reconfigures traditional royal roles in sustaining the central shrine suggests that this Judean bias can be read as a response to the historical situation confronting the cultic leaders of Jerusalem, in which they found themselves after the downfall of the monarchy with no choice but to mobilize the financial and ideological support of the Israelite community for rebuilding the shrine and deferring to it as a central site of attention and patronage if their temple cult was to survive (§4.4.1.3). We can, of course, only speculate whether this or the associated assertion of a hierarchy within the cult ultimately reinforced Jerusalem’s position vis-à-vis other cultic centers such as Gerizim, when that sanctuary was constructed. But the aims of the discourse might well have been to shore up Jerusalem’s cultic authority when faced with difficulties of reestablishing its claim to centrality after the downfall of the monarchy and destruction of the First Temple. I further argued that P’s discourse of ritual standardization (§4.4.2) and a centralized priesthood (§4.4.3) might also have helped funnel attention and resources toward the Jerusalem cult and its priestly officiants. This discourse

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effectively entrenches the expectation that the Israelites will not embrace a decentralized approach to their ritual practice, one in which the regulations and needs of the central shrine and its priesthood are disregarded, and in which the Israelites embrace myriad approaches to ritual practice according to local tradition. Rather, they should conceive their ritual obligations according to a shared set of cultic norms, which we can presume remained under the control of a limited group of priestly elites, perhaps first in Jerusalem and later both Jerusalem and Gerizim. I acknowledged that, on the basis of the limited historical evidence that survives, a disjuncture exists between the form of standardization and centralized priesthood prescribed by P and actual cultic realities in the early Persian period. However, this gap between textualized ideal and actual cultic practice should not surprise us, because it is often observed in ethnographic studies of other cults and societies. Hence, even if P did not mirror cultic practice precisely, it could still work to elevate a preferred set of mutually reinforcing prescribed norms and processes to a position of discursive superiority and thereby invest the spaces, practices, and personnel who best embodied these with a particular cultic authority. In other words, it was via an idealized discourse that P sought to normalize the idea that the Israelites must eschew variation in favor of centralized cultic practice and accept that the cult would be administered and led by a limited group of priests under the auspices of a single high priest. P’s three-fold logic of centralization – unifying sanctuary space, standardized ritual practice, and a monopolistic priesthood – was inherited by H and developed to form its own, more expansive logic of centralization. Chapter 5 focused on the first of a series of innovations in H’s centralizing discourse when compared to P; namely, the laws of Lev 17 pertaining to the slaughter and sacrifice of livestock and the consumption of blood. An analysis of the structure of Lev 17 (§5.1) revealed the chapter’s internal coherence, as well as its overarching theme of the proper handling of blood. This was followed by a detailed discussion (§5.2) of how H builds a case for the centralization of all forms of blood disposal involving sacrificial animals across its laws dealing with slaughter, sacrifice, and blood nonconsumption. I first offered a close reading (§5.2.1) of the prohibition of local butchery in Lev 17:3–7, paying close attention to the scope of the law (§5.2.1.1) and the key contrast it creates between centralized sacrifice under the auspices of the centralized priesthood and local butchery in the ‫‘ שׂדה‬field’ leading to the sacrificial worship of ‫‘ שׂעירם‬wild goats’ (§5.2.1.2). I argued that H builds a spatial argument for why local butchery must be permanently outlawed, which casts all forms of extrasanctuary slaughter as engaging with antisocial and noncultic forces, and centralized slaughter at the hands of a centralized priesthood as critical to protecting Yhwh’s sociocultic order. Second, I showed (§5.2.2) how H’s case for centralized slaughter is complemented by the short law of Lev 17:8–9 that centralizes blood sacrifice. I demonstrated that these verses have a

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restricted focus on animal sacrifices on account of the merism ‫ עלה או־זבח‬and thereby continue the focus of Lev 17:3–7 on the central sanctuary’s exclusive right to the ritual disposal of blood specifically. This was extended (§5.2.3) with an analysis of Lev 17:10–14, especially the critical rationale of v. 11. I argued that H’s sophisticated explanation of blood’s capacity to act as a ransom when it is applied to the central sanctuary offers a powerful explanation of why the shrine must have a monopoly on butchery and sacrifice. That monopoly ensures that every time the Israelites eat domestic animals and abstain from consuming blood, they are reminded of Yhwh’s intended purpose for the blood of sacrificial animals within his cult, as well as their duty to comply with the centralization of blood sacrifice. The chapter then turned to review the evidence that H builds on earlier pentateuchal traditions when calling for the centralization of blood disposal. Following a detailed discussion of the classical arguments in favor of reading Lev 17 in light of Deut 12, I concluded (§5.3.1) that the evidence of dependence on D, while minimally present in Lev 17, cannot justify reading this chapter as developing D’s mandate of centralization. I joined with scholars such as Alexander Rofé, Thomas Römer, and Udo Rüterswörden in arguing that the verses in Deut 12 that share the strongest verbal overlaps with Lev 17 (Deut 12:20– 28) postdate and respond to H’s criticisms of local butchery. In addition, I demonstrated that the emphasis on the centralization of blood disposal in Lev 17 points to a significant difference between this chapter and the centralization mandate in Deut 12: while the latter restricts all aspects of the cult to Yhwh’s chosen place, Lev 17 is narrower in its focus on the particular issues involved in blood sacrifice. I then went on to demonstrate (§5.3.2) the numerous linguistic and thematic links to the earlier P materials that can be found in the prescriptions of Lev 17. In particular, I analyzed the evidence that Lev 17 is intended to form a sophisticated complement to Lev 16 that develops P’s concept of the ritual potency of blood disposal and the spatial contrast between the central sanctuary, with its centralized priesthood, and the chaotic and antisocial forces associated with peripheral beings in deserted spaces, in order to provide a new justification for the centralization of slaughter and sacrifice. In so doing, H articulates more explicitly than P the critical link between restricting all matters related to the killing of domestic animals and the maintenance of Yhwh’s cultic order, as well as subtly critiques the ambiguity in the earlier P materials on the issue of whether the Israelites might be permitted to practice local butchery. Finally, the chapter considered (§5.4) the issue of how H’s centralizing discourse in Lev 17 might have been intended to shape actual practices of butchery and sacrifice in ancient Israel. It drew on ritual theory to argue (§5.4.1) that the impracticability of H’s ban on local butchery reflected H’s primary interest in entrenching the ritual hierarchies and oppositions that ensure that all interactions with blood are viewed through a ritualized lens. Even if its

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prescriptions could not always be implemented with realistic precision, the text would have remained a potent force for soliciting consent to the centralized sacrificial cult: it validates the hierarchies in which centralized spaces, personnel, and processes dominate their noncentralized counterparts in matters of blood disposal. It thereby entrenches the need, as much as feasible, to defer to the central sanctuary for the killing of livestock, and to eschew local options for slaughter and sacrifices, be these alternative shrines or local butchers. This would have strengthened the economic centrality of the sanctuary; it effectively seeks to create a temple monopoly on the handling of the commodity of animal meat in ancient Israel such that the priesthood is guaranteed a portion of all livestock slaughtered for consumption. The chapter concluded (§5.4.2) that H’s restricted focus on the primacy of blood sacrifice seems to be consistent with the outlook reflected in the Elephantine correspondence (TAD A4.8–10), where stringent restrictions appear to have been applied to the centralization of blood sacrifice, but the cereal offering and donations of frankincense were considered less controversial when practiced locally. That corpus therefore reveals how, by the end of the fifth century BCE, animal sacrifice was positioned at the heart of the centralized cult, and nonanimal sacrifices perhaps deemed permissible within local contexts. Chapter 6 considered the second dimension of H’s centralizing discourse: the festal calendar of Lev 23 and the laws for regular rituals at the sanctuary in Lev 24:1–9. I argued that H’s calendar and its appendix should be repositioned in a broader discussion among historians and social theorists who study the centralizing impulse of fixed temporal schemes. I showed (§6.1.1) that Lev 23 structures the Israelite festal year according to a standardized concept of fixed times, which requires the entire community to structure its year in the same way regardless of location. Following an analysis of the compositional history of the calendar (§6.1.2), the chapter explored (§6.1.3) how Lev 23 advances H’s discourse of standardized time by fusing two different types of calendars in the Hebrew Bible: one that structures the year according to three annual pilgrimages (Exod 23:14–17; 34:18–23; Deut 16:1–17) and one that divides it into two pilgrimages to be held in the first and seventh months, respectively (Ezek 45:18–25). In so doing, H elevates its calendar to a position of discursive superiority as the normative guide to how the Israelites must organize the timing of their annual celebrations, which replaces alternative concepts of the Israelite year. The list of festal sacrifices in Num 28–29 was shown to be unknown to H. While Lev 23 reveals the influence on H’s thinking of the earlier P Passover instructions in Exod 12:1–13, as well as the laws for the offering of firstfruits in Lev 2:14–16, the idea of structuring the entire year according to a fixed, standardized scheme with two annual ‫חגים‬, was shown (§6.1.4) to be a considerable innovation by H when compared to the earlier P materials, one

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that offered an innovative notion of centralized ritual authority and temporal conformity throughout the community of Israel. Chapter 6 then considered (§6.2) the role played in H’s centralizing discourse by the expression ‫‘ בכל מושׁבתיכם‬in all your settlements’. The argument was made that this expression, whether in Lev 23 (§6.2.1) or H-like texts outside Lev 17–26 (§6.2.2), does not permit the Israelites to hold local festivals at multiple shrines. Rather, it reflects a concern on H’s part to centralize cultic practice across geographical distance, first, by achieving temporal symmetry across the entire community of Israel in accordance with a centralized calendar, and second, by offering the possibility of new nonsacrificial rites for those Israelites who cannot be present at the central sanctuary during the festivals. It also reiterates the need for those who live at a distance from the shrine to uphold their obligations to send donations ‫‘ ממושׁבתיכם‬from your settlements’ (Lev 23:17) to the central sanctuary, thus ensuring a regular supply of offerings from the entire community in accordance with a predictable temporal rhythm. This discussion of Lev 23 was complemented by an analysis (§6.3) of the appendix to the festal calendar in Lev 24:1–9. These laws for regular rituals were read (§6.3.1) as serving as a powerful reminder to the Israelites of their need to be fully attuned to the rhythms of the central sanctuary. As H sees it, the Israelites cannot adhere to the fixed festal calendar and simultaneously neglect the central shrine’s need for regular donations. They must commit as a united community to ensuring that the sanctuary has the raw materials required for the regular rites that take place within the sanctuary interior; this enables the high priest to remind the god of the community of Israel, ideally represented as the twelve tribes. To further explore this nexus between centralized time and sanctuary cult, I considered (§6.3.2) the ritual addition at 4Q365 23. Here I argued that the two new festivals of wood and oil fuse the topic of fixed annual festivals with that of the shared maintenance of the sanctuary by the twelve tribes and, in so doing, form a sophisticated supplement to both Lev 23 and 24:1–9, which throws light on their complementarity within H’s discourse of centralization. In addition, I argued that the setting of the addition at ‫הבית‬ ‫‘ אשר תבנו לי בארץ‬the temple which you will build for me in the land’ provides valuable evidence that the ritual obligations established at the wilderness sanctuary were understood to set a precedent for centralized worship at a shared temple in all future scenarios. Chapter 6 further explored (§6.4) the possible role that Lev 23:1–24:9 might have played in consolidating central authority in the Persian period. While acknowledging the significant problems of conclusive historical evidence, I argued that these texts can be read as a discursive strategy aimed at achieving temporal symmetry across a geographically dispersed community of Israel and thereby ensuring that all the Israelites, regardless of location, recognize the need to synchronize their worship in accordance with a central temporal authority. In turn, they must recognize the ideal of traveling to a central temple

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for pilgrimages as often as was feasible, or to at least send their donations to the shrine on set occasions each year. The Passover Papyrus was also considered (§6.4) as possible evidence that H’s interest in standardized time might have formed part of a wider impulse on the part of sociocultic authorities in the Persian period to assert control over the timing of Israelite festivals in the diaspora and direct these communities back to central authority. The chapter took a cautious approach, however, to asserting any direct link between the papyrus and Lev 23. Rather, it highlighted the distinctive interest in H’s discourse on using the standardization of time to direct the attention of diasporic communities back to the central sanctuary and its monopolistic priesthood. Finally, chapter 7 examined H’s distinctive concept of communal holiness, a major innovation when compared to the earlier P materials (§7.1.1). I argued (§7.1.2) that the call to sanctification via law observance is concerned less with motivating the Israelites to imitate the god or behave in a moral way; rather, it aims to ensure that the Israelites as a community embrace a form of conventionalism that promotes obedience to a central legal standard, separation from Others, collective loyalty, and a shared purpose in maintaining and protecting a central sanctuary cult. By analyzing the two carrion laws of Lev 17:15–16 and Lev 22:8–9 (§7.2.1) and the parenetic framework of Lev 18–22 (§7.2.2), I then explored how the concept of everyday holiness creates the discursive context within which H can claim that the Israelites must be willing to defer to central authorities in all aspects of their everyday lives, diligently avoiding divisions or local factions, consenting to centralized sociocultic hierarchies, and remaining constantly devoted to the cause of protecting the central shrine. This was followed by a discussion (§7.2.3) of the prominence of the sabbath in H’s concept of collective sanctification and its role in soliciting communal consent to a centralized sociocultic system. Here I explored how the importance attached to the sabbath in Israel’s experience of holiness illuminates the link H creates between standardization and sanctification; as a holy community, the Israelites must display their loyalty to their shared patron god, as well as toward other community members, by standardizing the timing of their work and socioagricultural practices according to a weekly (and seven-yearly) rhythm. However, H uses the sabbath not only to promote a standardizing rhythm of a weekly rest day but specifically to remind the Israelites of their responsibility to make regular donations to the sanctuary and recognize the ritual agency of the high priest, who displays the community’s offerings before the deity each sabbath. The priority given to sabbath in Lev 17–26 therefore speaks to the ingenuity of H’s concept of communal sanctification, in that it uses categories that maintain a fundamental link to the sanctuary cult to describe the Israelites’ everyday lives in order to normalize the reach of sanctuary authorities in extrasanctuary domains. Finally, chapter 7 examined (§7.3) how the laws of land tenure and indenture in Lev 25:8–55 extend and enhance H’s use of communal holiness as a

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strategy of centralization. While Lev 25 does not explicitly mention holiness, it does expand on the notion that the Israelites are the god’s possessions by explaining that they are Yhwh’s ‫‘ עבדים‬slaves’ who are to live on his land and tend it for him (§7.3.1). A comparison with Mesopotamian sources revealed the economic power of such an argument, because it construes all of the Israelites’ activities on their land, and also in their treatment of indentured servants, as coming under the authority of the central shrine that is situated at the center of the god’s estate. I therefore suggested (§7.3.2) that the laws of Lev 25 would have added considerable weight to H’s claim that the Israelites should willingly defer to a central shrine in economic and agricultural matters, and voluntarily donate a portion of their earnings to the sanctuary. They therefore illustrate the fundamental link between cultic and economic centralization in H’s discourse.

8.2 Key Findings and Implications Turning now to summarize the key findings of this book and their implications for the study of centralization, it is worth returning to the three areas that were highlighted in chapter 1 as having contributed to the neglect of H in the study of centralization and evaluating how this study has shifted the discussion on all three scores. 8.2.1 Centralization and the Pentateuchal Traditions The first area concerns the role of H and the earlier P materials in the development of centralizing discourses in the Pentateuch. This study has demonstrated that H and P show much greater ingenuity in conceptualizing centralization than has been acknowledged in past scholarship. This can only be appreciated if we break out of the traditional confines of scholarly research; that is, if we jettison the dominant assumption that centralization in P and H is measured solely by the degree to which these materials presume D’s earlier mandate of limiting worship to a chosen place. In its detailed analysis of Lev 17–26, this study has found that there is very little evidence in H’s discourse of centralization for direct dependence on corresponding passages in D. This is not because H is unaware of D or disinterested in its legislation. To the contrary, this study has affirmed, with Alfred Cholewiński, Eckart Otto, Christophe Nihan, Jeffrey Stackert, and many others that H frequently draws on D and coordinates its language and concepts with other scriptural traditions when it considers this necessary for articulating new legal rulings. However, when it comes to conceptualizing centralization, H shows little interest in teasing out the implications of D. H never engages with the dominant mandate of centralization in D; namely, that there is to be a

8.2 Key Findings and Implications

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chosen ‫ מקום‬in the land, to which the Israelites must direct their collective deference and attention. This is especially striking given that texts such as Lev 23 and 25 explicitly address the Israelites’ life in the land, including the celebration of annual rituals and sacrificial rites, which could have easily been framed in light of D’s call for a central ‫מקום‬. This study has instead shown that H develops a centralizing logic that looks primarily to the earlier P materials for inspiration. The scribes responsible for Lev 17–26 seem to have considered their primary literary context – the foundational P narrative of Israel’s imagined past at Sinai – as providing a suitable platform for developing a centralizing discourse such that they show little interest in deferring to the arguments for centralization articulated by D. It is this anchoring in the P materials, although not to the exclusion of other traditions, that makes H such a rewarding, if previously neglected, case study of the processes whereby the concept of centralization was developed in the literary traditions of the Pentateuch. It shows that postexilic scribes considered P to present an equally compelling case for a centralized cult and community to that found in D and thus did not consider the latter tradition determinative in shaping how centralization was conceived. At the same time, H also shows that late priestly scribes felt free to articulate new adaptations in conceptualizing centralization when compared to earlier P materials. This conclusion strikes at the heart of classical arguments as to how we should map centralization across the pentateuchal traditions. Any idea of a linear development that can be traced across the traditions, with D as the watershed, should be abandoned. Similarly, we need to discard alternative explanations such as those proposed by Yehezkel Kaufmann and Jacob Milgrom, which argue that the priestly traditions show limited engagement with D’s mandate of centralization because they predate this legislation and hence remain ignorant of its centralizing commandments. Instead, we should embrace a more complex and multifaceted understanding of centralization in the Pentateuch that might take the place of a linear model; we should recognize that there are multiple traditions within the Pentateuch which develop their own distinctive discourses of centralization. We do not need to look for one point of origin, such as D, in the expectation that we might trace all other understandings of centralization as if they were branches of this single river. Instead, we need to be consciously attuned to the diversity in the pentateuchal materials, a diversity that does not preclude points of similarity, overlap, and correspondence but produces important variances in how they conceive centralization. Even across H and P, I have identified differences in emphasis and scope in their respective approaches to centralization. Further studies of centralization in the priestly traditions would almost certainly find additional points of difference in the priestly materials that postdate H, such as those in the book of Numbers.

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Another key finding of this study is that it is unduly limiting to confine the study of centralization to what the pentateuchal traditions say about where the Israelites should worship. Perhaps the linear model has had such a profound effect on pentateuchal scholarship because D’s concept of the chosen place has a beguiling clarity about the need to have a central site of cultic practice (albeit without stating precisely where this site is to be located), which coheres with what scholars assume should constitute a centralizing discourse. This clarity is not matched in the priestly traditions, which say nothing about the god’s choice of a central place in the land and focus instead on the itinerant worship of the wilderness period. But if we delve more deeply and critically into the texts of P and H, we find that this lack of concern with place is not determinative in how we conceive their respective approaches to centralization. This does not mean that they support a decentralized cult and local sanctuaries in the land, as Kaufmann, Milgrom, Mary Douglas, and others suggest. Rather, it reveals that defining the place of worship is not the only mode of centralization in the literary traditions of the Pentateuch. The close reading of H offered in this study has revealed a raft of legislative themes that have a centralizing effect; these range from ritual practices such as sacrifice, to the normativity of the law for the minutiae of everyday life, to standardizing the Israelites’ experience of festal time and calling for the punishment of those who deviate from the sacred standard, to conceptualizing the Israelites’ economic obligations in the shadow of the shrine, to affirming the monopolistic authority of one priestly family. These diverse aspects of H direct attention to a network of interlocking practices, personnel, and spaces which together constitute the centralized cult. Inherent to this discourse is the expectation that the Israelites will maintain a central sanctuary, but H goes far beyond this issue to articulate a broader logic for how the Israelites must maintain the unity, conformity, and sociocultic hierarchies of the centralized system mandated by Yhwh in the foundational past. This suggests that future studies of centralization and the Pentateuch should incorporate a wider and more eclectic range of texts and traditions than has commonly been considered relevant in classical research. These sources should be analyzed not simply from the perspective of how many cultic sites they consider permissible in ancient Israel, or whether they pre- or postdate the composition of D. Instead, scholars should be open to exploring the manifold strategies employed in pentateuchal texts for directing the Israelites’ attention, deference, and material resources toward central authorities, and for normalizing the unequal power relations that social theorists agree are characteristic of centralized social systems. Moreover, these strategies should be understood not as evolving in a linear fashion, but as reflecting an ongoing negotiation in the processes of defining the common core of the Israelite cult and community. Far from being settled once and for all with the composition of a single

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401

tradition, centralization was a dynamic and ongoing process that produced diverse responses by the scribes responsible for different pentateuchal materials. 8.2.2 Strategies of Centralization in the Persian Period Although this study has focused largely on the texts of H and P and the discursive logic of centralization contained within them – that is, it is essentially a study of discourse – it has also considered how this discourse offers a powerful lens through which to view some of the historical processes of centralization in ancient Israel. For all their complexity, and the need for multiple caveats, the priestly materials of the Pentateuch, including H, illuminate the strategies employed by their scribal authors in an attempt to consolidate power, concentrate resources, and mediate competing interests within the Yahwistic cult of the Persian period. In arguing thus, I differ from traditional approaches, which have long viewed the centralizing bent of the priestly materials as evidence that they stemmed from a time when centralization was more or less guaranteed. Instead, I view these texts as being part of an ongoing process of cultic centralization; they enshrine the scribal techniques used by priestly elites for promoting collective deference to central cultic authorities in a period when these were in need of affirmation or support. Scholars have long approached the writing of D from this perspective; that is, they have viewed the composition of the Deuteronomic legislation as a process whereby major changes in the organization of the cult that accompanied cultic centralization were enabled and legitimized. However, this study has revealed that a much greater range of texts and traditions warrant integration into the study of the history of centralization in ancient Israel. Centralization was a process that evolved across centuries. It is therefore insufficient – indeed unjustified – to assume that there was only one textual tradition that shaped the emergence of centralized sociocultic structures in ancient Israel. The social memory that the scribes responsible for the priestly traditions created should be recognized as a discourse equal in significance to D, whereby those in positions of cultic authority promoted their preferred form of centralization and mobilized the support of the Israelite community for its realization. When we acknowledge the importance of the discourse contained within H, and the priestly traditions more generally, for framing the study of centralization, new dimensions of the historical development of the centralized cult come into focus, and further avenues for fruitful research into the dynamics of centralization during the Persian period begin to open. Notably, I have argued that H, like P before it, reflects the attempts by priestly scribes, probably situated in Jerusalem, to promote a discourse of centralization as a strategy of survival. In particular, these traditions show the critical importance of centralization in the process of reconfiguring the authority of the temple institution following the downfall of the Judean monarchy. The priestly scribes constructed a

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complex social memory and developed new legislative themes, the effect of which was to affirm that, in the absence of a monarch, the sanctuary was still invested with central authority by virtue of its being the object of the deference and attention of the united Israelite community. This discourse was an ideological framing; it showed the creativity of priestly scribes in forging a new paradigm to ensure that the loss of a monarchic leader – the traditional source of centrality for the national shrine – did not constitute the death knell for the central sanctuary in Jerusalem. This liability could be overcome, but only if the traditional roles fulfilled by the king were reallocated within the community, if the authority of the high priest to represent the community before the god was affirmed, and if the Israelites’ patronage of a shared sanctuary was secured. However, H’s centralizing discourse was more than a strategy of legitimation. This study has shown that greater weight needs to be given to the evidence that centralization was also, in large part, an economic process. Priestly elites sought, through a sophisticated discourse that legitimized central authority, to guarantee that the temple under their control had the material resources not just to survive but to thrive. The scribes responsible for H aspired to convince the Israelite community that it must unite in service of a shared sanctuary, eschew local sites of sacrifice, and commit to providing donations to the center that were predictable and regular. Whether the ban on local butchery in Lev 17:3– 7, which encouraged the Israelites to share a portion of their livestock with the temple every time they slaughtered their animals, the festal calendar of Lev 23, which promoted set dates on which the Israelites had to send donations to the central shrine or undertake a pilgrimage to it, or the requirements of Lev 24:1– 9, which construed the maintenance of the regular rites at the central sanctuary as a communal duty – in these and other ways, the priestly scribes responsible for H sought to impose on the Israelite community the obligation to regularly defer to the central temple with material donations and thus to ensure its ongoing viability. Once centralization is understood as having this concern with concentrating material resources in a central temple institution, it follows that the study of this historical process needs to be positioned within the broader context of the economic status of Yahwistic temples during the Persian period. This study joins those scholars who have argued that the temple in Jerusalem, with only limited power to control the resources of the population of Yehud, relied on discursive strategies to convince the population to afford the temple greater economic centrality.1 H’s laws concerning the sacrificial cult and its demand 1 See esp. 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 Language, ed. Mosheh Bar-Anbar et al. (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007), 3*– 20*; Bedford, “Temple Funding and Priestly Authority in Achaemenid Judah,” in Exile and

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for communal holiness reveal how centralization was framed in a way that normalized the idea that the Israelites must defer to the central sanctuary as a sign of their loyalty and unity, while conceptualizing their life on the land in the shadow of the temple. The role that such discourse actually played in generating communal consent to Jerusalem’s aspirations to socioeconomic dominance in the region remains difficult to demonstrate empirically. However, the analysis of H’s discourse of centralization has shown that issues of socioeconomic power and centrality cannot be divorced from the scholarly discussion of the historical processes of cultic centralization. Similarly, there needs to be greater recognition of the manner in which discourses of centralization served to elevate the central priesthood, and especially the high priest, to positions of undisputed cultic authority. This issue has rarely been given the attention it deserves, as traditional scholarship on centralization tends to minimize the question of personnel in its consideration.2 Yet, it is axiomatic that the priestly traditions have a strong emphasis on priestly power; once they are integrated fully into the study of centralization, it becomes clear that a centralized priesthood and its claim to have a monopoly on cultic authority over ritual practice were integral elements of cultic centralization. As this study has shown, H and P insist that the survival of the sanctuary is contingent on the Israelites conceding power to a central priestly family that alone can represent the community before Yhwh. Only these members of the community are permitted to officiate within the cult and preside at the central sanctuary to which the community must defer. There are, as this study has described, significant challenges in using literary traditions such as H and P to identify the actual historical figures in ancient Israel who might have been the beneficiaries of this centralizing discourse. However, the impulse in these textual traditions is unmistakable: the Israelites must defer to a centralized authority presiding at the central shrine – an authority that, in certain key passages (notably Exod 6:13–27; Num 1–10), is associated with the tribe of Judah. In this, again, the priestly traditions set a hegemonic norm, one that merits further attention in future studies of the development of the centralized cult in ancient Israel.

Return: The Babylonian Context, ed. Jonathan Stökl and Caroline Waerzeggers, BZAW 478 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 336–51; and Peter Altmann, Economics in Persian-Period Biblical Texts: Their Interactions with Economic Developments in the Persian Period and Earlier Biblical Traditions, FAT 1/109 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 192–200. 2 See, however, James W. Watts, Ritual and Rhetoric in Leviticus: From Sacrifice to Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 323; Watts, “The Torah as the Rhetoric of Priesthood,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 319–31; and Watts, Leviticus 1–10, HCOT (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 104–6.

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This study has further shown that the hegemonic power of the priests was inextricably connected in the priestly discourses of centralization with the standardization of ritual practice. Although ritual standardization has again been a relatively neglected topic, this study has shown the potential for incorporating this issue fully into the analysis of historical processes of centralization. I established at length that ritual standardization is core to the centralizing discourse of H, and that H develops a trend toward centralization that is already present in the earlier P materials. These traditions enshrine as mandatory the ritual practices and associated sociocultic hierarchies that were established by Yhwh during the formative period at Sinai; H extends this by demanding that the Israelites conform to authoritative legislative norms in all aspects of their lives. This discourse made the cultic practices associated with a particular central sanctuary in ancient Israel definitive and entrenched the authority of its priests to act as the rightful regulators, indeed the custodians, of the god’s ritual standard. Furthermore, this study argued that ritual standardization is key to understanding how cultic centralization might have been negotiated in the face of the geographical dispersion that characterized the community of Israel in the Persian period. It provided the central cultic authorities with a means of projecting their authority and centralized norms throughout both local communities and the diaspora, thus enabling and obliging those geographically at a distance to defer to the cultic center. Hence, the question of the promulgation of idealized ritual processes, standardized in accordance with the central authority of the law, needs to be positioned at the heart of our understanding of cultic centralization. Future scholarship on this subject should therefore be sensitive to the importance of texts that are oriented toward ritual standardization and acknowledge that these offer a sophisticated understanding of the diverse elements of scriptural discourses of centralization. One of the most intriguing issues this study has encountered when exploring the links between discourses and historical processes of centralization is how we reconcile the promotion of an ideal narrative scenario in the priestly traditions – describing a single shrine to which all Israel deferred – with the demonstrable evidence of historic processes of negotiation between multiple claimants to centrality. This study has wrestled with the issue of whether and to what extent the dual claims of the temples in Jerusalem and at Gerizim might have shaped the formation of H and P’s discourses of centralization. It has acknowledged that the ambiguity in the priestly traditions about where the central sanctuary should be established in the land eventually facilitated a compromise of sorts between Jerusalem and Gerizim in the Persian period, in which the priestly families associated with both temples were able to imagine their respective shrines as the legitimate heir of the centralized cult of the tent of meeting. Furthermore, this study has shown that the promotion of an Aaronide priesthood may have been crucial to ensuring a strong relationship between these two temple institutions in the Persian period; while they might not have

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been able to agree on the question of the location of the central sanctuary, they could nevertheless accept a common and authoritative priestly dynasty as standing at the core of the Yahwistic cult. This might have helped define a form of centralization that could accommodate two central nodes by positioning the priestly families associated with Jerusalem and Gerizim as dual authorities on core matters of ritual practice and the only legitimate officiants in Yhwh’s cult. However, we must also take seriously the evidence uncovered in this study of a subtle Judean bias in the priestly account of the foundation of the centralized cult at Sinai, as well as in late texts including Exod 6:13–27 and Num 1– 10, texts that we can assume stem from stages in the formation of the Pentateuch that postdated the construction of the temple at Gerizim. This emphasis on Judah may be restrained, but it is sufficiently marked for us to infer that the centralizing discourse of these texts was a device whereby the scribal authorities in Jerusalem sought to subtly consolidate their claim to power relative to other cultic nodes. To be sure, we should not conclude from this that the priestly description of the centralized cult of the wilderness period sought to exclude Gerizim or a northern perspective. The inclusion of the Danite artisan Oholiab in the sanctuary account suggests that the priestly scribes were actively concerned to incorporate northern cultic leaders in the account of the construction of the foundational shrine. Nevertheless, the Judean bias evident in certain texts suggests that the scribes responsible for the priestly traditions wished to subtly assert Judah’s superiority within an idealized, pan-Israelite cult. While these scribes were unwilling or perhaps unable to oppose the building of the sanctuary at Gerizim or avoid working constructively with their counterparts in Samaria, they arguably aimed to ensure that the priestly account of Israel’s cultic origins subtly supported the idea that the sanctuary and priesthood in Jerusalem should be given preference in the centralized cult, and that the north should be willing to support Judean interests. 8.2.3 Conceptualizing Centralization Finally, this study has confirmed that centralization remains a profoundly important concept in biblical scholarship and the study of the history of ancient Israel. But it calls for new pathways in our efforts to understand centralization if it is to retain its utility and relevance. If biblical scholars were to remain confined within traditional models, centralization might be considered a redundant theme. Given that more and more scholars acknowledge that there was probably never a single shrine in ancient Israel with the monopoly that the centralized ideal implies, and that it is no longer tenable to propose a linear model for the development of the pentateuchal sources using the theme of centralization as a guide, it might be ventured that centralization has a diminished value in the study of ancient Israel and its literary traditions.

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This study has defended the importance of centralization as a key concept in biblical studies, but only if we conceptualize this term, as well as the related concept “center,” in a more expansive way. As I have done at critical points in this study, we need to employ the insights provided by social theories that understand centralization as a broad network of practices that cumulatively justify the concentration of power and resources in a centralized system. The application to ancient Israel of social theories developed millennia later may seem at first glance to be anachronistic or to lean too heavily on findings anchored in other academic disciplines. But this study has shown that such theories can offer new insights into both the character and purpose of biblical texts. Recognizing the risks inherent in too mechanistic an application of them, I have employed the conceptual lens of social theory only when it illuminates the issues that arise from a detailed reading of the pentateuchal texts, or when theory could be fruitfully combined with the careful analysis of historical evidence and relevant comparative materials. The viewing of H through this theoretical lens clearly opens new interpretive possibilities in the study of the centralizing import of Lev 17–26. It enables us to move beyond a narrow definition of centralization and the focus on place that this encourages, in order to explore a broader range of legislative issues that are infused with a centralizing logic. A more nuanced understanding of centralization allows us to see the centralizing potential of H’s standardization of norms, calendars, and scripts, which aims to ensure conformity in both ritual and mundane contexts. It reveals how H’s ritualized ideals, even if difficult to implement in reality, worked to entrench sociocultic hierarchies and normalize the concentration of economic resources and the restriction of cultic authority to priestly elites. It enables us to view cultic personnel and ritual processes as equally important in the centralized cult as the space of the sanctuary itself. Moreover, it underscores the power of a collective social memory of an imagined past, such as the priestly narrative, to construct centralized institutions, spaces, and practices as essential to the survival of the Israelite community and thus worthy of the attention and deference of all its members. Beyond this, social theories sensitize us to the sociopolitical purpose that texts such as H might have served in the history of ancient Israel. They oblige us to recognize that the H materials should be understood as discourses, which, like all such forms of authoritative communication, reflect the historical context of their progenitors and serve a sociopolitical, even ideological, purpose; namely, the affirmation of the interests and power of those institutions that stand behind them. Moving far beyond merely describing social realities or recounting historical events, such textual media construct and define the world and thereby produce and sustain the power relationships that enable centralized sociocultic systems to emerge. The cultic authorities that stand behind the text of H, like those elites more commonly studied in the social sciences, can thus be understood as using texts as “forces in the practice of power”; in particular,

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they promote the practice of concentrating authority and resources in centralized cultic authorities.3 This study has therefore shown how a more expansive concept of centralization that draws on social theory can reinvigorate the study of this important issue in pentateuchal research and transform our understanding of the way in which H can be read as centralizing discourse. But if biblical studies can benefit from looking to social theory, so too, it might be argued, can the analysis of biblical traditions contribute to discussions about centralization in the broader fields of the humanities and the social sciences. The discursive strategies employed by the H scribes in order to solicit communal consent to a system in which power and resources were distributed unequally are not only notable for their complexity and their intertwining of multiple strands of centralized cultic and mundane practice, but they also illuminate how a hegemonic discourse of centralization could be made to appear justifiable to those who arguably would not benefit from it. In particular, this case study of the writings of priests in the Persian period has the potential to contribute to the wider field of the study of centralization by illuminating the particular dynamics of centralizing processes when the object of deference and attention is the cult. As this study of H has demonstrated, Lev 17–26, like P, construct the Israelites’ communal unity as being dependent on their unqualified and exclusive commitment to the centralized cult – its shrine, personnel, ritual standards, and legislative traditions are the only centers that H and P conceive as necessary for ensuring the survival of the Israelites and regulating their behavior in extrasanctuary domains. This centralized cult is positioned as maintaining collective cohesion when former authorities such as the Judean monarchy have given way, and a new collective identity must be constructed around another core. H therefore has an enduring relevance in the scholarly quest to understand how centralized systems are created and especially how discourse is employed to ensure that authorities in cultic domains are seen to be worthy of respect, legitimate, and even natural by those whose allegiance they demand.

Philippe Buc, The Dangers of Ritual: Between Early Medieval Texts and Social Scientific Theory (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press 2001), 259. Cf. Watts, Ritual, 1. 3

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Index of Ancient Sources Hebrew Bible Genesis 1 1:1–2:4

1:1–2:1 1:14 1:22 1:28 1:31 1:31–2:4 1:39–2:4 2:1–3 2:2–3 2:3 4:3–4 5:1–29 5:30–32 6:9–22 6:14 7:6–7 7:11 7:13–16 7:18–21 7:24 8:1–2 8:3b–5 8:13 8:14–19 8:17 9 9:1–7 9:1 9:3–7 9:3–6

9:4 269 6 n. 7, 20, 32 n. 33, 245–46 n. 142, 337 n. 17 336 269 246 n. 142 246 n. 142 20 n. 52 20 n. 52 20 n. 52 6 n. 7 336, 339 20 n. 52 216 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 219 n. 85 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 246 n. 142 248 6 n. 7, 245–46 n. 142 246 n. 142 29, 191 244–46, 248, 249 n. 146

9:5–6 9:6 9:7 9:15–16 9:16 9:28–29 10 10:1–7 10:20 10:22–23 10:31–32 11:10–27 11:31–32 12:4–5 13:6 13:11–12 16:1 16:3 16:15–16 17:1–27 17:3–8 17:6 17:7–8 17:7 17:8 17:21 18:14 19:29 23:1–20 21:1–5 21:1 23:11 23:17 23:19

198 n. 23, 227–28, 231–32, 248 220, 248 246 n. 142 246 n. 142 160, 310 311 n. 120 6 n. 7 61–62 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 374 374 374 117, 118 table 4.1, 311 n. 120 374 269 n. 20 268 n. 14 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 269 n. 20 207 207 207

452 25:7–11 25:12–17 25:19–20 25:26 26:34–35 27:46 28:1–9 31:18 31:54 32:21 33:18 35:6 35:9–13 35:15 35:22–29 35:22–26 36:1–14 37:1–2 37:31 41:46 46:1 46:6–7 46:8–27 47:27–28 48:3–6 49:1 49:28–33 49:29–30 50:12–13 50:13 Exodus 1:1–6 1:1–5 1:2–5 1:4 1:7 1:13–14 2:23–25 2:24 6:2–15 6:2–12 6:2–8 6:5 6:6–8 6:7 6:13–27 6:14

Index of Ancient Sources 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 225 n. 102 195 n. 11 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 126, 128 n. 35 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 204 6 n. 7 225 n. 102 6 n. 7 163–64 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 207 6 n. 7 207

120 6 n. 7, 126 120 125 n. 27 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 160, 310 6 n. 7 163 32 160, 310 117 118 table 4.1 7, 49 n. 80, 163–66, 174, 391, 403, 405 166

6:15–25 6:16–27 6:23 6:25 6:29–30 7:1–13 7:19–20 7:22 8:1–3 8:5 8:11–15 9:8–12 11:9–10 12 12:1–23 12:1–20 12:1–13 12:1–11 12:1–6 12:2–6 12:3 12:6 12:7–20 12:8–9 12:12–13 12:12 12:13 12:14–20

12:14–17 12:14 12:16 12:18–20 12:20 12:21–27 12:24–27 12:27 12:28 12:37 12:40–51 12:43–49 13:1–2 13:2 13:10 13:20

164 6 n. 7 164, 166 164 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 68 n. 268 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 248 6 n. 7 107, 300 n. 89, 326 246–48, 279, 287, 289, 300, 395 247 n. 144 300 n. 89 300 n. 89 247, 336 247, 286 300 n. 89 247 247 n. 144 247 n. 144 300 30 n. 26, 55, 56 n. 96, 247 n. 144, 300, 301, 302, 325 300 n. 89 302 273 n. 30, 301 table 6.5, 302 300 n. 89 107–8, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303 247 n. 144 6 n. 7, 247 n. 144 247 n. 144 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 30 n. 26 6 n. 7 334 n. 10 68 n. 268 6 n. 7

Index of Ancient Sources 14:1–4 14:8–9 14:10 14:15–18 14:21 14:22–23 14:26 14:27 14:28–29 15:27 16 16:7 16:10 16:16–25 16:16–21 16:22–25 16:23 17:1 19:2 19:13 20–23 20 20:1–17 20:3–12 20:8–11 20:8 20:12 20:13–17 20:15 20:22–26 20:24–26 20:24–25 21–23 21:2–11 21:2 21:6 22:30 23:3 23:10–11 23:12 23:14–17 23:15 23:16

23:17 24:4

6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7, 339 157 157 337, 339 337 337 337 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 40 n. 62 26 359 358, 359, 365 358 338 n. 22, 368 359 359, 364 n. 69 358 359 37 112 86 3 366 n. 75, 367, 373 n. 83 373 n. 83 373 n. 83 230, 236, 348 337 n. 20 366 n. 75, 367 338 n. 22, 370 104, 268, 277, 279, 280, 328, 395 277, 268 n. 17, 280 275 n. 38, 277, 279 n. 54, 281, 284 fig. 6.2, 297 n. 85 280, 303 310 n. 118

24:15–18 24:16–18 24:16 25–31

25–29 25–27 25:1 25:2–8 25:2–7 25:2 25:7 25:8 MT = 25:7 LXX 25:8 25:9 25:17–22 25:17 25:18–20 25:22 25:23–30 25:30 25:31–40 25:37 25:40 26:1 26:7–14 26:31–35 26:31 26:33 26:34 26:35 27 27:1–8 27:9–19 27:9–18 27:19 27:20–21 27:20

453 6 n. 7, 156 20, 20 n. 52 157 6 n. 7, 22, 46, 48 n. 77, 49, 50, 51–55, 64, 114, 115 n. 7, 116, 119, 125 n. 29, 130, 132–35, 163, 177, 304, 334, 338, 369, 389 47, 52, 171 n. 144, 307 48 n. 77, 173–74 171 n. 144 120 131 120 160 120 n. 18, 116–17 120, 131, 171 n. 144, 361 20 n. 52, 114, 171 n. 144 118 n. 14 118 118, 133 118, 335 133 155 n. 117, 309, 310 133, 308 n. 109 308 20 n. 52, 114 133 115, 173 115 133 335 118 n. 14, 335 48 n. 77 51, 307 n. 109 133 115 307 n. 109 307 n. 109 155, 304 n. 96, 307, 308, 335 n. 14 308

454 27:21 28–29 28 28:1 28:2 28:3–39 28:3–4 28:6–14 28:9–12 28:12 28:15–30 28:17–21 28:22–28 28:29 28:30 28:31–35 28:35 28:40 28:41 28:43 29 29:4 29:5–6 29:7 29:8 29:9 29:10–11 29:22–28 29:29–30 29:31–34 29:30 29:32 29:33 29:37 29:42–46 29:42–43 29:42 29:43–46 29:43–44 29:43 29:44–46

Index of Ancient Sources 119, 155, 195 n. 9, 307, 308 22 99, 153, 160–61, 162, 310, 311, 391 153 153, 157 153 126, 334 n. 10 155 n. 116 159, 310 n. 118 159 table 4.2, 160, 311 158 159 155 n. 116 159 table 4.2, 160, 311, 335 158, 159 155 n. 116 335 153, 154 161 119, 154 119, 137, 142, 154, 161, 391 119, 161 161 161 161 161 119 162 162, 312 162 119 119 195 n. 11 155 45–46 n. 73 118 119 32, 48 n. 77, 116– 17 171 n. 144 117 n. 12, 118, 122, 157 361

29:45–46 30–35 30–31 30 30:1–37 30:1–11 30:1–10 30:6 30:7–8 30:7 30:8 30:9 30:11–16 30:12 30:16 30:35 31:1–11 31:2 31:2–6 31:2–5 31:3 31:4 31:6 31:7 31:12–17 31:12–13 31:13 31:14 31:15–17 31:15 31:16–17 31:16 31:17 32 32:4 33:7–11 33:7 33:9 33:11 34:15–16 34:18–23

34:18

117, 118 table 4.1, 171 n. 144 131 48 n. 77, 124 n. 25, 308 n. 110 52, 64, 308 308 48 n. 77, 125 n. 28 47–49, 52, 308 n. 111, 335 n. 14 47, 118 n. 14 155, 308 47 155 143 219 219 160 n. 130, 219 125 n. 28 124, 131, 174 124–25 124–25 125 125 124 n. 26 124 118 n. 14 30 n. 26, 55, 56 n. 96, 338–39, 369–70 338 370 370 338 337 n. 20, 338 338 n. 23 370 370 183 n. 165 183 n. 165 119 n. 15 119 n. 15 119 n. 15 119 n. 15 209, 230 n. 115 104, 105 n. 143, 268, 277, 279, 280, 328, 395 277, 280

455

Index of Ancient Sources 34:22

34:23 35–40

35:4–40:38 35:1–3 35:1–2 35:2 35:3 35:4–9 MT/SP = 35:4–8 LXX 35:4 35:9 35:10–19 MT = 35:9–19 LXX 35:10 MT = 35:9 LXX 35:12 35:15 35:19 35:21 35:22 35:23–26 35:27 35:29 35:30–35 35:30–33 35:30 35:35 36:2–7 36:2 36:5 36:8–38 MT/SP 36:8–37:17 LXX 36:8 36:9–38 36:13 LXX– 40:32[38] LXX 37:1 37:6–9 37:25

275 n. 38, 277, 279 n. 54, 284 fig. 6.2, 297 n. 85 280, 303 6 n. 7, 22, 46, 49– 55, 64, 114, 115 n. 7, 120–21, 124 n. 25, 125, 130, 132– 34, 163, 174, 177, 304, 334, 338 n. 21, 369, 389 49–50 n. 81 30 n. 26, 56 n. 96, 338, 369–70 338 337 n. 20, 370 299, 370 131 120 160 131 124 118 n. 14 50 335 121 121 122 160 122 125 n. 28 125 125 126 121 125 n. 28 121 126 n. 30 126 126 n. 30 126 n. 30 50 126 n. 30 118 n. 14 50

38:1–20 MT/SP = 37:1–38:8 LXX 38:22–23 MT/SP = 37:20–21 LXX 38:23 MT/SP = 37:21 LXX 38:24–29 MT = 39:1–7 LXX 39–40 39:1–43 39:14–23 LXX 39:32 39:33 39:34 39:35 39:36 39:37 39:38 39:40 39:41 39:42–43 39:43 40 40:1–33 MT/SP = 40:1–27 LXX 40:5 40:9–11 40:12–17 40:16–17 40:16 40:17 40:20 40:24 LXX 40:26 40:33 40:34–35 40:34 40:35 Leviticus 1–16

125 125 n. 28 125 121 20 126 122 n. 23 20 n. 52 122 n. 23 122 n. 23 118 n. 14, 122 n. 23 122 n. 23 122 n. 23 50, 122 n. 23 122 n. 23 122 n. 23 122 n. 23 20 n. 52 120 n. 18 128, 131 50 99 128 45 n. 73 171 n. 144 171 n. 144 118 n. 14 50 50 20 n. 52, 45 n. 73, 171 n. 144 156 45 n. 73, 157 157

22, 23, 34, 36, 38– 39, 42, 43, 44, 46, 48–49, 52–56, 59, 64, 109, 136–42, 147, 148, 152, 181, 220, 221–22, 223, 229, 268, 291, 389, 391

456 1–10 1–7 1–5 1–3 1 1:1–2 1:1 1:2 1:4 1:5–13 1:5–6 1:6 1:9 1:13 1:15 1:17 2 2:1–3 2:1 2:2 2:3 2:9 2:10 2:11 2:14–16 2:14–15 2:16 3 3:1–16 3:1 3:3 3:5 3:6 3:9 3:16 3:17 4–5 4:1–5:13 4 4:1–2 4:3–12 4:6–7

Index of Ancient Sources 145 137, 141, 143 139 47, 137, 142 43, 137 n. 57, 142, 147, 216 139 41 n. 64, 42 n. 67 137 n. 57 219 155 n. 117 147, 147 n. 9 147 141 141 204 141 137 n. 57, 216, 288, 289 155 n. 117 137 n. 57 141, 287, 310 n. 119 340 141, 287, 310 n. 119 340 141 275 n. 33, 283, 287, 288, 395 283 141 137 n. 57 155 n. 117 137 n. 57, 229 n. 109 229 n. 109 141 229 n. 109 229 n. 109 141 56 n. 96, 195 n. 9, 198 n. 23, 299–300 47–49, 64 46–47 47–48 139 47, 48 48

4:7 4:10 4:13–21 4:14 4:17–18 4:20 4:26 4:31 4:35 5 5:6 5:7–13 5:7 5:10 5:11 5:13 5:14–26 MT = 5:14–6:7 LXX 5:16 5:18 5:26 MT = 6:7 LXX 6–7 6:1–2 MT = 6:8–9 LXX 6:1–6 MT = 6:8–13 LXX 6:5–6 MT = 6:12–13 LXX 6:10 MT = 6:17 LXX 6:13 MT = 6:20 LXX 6:15 MT = 6:22 LXX 6:18–23 MT = 6:25–30 LXX 6:18 MT = 6:25 LXX 6:20 MT = 6:27 LXX 6:21 MT = 6:28 LXX 6:22 MT = 6:29 LXX 7 7:1 7:6 7:11–13

48 229 n. 109 48 48 48 141, 219 141, 219 141, 219 141, 219 46–48 141, 219 216 216 141, 219 217 141, 219 46 141, 195 n. 11, 219 141, 219 141, 219 137, 139, 142 309 n. 113 308–9 309 340 309 310 n. 119 335 340 335 335 340 254 340 340 229 n. 109

Index of Ancient Sources 7:15–18 7:20–21 7:22–27 7:22–23 7:26–27 7:26 7:27 7:28–29 7:29 7:32 7:34 7:36 7:37 8–10 8–9 8 8:3 8:4 8:9 8:10–11 8:13 8:17 8:21 8:29 8:31 8:34–36 9 9:1–4 9:4 9:5 9:6 9:7–21 9:7 9:10 9:16 9:18 9:21 9:22–23 9:23–24 9:23 9:24 10 10:1–2 10:1 10:2 10:4 10:9

229 n. 109 229 n. 109 56 n. 96 139 198 n. 23 299–300 300 139 229 n. 109 229 n. 109 229 n. 109 195 n. 9 229 n. 109 141, 143 22, 47, 114, 122, 131, 137, 142 154, 340, 347 122 142 142 99 142 142 142 142 142 142 46 n. 73, 131, 143 122 229 122, 142 157 122, 131 142 142 142 229 n. 109 142 122 135 157 142, 143 7, 49 n. 80, 142, 152 142 143 142–43 49 n. 809 195 n. 9

10:10 10:12 10:14 10:17 11–16 11–15 11

11:1–2 11:2–23 11:2 11:9–12 11:24–47 11:43–45 11:44–45 12–15 12:1–7 12:1–2 12:6–8 13–14 13:1–46 13:47–59 14:1–32 14:5 14:10–32 14:13 14:33–53 14:34 15:1–33 15:1–2 15:2–3 15:4–11 15:31 16

16:1–2 16:2 16:3–4 16:6 16:7 16:8 16:10 16:11 16:12–13 16:13–15 16:19

457 138 n. 5, 334 340 229 n. 109 340 34 137, 142, 143, 342, 343 54 n. 93, 144–45, 147 n. 91, 343 n. 35, 355 139 54 n. 93 144 355 n. 57 54 n. 93 30 n. 26, 343 n. 35 360 145 145 139 155 n. 117 139, 146 146 146 146 204 155 n. 117 340 146 278, 374 146 139 146 146 146, 343 38–39, 156–57, 191, 192, 248, 282, 391, 394 39 118 n. 14, 156 156 156 38 38, 191 38, 191 156 156, 157 118 n. 14 38 n. 55

458 16:23 16:29–34 16:29–33 16:29 16:31 16:34 17–26

17–22 17

17:1–9 17:1 17:1–2 17:2 17:3–9

17:3–7

Index of Ancient Sources 38, 191 30 n. 26, 38, 55, 156 335 n. 14, 336 38 337 n. 20 38 n. 55, 39 3–7, 15, 17, 21, 22, 25, 27–45, 46 nn. 73 and 74, 48–49, 50 n. 81, 52–59, 60 n. 103, 63–65, 90, 104, 106, 108–11, 201, 207, 231, 236, 266, 294, 298–301, 303, 306, 307, 308, 330, 331, 333, 337, 338 n. 23, 339, 340, 342, 343 n. 35, 346, 348, 349, 363, 364, 365, 368, 370, 372 n. 82, 379, 384, 387–90, 396–99, 406, 407 37, 39, 40 fig. 2.1, 42 22–23, 26, 34, 36– 39, 37 n. 54, 38 n. 55, 40 fig. 2.1, 101– 4, 108, 190–93, 197–203, 207–8, 214, 215 n. 71, 217–18, 222–24, 227–31, 230 n. 115, 233–40, 248–55, 257–59, 260, 290, 300, 320, 328, 331, 393–94 101 28 n. 19, 193 36, 39, 45, 197, 202 fig. 5 28 n. 19, 36–37, 193, 203, 213, 251 22, 101–3, 199, 201, 202 fig. 5, 215, 218, 303, 345 191, 193 n. 7, 196, 197–98, 199, 200,

17:3–4

17:3 17:4 17:4–6 17:5–7

17:5–6 17:5 17:6 17:7

17:8–16 17:8–9

17:8

17:9–10 17:9 17:10–16 17:10–14

17:10–12 17:10

201, 202 with fig. 5, 203–5, 207–8, 213, 214, 218, 221, 234, 235–36, 248, 251, 253, 257–58, 287 n. 70, 393, 394, 402 195 n. 8, 202, 203– 5, 206–8, 214 n. 67, 215 n. 71, 229, 248, 258 28 n. 19, 191, 193, 196 n. 12, 203, 214 26, 193–95, 198, 202, 205, 258, 370 38, 214 197, 200, 202, 205– 8, 212, 213, 228– 29, 235 213, 249 194 n. 8, 195, 198, 205–8, 212–14 195, 197, 198, 202, 205, 213, 218, 222 38, 44 n. 70, 103, 191, 195, 198, 207, 208–9, 211–14, 230 n. 115, 231 n. 115, 233, 250, 306, 370 199, 266 194–96, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204–5, 214–15, 217–18, 236, 393 193 n. 7, 195, 196 n. 12, 199 200, 214–15, 217, 221 370 26, 38, 195, 198, 258 201, 202 fig. 5, 218 39, 191, 202 with fig. 5, 227, 233–34, 300, 394 196, 198, 200, 201, 203, 218, 221, 223 26, 38, 193 n. 7, 195, 196 nn. 12 and 14, 198, 200, 201, 222, 234

Index of Ancient Sources 17:11–12 17:11

17:12 17:13–14 17:13 17:14

17:15–16

17:15 17:16 18–22 18–21 18–20 18–19 18

18:1 18:2 18:2–5 18:3–5 18:3 18:5 18:6–23 18:6 18:7 18:10 18:13 18:21 18:24–30 18:24–26 18:24 18:25 18:26

202 38 n. 55, 101, 190, 191, 192, 195, 198, 200–1, 203, 218– 22, 228, 231–32, 234, 248, 258, 394 38, 195, 198, 200, 201, 222, 234 196, 198, 200, 201, 202, 223 38, 193 n. 7, 196, 199, 223, 229, 235 26, 190, 196, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 222, 228, 231–32, 234, 248, 370 196, 199, 200, 202, 203, 229–30, 236, 331, 346, 348, 397 38, 196, 197, 199, 236, 301, 346, 348 196, 197, 199, 346 350, 359, 373, 397 39 27, 360 39 26, 28, 40 fig. 2.1, 41 n. 64, 44, 353, 354 28 n. 19 266, 351 43 n. 70, 44 n. 71, 348, 350, 351, 354 351 28–29 n. 19, 343 n. 35 44 351, 352 44 n. 70 365 231 231 44 n. 70 43 n. 70, 44 n. 71, 350, 351–52, 354 29 n. 19 351 352 44, 266, 301, 351

18:28 18:29 19:25 19–23 19

19:1 19:2–6 19:2–4 19:2

19:3–36 19:3–18 19:3–4 19:3 19:4 19:5–10 19:5–8 19:5 19:7 19:8 19:9–10 19:9 19:10 19:11–18 19:11–12 19:11 19:12–14 19:12 19:13 19:14–15 19:14 19:15 19:16–18 19:16 19:17–18 19:17 19:18 19:19–36 19:19 19:20–25 19:20–22

459 351, 352 44, 370 365 331 40 fig. 2.1, 44, 46 n. 74, 340–42, 356– 59, 364–65 28 n. 19 342 n. 34 43–44 n. 70, 350 3 n. 5, 26, 44, 266, 339, 341, 342, 344, 350, 356, 357, 342 357 357, 358, 359, 365 339, 342, 356, 359, 364, 365, 370 356, 342, 359 357, 358 356, 357 276 365 231, 370 109, 267, 357 43 n. 70, 342 n. 34, 357 44 n. 70, 342 n. 34 357, 359, 342, 358, 359 342 n. 34 359 342 n. 34 44 n. 70, 356 357 357 44 n. 70 342 n. 34 342 n. 34 44 n. 70 357 63 n. 117 44 n. 70, 341, 357 n. 60 357 109, 207, 341, 342 n. 34, 350, 356, 357 357, 358 46 n. 74, 357

460 19:21 19:22 19:23–25 19:23 19:25–27 19:25 19:26–36 19:26–31 19:27 19:28 19:29 19:30–31 19:30

19:31 19:32 19:33–36 19:33–34 19:33 19:34

19:35–37 19:35–36 19:36–37 19:36 19:37 20 20:1 20:2–5 20:2 20:3 20:4 20:5–6 20:7–8 20:7 20:8 20:9 20:10–21 20:17–18

Index of Ancient Sources 38, 46 38 n. 55, 195 n. 11 109, 357 38 n. 55, 278, 341, 342 n. 34 342 n. 34 44 n. 70 357, 358 356 342 n. 34 44 n. 70, 342 n. 34 342 n. 34 342 n. 34 44 n. 70, 331 n. 1, 339, 342, 364, 365, 370 44 n. 70 44 n. 70, 341, 342 n. 34, 358 358 357 342 n. 34 29 n. 19, 44 n. 70, 301, 342 n. 34, 343 n. 35 342 n. 34 356 43 n. 70, 44 n. 71, 350, 356, 357 29 n. 19, 343 n. 35, 360 44 28, 40 fig. 2.1, 44, 353, 354 28 n. 19 266 206 331 n. 1, 364 n. 70, 370 206 209, 230 n. 115, 370 43 n. 70, 44 n. 71, 350, 353 3 n. 5, 353 n. 55 44, 370 356, 365 353 370

20:17 20:20–22 20:20 20:22–26 20:22 20:23 20:25–26 20:25 20:26 20:30 21–22 21:1–22:16 21:1–15 21:1–5 21:1 21:7 21:8 21:9 21:10 21:11 21:12 21:13–15 21:15 21:16 21:16–23 21:17 21:21 21:23 21:24 22:1–16 22:1 22:2–3 22:2 22:3 22:4 22:8–9 22:8 22:9 22:16 22:17–30

196 n. 14 43 n. 70, 44 n. 71, 350 63 n. 117 29 n. 19, 353, 354 44, 354, 372 n. 81 44 343 n. 35, 354 355 3 n. 5, 353 n. 55, 375 354 27, 44 n. 70, 266, 362–63 39, 40 fig. 2.1, 347, 362 266, 347 347 28 n. 19 347 44 n. 70, 349, 362, 370 347 347 347 44 n. 70, 331 n. 1, 347, 364 n. 70 347 44 n. 70, 362, 370 28 n. 19 266, 347 28 n. 19 28 n. 19 44 n. 70, 362, 370 28 n. 19 266, 347 28 n. 19 44 n. 70 28 n. 19, 360 196 n. 14 28 n. 19 346, 347, 348, 397 44 n. 70, 199 n. 25, 230 n. 114 44 n. 70, 63 n. 117, 276, 362, 370 44 n. 70, 362, 370 39, 40 fig. 2.1, 360, 362

Index of Ancient Sources 22:17–25 22:17–18 22:17 22:18–27 22:18–23 22:18 22:26–28 22:26 22:28–30 22:29–30 22:30 22:31–33 22:31–32 22:32–33 22:32 22:33 22:43 23–26 23–25 23

23:1–24:9 23:1–8 23:1–2 23:1 23:2–4 23:2–3 23:2

23:3

23:4–43 23:4–38 23:4–36

39, 356 45 28 n. 19 361 266 28 n. 19, 36–37, 39 39 28 n. 19 361 39 44 n. 70 43 n. 70, 350, 359, 360 362 343 n. 35, 360 360–63, 370 29 n. 19, 343 n. 35 343 n. 35 41 n. 64 40, 41 n. 64, 42, 266–67, 339 5, 23, 29, 40, 42 fig. 2.2, 44 n. 70, 57, 101, 104–8, 260– 64, 266–99, 301–7, 309, 313, 314, 317, 319, 320–22, 326, 327–29, 331, 336, 345, 395–97, 399, 402 4, 260, 309, 319, 396 274, 276 267, 270 fig. 6.1 28 n. 19, 266, 290 285 271 n. 25, 275, 276, 283 266, 267, 269, 272, 273 n. 30, 285, 270 fig. 6.1 40, 106, 270 fig. 6.1, 271, 273 n. 30, 294, 295, 299–300, 301, 337 n. 20, 365, 365 n. 73, 370 40 276 276

23:4

23:5–9 23:5–8

23:5–6 23:5

23:6–9 23:6–8 23:6 23:7–8 23:7 23:8 23:9–22

23:9–14 23:9 23:10–22 23:10–21 23:10–14

23:10–11 23:10

23:11–13 23:11 23:12–13 23:13–14 23:13 23:14–20 23:14

23:15–22

461 267 table 6.1, 269, 270 fig. 6.1, 272 n. 27, 273 n. 30, 285, 290 273, 274 105 n. 144, 270 fig. 6.1, 278–79, 281, 285, 287 n. 70, 301, 326 273 271, 284 fig. 6.2, 286, 287, 290, 300 n. 89 280 271, 284 fig. 6.2, 287 n. 70, 325 293, 301, 324 285, 301 273 n. 30, 302 273, 288 105, 106–7, 267, 270 fig. 6.1, 271, 273–77, 283, 312 270 fig. 6.1, 271 28 n. 19, 290 292 305 107, 264 n. 9, 273, 275 n. 33, 284 fig. 6.2, 287, 288, 296 109, 276 105 n. 144, 264 n. 9, 266, 274, 277, 279, 288, 317 107, 296 107 n. 150, 264 n. 9, 274, 276, 292 107, 273, 276 266 n. 11, 288 286 n. 67, 287, 288, 296 302 44 n. 70, 106, 107, 195 n. 9, 276, 294, 295, 296, 299, 301, 302, 306, 370 270 fig. 6.1, 271, 284 fig. 6.2

462 23:15–21 23:15–20 23:15–16 23:15 23:16–20 23:16 23:17

23:18–21 23:18–20 23:18–19 23:18 23:20 23:21

23:22 23:23–38 23:23–36 23:23–25 23:23 23:24–25 23:24 23:25 23:26–32

23:26–31 23:26 23:27–32 23:27 23:28–32 23:23–31 23:28 23:29 23:31

23:32 23:33–36 23:33

Index of Ancient Sources 105 n. 144, 107, 274, 278, 296, 305 296–97 274 107 n. 150, 276, 296 273 107 n. 150, 276, 286 n. 67, 365 106, 276, 282, 294, 295, 297, 303, 313, 327, 396 107 107 276, 282 287–88 276, 292, 296 44 n. 70, 106, 107, 195 n. 9, 273 n. 30, 276, 285, 294–96, 299, 301, 306, 370 44 n. 70, 109, 207, 266 274, 276 273, 274 270 fig. 6.1, 271 28 n. 19, 290 284 fig. 6.2 266, 273, 285, 337 n. 20 273, 288 266 n. 11, 270 fig. 6.1, 271, 275, 276, 282 275 28 n. 19, 290, 293 284 fig. 6.2 273, 285, 288 275 276 38 n. 55 370 44 n. 70, 106, 195 n. 9, 294, 295, 299, 301, 306, 370 275, 337 n. 20 270 fig. 6.1, 272, 279 28 n. 19, 290

23:34–36 23:34 23:35–37 23:35 23:36 23:37–38 23:37

23:38 23:39–43 23:39 23:40 23:41 23:42–44 23:42 23:43 23:44 24 24:1–9

24:1–4 24:1–2 24:1 24:2–9 24:2–4

24:2 24:3

24:4

271, 284 fig. 6.2 266, 272, 273, 276, 293 285 273 n. 30 269, 273, 280 n. 57, 288 267, 270 fig. 6.1, 271, 272, 367 267 table 6.1, 272 n. 27, 273 n. 30, 285, 286, 290, 367 275, 276, 367 270 fig. 6.1, 271, 272, 274–76, 283 109, 272, 276, 293, 337 n. 20 265 n. 10 44 n. 70, 195 n. 9, 293, 301, 306, 370 315 272 29 n. 19, 44 n. 70 270 fig. 6.1, 28 n. 19, 267, 285, 306 38, 305, 306 23, 40, 42 fig. 2.2, 260, 261, 263, 304, 306–7, 313, 314, 319, 320, 322, 327, 329, 331, 345, 379, 395, 396, 402 312 266 n. 11, 306, 309 n. 113, 317 28 n. 19, 305 305, 315, 317 40, 155, 261, 266 n. 11, 304 n. 96, 305, 307, 308–9, 311, 317, 318 266, 315 28 n. 19, 38, 44 n. 70, 195 n. 9, 304 nn. 95 and 96, 305 n. 97, 306, 307, 312, 318, 370 308

Index of Ancient Sources 24:5–9

24:5–8 24:5–6 24:5 24:6 24:7–8 24:7 24:8–9 24:8 24:9

24:10–30 24:10–23 24:10 24:11 24:13 24:14 24:15 24:16 24:18 24:22 24:23 25:1–26:46 25

25:1–7 25:1–2 25:1 25:2–8 25:2–7 25:2 25:4 25:8–55 25:8–10 25:8 25:9 25:10–46

40, 155 n. 117, 261, 266 n. 11, 305, 309, 310, 312, 313, 318, 367 309 n. 115 310 266 n. 11, 311 304 n. 95 311 287 n. 71, 305, 310, 311 312 309 n. 115, 311, 312 28 n. 19, 287 n. 71, 306, 309 n. 115, 312 267 28, 38, 40–42, 45, 267, 306, 307 28 n. 19, 38 28 n. 19 28 n. 19 28 n. 19, 38 63 n. 117, 266 301 220 44 n. 70, 301 28 n. 19, 38 41 n. 64 5, 40, 64 n. 117, 109, 307, 350, 365, 371, 374–75, 378– 80, 384–87, 398, 399 40, 42 fig. 2.2 371 28 n. 19, 41 n. 64, 42 n. 67 337 n. 20 366, 372 266, 278 40, 337 n. 20 40, 374, 379, 380, 397 366 366 294 374

25:10 25:11–12 25:11 25:13 25:15 25:17 25:18–19 25:18 25:19 25:23–54 25:23–34 25:23 25:25–34 25:25 25:28 25:29–54 25:32–34 25:34 25:35–54 25:35–38 25:35 25:36–37 25:38 25:39–55 25:39–54 25:39 25:40–41 25:40 25:41 25:42 25:44–46 25:45–55 25:55 26

26:1–2 26:2 26:3–45 26:4–6 26:11 26:13 26:14–39 26:15 26:22

463 40, 366, 371, 372 372 40 40, 372 40 n. 62 44 n. 70 43 n. 70, 350, 372 44 372 372 207, 372 374 372 372 44 373 n. 83 372 n. 82 207 372 372 372 373 29 n. 19, 43 n. 70, 343 n. 35, 350, 373 375 373 372 40 373 373 43 n. 70, 29 n. 19, 343 n. 35, 350, 375 373 267 29 n. 19, 43 n. 70, 343 n. 35, 350, 375 26, 37–38, 37 n. 54, 39, 42, 44, 62, 64, 379, 390 43 n. 70, 350 44 n. 70, 331 n. 1, 339, 364, 370, 379 29 n. 19 109 379 29 n. 19, 343 n. 35 109 44 n. 70 207 n. 46

464 26:27–45 26:30–31 26:30 26:31 26:36–38 26:33 26:39–45 26:42 26:43 26:45 26:46 27 27:1–13 27:2–8 27:9–13 27:14–25 27:14–24 27:14–15 27:16–24 27:20–21 27:21 27:26–33 Numbers 1–10

1 1:1–10:28 1:2 1:7 2 2:3 2:9 2:24 2:25–31 2:31 3:13 3:38 7

7:1 7:2

Index of Ancient Sources 60 n. 103, 62, 63 n. 117 109 109 108–9, 331 n. 1 63 n. 117 132 63 n. 117 29 44 n. 70 29 n. 19 28 n. 19, 42, 43, 44, 340 26 n. 5, 42–43, 334 n. 10, 380 n. 99 43 380 n. 99 380 n. 99 43 380 n. 99 380 n. 99 380 n. 99 380 n. 99 380 n. 99 43

7, 126, 128, 163, 164, 165 fig. 4.2, 166, 174, 185, 188, 403, 405 126–27 6 n. 7 121 n. 20 164 126 n. 31, 127–28, 174 163, 164 128 128 125 n. 27 128 334 n. 10 127, 163 22, 114, 126 n. 31, 128, 174, 318, 319 n. 136 128 166

7:12–17 7:66–83 7:84 7:87 7:89 8:17 9:6–15 9:13–14 10 10:4 10:8 10:9 10:10 10:14–28 10:14 11:16–17 11:22 11:24–29 11:25 12:4–10 12:4 12:5 13:1–17 13:21 13:25 13:32 14:1–10 14:26–38 15 15:1–10 15:3 15:5 15:10 15:15 15:15–16 15:32–41 15:32–36 15:39 16:3–11 16:16–24 16:35 17–19 18:20–32 18:23 19:16 20:6–11 20:22–29 21:10–11 22:1

128, 164 125 n. 27 318 243 118 n. 14 334 n. 10 41, 41 n. 64 57 126 n. 31, 174 166 195 n. 9 46 n. 73 268 n. 18 128 164 119 n. 15 204 119 n. 15 119 n. 15 119 n. 15 119 n. 15 119 n. 15 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7, 30 n. 26, 56 216, 217 217 n. 81, 268 n. 18 217 n. 81 287 n. 71 195 n. 9 57 57 41 209, 230 n. 115 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 57 195 n. 9 207 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7

Index of Ancient Sources 25–27 25:1–13 25:13 27:1–11 27:21 27:23 28–29

28 28:2 28:3–15 28:9–10 28:15 28:16–25 28:18 28:22 28:25–26 28:26–31 28:26 28:30 29:1 29:5 29:7 29:11 29:12 29:16 29:19 29:22 29:25 29:28 29:31 29:34 29:38 29:39 30–31 31:48–54 31:50 31:54 32:2–6 32:16–32 33:1–49 34–36 35:9–34 35:29 35:31–32 35:33

6 n. 7 164 164 41, 41 n. 64 121 n. 20, 158 nn. 126 and 127 46 n. 73 6 n. 7, 7, 29, 57, 104, 268, 284–86, 329, 336, 368, 395 286 n. 67 268, 285 285, 286 368 286 n. 66 285 273 n. 30, 285 286 n. 66 273 n. 30, 285 275 n. 38 286 n. 67 286 n. 66 273 n. 30, 285 286 n. 66 273 n. 30, 285 286 n. 66 273 n. 30, 285 286 n. 66 286 n. 66 286 n. 66 286 n. 66 286 n. 66 286 n. 66 286 n. 66 286 n. 66 268, 285 6 n. 7 219 219 160 n. 130 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 6 n. 7 197 n. 18 299 219 197 n. 18

Deuteronomy 4:16–18 5 5:6–22 5:6–21 5:7–16 5:12–15 5:12 5:16 5:17–21 5:19 12–26 + 28 12

12:2–7 12:5 12:6 12:8–12 12:8–11 12:11 12:13–27 12:13–19 12:14 12:15–16 12:15 12:16 12:17 12:19 12:20–28

12:20–21 12:21 12:23–25 12:23

12:26 12:27 12:29–31 14

465 114 n. 4 359 359, 365 358 358 338 n. 22, 368 359 359, 364 n. 69 358 359 2, 26 23, 37, 79, 91, 96, 102–3, 112, 113, 190–92, 218 n. 82, 224–25, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232– 33, 234–38, 250, 253, 258, 394 224 224 n. 99, 225 237 224 91 224 n. 99, 225, 237 227 213, 224, 225, 227, 232–33, 235, 236 224 n. 99, 225 225, 226, 229, 232– 33, 236 235, 225 n. 101 198 n. 23, 232, 235 237 with table 5.3 225 n. 100 102, 192, 224, 225– 26, 232–35, 253, 258, 394 226 224 n. 99, 253 232 101, 190, 192, 198 n. 23, 227, 228, 231–32, 234–35 237 with table 5.3 232, 232 n. 118, 234 231 n. 115 54 n. 93

466 14:3–20 14:3 14:4 14:4–5 14:11 14:20 14:21 15:1–11 15:12–18 15:12 15:17 16 16:1–17

16:1–8

16:1 16:2 16:6 16:7 16:9–12 16:9–10 16:10 16:11 16:13 16:13–15 16:14–15 16:15 16:16 16:18 19:1–13 19:10 24:8 26:1 26:1–3 27:2–4 27:4–8 27:6–7 28 31:9–13 31:10

Index of Ancient Sources 54 n. 93 54 n. 93 214 n. 67 54 n. 93 54 n. 93 54 n. 93 229–30, 236, 347, 348 366 n. 75, 367 366 n. 75, 367, 373 n. 83 373 n. 83 373 n. 83 263, 290 104–5, 108, 261, 268, 277, 278, 279, 280, 290, 291, 328, 395 105 n. 144, 278, 278 n. 51, 280, 284 fig. 6.2, 286, 287 n. 70 280, 286 106 106, 268 n. 17 106 278, 298 105 n. 144 275 n. 38, 277, 297 n. 85 106 277 279, 284 fig. 6.2 280 n. 57 106 106, 275 n. 38, 277, 280, 303 293 n. 81 197 n. 18 197 n. 18 138 n. 59 105 n. 144 278, 279 78–79 232 n. 118 232 n. 118 37, 42 167 n. 142 268 n. 18

31:14–15 31:15 31:16 32:2 34 34:1 34:7–9

119 n. 15 119 n. 15 209, 230–31 n. 115 243 45 n. 73 45 n. 73 45 n. 73

Joshua 4:1–7 6:4–6 6:8 6:13 8:24 22:28

310 n. 118 40 n. 62 40 n. 62 40 n. 62 207 114 n. 4

Judges 2:17 5:17 8:27 8:33 17–18 20:26–28

209, 230 n. 115 125 n. 27 209, 230 n. 115 209, 230 n. 115 125 n. 27 183 n. 165

Ruth 4:18–20

166 n. 139

1 Samuel 2:17 4:4 9:24 14:41 LXX 16:21 21:5–6 28:6

216 134 268 n. 14 158 n. 126 357 n. 60 334 158 n. 126

2 Samuel 6:2 8:17 19:6–7 21:10

134 183 n. 166 357 n. 60 207 n. 46

1 Kings 4:4 5–8

5:15–32 5:15

183 n. 166 129, 129 n. 36, 132–36, 173–74, 173 n. 149 129 357 n. 60

467

Index of Ancient Sources 6:1–7:51 6:2–3 6:3 6:16 6:19 6:20 6:23–28 6:29 6:32 6:35 6:36 7:1–12 7:12 7:23–26 7:48 7:49 8 8:1–66 8:4 8:62–64 8:64 12 12:26–33 12:28 12:31 18:31 2 Kings 10:20–21 16 16:2 16:10 18 18:4 18:22 19:15 22–23 22 22:8 23 23:4 23:5 23:6–7 23:6 23:8 23:11–12 23:13–15

129 132, 173 133 132 132 132 133, 134 133 133 133 132 133, 134 132 133 133 133 134 129 112 n. 2, 134 134 132, 133 209 n. 53 183 n. 165 183 n. 165, 209 n. 53 209 n. 53 310 n. 118

293 n. 81 151 151 114 n. 4 67, 91 67 67 134 2, 67, 69–70, 69 n. 8, 90, 91, 150 66, 69 66 66, 68–69, 150 66, 150 150 66 150 66, 209 n. 53 66 66

23:19–20 23:21–23 1 Chronicles 2:3–17 5:27 MT = 6:1 LXX 5:27–41 MT = 6:1–15 LXX 5:29–30 MT = 6:3–4 LXX 5:34 MT = 6:8 LXX 28:11 28:12 28:18 28:19 5:29–30 MT 2 Chronicles 1:3 1:13 5:5 8:13 11:15

66 150

166 n. 139 186 186 186 168 114 n. 4, 118 n. 14 114 n. 4 114 n. 4 114 n. 4 186

29:23 35:1–19 35:7

112 n. 2 112 n. 2 112 n. 2, 134 268 n. 18, 279 n. 54 209, 230 n. 115, 243 243 150 150

Ezra 1–8 1:4 1:7–11 3:4 5:14 6 6:4 6:8 6:14–15 7:1–5 7:15–24 7:20 7:24 8:36

76 75 n. 36 75 279 n. 54 75 75 75 75 74 186 75 75 75 75

Nehemiah 2:10 2:19

77 77

468 3:33–35 4:1 6:1–9 6:12 6:14 8 8:14 8:18 10 10:1 10:33 10:35 10:38 12:47 13 13:10–14 13:28 13:31

Index of Ancient Sources 77 77 77 77 77 167 n. 142 279 n. 54 293 n. 81 385 385 385 317 n. 131 185 185 80, 172 77, 176 77, 80 317 nn. 131 and 132

Psalms 48 80:2 96:6 99:1 106:46 120–34

135 n. 53 134 157 134 310 88

Isaiah 1:14 6:2 13 13:19–22 13:19 13:20 13:21 13:22 22:13 30:29 34 34:9–17 34:9–15 34:13 34:14 37:16 43:20 44:13 60–62 66:3

268 n. 18 51 211 210 210 210 210, 211, 243 210 204 280 n. 57 211 210 210 210 n. 58 210, 211 134 207 114 74 225 n. 102

Jeremiah 2 2:5 2:8 8:7 14:21

209 209 138 n. 59 268 n. 14 310

Lamentations 1:4 1:15 2:6–8 2:7 2:22

268 nn. 14 and 18 268 n. 14 268 n. 14 268 n. 18 268 nn. 14 and 18

Ezekiel 6:6 6:14 7:26 8:10 9:2–3 10:2 11:16 11:17 16 16:60 22:26 29:5 34 34:5 36:27 36:38 37:36 39:4 40–48 43:7–9 44 44:4–31 44:20 44:23 44:24 45:17–46:15 45:17 45:18–25 45:18–20 45:21–24 45:21 46:1–5 46:9

299 n. 87 299 n. 87 138 n. 59 114 156 156 84 62 209 310 138 n. 59, 334 207 62 207 n. 46 62 268 n. 18 364 n. 70 207 n. 46 151, 334 151 183 183–84 334 138 n. 59, 334 268 n. 18 151 151, 268 n. 18 277, 281–83, 284 fig. 6.2, 328, 395 281–82 287 n. 70 279, 281, 282 n. 59 151 268 n. 18

469

Index of Ancient Sources 46:11 Daniel 10:5

268 n. 18

Zephaniah 3:4 3:18

138 n. 59 268 n. 18

Haggai 1–2 1 2:11

176 74 138 n. 59

Zechariah 1–8 1:10–17 5:5–11 6:14 8:19 11 11:13 11:17 14:16 18–19

74, 88 176 84 160 n. 130 268 n. 18 383 382–83 209 279 n. 54 279 n. 54

Malachi 2:7

138 n. 59

156

Hosea 1–4 2:11 2:12 2:13 5:11 8:13 9 9:5

209 268 n. 14 207 n. 46 268 n. 14 209 225 n. 102 209 268 n. 18

Joel 1:14 1:19–20 2:16–18

293 n. 81 207 293 n. 81

Amos 1:9 2:4 5:21–23 8:10

310 209 280 n. 57 280 n. 57

Dead Sea Scrolls 4QReworked Pentateuch C (4Q365) 23 4, 23, 264, 314–15, 316 n. 131, 317–20, 329, 396 23:4–12 315 23:5–6 317 23:6 315, 316, 317, 318 23:8 316, 317 23:9 316, 317

11QTemplea (11Q19) 21–22 316 n. 131, 317 n. 132 23 316 n. 131 34:7–14 147 n. 94 43:3–4 316 n. 131 34:13 147 n. 94 52:13–21 253–54 11QTempleb (= 11Q20) 6:11–18 316 n. 131

470

Index of Ancient Sources

Other Ancient Sources Flavius Josephus Antiquities 11.297–347 11.317–45 12.388 13.62–73 13.285

Jewish War 1.33 7.426–36 70 70 1 n. 2 1 n. 2 1 n. 2

1 n. 2 1 n. 2

Babylonian Talmud b. Ḥul. 17a–17b

203

Index of Modern Authors Aberbach, Moses 182 Abraham, Kathleen 85 Abramson, Scott F. 9 Achenbach, Reinhard 33, 41, 46, 49, 57, 58, 59, 119, 127, 143, 163, 166, 183, 184, 285, 286, 336, 337, 338, 370, 372 Adorno, Theodor W. 333, 344–45 Aejmelaeus, Anneli 51 Aharoni, Yohanan 68, 83 Albertz, Rainer 59, 68, 77, 131, 132, 141, 183, 247, 300, 366 Altemeyer, Bob 344 Altmann, Peter 2, 55, 73, 75, 77, 121, 131, 144, 145, 177, 224, 225, 231, 233, 279, 381, 382, 383, 403 Amit, Yairah 31, 32, 245, 337 Anderson, Gary A. 216 Angelini, Anna 55, 144, 145, 210, 334 Ariel, Donald T. 81 Arnold, Bill T. 31, 32, 245–46, 337 Arnold, William R. 325, 326 Ashlock, Rodney O. 43 Assmann, Jan 18, 19 Audirsch, Jeffrey G. 1 Babcock, Bryan C. 273 Baden, Joel S. 58, 119, 337 Baentsch, Bruno 26–27, 38, 43, 46, 47, 190, 194, 206, 239, 245, 271, 274, 275, 285, 308, 343, 371 Bar-On, Shimon. See Gesundheit, Shimon Barchiesi, Alessandro 11 Barkey, Karen 8, 387 Bartusch, Mark W. 125 Bataille, Georges 262 Bauks, Michaela 171, 336, 373, 374 Baumgarten, Joseph M. 86

Bautch, Richard J. 59, 62 Beall, Todd S. 86 Beavon, Keith S. O. 12 Becking, Bob 74, 83, 85, 179 Bedford, Peter R. 77, 378, 383, 385, 402 Bell, Catherine 14 Ben Zvi, Ehud 11, 19, 20, 185 Bender, Barbara 9, 154 Ben-Dov, Jonathan 270, 278, 291 Bergen, Wesley J. 179 Berges, Ulrich 87 Bergsma, John S. 366 Berner, Christoph 163, 300, 336, 337 Bertholet, Alfred 41, 47, 54, 197, 206, 214, 245, 274, 275, 343, 371 Bibb, Bryan D. 17, 179, 342, 346 Bird, James H. 12 Blair, Judit M. 208, 211–12 Blenkinsopp, Joseph 21, 76, 82, 380 Bloch, Yigal 85 Block, Daniel I. 151 Blomquist, Tina Haettner 209 Blum, Erhard 17, 32, 34–35, 36, 42, 47, 55, 58, 60, 63, 102, 163, 164, 214, 227, 228, 229, 236, 246, 366 Bodi, Daniel 151 Bogaert, Pierre Maurice 50, 51, 52 Boorer, Suzanne 32, 58, 60, 115, 132, 173, 174, 337 Bordreuil, Pierre 72 Bourdieu, Pierre 10, 152–53, 180 Braulik, Georg 224, 225 Brett, Mark G. 31, 107–8, 261, 293, 298, 302, 374 Brichto, Herbert Chanan 199, 210, 219, 221 Brons, Lajos 352, 353

472

Index of Modern Authors

Brooke, George J. 51, 52, 314, 315, 316 Bruneau, Philippe 72 Buc, Philippe 407 Bultmann, Christoph 193 Burgess, Ernest W. 12 Burnett, Charles 321 Calaway, Jared C. 63, 370 Caquot, André 138 Carr, David M. 34, 58, 60, 61, 62, 63, 167 Carter, Charles Edward 74 Cazelles, Henri 30–31, 56 Chavel, Simeon 18, 41, 210, 226, 297 Chidester, David 13 Childs, Brevard S. 163 Choi, John H. 279 Cholewiński, Alfred 27, 29, 37, 41, 43, 53, 101, 105, 106, 197, 214, 225, 228, 261, 264, 272, 275, 277, 279, 287, 293, 297, 371, 398 Chong, Joong Ho 84 Christaller, Walter 12 Clements, Ronald E. 115, 132, 204 Clifford, Richard J. 115 Coats, George W. 182 Cody, Aelred 182 Cohen, Mark E. 281 Cole, Steven 150 Collins, John J. 342 Connerton, Paul 18 Cornelius, Izak 81 Crawford, Sidnie White 314 Cresswell, Tim 12, 13 Cross, Frank Moore 34, 85, 115, 119, Crüsemann, Frank 35, 44, 350, 360 Da Riva, Rocío 130, 149 Dam, Cornelis van 158 Dandamaev, Muhammad A. 76, 377, 378, 383 Dar, Shimon 73 Davies, Philip R. 68, 69 de Groot, Alon. See Groot, Alon de de Hulster, Izaak. See Hulster, Izaak de de Pury. See Pury, Albert de de Tarragon, Jean-Michel. See Tarragon, Jean-Michel de

de Vaux. See Vaux, Roland de de Wette, Wilhelm M. L. See Wette, Wilhelm M. L. de Deimel, Anton 376 Delcor, Mathias 84 Delitzsch, Franz 166 Diakonoff, Igor M. 381 Diaz-Cayeros, Alberto 9 Diebner, Bernd J. 96, 97, 169, 170 Dignas, Beate 378 Dijk, Teun A. van 15 Dillmann, August 54, 306, 310 Dohmen, Christoph 119 Donceel, Robert 86 Douglas, Mary 43, 94–95, 103, 123, 151, 191, 241, 251, 333–34, 400 Driver, Godfrey R. 210, 211, 241 Driver, Samuel 26, 30, 47, 54, 55, 132, 245, 306, 343 Drucker-Brown, Susan 262 Dubovský, Peter 133 Duguid, Iain M. 151 Durham, John I. 47 Durkheim, Emile 262, 329 Dušek, Jan 71, 72, 171, 186, 187 Eberhart, Christian 48, 204, 288 Edelman, Diana 67, 74, 75, 76 Eerdmans, Bernardus D. 54 Ehrlich, Arnold B. 20 Eichrodt, Walther 334, 340, 341 Eissfeldt, Otto 45 Elchardus, Mark 10, 11, 148, 153 Eliade, Mircea 13 Elledge, Casey Deryl 316 Elliger, Karl 17, 27, 28–29, 38, 40, 41, 43, 45, 47, 48, 63, 101, 105, 137, 156, 163, 194, 197, 199, 200, 202, 206, 209, 210, 214, 219, 239, 245, 261, 264, 272, 273, 275, 276, 294, 307, 311, 358, 371, 372 Ellis, Richard S. 129 Erill, Astrid 18 Ermidoro, Stefania 144 Fager, Jeffrey A. 366 Fairclough, Norman 15 Falkenstein, Adam 376 Fantalkin, Alexander 83

Index of Modern Authors Faust, Avraham 75 Feder, Yitzhaq 38, 218, 219 Feldman, Liane Marquis 116, 216 Femia, Joseph V. 16 Feucht, Christian 27 Finkelstein, Israel 9, 68, 74, 82 Finn, Arthur H. 51 Firmage, Edwin 32, 144, 145, 245, 337 Fishbane, Michael A. 5, 41, 231, 232– 33 Foucault, Michel 13, 15–16, 146, 175, 206, 389 Frangipane, Marcella 9 Frankfort, Henri 129 Frevel, Christian 49, 60, 68, 73, 77, 81, 119, 147, 148, 171, 184, 238, 337, 372 Frey, Jörg 84, 256, 257 Frey-Anthes, Henrike 207, 208, 209, 211, 241, 242 Frick, Frank S. 9 Fried, Lisbeth S. 67, 68, 76 Fritz, Volkmar 47, 115, 119, 132, 173 Füglister, Notker 195 Funke, Tobias 187 Gadot, Yuval 75, 382 Gane, Roy E. 219, 241, 287, 310 García Martínez, Florentino 316 Gaß, Erasmus 325 Geertz, Clifford 13 Gell, Alfred 262, 314, 329 Geller, Markham J. 211 George, Andrew R. 149 George, Johann F. L. 272, 274 George, Mark K. 114, 130, 131, 154, 335 Gerstenberger, Erhard S. 40, 59, 62, 106, 109, 137, 156, 197, 198, 213, 245, 272, 273, 309 Gertz, Jan Christian 58, 163, 247, 279, 300, 301 Gese, Hartmut 282 Gesundheit, Shimon 105, 246, 247, 279, 300 Gilders, William K. 179, 202, 210, 218, 219, 220, 239 Gillis, John R. 19 Ginsberg, Harold Louis 63

473

Gledhill, John 9, 345 Gleis, Matthias 67 González Chávez, Humberto 8 Gonzalez, Hervé 87 Gooding, David Willoughby 51 Gordan, Benjamin D. 376, 380, 381 Görg, Manfred 119, 173 Gorman, Frank H. 156, 196, 221, 241, 242, 243, 335 Goudoever, Jan van 280 Grabbe, Lester L. 76, 77, 183, 241, 271 Graf, Karl Heinrich 25–26, 91, 99, 271, 272, 285, 306 Gramsci, Antonio 16, 17, 333, 344, 345, 350, 389 Granerød, Gard 257, 273, 325, 326 Gray, George Buchanan 217, 285, 287 Greenfeld, Liah 12, 262 Greenwood, Royston 8 Grelot, Pierre 30–31, 56, 294, 301, 325, 326 Gressmann, Hugo 132 Groot, Alon de 81 Groß, Walter 63, 183, 338, 370 Grund, Alexandra 270, 272, 273, 336, 337 Grünwaldt, Klaus 27, 28, 37, 41, 43, 46, 54, 59, 60, 63, 105, 193, 196, 197, 198, 204, 210, 214, 215, 219, 228, 230, 250, 251, 261, 264, 271, 272, 273, 275, 277, 278, 279, 286, 290, 300, 305, 308, 338, 355, 370, 371 Gudme, Anne Katrine de Hemmer 160 Guillaume, Philippe 81, 336, 366 Gunneweg, Antonius H. J. 119, 182 Gurtner, Daniel 122 Halbe, Jörn 279 Handy, Lowell K. 67 Hannah, Robert 262 Hanneman, Robert 8, 345 Hanson, Paul D. 183 Haran, Menahem 60, 99–101, 115, 119, 132, 134, 154, 192, 280, 335, 340 Harlé, Paul 209, 364 Harmatta, János 84 Harrison, Timothy P. 116 Hartin, Patrick 17, 346

474

Index of Modern Authors

Hartley, John H. 40, 55, 143, 199, 204, 210, 215, 221, 245, 271, 272, 273, 275, 304, 306, 308, 334, 340, 341, 367, 371 Hensel, Benedikt 71, 72, 73, 77, 78, 80, 82, 172, 225, 382 Herzog, Ze’ev 68 Hieke, Thomas 38, 40, 41, 47, 102, 138, 156, 193, 196, 197, 198, 208, 210, 220, 230, 238, 241, 266, 268, 270, 272, 285, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 341, 342, 359, 371, 374 Hinings, C. R. (Bob) 8 Hjelm, Ingrid 78 Hoffmann, Georg 209 Hoffmann, Hans-Detlef 67, 69 Hoftijzer, Jacob 287 Holladay, John S. 9 Hollingsworth, Joseph Rogers 8, 345 Holslag, Anthonie 353 Holzinger, Heinrich 30, 47, 55, 132, 162 Honigman, Sylvie 84, 150 Horowitz, Wayne 158 Horst, Louis 277, 371 Houston, Walter J. 55, 78, 97 Houtman, Cornelis 114, 135, 154 Hulster, Izaak de 81 Hundley, Michael B. 242, 334, 335 Hunt, Alice 184 Hurowitz, Victor (Avigdor) 115, 129, 130, 134, 158 Hurvitz, Avi 60, 118 Hutter, Manfred 210 Hutzli, Jürg 336 Ijzendoorn, Marinus van 344 Imes, Carmen Joy 154 Jacobsen, Thorkild 130 Janković, Bojana 377 Janowski, Bernd 21, 46, 48, 118, 132, 133, 134–35, 173, 195, 208, 209, 210, 218, 219, 240, 241 Japhet, Sara 209 Jarman, Neil 18 Jenson, Philip Peter 154, 241, 242, 334, 335 Jeon, Jaeyoung 247

Jeyaraj, Jesudason B. 366 Joannès, Francis 84 Johnson, Bo 158 Johnstone, William 166, 337 Joosten, Jan 28, 62, 109–10, 121, 194, 196, 198, 250, 294, 311, 332, 340, 342, 352, 366, 374, 376, 379 Joyce, Paul M. 18, 151 Jürgens, Benedikt 38, 195, 196, 197, 199, 201, 220, 238, 239, 242, 250 Jursa, Michael 377 Kaiser, Otto 46, 210 Kalimi, Isaac 87 Kartveit, Magnar 72, 78 Kaufmann, Yehezkel 93–94, 95, 102–3, 112, 113, 123, 191, 211, 241, 251, 399, 400 Kawashima, Robert S. 366 Kayser, August 163 Keder-Kofstein, Benjamin 280 Keel, Othmar 134, 135, 158–59 Keil, Carl F. 166 Keller, Reiner 15, 167 Kellogg, Samuel H. 106, 280 Kilchör, Benjamin 60, 201, 202 Kilian, Rudolf 27, 28, 43, 271, 274, 275, 371, 372 King, Leonard W. 377 Kitz, Anne Marie 158 Kiuchi, Nobuyoshi 195, 219, 221 Klawans, Jonathan 340 Klein, Ralph W. 74, 209 Klostermann, August 3, 26, 30, 55, 343 Knauf, Ernst Axel 82 Knohl, Israel 25, 29–32, 33, 34, 38, 49, 50, 57, 60, 62, 102, 107, 110–11, 210, 211, 271, 275–76, 284, 285–86, 300, 307–8, 332–33, 337, 341, 343, 346, 365, 367, 370 Knoppers, Gary N. 69, 73, 78, 79, 80, 87, 89, 172, 186 Knowles, Melody D. 1, 83, 88–89, 256, 257 Koch, Klaus 58, 118, 119, 132, 135, 137, 173, 267 Köckert, Matthias 46, 373, 374 Konkel, Michael 151

Index of Modern Authors Kornfeld, Walter 29, 43, 101, 228, 275, 334 Korpel, M. C. A. 37 Körting, Corinna 38, 272, 275, 278, 279 Kottsieper, Ingo 256, 257, 324, 325 Kraeling, Emil G. 121, 256 Kratz, Reinhard G. 29, 45, 67, 69, 70, 163, 179–80, 224, 225, 257, 279, 324, 325, 326 Krüger, Thomas 336 Kuenen, Abraham 26, 41, 54, 91–92, 99, 101, 112, 132, 190, 245, 274, 306, 308 Kugler, Robert A. 17, 339–40, 346 Kuhrt, Amélie 149 Kurtz, Johann Heinrich 221 Kutsch, Ernst 273, 282 Laaf, Peter 246, 271, 273, 278, 282 Labat, René 377 Lambert, Wilfred George 85, 144 Lange, Armin 316 Langgut, Dafna 75, 382 Larsen, Mogens Trolle 9 Leeuw, Gerardus van der 13 Lefebvre, Henri 12, 13, 206 Lefebvre, Jean-Franco̧is 366, 374 Leith, Mary Joan Winn 82 Leitz, Christian 145 Lemaire, André 83, 84 Lernau, Hanan 178 Lernau, Omri 178 Levin, Christoph 11, 63, 68, 69, 164, 336, 337 Levine, Baruch A. 40, 43, 59, 60, 62, 63, 105, 120, 127, 128, 138, 143, 204, 210, 219, 220, 243, 261, 267, 271, 273, 275, 295, 297, 334 Levinson, Bernard M. 69, 140, 141, 226, 272, 279, 366, 374 Levy, Daniel 18 Liang, Bin 345 Linenthal, Edward Tabor 13 Lipschits, Oded 82, 382 Liss, Hanna 250 Lohfink, Norbert 58, 61, 68 Löhnert, Anne 149 Luciani, Didier 307, 310, 358, 366

475

Lukonin, Vladimir G. 76, 378, 383 Lust, Johan 61 Lux, Rüdiger 87 Macchi, Jean-Daniel 77 MacDonald, Nathan 184 Mackey, Nathaniel 353 Magdalene, Rachel F. 63 Magen, Yitzhak 71, 72, 73, 80, 96, 160, 186, 187 Magness, Jodi 85–86 Maiberger, Paul 337 Mann, Michael 9 Manning, Joseph Gilbert 378 Margain, Jean 116 Martin, David 12 Martin, Michel L. 12, 262 Marx, Alfred 35, 40, 147, 216, 305, 309, 310, 311–12, 334, 342 Master, Daniel M. 9 Mathys, Hans-Peter 37, 341, 357 Mattison, Kevin 224, 225 Mayes, Andrew D. H. 55 Mazzoni, Stefania 115 McCormick, Clifford Mark 134 McDonald, Beth E. 210 McKenzie, Roderick D. 12 McNeile, Alan Hugh 20, 47 Meerson, Michael 72 Menzel, Brigitte 149 Merendino, Rosario Pius 224, 278 Meshel, Naphtali S. 208 Mettinger, Tryggve N. D. 119, 132, 135 Metzger, Henri 76 Meyer, Esias E. 59, 342 Meyers, Carol 48 Migdal, Joel S. 12 Milgrom, Jacob 29, 32, 38, 43, 48, 54, 60, 62, 94, 95–96, 103, 106–7, 108, 113, 120, 123, 137, 143, 156, 191, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200–1, 202, 204, 206–7, 209, 211, 215–16, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 225, 239, 241, 242, 243, 245, 251, 261, 264, 266, 270, 271, 272, 273, 275, 276, 282–83, 285, 287, 288, 293, 294, 297, 300, 302, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 317, 331, 334, 337, 340, 341, 343, 346, 354, 355, 359,

476

Index of Modern Authors

362, 365, 367, 370, 371, 374, 380, 399, 400 Misgav, Haggai 71, 72, 160, 187 Misztal, Barbara A. 18 Moberly, R. Walter L. 182 Mohrmann, Doug C. 352 Monroe, Lauren A. S. 69, 209 Moran, William L. 54, 357 Morgan, Jonathan 366 Morgenstern, Julian 274, 358 Müller, Jan-Werner 18 Müller, Reinhard 54, 63, 194, 361

Ollenburger, Ben C. 135 Olyan, Saul 31, 331, 334, 335, 338, 370 Orth, J. 1, 91, 92 Otto, Eckart 2, 27–28, 32–33, 34, 37, 39, 41, 44, 46, 53, 54, 59, 60, 63, 102, 105, 173, 183, 184, 213, 227, 228–29, 230, 232, 233–34, 235, 236, 246, 250, 261, 266, 272, 277, 279, 307, 325, 341, 348, 350, 357, 359, 360, 398 Ottosson, Magnus 115 Owczarek, Susanne 51, 133, 173

Nakache, Delphine 353 Nelson, Richard Donald 183 Neubauer, Adolf 186 Niehr, Herbert 68, 69–70 Niemann, Hermann Michael 125 Nihan, Christophe 17, 21, 27, 28, 29, 32, 33, 37, 38, 39, 41, 42, 43, 46, 47, 48, 49, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 77, 79, 87, 88, 90, 102, 105, 106, 117, 132, 135, 137, 138, 139, 143, 144, 146, 151, 154, 156, 157, 158, 160–61, 162, 163, 173, 174, 179, 191, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199–200, 201, 202, 204, 206–7, 208, 210, 214, 215–16, 218, 219, 220, 221, 225, 227, 228–29, 230–31, 235, 236, 239, 241, 242, 245, 249, 261, 264, 270, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 285, 286, 287–88, 289, 290, 293, 300, 301, 305, 306, 308, 325, 326, 334, 338, 339, 340, 341, 343, 346, 348, 352, 355, 357, 358, 359, 362, 365, 366, 370, 372, 374, 375, 376, 398 Nocquet, Dany 31, 78 Nöldeke, Theodor 6, 132 Nora, Pierre 19 Noth, Martin 45, 47, 132, 137, 161, 162, 163, 209, 210, 211, 214, 245, 271, 272, 273, 275, 276–77, 283, 290, 293, 306, 310 Nugent, David 9 Nurmela, Risto 183

Paganini, Simone 317 Pakkala, Juha 2, 67, 68, 69, 194 Pardee, Dennis 138 Park, Robert E. 12 Parpola, Simo 37, 281 Paton, Lewis Bayles 197, 204, 274, 306 Paul, Shalom 140 Pearce, Laurie E. 84–85 Perlitt, Lothar 45 Péter-Contesse, René 240, 241 Pietsch, Michael 68 Pitkänen, Pekka 1, 94, 96 Pola, Thomas 45, 60, 61, 127, 171, 173 Porten, Bezalel 83, 323, 324, 325 Porter, Barbara N. 130 Porter, Joshua R. 196, 210, 241 Postgate, J. Nicholas 376, 377, 381 Pralon, Didier 209, 364 Propp, William H. C. 21, 47–48, 114, 135, 154, 163, 334 Pucci, Marina 115, 116 Pummer, Reinhard 71, 72, 78 Pury, Albert de 45, 61, 62 Pyschny, Katharina 81, 143

Olick, Jeffrey K. 18

Rad, Gerhard von 45, 47 Rainey, Anson F. 139 Reade, Julian 149 Rendtorff, Rolf 46, 54, 137, 217, 221, 246, 287 Renger, Johannes M. 376, 377 Reuter, Eleonore 1, 224, 225 Reventlow, Henning 249, 358, 371 Reynolds, Bennie H. 31 Ringgren, Helmer 334 Ritner, Robert K. 145

Index of Modern Authors Robbins, Joyce 18 Robinson, Gnana 271, 366 Rofé, Alexander 231, 232–33, 234, 394 Romeny, Bas ter Haar 194 Römer, Thomas 43, 61, 68, 69, 96–97, 119, 169, 224, 225, 231, 233, 234, 235, 394 Rose, Martin 224, 225 Roskop Erisman, Angela 46, 197 Roth, Martha T. 140 Rückl, Jan 231, 233 Russell, Andrew L. 153 Russell, Stephen, C. 59, 63–64, 374, 376 Rüterswörden, Udo 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 250, 357, 394 Ruwe, Andreas 28, 35, 36, 37, 39, 41, 42, 102, 106, 191, 193, 197, 198, 199–200, 210, 214–15, 219, 264, 272, 273, 282, 297, 305, 307, 308, 310, 346, 357 Said, Edward W. 353 Samuel, Harald 84, 163, 184, 372 Schaper, Joachim 182, 183, 184, 382– 83 Schenker, Adrian 77–78, 79, 200, 201, 219, 221 Schmid, Konrad 18, 59, 61, 62, 69, 183 Schmidt, Ludwig 58, 336 Schmidt, Vivien Ann 8 Schmidt, Werner H. 163 Schmitt, Rüdiger 68, 81, 82, 179 Schneider, Anna 376 Schorch, Stefan 78 Schorn, Ulrike 128 Schwartz, Barry 18 Schwartz, Baruch J. 30, 34, 35, 58, 99, 102, 191–92, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 202, 210, 213, 215, 219, 220, 221, 245, 246, 249, 250, 267– 68, 273, 331, 340, 341, 344, 348, 357 Schwiderski, Dirk 76, 77 Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Ludger 230 Segal, Michael 315 Seitz, Gottfried 224, 278 Selman, Martin J. 87 Shils, Edward 14, 262

477

Silberman, Neil Asher 9, 68 Singer-Avitz, Lily 82 Ska, Jean-Louis 46, 54, 59 Sklar, Jay 196, 198, 202, 219, 221 Smend, Rudolf 256 Smith, Jonathan Z. 14, 95, 239, 252, 335 Smith, Mark S. 115, 141, 336 Snaith, Norman H. 204, 208, 209, 211, 217, 241 Sommer, Benjamin D. 21, 62, 94, 95 Sparks, James T. 166 Spieckermann, Hermann 67 Stackert, Jeffrey 20, 27, 31, 33, 40, 53, 60, 63, 119, 245, 336, 338–39, 352, 366, 370, 398 Stamm, Johann Jakob 219 Starkey, James Leslie 83 Stern, Ephraim 73, 74, 81, 83 Stern, Sacha 270, 314, 321–22, 329 Steuernagel, Carl 224 Steymans, Hans Ulrich 37 Stoddart, Mark C. J. 16 Strobel, August 241 Strugnell, John 85, 316 Sun, Henry T. C. 27, 41, 46, 193, 264, 265, 275, 305, 353, 371 Sweeney, Marvin A. 68 Tal, Abraham 78 Tal, Oren 83 Talmon, Shemaryahu 210, 241 Tarragon, Jean-Michel de 118 Tawil, Hayim 241 Tcherikover, Victor 71 Teeter, David Andrew 194, 214 Teixidor, Javier 76 Tekin, Beyza Ç. 353 Thelle, Rannfrid Irene 1, 68, 69 Thomas, Benjamin D. 68 Thon, Johannes 163 Thureau-Dangin, François 281 Toorn, Karel van der 144, 145, 179, 281 Torrey, Charles C. 383 Tov, Emanuel 314, 315 Trevaskis, Leigh M. 40, 307, 310, 331, 340, 342 Trigger, Bruce G. 376

478

Index of Modern Authors

Tsfania, Levana 71, 72, 160, 187 Tucker, Paavo N. 27, 35, 53, 246 Turner, Victor W. 292 Uehlinger, Christoph 67, 68 Ulfgard, Häkan 106, 261, 270, 272, 275 Ulrich, Eugene 314 Ussishkin, David 83 Utzschneider, Helmut 120, 131, 133 van der Toorn, Karel. See Toorn, Karel van der Van Neer, Wim 178 Van Seters, John 337 Vanderhooft, David Stephen 149 VanderKam, James C. 71, 270 Vaux, Roland de 85, 86, 115, 134, 310 Veijola, Timo 54, 279 Vervenne, Marc 35 Vincent, Albert 256 Vinitzky-Seroussi, Vered 18 Volokhine, Youri 145 von Rad, Gerhard H. See Rad, Gerhard von Voss, Jens 308 Wacholder, Ben-Zion 316 Waerzeggers, Caroline 130, 149, 150 Waetzoldt, Hartmut 376 Wagenaar, Jan 247, 264, 271, 273, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 285, 286, 290, 300, 301, 302 Wagner, Siegfried 114 Wagner, Volker 34, 40, 41, 307 Warner, Megan 31 Watanabe, Kazuko 37 Watts, James W. 40, 47, 48, 98–99, 120, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 146, 147, 153, 167, 179, 186, 188, 219, 269, 290, 343, 403, 407 Weber, Max 9 Weimar, Peter 49, 60, 173 Weinberg, Joel 381 Weiss, Gilbert 15

Wellhausen, Julius 1, 2, 25, 26–27, 37, 41, 43, 47, 60, 62–63, 65, 66, 70, 92–93, 98, 99, 101, 104–5, 112, 114, 132, 133–34, 190, 201, 202, 214, 245, 260, 262–63, 274, 280, 285, 306, 308, 371 Wells, Bruce 63 Wenham, Gordon J. 69, 87, 194, 196, 198, 210, 214, 219, 241, 273, 340 Werman, Cana 318 Westbrook, Raymond 139 Wette, Wilhelm M. L. de 1, 2, 65, 66, 90 Wevers, John William 51, 193, 209 Weyde, Karl William 107, 108, 261, 264, 271, 273, 277, 278, 279, 285, 293, 295–97 White, Sidnie. See Crawford, Sidnie White Whitekettle, Richard 242 Whitters, Mark F. 325 Williamson, Hugh G. M. 209 Wodak, Ruth 15 Wöhrle, Jakob 61 Wright, David P. 31, 196, 210, 218, 241, 331, 334, 340, 364 Wright, Jacob L. 77 Wunsch, Cornelia 63, 84, 85 Würthwein, Ernst 67, 69 Wyatt, Nick 115 Wyssmann, Patrick 82 Yadin, Yigael 116, 253 Yardeni, Ada 83, 323, 324 Young, Ian 60 Zahn, Molly M. 78, 253, 315, 316, 318 Zangenberg, Jürgen K. 71, 171 Zenger, Erich 21, 38, 40, 46, 58, 238 Zertal, Adam 73 Zerubavel, Eviatar 18, 262, 263, 289, 313, 329 Zeuner, Frederick E. 85 Zimmerli, Walther 183, 282, 341, 360 Zuckerman, Sharon 116

Index of Subjects Aaron – centrality of 155–61, 238–39 – royal attributes of 131, 158–59 n. 129 – memory of 185–86 – vestments of 153–62, 310–11, 312 Aaronide priesthood 98–99, 152, 161– 67, 182–88. See also Aaron Ahaz 151–52 āl Yāḫūdu 84–85 altar – centrality of 222, 234, 248 – of incense 47–50, 52, 308 – at Qumran 86 – see also blood, the altar and animals – birds, killing of 204, 235 – game. See blood, disposal of: nonsacrifical animals – livestock 39, 214 n. 67, 360–61. See also blood, disposal of: livestock – in ruins and desolate regions 38, 191, 207, 210–11 – wild goats 206, 208–14, 240, 242– 43 – zooarchaeology 178 artisans, sanctuary 124–26, 174, 405 atonement 219, 241, 281 Azazel. See demons, Azazel Bethel, sanctuary at 82, 97, 172 Bezalel. See artisans, sanctuary blasphemer episode 28, 40–42, 266 n. 11, 267 blood – the altar and 192, 222, 218, 232, 234, 252 – disposal of: livestock 202–3, 212– 13, 217, 221, 222–23; nonsacrificial

animals 198–99, 223, 229, 235 – guilt 202, 246, 248–49 – as ransom 195 n. 11, 219–21, 239– 40, 258 – as the seat of life 191, 220, 227–28, 231, 234, 248 – see also blood prohibition; sacrifice, distinction between blood and nonblood blood prohibition – in D 227–28, 231–32, 234 – in H 190, 198, 200–1, 218, 222–23, 227–28, 231 – in H-like texts 245 n. 141, 299, 300; – in P 228, 245–46 butchery. See slaughter, local calendars – absence in P 289, 329, 336, 395 – centralization and 23, 104–8, 262– 63, 290–93, 303–4, 321–23, 328, 395–96 – in Ezekiel 277, 281–82, 284 fig. 6.2 – as ideological 261–62, 329 – in non-priestly traditions 104, 105 n. 143, 106, 268, 276–80, 284 fig. 6.2 – Num 28–29 and 57, 104, 106, 268, 284–86, 336 – standardization and 104–5, 260, 270, 280, 283, 284 fig. 6.2, 291 – see also pilgrimage; settlements; temporal symmetry camp. See wilderness, camp capital punishment 41 n. 64 center – definition of 11, 388–89 – central place theory 12 center-periphery relations 12, 109, 111, 330

480

Index of Subjects

centralization – definition of 3–4, 7–9, 388, 406 – as economic process 24, 223, 254, 314, 333, 384–85, 398, 402 – in the monarchic era 65–70 – in the Persian period 3, 66, 70–90, 111, 176–78, 254–58, 320–27, 390, 391–93, 401–5 – state formation and 9–10 – see also standardization, centralization and cherubim 118, 133, 134–35 chosen place. See Deuteronomy, centralization in: chosen place and clothing. See Aaron, vestments of; priests, vestments of coins 71, 81–82 communal sanctification. See holiness, of the community common sense. See hegemony. consent. See hegemony. covenant 117–18, 160, 164, 310 Covenant Code 3, 26, 37 conventionalism 344, 351, 386, 397 creation account 20–21, 32 n. 33, 245– 46 n. 142, 269, 336–37 dating – of D 2, 69 – of H 3, 59–63 – linguistic 60 n. 104 – of P 60–62, 171 day of purification 156–57, 238–40, 266 n. 11, 271 Decalogue 358–59, 364 n. 69, 365, 366 decentralization 9, 11, 103–4, 106–8, 181, 298, 302–3 demons – Azazel 38, 191, 240–43 – the destroyer 247 n. 144 – Lilith 210–11 n. 58 – satyrs 210, 211 Deuteronomic Code 2, 3, 26, 37–38, 42. See also dating, of D Deuteronomy, centralization in – chosen place and 2, 4, 7, 94, 168, 224–27, 237, 290, 399, 400 – Gerizim and 78–80 – Josiah’s reforms and 2, 66, 69, 90

diaspora – centralization and 257–58, 320–23, 327, 396–97, 404 – sanctuaries in. See names of individual sanctuaries diet. See food discourse – centralizing 5–6, 167, 258–59, 291, 345, 379, 406–7 – definition of 15, 389 – in Foucauldian theory 15–16, 17, 175 diversity, cultic 81–87, 178–80 divination, centralization of 158–59 domestic activities 295–96, 302–3, 330. See also standardization, in everyday life donations. See offerings economics. See centralization, as economic process; taxation Edfu 84, 145 n. 84 Eleazar 121 n. 20, 158 n. 127, 187 Elephantine – Judean colony at 5, 121 n. 21, 178– 79, 323 – Passover papyrus. See unleveaned bread, festival of: at Elephantine – temple of Yaho 83, 93, 179, 255 – sacrifice at 23, 255–58, 395 Elisheba 164, 165 fig. 4.2 exile, Babylonian 62–63, 64 exodus from Egypt 28 with n. 19, 44, 117, 343 n. 35, 356, 360, 361, 375 festivals – akītu 281 n. 58 – booths 271, 272, 276, 277, 279, 280 n. 57 – firstfruits 106–7, 271, 273–78, 281– 83, 288, 291, 297, 305, 317 – memorial shout 271 – new oil 316–17 with n. 131 – weeks 277, 278, 281 – see also day of purification; Passover; pilgrimage; unleavened bread, festival of field, open 205–7, 212, 240 food

Index of Subjects – carrion 199, 203, 229–30, 346–48 – holiness and 343 n. 35, 355 – regulations 143–45 – see also blood prohibition foreign gods 208–9, 212, 230–31 n. 115 gerim. See immigrants Gerizim temple – building of 70–71, 171–72, 175 – as central sanctuary 1, 72–73, 86– 87, 111, 169 – relationship with Jerusalem 73, 77– 80, 96–97, 169–70, 174–75, 392, 404–5 – faunal remains at 71 – inscriptions at 71, 72–73, 160 n. 130, 187 – land holdings of 380–81, 382 – priests and 186–88 – see also Deuteronomy, centralization in: Gerizim and Gudea 129–30 hegemony 16–17, 344–45, 387 Hezekiah 66, 67, 91, 94, 100–1, 110, 111 hierarchy 14, 154–55, 252–53, 254, 259, 346–49 high places (bamot) 66, 69, 109, 209 n. 53 high priest. See Aaron holiness – centralization and 332–33, 344–46, 356, 361–63, 384–87, 397 – of the community 40 fig. 2.1, 342, 344, 346, 348–59, 360 – different conception in P and H 29, 331–32, 335–40, 342–44 – imitatio dei and 340–41 – as key theme of H 39–40, 44, 53 – morality and 341–42 – see also time, holy Holiness legislation – defining characteristics of 25–26, 53–55 – H-like texts and 7, 30, 55–57 – nonpriestly traditions and 32–34 – parenetic framework 43–44, 350–63

481

– relationship with P 27–30, 34–36, 45–56, 59 – structure of 26, 36–45 – see also dating, of H; holiness, as key theme of H Holiness School 29–32, 56. See also Hlike texts homicide 197, 248–49 idolatry 209, 231 n. 115, 356, 358, 359 Idumea, temple in 83 immigrants 194 n. 7, 249 n. 146, 266– 67, 340, 352 innerscriptural exegesis 5, 32–34, 53– 54, 230 Israel, as united community 92, 114, 120–21, 168, 267, 289, 355–59. See also tribes, twelve Jehozadak 80, 186 Jeroboam I 183 n. 165, 209 n. 53 Jerusalem, city of 74–75, 88–89, 134– 35, 176 Jerusalem temple – First: description in 1 Kings 129, 132–35, 173–74; memory of 171–72 – Second: building of 73–74; as a central sanctuary 1, 82, 86–87, 98, 175, 181–82, 320–21; economic status of 75–77, 382–85, 387, 402– 3; land holdings of 380–82; postmonarchic character 70, 176– 77, 401–2; priests and 168, 185–86, 188; see also Gerizim, relationship with Jerusalem Josiah 2, 66, 68–70, 91–92, 150 jubilee 40 n. 62, 366, 371, 372, 380 n. 99 Judah. See Yehud Judean bias. See priestly traditions, Judeans bias kabod. See Yhwh, glory of kapporet 118, 135, 156, 239, 242 kingship. See monarchy Lachish, solar shrine at 82–83 land – as ancestral holding 372–75

482

Index of Subjects

– life on the 109–10, 372 – harvest 274, 283, 379 – see also sabbatical year; temple estates law – communal readings of 167 n. 142 – divine voicing of 29, 114, 140–41, 152 – obedience to 44, 143, 342–44, 350– 53 Leontopolis, temple at 1, 83–84, 93, 98 Levites 183–84 n. 166, 225 n. 100, 372 n. 82 loyalty, collective 356–59, 375 memory, social 18–19, 389 monarchy – central sanctuaries and 129–30, 134–36, 149–52 – downfall in Judah 4, 70, 170, 185– 86, 401–2 monopoly, cultic 1, 97, 114, 154–57, 161–62, 218, 221–22, 394 Moses, royal attributes of 131 Nahshon 128, 163–66 Nehemiah 74, 75, 77, 385 numismatics. See coins obedience. See law, obedience to Oholiab. See artisans, sanctuary offerings – burnt 147 with n. 94, 194–95 n. 8, 214, 215, 217 – cereal 215, 216–17, 286 n. 67, 305, 310. See also Elephantine, sacrifice at – drink 216–17 – first sheaf 264 n. 9, 271, 273–74, 275 n. 33, 287 – food gift 287–88 n. 71 – reparation 46, 48, 215, 219 – sin 46–47, 48, 215, 216, 219, 242 n. 138, 335 – well-being 197, 214, 215, 221, 244 – wood 315–18 Othering 353–55

Passover – at Elephantine 323, 325 – in D 278 n. 51, 280 – in H 107–8, 271, 278–79, 281, 286– 87 – in P 246–48, 287, 336 periphery, definition of 11–12 pilgrimage 280–81, 289, 292–93, 297, 302–3, 322 Phinehas 164–66, 183 n. 165, 186 n. 175, 187 place. See center: central place theory; Deuteronomy, centralization in: chosen place pollution. See day of purification; purity and impurity Priestly source – earliest core (Priestergrundschrift) 7, 45–46 n. 73 – as history of origins 17–18 – imagined audience 139–40 – as independent document 58–59 – shape when H was composed 45–52 – see also dating, of P; Holiness legislation, relationship with P priestly traditions – identification of 6 – Judean bias 124–28, 163–66, 174– 75, 185, 392, 405 – in Numbers 7, 57–58 – in studies of centralization 89–111, 398–400 priests – centrality of 212–13, 222, 252, 346– 50, 403 – Nadab and Abihu, deaths of 142–43 – prebends of 254, 312, 313–14 – vestments of 153–55, 161 – see also Aaronide priesthood; names of individual priests punishment. See sanctions purity and impurity 143–47, 342–44 Qumran, sacrifices at 85–87 Ramat Raḥel 75, 176, 382, 383 regular rites – daily incense 155, 308, 355 n. 14

Index of Subjects – display bread 40, 155–56 n. 118, 266 n. 11, 304–5, 309–12, 318, 321, 335 n. 14, 367 – lighting the candelabrum 40, 119, 155, 260, 307–9, 335 n. 14 Reworked Pentateuch 4, 314–15 ritual – check lists 138 – ideals 89, 252, 254, 393 – innovation 149–50 – space and 13–14 – see also standardization, of ritual practice sabbath – in H 271–72, 309, 339, 364–69, 372, 386 – in H-like texts 299, 337, 369–71 – in P 336–39 sacrifice – centralization of 1, 101, 190, 214– 16, 225, 227, 244, 249, 303 – distinction between blood and nonblood 216–18, 236–37, 255–57 Samaria 72–73, 81, 172–73, 382 sanctions 196, 205, 207, 240, 249 sanctuaries. See names of individual sanctuaries sanctuary construction account, transmission of 50–52 settlements – in H 107, 261, 292, 293–98 – in H-like texts 108, 245 n. 141, 298–99, 302–4, 396 – see also diapora, centralization and Sinai 19, 20, 28 with n. 19, 42 n. 67, 171 n. 144, 252 slaughter, local – in D 225–27, 232–34, 250 – in H: centralization of 197, 203–14, 227, 228–29, 243–44, 248–49, 393– 94; issue of practicability 102–3, 190–91, 250–53, 254, 257–58, 395 – in P 244–48 – in the Temple Scroll 253–54 slavery – in H 373–75, 378, 379, 386–87, 398 – in non-priestly traditions 366 n. 75, 373 n. 83

483

– see also temple estates Solomon, as temple builder 129, 133– 34 space 12–13, 124, 206. See also ritual, space and; tent of meeting, as central space standardization – centralization and 10–11, 148, 152– 53, 177–82, 389, 404 – definition of 10 – in everyday life 143–46, 345–46, 355–56 – of ritual practice 136–43, 147–48, 391 taxation 75–76, 377–78, 382–83 temple estates 376–80 Temple Scroll 4, 316–17 n. 131. See also slaughter, local: in the Temple Scroll temples. See names of individual temple sites tent of meeting – as central space: in P 113–23, 126, 132; in H 203, 205, 222, 223, 251, 304 – as habitation of Yhwh 116–18, 156– 57 – in the Former Prophets 112 n. 2, 134 – mobility of 94–97, 98, 115, 123 – as non-monarchic space 129–36, 176 – in non-priestly traditions 119 n. 15 – as pan-Israelite space 96, 126, 128, 169, 174–75 time – centralization and 23, 259, 306–7, 313–14, 330, 396 – holy 40, 266–67, 273 n. 30, 336, 339 – reckoning in ancient Judaism 270, 302, 322 – see also calendars; festivals; sabbath temporal symmetry 263, 298 tithes 77, 237 torah. See law

484

Index of Subjects

tribes, twelve 128, 159, 160, 161, 310– 11, 318–19. See also priestly traditions, Judean bias unleavened bread, festival of – at Elephantine 324–26 – in H 271, 278–79, 281, 287 n. 70 – in H-like texts 107–8, 300–3 – in non-priestly traditions 277, 278, 280 Urim and Thummim. See divination, centralization of vassal treaties 37, 357 n. 60 vestments. See Aaron, vestments of; priests, vestments of

wilderness – camp 28 with n. 19, 126–28, 163 – as chaotic space 207, 240–42 – march 128 – sanctuary. See tent of meeting – see also Sinai Xanthus, trilingual Stele from 76 Yehud 74–75, 81–82, 178, 382 Yhwh – glory of 95, 122, 156–57 – of hosts 134 – name of 41–42, 361 – as patron god of Israel 117–18 Zadokite priesthood 183–85