Family and Household Religion: Toward a Synthesis of Old Testament Studies, Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Cultural Studies 9781575068862

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Family and Household Religion

Family and Household Religion Toward a Synthesis of Old Testament Studies, Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Cultural Studies

Edited by

Rainer Albertz, Beth Alpert Nakhai, Saul M. Olyan, and Rüdiger Schmitt

Winona Lake, Indiana E isenb rauns 2014

© Copyright 2014 Eisenbrauns All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Family and household religion : toward a synthesis of Old Testament studies, archaeology, epigraphy, and cultural studies / edited by Rainer Albertz, Beth Alpert Nakhai, Saul M. Olyan, and Ruediger Schmitt.    pages cm Includes bibliographical references and indexes. ISBN 978-1-57506-288-4 (hardback : alk. paper) 1.  Families—Religious aspects—Judaism—To 70 a.d.—Congresses.  2. Jewish families—Conduct of life—History—To 70 a.d.—Congresses.  3. Families— Palestine—History—Congresses.  4.  Families—Religious life—Congresses. 5. Palestine—Social life and customs—To 70 a.d.—Congresses.  6. Families—Biblical teaching—Congresses.  7.  Sociology, Biblical—Congresses.  8.  Bible. Old Testament—Criticism, interpretation, etc.—Congresses.  I.  Albertz, Rainer, 1943– editor.  II.  Nakhai, Beth Alpert, 1951– editor.  III.  Olyan, Saul M., editor.  IV.  Schmitt, Ruediger, editor. BS1199.F32F35 2014 296.7′409014—dc23 2014011290

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.™♾

Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii Women’s Rites of Passage in Ancient Israel: Three Case Studies (Birth, Coming of Age, and Death) . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   1 Susan Ackerman

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals for Reconstructing Judahite and Israelite Family Religion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Rainer Albertz

The Household as Sacred Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Beth Alpert Nakhai

Philistine Cult and Household Religion according to the Archaeological Record . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 David Ben-Shlomo

Anomalies in the Archaeological Record: Evidence for Domestic and Industrial Cults in Central Jordan . . . . . . . . . . .

103

P. M. Michèle Daviau

The Judean “Pillar-Base Figurines”: Mothers or “Mother-Goddesses”? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 William G. Dever

The House and the World: The Israelite House as a Microcosm . . . 143 Avraham Faust and Shlomo Bunimovitz

Healing Rituals at the Intersection of Family and Society . . . . . . 165 Erhard S. Gerstenberger

Family Religion from a Northern Levantine Perspective . . . . . .

183

Timothy P. Harrison

Horses and Riders and Riders and Horses . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

197

R. Kletter and K. Saarelainen

Feast Days and Food Ways: Religious Dimensions of Household Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225 Carol Meyers v

Contents

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The Roles of Kin and Fictive Kin in Biblical Representations of Death Ritual . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251 Saul M. Olyan

A Typology of Iron Age Cult Places . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Rüdiger Schmitt

The Textual and Sociological Embeddedness of Israelite Family Religion: Who Were the Players? Where Were the Stages? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 Ziony Zevit

Indexes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315

Preface Family and Household Religion: Toward a Synthesis of Old Testament Studies, Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Cultural Studies is the most recent collective contribution of a group of biblical scholars and archaeologists who are engaged in an ongoing debate about the nature of family and household religion in ancient Israel and its environment. It is intended to complement the volume Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, edited by John Bodel and Saul M. Olyan (Bodel and Olyan 2008), which grew out of a conference held at Brown University in 2005 on household and family religion in the ancient Mediterranean world, with an emphasis on cross-cultural comparison. After the conference at Brown, there was a session held at the meeting of the European Association of Biblical Studies in Budapest in 2006, in which the focus was narrowed to the gender dimensions of Israelite family/household religion. Two more sessions focusing on the Israelite house as a locus of family religion took place at the European Association of Biblical Studies meeting in Vienna in 2007. A fourth meeting at Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster in April 2009 emphasized theoretical and methodological challenges facing scholars of household and family religion (e.g., the conceptualization of family/household religion, the problem of identifying pertinent artifacts, and the difficulties inherent in using texts together with material evidence). This volume is a direct outgrowth of the Münster meeting. For both the meeting and the volume, we were particularly interested in bringing together a group of specialists in biblical studies, epigraphy, and archaeology who would utilize a variety of humanistic and social scientific approaches to the data and would also be willing to engage in dialogue and debate, as we believe that it is through such synthetic and dialogical approaches that our understanding is most likely to be enriched. During the conference in Münster, there was much vigorous intellectual engagement. We trust that the essays published here reflect that energy and will contribute, both individually and collectively, to the advancement of our knowledge of Israelite family and household religion. On a final note, we would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the generous financial support of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG) which made possible both the conference and the publication of this volume.

Rainer Albertz, Beth Alpert Nakhai, Saul M. Olyan, and Rüdiger Schmitt

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Publisher’s Note The conference on which this volume is based was held in April, 2009; the publisher received the manuscripts from the editors in spring, 2011, and the delay between that time and the publication of this volume is entirely the fault of the publisher. Readers should note that the essays were completed some years ago and only minor updates in proof have been made by the authors; the opinions expressed are based on research completed at the time of the conference and shortly thereafter.

Women’s Rites of Passage in Ancient Israel Three Case Studies (Birth, Coming of Age, and Death) Susan Ackerman Dartmouth College

I take a fundamental conviction to be implicit in this volume’s main title, Family and Household Religion, and especially in its focus on “household”: that in the study of ancient Israelite religion, the category of space matters profoundly in analyzing religious experience and practice, so that, to take a very obvious example, religion as it was practiced by families and their domestic affiliates in ancient Israelite households was of a very different sort than Israelite religion as it was manifest in priestly-based communities at major state temples such as Dan, Bethel, and Jerusalem. Much of my own work on Israelite religion has in addition based itself on the conviction that the category of gender matters, and matters quite profoundly, in analyzing ancient Israelite religious experience and practice (Ackerman 1989, 1992, 1993, 1997, 1998, 2002, 2003a, 2003b, 2006, 2008); I have elsewhere argued, for instance, that Israelite tradition, at least as manifest in the Hebrew Bible, responds quite differently to the possibility of women, as opposed to men, functioning as prophets, with the result that the Bible only envisions women engaging in prophetic activity in conjunction with some very specific historical and literary constraints (Ackerman 2002). My contention in this essay is that a third category that matters in analyzing Israelite religious experience and practice is time, and while this category of “time” might be construed in many different ways (for example, changes in the practice of Israelite religion over time during the Iron Age, as the centuries pass, or the various timebound celebrations—weekly, monthly, and annual—mandated within the Israelite ritual calendar), here I consider “time” in terms of the passage of time over the course of a religious practitioner’s life. My hope in what follows is to bring this category of “time” into conversation with the categories of space and gender by examining women’s experiences during a particular type of temporal event—life-cycle rituals— that I take to be household based. My thesis is that, while ancient Israelite household spaces were typically quite productive forums for women’s exercise of ritual agency and for their exercise of religious power (Ackerman 2008; Meyers 2002, 2005), the distinctive structure of life-cycle events in general and of women’s life-cycle events in particular compromised this exercise of agency and placed the women subjects of life-cycle rituals in the sort of relatively powerless position that I take to be more

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characteristic of their religious experiences in larger and more institutionalized sanctuary and temple settings.

1.  The Structure of Life-Cycle Rituals One factor that places women subjects of life-cycle rituals in a relatively powerless position is the distinctive structure of life-cycle rituals in general, since all lifecycle rituals, whether pertaining to men or to women, seek by definition to effect a transformation—the moving of an individual from one stage in life to another—that necessarily disrupts that which had previously been considered normative within that person’s community or social group. More simply put: life-cycle rituals necessarily require that a group’s and/or a community’s preexistent social categories be upended in order that the ritual subject’s position within these categories be changed (from, say, “unmarried young maid” to “bride”). This upending, while its end—for example, marriage—is often considered a social good, nonetheless imperils what had been the group’s and/or community’s fundamental constitution and form, and in response, the group and/or community categorizes the individual or individuals undergoing life-changing transitions—since they are, after all, the source of the community’s peril—as dangerous. As Mary Douglas writes in her landmark study Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (1966: 95), “People who are somehow left out in the patterning of society, who are placeless . . . [whose] status is indefinable” are “often treated as . . . dangerous.” To categorize the subjects of life-cycle rituals as dangerous, moreover, typically means keeping these individuals “in check,” so to speak, which is to say: as much as possible, whatever potential that individuals undergoing life-changing transitions possess for endangering their community must be constrained, if not completely subdued. Especially whatever potential these individuals possess for exerting agency, particularly agency that involves the exercise of power and the privileges of status, must be subdued. The result is disempowerment, disenfranchisement, and the rendering of life-cycle rituals’ subjects as marginal figures. At least one student of these life-cycle events, the historian of medieval Christianity Caroline Walker Bynum, has suggested (1991) that the marginalization that stems from such transformative rites manifests itself in the lives of women in a very particular way. More specifically, Bynum proposes that there is a dichotomy based on gender lurking beneath the surface of Victor Turner’s theory of liminality, which is the name Turner (following the groundbreaking work done on life-cycle rituals in the early part of the twentieth century [1909] by the French ethnographer and folklorist Arnold van Gennep) assigned to the central phase of life-cycle rituals. As both van Gennep and Turner argued, liminality is the phase in a life-cycle ritual, or what van Gennep called a rite de passage, when the ritual’s subject stands poised on the limen (the Latin term for “threshold”) between an old identity (say, childhood) from which that subject is being separated (during the rite-of-passage’s first, or preliminal, phase) and a new identity (say, adolescence) into which the subject is to be aggregated or incorporated (in the rite-of-passage’s third and final, postliminal, stage). Yet while both van Gennep and Turner saw liminality as central to the rite-ofpassage process, Turner ascribed far more significance to the liminal period than did van Gennep in his original study by emphasizing not just “the outward change of

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social status” accomplished by a rite of passage and, as a result, “the social aspects of the liminal state” (emphases mine), but more so “the inward, moral, and cognitive changes that occurred during a rite of passage” and, consequently, “the deconstructive and reconstructive processes” of liminality (Ray 2005: 9406). Thus, as Turner himself noted in an autobiographical essay originally published in 1977, he came, through his research, “to see that the liminal stage was of critical importance with regard to [the] process of regenerative renewal” (1985b: 159). According to Turner, liminality’s most defining characteristic is ambiguity; in Turner’s classic formulation, to be liminal is to be “betwixt and between.” “Liminal entities,” Turner writes (1969: 95), “are neither here nor there, they are betwixt and between the positions assigned and arrayed by law, custom, convention, and ceremonial.” As such, they are often described using symbols and images that themselves stand outside normative experiences and customary configurations and that emphasize “paradox, disorder, anomaly, opposition, and the like” (Myerhoff, Camino, and E. Turner 1987: 382b): for example, solar and lunar eclipses and “theriomorphic figures, at once animals and men or women .  .  . mermaids, centaurs, human-headed lions and so forth” (Turner 1985a: 295; similarly 1986: 41–42). Liminal persons also, Turner maintains (1969: 95), are often represented “as possessing nothing .  .  . to demonstrate that as liminal beings they have no status, property, insignia, secular clothing indicating rank or role, position in a kinship system.” As a result, liminars (to use Turner’s word for liminal persons) find themselves subject to the absolute authority of those who stand outside a rite of passage yet somehow assume responsibility for it. Participants in an initiation ritual, for example, can find themselves required to submit passively and humbly to the demands of elders who supervise the rite’s enactment, even though these elders often punish initiates arbitrarily and typically impose upon them onerous tests and trials (fasting, seclusion, sexual continence, silence, and so on). Turner’s standard exposition of the rites-of-passage pattern saw these various features and characteristics of liminality as something experienced temporarily by the individual or individuals going through a life-cycle event. But Bynum notes that “at many points” in Turner’s writings, “he suggests women are liminal or . . . marginals” as part of the normal course of their existence (Bynum 1991: 33, citing Turner 1969: 99–105 and 1979: 104–5). Women during many periods in history and in many cultures, for example, have been, like Turner’s liminars, devoid of status. They have also, like liminars, been unable to hold property; have been without rank or role, especially rank or role that is independent of some male in their life; have been peripheral or irrelevant in the delineation of kinship systems; and have been required to submit passively and humbly to the demands of fathers, husbands, brothers, and/ or other male authorities. Certainly, in many respects, this describes the experiences of ancient Israelite women: I will comment at the end of this essay, for example, on just how peripheral women were in the articulation of ancient Israel’s system of patri lineal kinship. Ancient Israelite women also seem, in many respects, to represent the ambiguity that Turner saw as liminality’s most characteristic feature. For instance, in her 1993 book Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)versions of Biblical Narrative, J. Cheryl Exum includes a chapter whose title, “The (M)other’s Place,” and especially the parentheses within it, tries to capture the ambiguous position that the matriarchs Sarah,

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Rebekah, Rachel, and Leah occupy in the book of Genesis. On the one hand, as Exum sees it, these matriarchs are central to the movement forward of the Genesis narrative, since the generational progression on which Genesis relies cannot be accomplished without the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob begetting a son or sons with a “right” or proper wife. What makes a wife “right,” moreover, is her insider status: she is not of the Canaanites nor, like the Egyptian Hagar, of some other people. Rather, she is of the patriarchs’ ethnos and, indeed, of their own family: Sarah is Abraham’s half-sister according to Gen 20:12; Rebekah and Isaac are patrilateral parallel cousins; Rachel and Leah are Jacob’s matrilateral cross-cousins. On the other hand, though, the matriarchs stand as outsiders: Rebekah, Leah, and Rachel, for example, are residents of far-away lands that they must leave to dwell with their husbands in Canaan. Once there, as Exum writes (1993: 110), “they are ‘other’.” More important, as Joseph Blenkinsopp points out (1997: 59), all ancient Israelite women—and not just the legendary characters of the Genesis ancestral narratives— are construed by the patrilocal conventions of Israelite marriage as, at least to some degree, “other”: in Blenkinsopp’s words, “the woman introduced into her husband’s household always remained, in a certain sense, an outsider.” Phyllis A. Bird similarly writes (1992: 952b) that “married women are outsiders in the household of their husband and sons.” To define women as “other” or “outsider,” however, is to associate them in turn with that which is foreign (Exum 1993: 72–73). 1 And while the Bible often counsels compassion toward the gēr, the “alien” and the “foreigner” are still, according to the tradition’s generally xenophobic worldview, non-normative, which is to say: paradoxical, disordered, anomalous, oppositional, or, in Turner’s terms, liminal. 2 So what happens, Bynum asks, when women, so associated with these sorts of liminal features, characteristics, and symbols as part of their normal course of existence, pass through a life-cycle ritual whose structure, as Turner would have it, requires a movement into liminality as a central and constitutive part? Turner and men generally would like to think, Bynum argues (1991: 32–33), that as men experience “reversal” and “inversion” in the liminal state, so that the social status normally assigned to males is stripped away and they become the objects of the kind of authority they normally wield (a Ndembu chief-elect, to use a classic example from Turner’s fieldwork in Africa, must “crouch in a posture of shame,” while being verbally reviled and manhandled during the course of his installation ritual [Turner 1969: 100–102]), so too should women experience “inversion” during a rite-of-passage’s liminal stage to become more like men and thus imbued, say, with military power (Bynum 1991: 38). Bynum illustrates this impulse on the part of male observers of women’s rites of passage by citing the way male biographers of the Middle Ages told stories of women who change their position in life by “flee[ing] the world and join[ing] monasteries” (Bynum 1991: 38). To do so, according to these male biographers’ accounts, women “disguis[ed] themselves as men” and so, in effect, “inverted” their natural identity to become temporarily male (Bynum 1991: 38); “to men,” Bynum writes (1991: 38), 1.  See also Hoffman (1996: 47), who goes so far as to draw the structural equation, men:women :: Israelite:foreigner. 2.  On Israelite women as “to some degree always outsiders, characterized by marginal roles,” in the words of Phyllis A. Bird, and as “occupying structurally marginal positions,” in the words of Léonie J. Archer, see further Archer 1990a: 56–57 n. 19; 1990c: 31; Bird 1992: 953b.

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“women reverse images and ‘become men’ in renouncing the world.” Consequently, these male biographers describe women’s progress on a path of increased religiosity using masculinized terms such as “virile” (Bynum 1991: 38). Yet when medieval women recount their own stories of spiritual transformation, Bynum finds (1991: 32–33), they stress less “the liminality of reversal or elevation, than continuity . . . continu[ing] or enhanc[ing] in image what the woman’s ordinary experience is.” According to Bynum, a rite of passage as perceived by the already liminal women of the European Middle Ages—or at least rites of passage that involved a change in religious status—just meant becoming more liminal. The early fifteenthcentury Englishwoman Margery Kempe, for example, “achieves spiritual growth not by reversing what she is” (a wife whose husband is annoyed by her asceticism) “but by being more fully herself with Christ” within the context of her married life (by imagining, for instance, that she feels Jesus’ toes in her hand as she lies in bed) (Bynum 1991: 41). Bynum also cites a 1982 study of medieval saints’ lives by Donald Weinstein and Rudolph M. Bell, who report that “women’s saintly vocations often grew slowly through childhood and into adolescence,” whereas “male saints were far more likely to undergo abrupt adolescent conversions, involving renunciation of wealth, power, marriage, and sexuality” (Bynum 1991: 42–43, citing Weinstein and Bell 1982: Part I, especially 34, 48, 71, 97, 108, 121, and 135): a classic example of this characteristic male pattern is seen in the life-story of St. Francis of Assisi, who, after an adolescence during which he embraced luxury and frivolous pursuits, came as a result of a religious calling to renounce, in a moment of pious fervor, not only the wealth but even the garb bestowed upon him by his wealthy cloth-merchant father in order to live as a beggar. Needless to say, medieval Europe is not ancient Israel, nor are the narratives of religious transformation on which Bynum focuses the same as actual life-cycle rituals that move a person from one stage of life to the next. Nevertheless, I suggest that Bynum’s basic thesis regarding women’s liminal experiences still holds for ancient Israelite women: that these women, already “othered,” marginalized, and thus liminal in their society as part of the normal course of their existence, are rendered even more liminal during life-cycle rituals’ transformative processes. Thus, to reiterate the thesis that I stated at the beginning of my comments: although I find it the case generally that a localized and small-scale site of religious practice, like a household, promoted the potential for ancient Israelite women to act within that venue as significant religious agents, in the case of life-cycle rituals, even though their setting is without exception (as far as I can determine) domestic, women’s ability to exercise religious agency is compromised, first by the disempowering aspects inherent in any rite-of-passage’s transformative processes but more so because of gender, because the social processes to which women liminars become subject are especially disempowering, exacerbating their already marginal position within Israel’s larger society.

2.  By Way of Example: The Life-Cycle Ritual of Birth There exists a large corpus of ancient Near Eastern ritual texts that address matters of pregnancy and labor, especially texts describing rituals that seek to insure the well-being of a delivering mother and her newly delivered infant at a time when childbirth put both at great risk. We also know, from the Mesopotamian and Hittite

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worlds, of some rituals pertaining to successfully delivered infants that are gender specific. In Mesopotamian tradition, for example, according to both Sumerian and Old Babylonian texts, the birth of a child was marked by bringing a newborn into contact with objects that signified its gender: a baton or club (Sumerian tukul ) and an ax (Sumerian ḫa-zi-in; Akkadian haṣṣinnu) for a newborn boy, and a spindle (Sumerian bala; Akkadian pilakku) and a pin or clasp (Sumerian karid; Akkadian kirissu) in the case of a newborn girl (van der Toorn 1994: 20; 1996: 97; Stol 2000a: 60–61, 63, and nn. 93 and 94 on p. 63; 2000b: 490). 3 The choice of objects here is not coincidental: spindles especially were characteristic markers of femininity in the ancient world because they symbolized the work of textile production that was so much a part of a woman’s life (Hoffner 1966: 329; also Holloway 1987: 370–71; Bird 1992: 354a). The Israelites of the biblical period do not seem, however, to have marked so specifically a newborn’s gender at birth. 4 Certainly, we have no textual records of ancient Israelite rituals analogous to the Mesopotamian, and also Hittite traditions that demarcated explicitly the sex of a newborn girl (van der Toorn 1994: 22). The ritual that requires the consecrating or dedicating Israel’s boy-children to Yahweh (Exod 13:1–2, 11–16; 22:29; 34:20; Num 3:11–12, 40–50; 8:16–18; 18:15–16) likewise cannot be compared to the ancient Near Eastern traditions of sexual demarcation that I have mentioned, given that this rite applies only to firstborn males and also, according to Num 3:40 and 18:16, applies only to male infants over a month old and not to the neonates who are the subjects of Mesopotamian and Hittite ritual. Moreover, the Israelite ritual of circumcising a newborn boy on the eighth day of his life, although it is obviously a gender-specific birth rite, is not comparable to Mesopotamian and Hittite custom, because it does not have gender demarcation of the male infant as its explicit aim or motive. Indeed, as several commentators have noted (and as I will discuss further below), circumcision may originally have had nothing to do with birth but was instead a rite performed at puberty to mark a young man’s coming of age and readiness for marriage. And even when the tradition shifted to infant circumcision, the rite’s purpose was still not to demarcate the infant as male rather than female. Rather, its primary focus was to signal—after the boy had lived for a week and the most acute dangers of death associated with childbirth had passed 5 (alternatively, after the time during which the infant “was believed to 3.  Stol (2000b: 490) further explains that the “pin” or “clasp” (which is how he interprets the karid/kirissu) was the toggle pin that was worn on a woman’s breast to hold her garment together. Scurlock (1991: 148) adds that in Mesopotamia a newborn girl might also be given a “crucible,” which she notes (p. 174 n. 138) is treated in Akkadian tradition as a synonym of “womb.” 4.  Indeed, birth generally seems not to have been as ritualized in biblical Israel as it was elsewhere in the ancient Mediterranean world. See Bremmer 2004: 438. 5.  Angel (1972: 94–95, 97) estimates, based on Greek data, that in the early Iron Age there were an average of 4.1 births per female, with 1.9 survivors. Unfortunately, Angel does not make clear how, more specifically, these data are to be interpreted, and scholars thus vary—sometimes significantly—in their understanding. For example, Tikva Frymer-Kensky (1992: 246 n. 56) indicates that “the birthrate in the eastern Mediterranean at this period” (Frymer-Kensky is speaking here of some point during the biblical period, but, unfortunately, she does not specify precisely the time of which she is thinking) “has been calculated at 4.1 pregnancies per woman, with only 1.9 live births”; in making this claim, she cites, in addition to Angel, David C. Hopkins, without, unfortunately, providing a specific citation. I think, though, she is dependent on Hopkins 1987: 182. Nonetheless, note that Hopkins, although he, like Frymer-Kensky, cites Angel’s data, interprets it differently than she: “Angel found 4.1 [presumably live] births, but only 1.9 survivors, per female” (see likewise idem

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be especially threatened by evil spirits” was over [Archer 1990b: 30–31])—the child’s entry in the Israelite covenant community (Isaac 1964). 6 Nevertheless, when the tradition shifted from adolescent to infant circumcision, this rite did come to serve indirectly to differentiate newborn males from females, and gender demarcation of both infant boys and girls seems also to have been indirectly marked by at least some Israelite ritual practitioners during at least some points in ancient Israelite history through the observing of the Lev 12:1–8 rituals that concern the impurity of a newborn’s mother. According to this Leviticus passage, the newly delivered mother was considered to manifest the impurity of a menstruant for an initial seven-day period and then remained impure, although no longer in the menstruant’s contagious state, for another 33 days if her child was a boy (Lev 12:2). She was, however, considered impure for twice as long—an initial 14 days, and then a subsequent 66 days—if her child was a girl (Lev 12:5). Why this discrepancy exists is a matter of debate among scholars. Perhaps the most common explanation is to assume that the end of the first stage of impurity of a mother newly delivered of a son was somehow coordinate with his circumcision on the eighth day after birth, possibly so that his circumcision might take “place in a state of purity” (a position articulated already in the Jewish Talmud) 7 or possibly because the boy’s circumcision removed the mother’s initial impurity. 8 But as Jacob Milgrom has pointed out in his magisterial Anchor Bible commentary on Leviticus (1991: 744, 750), a mother’s impurity after the birth of a female was longer than 1985: 254). Victor H. Matthews and Don C. Benjamin (1993: 42) and Elizabeth A. Willett (2008: 80) interpret similarly: Willett writes, “of the average 4.1 [presumably live] births per female, only 1.9 survived.” Still, survived for how long? Carol Meyers (1997: 19 and 44 n. 47, citing Angel 1973), suggests “as many as one in two children did not survive until the age of five.” Elsewhere, Meyers notes (1988: 112) that in one tomb group from ancient Israel, 35% of the individuals died before the age of five. Beth Alpert Nakhai (2008: 258) writes that “the death rate for children under five years of age in antiquity . . . reached 40% or more,” and Gay Robins (1994–95: 28) notes that at three New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period cemeteries from ancient Egypt, infant graves comprised, respectively, 50%, 48%, and 42% of total burials. For still more on infant mortality in antiquity, see Scott and Duncan 2002: 143 and Stol 2000a: 178. 6.  See also Flusser and Safrai 1980: 47; Fox 1974: especially 588, 594–96 (concerning especially the understanding of circumcision in the P, or Priestly, source); Gursky 2001: 147–48, 156–63, and also the references Gursky collects on 148 n. 2; King 2006: 50; Propp 1987: 357; and Eilberg-Schwartz 1990: 141–76, although with the important caveat that covenant in Israelite tradition was conceptualized as a matter of procreation, so that circumcision as a sign of this covenant, as Eilberg-Schwartz writes on p. 143, “symbolized the fertility of the initiate as well as his entrance into and ability to perpetuate a lineage of male descendants.” 7.  Milgrom (1991: 744) summarizes the position of Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai in b. Niddah 31b that, “originally the mother of a male was impure for fourteen days, just as in the case of a female, but the term was reduced” in the case of a newborn male to accommodate the boy’s circumcision on the eighth day; see similarly Gursky 2001: 180. Rhonda Burnette-Bletsch (2000: 204) likewise explores (although does not necessarily endorse; see further below, n. 13) the possibility that the longer period of impurity associated with a female child’s birth was originally the norm for all infants but that it was shortened for male infants to coordinate with the ritual of the boy’s circumcision so that the mother “could comfort her son during this ritual procedure.” 8.  Milgrom (1991: 744) attributes this position to David Zevi Hoffmann (1905–6; 1954); see also Levine (citing Hoffmann), in 1989: 73, although see further, on Levine’s position, 1989: 249–50 and n. 13 below.

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her impurity after the birth of a male in other eastern Mediterranean communities where circumcision was not a factor (the Hittites), 9 rendering arguments that link the duration of the Israelite mother’s impurity to laws about circumcision “invalid.” Milgrom, moreover, seems disinclined to embrace many of the alternate suggestions on offer: that the ancient Israelites believed that the mother’s postpartum discharge, which is the agent that renders the woman unclean (Burnette-Bletsch 2000: 204; Wenham 1979: 188; Whitekettle 1995: 397, 405–8; Wright and Jones 1992: 205b) lasted longer in the case of the birth of a girl than it did after the birth of a boy 10 (evidence suggests “a slightly longer period . . . but nowhere near to twice as long” [Magonet 1996: 144]), or that the Leviticus 12 law reflects the same conviction regarding the superior status and worth of a male as compared to a female that is found elsewhere in levitical tradition (e.g., in Lev 27:2–7) 11 (as Milgrom points out [Milgrom 1991: 751; cogently summarized in Hess 2002: 382], a human corpse defiles more than a dead pig, yet surely this is not to be taken as an indication that a human is of a lesser status and worth than a pig). 12 “The reason for [the] disparity between the sexes is unknown,” Milgrom concludes (1991: 750), and most other commentators are equally stymied. 13 “No convincing explanation has been offered 9.  As Billie Jean Collins writes of the Hittites (2004: 444), “A ceremony of reentry into the community was performed for mother and child after three months for a boy and four months for a girl”; see also Beckman 1978: 18 (Text 7, rev. lines 41–43); 1983: 134–37, 142–43 (Text K, §10–11, §28–29); Pringle 1983: 139. 10.  Those who hold this view include Dillmann and Ryssel 1897 and Macht 1933. Objections to this thesis can be found in Hartley 1992: 168; Magonet 1996: 144; Milgrom 1991: 750; and Wenham 1979: 188. 11.  Those who hold this view include the medieval commentator Isaac Abravanel (see Abravanel 1964: 176b, as cited by Milgrom 1991: 750); Stol 2001a: 207; Wright and Jones 1992: 205b, citing Selvidge 1984: 620–21; also, with qualifications (he speaks only of women’s “cultic inferiority” [emphasis mine]) Noth 1977: 97, and, with reservations, Hartley 1992: 168. Discussions articulating objections to this thesis can be found in Hess 2002: 382; Magonet 1996: 145; and Milgrom 1991: 750. 12. As Hess (2002: 382) also notes, a similar point is made by Gruber (1992b: 56 n. 13), whom Milgrom cites. 13.  Exceptions include, in addition to the scholars whose views are catalogued in nn. 7–8 and 10–11 above, Gruber (1992a: 79) and Nakhai (2008: 261), both of whom attempt to offer womanaffirming interpretations of the difference between impurity’s duration after the birth of a female versus a male child. In Gruber’s view, the longer period of impurity after a girl-child’s birth is “meant to provide an extra margin of time for mother and daughter to establish breast-feeding” in order to counter the possibility that a mother would wean a girl-child early so that she might resume menstruating and conceive a more desirable boy-child; for Nakhai, the longer period of impurity associated with a girl infant’s birth likewise facilitates a “period of extended bonding between mothers and newborn daughters” that helped avert countervailing pressures extant within Israelite society, especially during times of crisis, for families to rid themselves of infant daughters either through exposure or infanticide. Note also Levine (1989: 249–50), who proposes (following somewhat, albeit not exactly, Mary Douglas 1966: 51, although Levine does not explicitly cite this source) that impurity in ancient Israel corresponded to that which “modern health care” would refer to “as susceptible” or “vulnerable.” The new mother, he goes on to say, although “a source of joy to the community . . . was particularly vulnerable, and her child was in danger too, since infant mortality was widespread in ancient communities.” Therefore, the mother “generated anxiety—as did all aspects of fertility and reproduction,” including “the infant daughter’s potential fertility.” According to Levine, this explains the longer period of impurity associated with her birth (but see also, regarding Levine’s position, n. 8 above). Cf. as well Burnette-Bletsch (2000: 204) and Magonet (1996: 145), who suggest, like Levine (1989: 249–50), that “the infant daughter’s potential fertility” might account for the longer period of

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why the birth of a girl makes the mother unclean for twice as long as the birth of a boy,” Gordon J. Wenham writes (1979: 188); “it is not clear why the birth of a girl doubles the time period of a mother’s uncleanness and that of her purification,” according to Saul M. Olyan (2000: 44); “I do not know,” Jonathan Klawans admits (2000: 39), “why women are ritually defiled for a longer period after the birth of a daughter than after the birth of a son.” Given the discussion of Caroline Walker Bynum’s work that I have presented in my introductory comments, however, it seems that the reason commentators are so stymied is because they have looked for—and found unsatisfactory—only explanations that concern the cultural context of the ancient Israelite world (e.g., positing a relationship between the duration of the mother’s uncleanness and the Israelite ritual of circumcision, or positing that the duration of the mother’s uncleanness is related to other levitical traditions about women’s inferior status). I propose instead that we consider childbirth in its structural context as a life-cycle ritual; I propose also that, as opposed to commentators’ typical (although not exclusive) focus on the mother’s time of postpartum defilement, we remember in our consideration the concomitant period during which the newborn infant would be “at one,” so to speak, with the polluted mother. 14 That is, the newborn infant should, like its mother, be subject to impurity, given that the mother’s impurity is said to be like that of a menstruant’s and thus contagious to the extent that anyone who touches her (Lev 15:19)—which would include, surely, her newborn—was rendered unclean (I assume here the typical scenario within Israelite households whereby a mother, and not a wet-nurse, suckles a child). We might thus imagine that the infant was kept isolated—at least to some degree—from all but its mother and others who must inevitably share in her impurity (for example, the mother’s midwife). Indeed, Olyan (2008: 57 and 150 n. 31) has noted, regarding the menstruant and the parturient, that “some evidence from other West Asian sources suggests that they were to be removed from the domicile or even the community during the time of their pollution,” and Karel van der Toorn similarly imagines that Israelite women would withdraw to a separate shed on the outskirts of their village during the time of their menses (2003: 395). 15 So, one might wonder, was this true during parturition as well? If this were the case, then certainly the parturient’s suckling child was also removed impurity associated with her birth. Burnette-Bletsch, however, unlike Levine, sees this as an affirmation of “a female’s greater potential role in reproduction,” rather than a commentary on the anxieties engendered by women’s reproductive capabilities (similarly Gerstenberger 1996: 153). Whether Burnette-Bletsch, however, ultimately subscribes to this theory that has as its basis the newborn girl’s potential reproductive capacity is unclear; see above, n. 7. Magonet, moreover, after putting forward a theory focused on the newborn girl’s potential fertility eventually rejects it in favor of a proposal that a baby girl can sometimes suffer from vaginal bleeding “following the withdrawal of maternal hormones,” a ritual uncleanness that, he proposes, the mother must deal with (since the baby cannot) through the doubling of the mother’s period of ritual impurity (Magonet 1996: 152). For still other theories, see the succinct yet thorough lists of possibilities that have been assembled by Hartley (1992: 167–68) and Sprinkle (2000: 644, with references in nn. 17–23). 14.  Although his overall analysis differs significantly from mine, Jonathan Magonet and I share a sense that “a mother bearing a child” constitutes an “entity . . . considered to be a ‘single flesh’ made of two separate persons”: see Magonet 1996: 151. 15.  See also van der Toorn 1994: 53, where he notes that, in the first chapter of Lamentations, Jerusalem, which has been “plundered and devastated by the Babylonians,” is presented as a menstruant who “sits ‘alone’ or ‘in seclusion.’”

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with her. Yet even if an Israelite infant and its mother were not wholly sequestered after birth (a position regarding the menstruant—and thus, presumably applicable to the menstruant-like parturient—that is articulated by Milgrom [1991: 952–53] and also by Shlomo Bunimovitz and Avraham Faust [2003a: 415–16; see similarly 2002: 37, 39; 2003b: 29]), “impurity,” to quote Olyan (2008: 57) again, would still “severely limit opportunities for movement [and] social interaction.” I take this period of impurity to be, for both infant and mother, a typical liminal phase within a rite of passage. The seclusion, whether absolute or partial, to which they would have been subject is, for example, one of the key characteristics of the liminal experience that I, following Victor Turner, have catalogued above. Also, the act of birth can be said, as we would expect in a rite of passage, to have separated the newly delivered mother—especially if the child is her first—from her previous or preliminal identity, status, and mode of existence as “not mother,” whereas the end of her period of impurity, as the rite-of-passage structure again would predict, marked her reaggregation or reintegration back into her community, especially her ritual community (as she would have been able, once her period of pollution had passed, to enter the sorts of sanctified spaces forbidden to those who are impure and in fact would have been mandated to do so, according to Lev 12:6, in order to bring a sacrificial offering to the wilderness tent of meeting and, in later times, to the Jerusalem temple). 16 Likewise, and more important, with regard to the neonate, which is my particular concern in this discussion: the act of birth can be said to have separated this infant from its previous preliminal status, identity, and mode of existence as a fetus in the womb. The child is furthermore waiting, as the rite-of-passage structure again would predict, to be integrated or aggregated into its new or postliminal stage or status in life: full-fledged membership within its family unit and larger household and village community. In fact, some comparative evidence suggests that only after certain postpartum rituals take place can an infant be officially recognized as a part of his or her new family. 17 Until this happens, the newborn is, to recall Turner’s famous formulation, “betwixt and between” the status of fetus and fully human or, more simply put, liminal. 18 We have learned from Bynum, moreover, that liminality is exacerbated for women or in this case, I suggest, newborn girls. More specifically, I propose that in order to have the expected liminal experience of a rite of passage, female infants, who are intrinsically liminal simply by virtue of their sex, need to experience, during the liminal postpartum period, some exaggerated or intensified experience of normal liminality. Normal liminality in this case, I further suggest, is defined by the infants 16. The sense that childbirth and the subsequent period of seclusion for the reproducing women marks the tripartite phases of a rite of passage is very similarly evoked by Whitekettle (1995: 399–408), although the conclusions he draws from this analysis go in different directions than do mine. 17. Some have suggested, for example, that the washing of a newborn child in Babylonian postpartum ritual marks the official recognition of the child as a member of his or her new family and community: Stol 2000a: 178; somewhat similarly, Malul 1990: 106–10. Similarly, in Greece and Rome, the end of the period associated with childbirth was marked by the baby’s being handed over to its father to receive a name and so be formally brought into his or her new family: Bremmer 2004: 438. 18.  The sense that the period immediately following birth marks a “dangerous transitional” (which is to say, liminal) state for a neonate is very similarly evoked in Archer 1990b: 31.

Women’s Rites of Passage in Ancient Israel

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of the sex that is normative in Israelite society: the males. Childbirth’s normal liminal experience can thus be described as the seven-day period in which newborn boys are contaminated by their mother’s impurity. Indeed, seven days is a quite standard liminal period—or at least the standard duration of a transitional period— within the priestly traditions of which the Leviticus 12 text that we are considering here is a part. 19 The period of corpse contamination for those who have come into contact with a deceased person’s body is, for example, seven days (Num 19:11, 14, 16; 31:19); according to Exod 29:35 and Lev 8:33, the process of priestly ordination lasts seven days; and the Sukkot festival that marks the end of the agricultural year and the beginning of the winter rains lasts seven days (Lev 23:34, 42–43). But if a seven-day liminal period is the priestly norm, then the period of ritually demarcated liminality for a female infant should, under the terms of Bynum’s analysis, somehow exceed this, and so the already liminal baby girl becomes doubly liminal through the doubled (fourteen-day) period of her mother’s ritual defilement. Likewise, the period of the mother’s lesser defilement—also a part of a liminal phase—is doubled for the baby girl (66 days, as opposed to 33) as a result of the intensification of liminal markers that can define female rites of passage. 20

3.  By Way of Example: Coming-of-Age Rituals The tradition that circumcisions were performed on males eight days old as a symbol of their entry into the Israelite covenant community is found in both Hebrew Bible and New Testament accounts: in, for example, Gen 17:11–12; 21:4; Lev 12:3; Luke 1:59 and 2:21; and Phil 3:5. Still, other (and sometimes arguably older) 21 biblical materials associate circumcision with adolescence and with the institutions of betrothal and marriage with which adolescence, in the ancient Israelite life cycle, was closely affiliated. According to Gen 17:25, for example, Abraham’s older son Ishmael was circumcised at age thirteen, and in Gen 34:13–17, Jacob’s sons require the Shechemites to circumcise themselves before their sister Dinah can marry into their community. Circumcision is also associated with the maritally allusive phrase “bloody bridegroom” in Exod 4:24–26 (more on this passage presently), and King Saul demands in 1 Sam 18:25–27 that his prospective son-in-law David give to him a marriage present or marriage fee of one hundred Philistine foreskins before he can wed Saul’s daughter Michal. 22 Elsewhere in ancient Near Eastern tradition, 19.  Whitekettle (1996: 381) similarly makes a case for the number seven symbolizing “wholeness” and “completeness” in the priestly worldview. 20.  As in n. 19 above, Whitekettle (1996: 381, 390) makes a case for the number “forty”—the total duration of the impurity associated with the birth of a male infant—being, in the priestly worldview, a number symbolizing “wholeness” and “completeness.” Under the terms of Bynum’s analysis, this normative number would again need to be exaggerated in the case of the excessively liminal female, yielding the doubled period of eighty days that is associated with a girl infant’s birth. 21.  Among the examples listed below, it is Exod 4:24–26 and 1 Sam 18:25–27 that especially have struck commentators as archaic: on dating the former, see already Driver (1911: 32), who writes of Exod 4:24–26 that it is an “evidently antique narrative” (this quote brought to my attention by Ashby 1995: 203). On the date of 1 Sam 18:25–27 and, more generally, the so-called “History of David’s Rise” of which 1 Sam 18:25–27 is a part, see McCarter 1980: 27–31. 22.  These examples assembled by (among others) Cohen 2005: 11–12; Fox 1974: 592–93; Houtman 1983: 93; King 2006: 51; Propp 1987: 358–61; 1993: 508; 1999: 237; van der Toorn 1994: 72; de Vaux 1997: 47.

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circumcision and marriage are also linked. Several commentators have suggested, for example, that the pruning imagery used in CAT 1.23.8–11 from Late Bronze Age Ugarit is symbolic of the circumcising of the god El “in preparation for his subsequent marriage” (Wyatt 1992), 23 and similarly in ancient Egypt, according to Robert K. Ritner (2008: 178), “the act of circumcision is . . . connected with . . . sexual maturity.” William H. C. Propp has in addition catalogued evidence that associates circumcision with marriage among both pre-Islamic Arabs and some modern Muslims (1993: 507, 515–18; see also 1987: 355 n. 1; and Patai 1960: 181–83). Indeed, Shaye J. D. Cohen writes of Islamic culture (2005: 12) that “on the day of the circumcision, the boy, who is typically six to eight years old . . . dress[es] up as if for a wedding . . . is marched in procession as if he were a bridegroom . . . and a meal rivaling a wedding feast is served.” Moreover, as both Cohen and Propp (among many others) 24 point out (Cohen 2005: 12; Propp 1987: 358; 1993: 507; 1999: 237), in Arabic the base form of the verb ḫātana, “to become related by marriage,” and the noun ḫatan, “male relation by marriage,” is ḫatana, which means “to circumcise.” “In light of these traditions,” Propp suggests (1993: 508), “it seems likely” that the cognate Hebrew root ‫( ןתח‬reflected in lexemes such as ‫ןֵתֹח‬, “father-in-law,” ‫ןָתָח‬, which means both “son-in-law” and “bridegroom,” and ‫הָּנֻתֲח‬, “marriage,” “wedding”) “formerly connoted,” as in Arabic, “both circumcision and marriage.” Thus Roland de Vaux concludes (1997: 47) that “originally, and as a general rule, circumcision seems to have been an initiation-rite before marriage.” 25 David Flusser and Shmuel Safrai have furthermore described how, in the Abraham saga and elsewhere in the Bible and the ancient Near East, the near death or death of a child could be associated with circumcision (1980: 46–48). In the aforementioned Exod 4:24–26, for example, 26 Yahweh’s intent to kill Moses, or perhaps Moses’ unnamed son, 27 is averted when Zipporah, Moses’ wife and the child’s mother, circumcises her son and also, possibly, her husband (the alternative is that Zipporah’s touching of Moses’ genitals [literally, his “feet”] with the circumcision 23.  See also Pardee 1997: 277 n. 13, and Dijkstra 1998: 286–87; these references brought to my attention by Smith (2006: 46–47), although note that Smith himself rejects the interpretation these interpreters put forward. Cf., however, Eilberg-Schwartz (1990: 149–54), who suggests an association of the imagery of pruning and circumcision in Israelite tradition and who further suggests the association of both pruning and circumcision with fertility and reproduction (as also above, in n. 6). 24.  For example, Fox 1974: 592; Houtman 1983: 93; Isaac 1964: 451; van der Toorn 1994: 72; de Vaux 1997: 47. 25. Cf. Block 2003: 79; he claims that other than “circumcision . . . on the eighth day . . . passages in a child’s life were not clearly marked,” and Bremmer 2004: 439, who writes that in Israel, “male initiation seems to have disappeared without a trace.” 26.  The enigmatic passage found in Exod 4:24–26 has occasioned much discussion. Along with the standard Exodus commentaries, add to the exhaustive bibliography collected by Childs (1974: 90) the following works that have appeared since Childs wrote: Ashby 1995; Beltz 1975; Ruth and Erhard Blum 1990; Frolov 1996; Gelernter 1988; Houtman 1983; Kaplan 1981; Kunin 1996; Propp 1993, 1999: 233–41; Reis 1991; Richter 1996: Robinson 1986; Römer 1994. 27.  As many commentators have pointed out, the “him” to which Exod 4:24 refers is unclear. Some thus see Yahweh’s intended victim as Moses’ son (either his firstborn, Gershom, or his second, Eliezer): so, for example, Blau 1956: 1–3; Greenberg 1969: 113–14, 116; Kosmala 1962: 20–23; and Morgenstern 1963: 45. Most commentators maintain, however, that the intended victim of Yahweh’s attack is Moses: for discussion, see Kaplan 1981 and Propp 1999: 233. I have also commented on this issue elsewhere (Ackerman 2002: 73).

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flint, or perhaps with the flesh she has taken from her son’s penis [Propp 1987: 359 and n. 13 on that page], is to be regarded as only a symbolic act). 28 Somewhat similarly, in the Passover saga of Exodus 12, the deaths of the Israelites’ firstborn sons are averted by each family’s slaughtering of a sacrificial lamb and then, with the exception of those who are uncircumcised (Exod 12:48), their eating of it together in a ritual meal. In ancient Near Eastern tradition, we read in The Phoenician History of Philo of Byblos of the Canaanite god El’s both circumcising himself and sacrificing his only son when “war’s gravest dangers gripped the land” (Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica 1.10.33, 44; translation Attridge and Oden 1981: 63). All this might suggest that if circumcision was originally a coming-of-age ritual for young men, so too was a related near-death ordeal. Certainly, Gen 22:1–19, the story of the near sacrifice of Isaac by his father Abraham, can be taken to imply that Isaac is an adolescent or nearly ready to enter puberty at the time of this trial, as he is physically mature enough to carry the wood for the sacrificial fire and mentally mature enough to question his father concerning deviations from normal sacrificial practice (“And Isaac spoke to Abraham, his father . . . and he said, ‘Here is the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering [‫ ;”’?]עלה‬Gen 22:7). Isaac’s next appearance in the narrative, after the sacrifice is averted, moreover suggests that he has successfully passed through a ritual that has rendered him of marriageable age, as, in Gen 24:1–9, Abraham initiates endeavors to secure for his son a bride. Also significant is that the Genesis 22 story takes place in a seemingly wilderness location, atop a mountain in the otherwise unknown land of Moriah (Bal 1988: 110), for, according to both Arnold van Gennep and Victor Turner, a wilderness setting is a typical feature of rites-of-passage events. More specifically, van Gennep and Turner describe a wilderness setting as typical of the liminal stage of rites of passage, during which, as we have seen, a ritual participant has been separated from or has left behind an old identity but has not yet been fully integrated or incorporated into a new stage and/or new status in life. In Isaac’s case, according to the interpretation we are pursuing here (see similarly Bal 1988: 110–13; Propp 2004: 20), the old identity being left behind is childhood; the new stage or new status in life toward which he is moving, as I have already intimated, is the stage of adolescence and the status of marriageability. The wilderness ordeal atop the mountain in Moriah would thus mark the stage of liminal transition. Indeed, in ancient Near Eastern traditions, wilderness is the paradigmatic liminal space. Edmund Leach, for example, writes of the biblical wilderness as “a ‘betwixt and between’ locality . . . which is neither fully in This World nor in The Other” (Leach 1983: 16). Those who enter into or dwell within the biblical wilderness are therefore liminal beings.

28.  After Zipporah, Moses’ wife, moves in Exod 4:25 to avert Yahweh’s attack by circumcising her son, the “feet” she is said next said to touch are to be interpreted, in my opinion (and also in the opinion of the majority of commentators, as Moses’ (although the text uses a pronoun referent that does not make this totally clear). I further agree with the majority of commentators that the reference to Moses’ “feet” in the text is to be taken as a euphemism for his genitalia and that what Zipporah is doing with her touching is either actually or symbolically circumcising Moses. She then addresses Moses with the maritally allusive language that I cited above: “You are surely a bridegroom of blood [or a “bloody bridegroom”] to me” (Exod 4:25). See further, for more of my comments on this text, Ackerman 2002: 73–74.

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A coming-of-age ritual for young women analogous to the young men’s ritual to which the Isaac story hints may be alluded to in the Judg 11:29–40 story of Jephthah’s daughter. The prologue of this story can be succinctly summarized: “the spirit of Yahweh” has come upon Jephthah ( Judg 11:29), and he prepares to wage war against the Ammonites who are oppressing Israel. At this point Jephthah makes the vow that, as Phyllis Trible has famously noted, is at best superfluous and in fact implies a lack of faith (1981: 60–61; 1984: 96–97; 1987: 5): that if he is successful in battle, he will sacrifice to the deity as a burnt offering (‫ )עלה‬whomever or whatever (the Hebrew ‫ אׁשר‬is ambiguous) comes out of his house to meet him when he returns home triumphant. The vow is an act of unfaithfulness, according to Trible, because it is unnecessary, given that Jephthah has already been possessed by the spirit of Yahweh and as such has become assured of victory. Its compromised nature, moreover, becomes even more obvious once the consequences of the vow become clear, for, while any hearer of the Jephthah story would want to imagine that it will be some animal from his flocks that Jephthah will first encounter upon his homecoming, it turns out, of course, that when Jephthah comes home victorious, it is his only child, a daughter, who comes out to meet him. Jephthah is deeply distressed: the first word out of his mouth is a cry of woe, and he also engages in the typical Israelite mourning ritual of tearing his clothes. Still, both he (in v. 35) and his daughter (in v. 36) realize that his vow, like almost all vows in the Bible, is irrevocable and that the daughter must be sacrificed as Jephthah has promised. It is within the context of this tragic realization that the story introduces information relevant for our current inquiry. The daughter, although she acknowledges the necessity of honoring her father’s vow, asks for a short reprieve before the sacrifice takes place: two months to “wander” 29 in the mountains with her companions “so that I might bewail,” as it is usually translated, “my virginity” (better, as we will see momentarily, “my onset of physical maturity”; Judg 11:37). This request Jephthah grants, the two-month period of bewailing is undertaken, and then, after the daughter is killed, we are told that a custom arose in Israel that every year, for four days, the daughters of Israel would go forth to ‫ תנות‬Jephthah’s daughter. In ancient translations of the Bible, and in many modern versions, this verbal infinitive form ‫ תנות‬is rendered “to lament,” which suggests that the Israelite daughters go forth to mourn Jephthah’s daughter’s tragic death. But ‫ תנות‬really is better translated (as in Judg 5:11) as “to rehearse” or “recount,” 30 and Peggy L. Day has persuasively argued (1989: 58) that the recounting or the “ritual remembrance” in question is best described not as a remembering of Jephthah’s daughter’s tragic death but as “the social recognition of her [ Jephthah’s daughter’s] transition to physical maturity.” This annual “remembrance” of Jephthah’s daughter’s “transition to physical maturity” moreover functions, according to Day, as well as other scholars (Bal 1988: 110–13; van Dijk-Hemmes 1993: 88–90; Niditch 1997: 115–16), as “a women’s lifecycle ritual” for the daughters of Israel, who, like Jephthah’s daughter, go out from their homes at the time of their own entry into puberty to, again like the daughter, 29.  Reading here the verb ‫רוד‬, “to wander,” for MT ‫ירד‬, “to go down.” 30.  The Hebrew verb ‫ חתן‬used here is found elsewhere in the Bible only in Judg 5:11, where it means “to recount,” with the more specific sense of recounting to commemorate. See Day 1989: 67 n. 4 and the references there; also, van Dijk-Hemmes 1993: 90.

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“bewail” their own transition into physical maturity and the symbolic death of the childhood stage of life that they leave behind (Day 1989: 58). Day, in other words, suggests that the Jephthah’s-daughter story functions as an etiological legend in which Jephthah’s daughter’s past actions serve as a model for a coming-of-age ritual of weeping and lamentation that all young Israelite women are compelled to enact to mark their movement out of childhood and into adolescence and thus, according to the Israelite life-cycle calendar, into the age of marriageability. Mieke Bal further points out (1988: 49) that Jephthah’s daughter specifically asks to go to the mountains with her female companions to undertake her lamentation rite, and she argues that these “mountains” seem to be portrayed as a wilderness locale in the conceit of the text (in contrast to the settlement of Gileadite Mizpah, where Jephthah’s home was located). Thus, as Jephthah’s daughter leaves behind her old identity and status as a child, she simultaneously leaves home to go to the same sort of paradigmatically liminal space as did Isaac in his Genesis 22 journey to a wilderness mountain. 31 The daughter is also said to “wander” the mountains with her companions (reading here, with many commentators, the verb ‫“ רוד‬to wander,” for the Masoretic text ‫ירד‬, “to go down”), and this is significant, for the very act of wandering implies a quality of aimlessness reminiscent of the “betwixt and between” ambiguity that characterizes the liminal phase of a rite of passage. Many scholars have suggested, for example, that the Israelites’ exodus journey from Egypt to Canaan that had them wandering for 40 years (and in the wilderness, no less!) marks a liminal phase in a rite of passage that moved the Israelite community from its old status of slavery to its new identity as a politically and religiously united confederation (Cohn 1981: 7–23; Haldar 1950: 5; Hendel 1989: 375; 2001: 617; Propp 1999: 35–36; Talmon 1966: 50, 54; 1976: 947b). Of course, unlike the Israelites, who eventually do enter into the promised land, Jephthah’s daughter never achieves the aggregation or incorporation into the married stage of life that her coming-of-age rite should entail, because she is sacrificed as her father had vowed upon her return from her two-month wilderness wanderings ( Judg 11:39). Still, the rites-of-passage images of wilderness, wandering, and ordeal seem vivid enough within the Jephthah’s-daughter story that we can follow Day and Bal in arguing that the Judg 11:29–40 account must have been for its ancient Israelite audience a meaningful representation of a ritual of initiation for young women as they made the transition into adolescence and became of marriageable age. We can, moreover, further follow Bal in suggesting that the similarities between the imagery of Gen 22:1–19 and Judg 11:29–40—in particular, the imagery of a sacrificial trial (‫ )עלה‬and wilderness mountains—may indicate that this young women’s initiation paralleled a ritual that marked the onset of adolescence and the age of marriageability for young men. Nonetheless, it is curious that, despite the similarities between the imagery of Gen 22:1–19 and Judg 11:29–40—especially their common image of a sacrificial trial (‫—)עלה‬there is an obvious difference: Jephthah’s daughter is actually killed by her father ( Judg 11:39), whereas Isaac is spared when a divine messenger intervenes and stays Abraham’s hand (Gen 22:11–12). I would again explain this distinction 31. Indeed, Kunin (1996: 6) writes specifically of mountains as one of the major types of liminal space in Hebrew tradition.

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by reference to Caroline Walker Bynum’s discussion of women and liminality and her suggestion that, for women, the liminal experience within a rite of passage is somehow intensified or exacerbated. Above, I argued that in the case of rites of passage that concerned a newborn child, this intensification manifests itself in terms of time, so that the postpartum period of liminality was doubled if a newborn infant was a girl as opposed to a boy. Here, the intensification of liminality characteristic of women’s rites of passage manifests itself in terms of degree, so that the kind of test and trial characteristic of the liminal experience is more dangerous and fraught for a woman subject than for a male. Thus, Jephthah’s daughter dies as a result of her sacrificial ordeal, while Isaac does not. Of course, this is not to say that the actual coming-of-age rituals that I (following Day and Bal) have suggested that these two etiological legends model ended in the deaths of young women and the salvation of young men; this would be patently ridiculous. Instead, my proposal is that the excessiveness of liminal markers that Bynum has said we should look for in women’s life-cycle rituals plays itself out narratively in the story of Jephthah’s daughter’s death. While the “daughters of Israel” who follow in her footsteps every year certainly do not endure the daughter’s actual fate, their liminal ordeal is intensified by recounting a story where the premonition of death comes significantly nearer than does death in the story that models the coming-of-age experience of their male counterparts.

4.  By Way of Example: The Life-Cycle Ritual of Death After a young girl comes of age, we can identify, in my opinion, several other life-cycle events that mark transition points in her life: her betrothal, which I would take to follow almost immediately upon her coming into physical maturity, and her wedding, which, again, I would take to follow almost immediately upon the ritual of betrothal. There then come in turn, according to the Israelite ideal, a series of lifecycle events that pertain to a woman’s experiences of motherhood: pregnancy, labor, delivery, the naming of the child (a rite mothers perform more often than men, according to the biblical record), nursing, and weaning. In a considerably longer version of this paper, I consider all of these occasions, but constraints of space do not allow that here, and so, while it may seem hopelessly abrupt to move from a young girl’s coming of age to her death, I am going to do just that in order to consider rituals that pertain to a woman’s demise. Unfortunately, however, as is so often the case when describing ancient Israelite tradition, most of our evidence concerning rituals that pertain to death comes from texts that pertain to the experiences of men. Only a few women’s deaths and burials are described in the Bible, and several of these reports describe funerary experiences that can hardly be taken to reflect usual custom (e.g., the cutting into pieces of the body of the Levite’s dead concubine in Judg 19:29, after she has been murdered by the Benjaminites of Gibeah, and, according to 2 Kgs 9:35–36, the devouring of almost all of Queen Jezebel’s body by dogs). Given this paucity of evidence, we cannot say whether all of the rites reported for men’s deaths pertained also to women. Nevertheless, some things seem clear. For example, as Jacob indicates in his speech in Gen 49:30–32 concerning his own burial, women were normally interred alongside men in the sort of multi-generational family tomb that seems common in Israelite burial practice. Thus, Jacob describes the cave at Machpelah, near Mamre, as

Women’s Rites of Passage in Ancient Israel

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the tomb in which Abraham and his wife Sarah and Isaac and his wife Rebekah had been buried and in which he buried his first wife, Leah (Gen 49:30–31). Barzillai of Gilead, who helped escort King David across the Jordan when the monarch returned to Jerusalem after the suppression of Absalom’s revolt, likewise refers to a tomb in which both his father and mother were buried (2 Sam 19:38 [37]). Archaeological evidence also indicates that it was the norm for men and women in Israel to be buried alongside one another in communal tombs, although our data are limited, since “only a very small number of the individuals interred have been analyzed for sex” despite the “large number of Iron Age burials [in Israel] excavated” (Bloch-Smith 1992b: 65). Still, in the burials surveyed by Elizabeth Bloch-Smith in her important monograph Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs about the Dead (1992b: 68), “there was no example of an adult female buried alone”; rather, “the greatest number of women were buried with children, adolescents and other adults in cave and bench tombs.” Indeed, in cave tombs, to continue to quote Bloch-Smith (1992b: 69), “females to males exhibited a 1:1 ratio,” and similarly in bench tombs, “adults and adolescents displayed a 3:2 ratio of men to women.” In short: texts such as Gen 49:30–32 and our archaeological evidence appear generally to point to the conclusion that, in ancient Israel, men and women were buried together in multi-generational family tombs (this seems the most logical way to interpret the archaeological record I have just described, although whether the multiple burials found by archaeologists in various cave and bench tombs belong, in fact, to the same family cannot be determined from the remains as we have them). Still, there are anomalies, such as the description of the burial of Jacob’s beloved wife Rachel found in Gen 35:16–20. Unlike the other women of the Abrahamic patriline (Sarah, Rebekah, Leah), Rachel is not accorded burial in the family’s burial cave at Machpelah but instead is interred in a roadside grave at the site where she died, somewhere along the road that ran south from Bethel to Ephrath. But why should the tradition describe this sort of al fresco burial for Rachel rather than imagining that her body would have been carried south from the alleged place of her demise to Abraham’s family’s burial cave at Machpelah? Surely it cannot be that the place of Rachel’s death was thought to be too far removed from the family’s Machpelah tomb for her body to have been transported there for burial (it was, at most, about 35 kilometers away), 32 given that in Gen 49:29, Jacob requests that his 32.  Commentators have long debated precisely where, along the road from Bethel to Ephrath, the biblical tradition envisions the location of Rachel’s tomb. Ephrath according to Gen 35:19 (and also 48:7) is but another name for Bethlehem, and thus, since the fourth century C.E., Jewish, Christian, and (eventually) Islamic sources have claimed Bethlehem as the place of Rachel’s burial. Still today, in fact, there is a small sanctuary just north of Bethlehem that marks this site. 1 Sam 10:2, however, locates Rachel’s tomb within the tribal allotment of Benjamin, as does Jer 31:15, which describes the corpse of the dead Rachel singing forth a dirge over the Israelites who have been exiled to Babylon, thus presuming Rachel’s burial site to have been in Benjaminite Ramah (modern el-Ram, about 8 kilometers north of Jerusalem). Scholars tend to agree that this Benjaminite tradition is more authentic, as it certainly makes sense for the biblical authors to have associated Rachel’s tomb with the tribal territory of the son during whose delivery she is said to have died. According to this analysis, the Gen 35:19 and 48:7 passages that identify Ephrath with Bethlehem have been secondarily influenced by the close association of Bethlehem with an important Judean clan called Ephrath, attested in texts such as 1 Sam 17:12; Mic 5:1 (2×); Ruth 1:2 and 4:11; and 1 Chr 4:4. Alternatively, Ernst Vogt (1975: 30–36), followed by Gordon J. Wenham (1994: 326), maintains that Gen 35:19 and

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own body be interred at Machpelah, even though he is about to die at least 325 kilometers to the south and west, in Egypt! To be sure, the transportation of Jacob’s body from Egypt to the cave at Machpelah would have been facilitated in the minds of the biblical authors by the Egyptian process of mummification (or, in the Bible’s words, “embalming”; ‫)חנטים‬. But at least four biblical passages (catalogued by Olyan 2005: 602–3) also describes occasions when fresh bodies such as Rachel’s are transported some distance in order that they be buried in their families’ tombs. In Judg 16:31, for example, Samson’s body is moved about 60 kilometers, from the place of his death in Philistia to his family’s tomb in the southwest of Israel. Similarly, in 2 Sam 2:32, the body of David’s nephew Asahel is moved about 18 kilometers after his death in battle to his family’s tomb in Bethlehem, and in 2 Kgs 9:28 and 2 Kgs 23:30, the bodies of Kings Ahaziah and Josiah, respectively, are brought to Jerusalem after their deaths in battle at Megiddo, which was about 90 kilometers away. 33 The imperative in ancient Israel that one be buried in one’s family’s tomb in fact seems to have been so pressing that custom even permitted previously interred bodies to be exhumed for transport and reburial. Thus, the body of Joseph, which was originally interred in Egypt, was subsequently brought to Israel during the course of the Exodus event (Exod 13:19; Josh 24:32). Likewise, the bones of King Saul and his son Jonathan, which were originally buried in Jabesh-Gilead after they died in the disastrous battle against the Philistines (the bodies otherwise were burned; 1 Sam 31:12), were later moved to the family tomb in the tribal territory of Benjamin (2 Sam 21:12–14). It seems curious, therefore, that Jacob is not depicted in the Bible as transporting the body of his beloved Rachel to his family’s tomb at Machpelah at the time of her death or at least as coming back to move the corpse to Machpelah at a later time. Rachel’s is a burial, in addition, that is portrayed as being performed in a somewhat cursory fashion: she is interred in a roadside grave and with no other ceremony than the erecting of the standing stone or ‫ מצבה‬that is a common feature in West Semitic burials (Peckham 1987: 90–91 n. 23). Indeed, because Rachel, it is implied, is simply laid in the earth, her burial appears more analogous to the one described for Rebekah’s nurse, Deborah—who was likewise simply laid in the earth beneath an oak near Bethel—than to the burials of Abraham’s other descendants. The Hebrew used to recount the burials of Rachel and Deborah is, in fact, exactly the same (Gen 35:8 reads ‫ותמת דברה ותקבר‬, and in Gen 35:19, we find ‫)ותמת רחל ותקבר‬. But while the sort of burial these verses describe might be appropriate for Deborah, a servant who sojourns with Abraham’s family and is not a member of the Abrahamic patriline, it seems strikingly out of place for Rachel, whom we would expect to receive instead the interment in Machpelah due an honored wife, as is accorded to Sarah, Rebekah, and Leah. And so, yet again, we might ask: why the aberration? 48:7 actually agree with 1 Sam 10:2 and Jer 31:15 that Rachel’s tomb should be sited in Benjamin (see somewhat similarly Alter 1996: 198), arguing based on Akkadian bēru, meaning “double hour” (in addition to the standard lexicons, see Dalley 1991: 127 n. 21 and Huehnergard 1997: 581), that Hebrew ‫ כברת־הארץ לבוא אפרתה‬in Gen 35:16 assumes that the location of Rachel’s death was in the southernmost reaches of Benjamin, about 10 kilometers (the distance a traveler can walk in two hours) north of Bethlehem. This would be about 30 kilometers north of Machpelah. 33.  Exactly where Josiah died as a result of this battle is in fact reported rather differently in different ancient accounts of the event: in 2 Chr 25:34, Josiah died in Jerusalem after being brought there, gravely wounded.

Women’s Rites of Passage in Ancient Israel

19

In a recent issue of the Journal of Biblical Literature, I, along with co-author Benjamin D. Cox, have proposed an answer: that the anomalous way in which the biblical authors treat Rachel’s burial was a result of the particular means by which her death was thought to have come about, in childbirth (Cox and Ackerman 2009). Cox and I have offered several arguments in support of this theory: the fact that, for example, in many cultures, the bodies of women who have died in childbirth are often buried separately from the community’s other dead. In such communities—for instance, among many indigenous communities in Borneo—this is because “the cadaver of a woman who dies in childbirth is the subject of a special revulsion” (Metcalf and Huntington 1991: 80). The source of this special revulsion among the communities of Borneo is dread, fear of the extraordinarily dangerous forces that a woman’s death in childbirth can release—namely, the dangerous forces of death itself combined with the dangers that are associated with the act of childbirth. In ancient Israel, Cox and I have proposed, the same situation obtained. Certainly, as we have seen above, the act of childbirth is associated in Israel with supernatural dangers—primarily the dangers of ritual pollution—that accrue to a delivering mother. Indeed, so dangerous are the impurities associated with childbirth that, as we have seen in our earlier discussion, some sort of separation of the mother from her family and most other members of her society is typically required, both during labor and for a period of some days or months after the delivery. Only after the ritual pollution incurred during childbirth is dispelled could a newly delivered mother rejoin her community. But death in childbirth precludes the performance of whatever rites are needed to remove the polluting dangers of delivery, leaving the body of the dead mother in a continuing state of contagion. Moreover, according to Israelite tradition, corpses are also polluting. The death of an Israelite woman during childbirth results in a compounded pollution, whereby the original pollution that would have come upon, say, Rachel during her delivery is coupled with the pollution of her corpse. This marks her as an overwhelmingly potent source of danger. Indeed, the danger is so great that the biblical authors would have found it unthinkable, Cox and I have argued, for Jacob and the others of his entourage to have transported her body any distance from the site of her demise. In fact, even had Rachel died proximate to her family’s burial cave at Machpelah, we have proposed that her corpse would have been thought such a danger to the other residents of the tomb of her husband’s kin that she could not have been laid within it. The only acceptable response for her survivors upon her death was immediately to perform an abbreviated version of the standard burial, interring her quickly where she expired and with the bare minimum of ceremony, and then beating a hasty retreat from the site of contagion. Strikingly, though, we have no evidence that any other type of death in ancient Israel required the deployment of these sorts of abnormal burial rites, although cross-cultural evidence might suggest otherwise. Within the Roman church during the European Middle Ages, for example, both women who died in childbirth and individuals who committed suicide could be denied a standard burial within the consecrated ground of the churchyard. 34 Likewise, in certain African cultures, suicides, 34.  On the medieval church’s treatment of the bodies of women who died in childbirth, see, e.g., Pearson 1999: 15; regarding the decrees of various medieval church councils regarding the burial of those dead by suicide, see Barry 1995: 474–75, and Murray 1998. Both Barry and Murray

20

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and also deaths brought about by drowning or by witchcraft, are considered, like women’s deaths in childbirth, aberrant or unnatural and are therefore accorded atypical burials (Eicher and Erekosima 1987: 38; Welmers 1949: 242). Conversely, in Israel, several biblical texts attest that suicide, at least, did not result in a nonnormative burial (while there are manifold biblical accounts of death due to drowning during, for example, the story of Noah’s flood, there are no records of drowning of which I am aware that concern the burial of a drowning victim, nor records of either the demise or burial of those dead by witchcraft). Regarding the burial of suicides, however, as I have mentioned already above: Samson’s family goes to great trouble to ensure that his body is recovered from the Philistines and properly buried “in the tomb of his father, Manoah” after Samson declares “Let me die with the Philistines” ( Judg 16:30) and kills himself by pulling the pillars of the temple of the god Dagon down upon himself and upon all the worshipers gathered there. David likewise goes to great trouble to recover the bones of King Saul and to bury Saul “in the tomb of his father Kish” (2 Sam 21:14), despite the fact that Saul, according to 1 Sam 31:4, killed himself by falling upon his own sword after his three sons had died in battle against the Philistines and he himself was badly wounded. Ahithophel, one of the counselors of David’s rebel son, Absalom, was also buried “in the tomb of his father” after he hanged himself once his counsel went unheeded and it became apparent that Absalom’s revolt was doomed to fail (2 Sam 17:23). Note that in all three of these examples, however, the stress is on the father’s tomb, and this despite the fact that—as we have seen above—ancient Israelite tombs were typically (women’s deaths in childbirth notwithstanding) used for the burials of both a family’s male and female members. The tomb is nevertheless identified by reference to a family’s patriarch, because ancient Israelite tombs are closely linked to a family’s patrimony or its ‫—נחלה‬the land each Israelite family claimed perpetually to hold as an inalienable patrimonial estate, passed down through the generations from father to son. 35 The biblical witness speaks clearly, in fact, to the need to bury a family’s ancestors together in a tomb located within this ‫נחלה‬, even if this required extraordinary measures at the time of death or long after, as was the case in David’s burial of the long dead Saul in the tomb of his father Kish located in Zela (2 Sam 21:12–14), a town that, based on Josh 18:28, we can take to be the ‫ נחלה‬of the Saulides that lay within the territory of Saul’s tribe of Benjamin. Likewise, the Israelites of the Exodus generation moved the body of the long dead Joseph out of Egypt so that he might be interred “in the portion of the field that Jacob had purchased from the sons of Hamor, the father of Shechem,” which “belonged to the descendants of Joseph as a ‫ ( ”נחלה‬Josh 24:32). Joshua is also, according to Josh 24:30 and Judg 2:9, buried in his family’s ‫נחלה‬, and the notice that Aaron’s son Eleazar was buried “in the town of his [Eleazar’s] son Phinehas, which had been given to him in the hill country of Ephraim” ( Josh 24:33), although it does not deploy the term ‫ נחלה‬specifically, clearly has in mind the same notion of burial in the land that a family claims as its patrimake clear that prohibitions forbidding a Christian burial to suicides were not uniformly administered within the medieval church. 35.  In addition to the standard lexicons, dictionaries, and encyclopedias, I have found especially helpful the discussions of Gerleman 1977: 313–25; Habel 1995: especially 33–35; Hanson 1986: 63–65; and Lewis 1991: 598–99, 605–7, with extensive references.

Women’s Rites of Passage in Ancient Israel

21

monial estate. So, too, do the descriptions of Jephthah’s burial in Judg 12:7—in his “town in Gilead” 36—and of Samuel’s burial in 1 Sam 25:1—at his ancestral homestead at Ramah—mean to evoke this ideological conviction.  37 But why is burial in a tomb within a family’s ‫ נחלה‬so important? Bloch-Smith concisely answers: “ancestral tombs served to reinforce the family claim to the . . . naḥălâ (1992a: 222). That is, Bloch-Smith goes on to say (1992a: 222), “the existence of the tomb constituted a physical, perpetual witness to ownership of the land,” or, more simply, “the tomb . . . constituted a physical claim to the patrimony.” Likewise, Herbert C. Brichto, in a seminal article whose very title, “Kin, Cult, Land and Afterlife—A Biblical Complex,” captures perfectly the intricate interrelationship that existed between an Israelite family’s deceased ancestors and that family’s land, argues that “the burial place as the ancestral home” attaches the family “to the soil” (1973: 5). “The land represented the family,” Karel van der Toorn similarly writes (1996: 199), “joining the ancestors with their progeny,” and he adds, “an important reason why the family land was inalienable was the fact that the ancestors were buried there.” A family’s tomb, in short, inexorably tied that family to its ‫נחלה‬, co-mingling the ancestors’ remains with the very earth of the family homestead. Indeed, so tied were the ancestors’ remains to a family’s land that, according to Theodore J. Lewis (1991), in a brilliant reading of 2 Sam 14:16, the ‫ נחלה‬can be described more expansively as the ‫נחלה אלהים‬, which means (interpreting ‫ אלהים‬here as deceased spirits in general and a family’s deceased ancestors in particular) 38 “the patrimony of the ancestors” or “the ancestral estate.” More precisely, though, as I have already intimated, we need to take the phrase “patrimony of the ancestors” quite literally and understand a family’s ‫ נחלה‬as the “the male ancestral estate,” for within ancient Israel’s system of patrilineal descent and patrilocal marriage, it is the presence of male forebears within a family’s tomb that secures the claim to the family’s ‫נחלה‬. Indeed, not only can a family’s ‫ נחלה‬be described as the ‫נחלה אלהים‬, or “the ancestral estate”; it can also be called quite specifically the ‫נחלה אבות‬, the “inheritance” or “estate of the fathers” (1 Kgs 21:3; emphasis mine). Hence the imperative for all men within a patriline to be buried in a family’s tomb, no matter how extreme the measures required to relocate their bodies if needed and no matter how aberrant or unnatural their deaths may have been. But the same urgency does not exist for women. Rachel’s body can be relegated to a roadside grave, whereas the bodies of Joseph and even the disgraced Saul must be exhumed from their original tombs and painstakingly reburied within their family’s ‫נחלה‬. For the patrimony to be preserved, the bodies of the patriline must be present. Israel’s male-dominated social order, to put the matter somewhat more bluntly, persisted even in death.

36.  Reading here ‫בעירו בגלעד‬, based on the Greek, as opposed to the Masoretic text ‫בערי גלעד‬. 37.  Note as well Judg 8:32 and 2 Sam 2:32 (as cited by Bloch-Smith 1992b: 115); also, as BlochSmith elsewhere points out (2004: 87), Judg 12:7 and 1 Kgs 11:43 (// 2 Chr 9:31), and (as pointed out by Lewis 1991: 608), 1 Kgs 2:34. 38.  See 1 Sam 28:13; Isa 8:19; Num 25:2, as quoted in Ps 106:28; and probably Exod 21:6; on the interpretation of Exod 21:6, see van der Toorn and Lewis 2006: 783, and, as cited there, Schwally 1892: 37–39; Niehr 1991: 301–6; and Cooper and Goldstein 1994: 285–303, especially 294 and n. 23 on that page. On Num 25:2 as quoted in Ps 106:26, see Lewis 1989: 167 and 1991: 602.

22

Susan Ackerman 5.  Concluding Reflections

Death is, of course, the last great rite of passage in any life-cycle; death has, moreover, been considered by some to be the life-cycle ritual par excellence, because it has been suggested that all other life-cycles rites are ultimately derived from mortuary custom. 39 Yet, even if this claim overstates the case, it nevertheless can be argued that death rituals across cultures tend to serve as particularly clear examples of the tripartite pattern of rites of passage originally articulated by Arnold van Gennep: (1) separation from “an earlier fixed point in the social structure or from an earlier set of social conditions” (in death rituals, this would be the moment of the actual death); (2) a period of liminality, “when the state of the ritual subject is ambiguous . . . no longer in the old state [yet] has not reached the new one” (marked in death rituals by the time prior to a body’s burial and also by the duration of the associated rituals of mourning); and (3) reaggregation or reincorporation, “when the ritual subject enters a new stable state with its own rights and obligations” (the point when both burial and mourning rites have ended) (Deflem 1991: 7–8, paraphrasing Turner 1967: 94). In ancient Israel, however, death rituals serve as particularly clear examples of the rites-of-passage tripartite pattern more in the case of men than in the case of women. More specifically, while the point of “separation”—the actual death—and the transitional period of liminality—encompassing both the time between the actual death and the body’s burial and the time devoted to subsequent rituals of mourning and lamentation—seem similarly (although not necessarily identically) defined for men and women, the rituals that speak to reaggregation or reintegration, whereby the deceased becomes enshrined in the community of a family’s ancestors, can be for men and women realized differently: the imperative that a woman be buried in her family’s tomb and thereby, to paraphrase the biblical idiom, be “gathered to her fathers,” seems less absolute than the imperative that a deceased male be joined in death with the bodies of his (male) ancestors. Men thus experience important rituals of reincorporation or reaggregation after death that propel them into a new identity among the larger community of the dead and thus “a new stable state with its own rights and obligations” (Deflem 1991: 7–8, paraphrasing Turner 1967: 94). Women need not. Instead, deceased women can remain, to some degree, liminal, and—without a burial that joins them to their dead relatives—they can remain liminal into eternity. 40 This is a particularly excessive form of the exaggerated and exacerbated experience of liminality that Caroline Walker Bynum has argued typically characterizes women’s rites of passage. I am moved in this regard to consider Jer 31:15, in which the dead Rachel sings a dirge from her tomb, lamenting the fate of the Israelites who in the early sixth century b.c.e. are being taken away into captivity by their Babylonian conquerors. As my co-author Benjamin D. Cox and I have noted in discussing this passage (2009: 39.  Marriage rites within ancient Greek tradition, for example, rely heavily on funeral traditions: see Jenkins 1983: 142; Lonsdale 1993: 234; Redfield 1982: 188–91; Seaford 1987; and SourvinouInwood 1987: 139. See also, for this same phenomenon in the Slavic world, Moyle 1986: 229–32. 40. “‘Immortality,’” Nancy Jay writes (1992: 39), “is commonly a masculine privilege. It is through fathers and sons, not through mothers and daughters, that ‘eternal’ social continuity is maintained.”

Women’s Rites of Passage in Ancient Israel

23

147), there is no other biblical text of which we know in which a dead spirit similarly speaks from the grave unbidden. Rather, although the biblical tradition admits the possibility that the dead might speak to the living (as in, for example, Isa 8:19–20), it indicates that this communication can only be brought about with difficulty, requiring the aid of elaborate necromantic rituals: Saul, for instance, requires the aid of a medium to summon the ghost of the dead Samuel (1 Sam 28:3–25). Moreover, even though Samuel’s ghost does appear when summoned by the medium’s magic, Samuel responds with reluctance and seems to perceive that his rest has been unduly disturbed. Why, then, might Rachel speak forth from her grave voluntarily, and even after she has been dead, according to the dominant strain within biblical chronology, for at least a thousand years? Is it because her death in childbirth and the abbreviated burial that this entailed has left her restless and unsettled, unaggregated and unincorporated with her ancestral peers? Thus she lingers to speak to the living in ways that the properly buried and memorialized dead—which is to say, those, especially men, who have been properly reaggregated or reincorporated with the ancestral community—do not.

Bibliography Abravanel, Isaac 1964 Commentary on the Torah. Jerusalem: Bnai Arbel. Ackerman, Susan 1989 “And the Women Knead Dough”: The Worship of the Queen of Heaven in SixthCentury Judah. Pp. 109–24 in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel, ed. Peggy L. Day. Minneapolis: Fortress. 1992 Isaiah. Pp. 161–68 in The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. Carol A. Newsom and Sharon Ringe. London: SPCK / Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox. 1993 The Queen Mother and the Cult in Ancient Israel. Journal of Biblical Literature 112: 385–401. 1997 The Queen Mother and the Cult in the Ancient Near East. Pp. 179–209 in Women and Goddess Traditions: In Antiquity and Today, ed. Karen L. King with an introduction by Karen Jo Torjeson. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress. 1998 Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen: Women in Judges and Biblical Israel. Anchor Bible Reference Library 17. New York: Doubleday. 2002 Why is Miriam Also Among the Prophets? (And is Zipporah Among the Priests?) Journal of Biblical Literature 121: 47–80. 2003a At Home with the Goddess. Pp. 455–68 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. William G. Dever and Seymour Gitin. Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–May 31, 2000. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2003b Digging Up Deborah: Recent Hebrew Bible Scholarship on Gender and the Contribution of Archaeology. Near Eastern Archaeology 66: 172–84. 2006 Women and the Worship of Yahweh in Ancient Israel. Pp. 189–97 in Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever, ed. Seymour Gitin, J. Edward Wright, and J. P. Dessel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2008 Household Religion, Family Religion, and Women’s Religion in Ancient Israel. Pp. 127–58 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. John Bodel and Saul M. Olyan. Oxford: Blackwell.

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Alter, Robert 1996 Genesis: Translation and Commentary. New York: W. W. Norton. Angel, J. Lawrence 1972 Ecology and Population in the Eastern Mediterranean. World Archaeology 4: 88–105. Archer, Léonie J. 1990a Bound by Blood: Circumcision and Menstrual Taboo in Post-Exilic Judaism. Pp. 38–61 in After Eve, ed. Janet Martin Soskice. Women and Religion Series. London: Collins Marshall Pickering. 1990b Her Price is Beyond Rubies: The Jewish Woman in Greco-Roman Palestine. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement 60. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press. 1990c “In Thy Blood Live”: Gender and Ritual in the Judaeo-Christian Tradition. Pp. 22–49 in Through the Devil’s Gateway: Women, Religion and Taboo, ed. Alison Joseph. London: SPCK, in association with Channel Four Television. Ashby, Godfrey W. 1995 The Bloody Bridegroom: The Interpretation of Exodus 4:24–26. Expository Times 106: 203–5. Attridge, Harold W., and Oden, Robert A., Jr. 1981 Philo of Byblos: The Phoenician History: Introduction, Critical Text, Translation, Notes. Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 9. Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America. Bal, Mieke 1988 Death and Dissymmetry: The Politics of Coherence in the Book of Judges. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Barry, Robert 1995 The Development of the Roman Catholic Teachings on Suicide. Notre Dame Journal of Law, Ethics & Public Policy 9 (1995): 449–501. Beckman, Gary 1978 Hittite Birth Rituals: An Introduction. Sources from the Ancient Near East 1/4. Malibu, CA: Undena Publication. 1983 Hittite Birth Rituals. 2nd rev.  ed. Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 29. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Beltz, Walter 1975 Religionsgeschichtliche Marginalie zu Ex 4:24–26. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentlische Wissenschaft 87: 209–11. Bird, Phyllis A. 1992 Women (OT). Pp. 951a–957a in vol. 6 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. David Noel Freedman. New York: Doubleday. Blau, Yehoshua 1956 ‫חתן דמם‬. Tarbiz 26: 1–3 (Hebrew). Blenkinsopp, Joseph 1997 The Family in First Temple Israel. Pp. 48–103 in Families in Ancient Israel. The Family, Religion, and Culture. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Bloch-Smith, Elizabeth 1992a The Cult of the Dead in Judah: Interpreting the Material Remains. Journal of Biblical Literature 111: 213–24. 1992b Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs about the Dead. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement 123; Journal for the Study of the Old Testament/American Schools of Oriental Research Monograph 7. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press. 2004 Resurrecting the Iron I Dead. Israel Exploration Journal 54: 77–91. Block, Daniel I. 2003 Marriage and Family in Ancient Israel. Pp. 33–102 in Marriage and Family in the Biblical World, ed. Ken M. Campbell. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

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25

Blum, Ruth and Erhard 1990 Zippora und ihr ‫חתן דמם‬. Pp. 41–54 in Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Erhard Blum, Christian Macholz, and Ekkehard W. Stegemann. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener. Bremmer, Jan N. 2004 Introduction: Rites of Passage. Pp. 438–39 in Religions of the Ancient World: A Guide, ed. Sarah Iles Johnston. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Brichto, Herbert C. 1973 Kin, Cult, Land and Afterlife—A Biblical Complex. Hebrew Union College Annual 44: 1–54. Bunimovitz, Shlomo, and Faust, Avraham 2002 Ideology in Stone: Understanding the Four-Room House. Biblical Archaeology Review 28/4: 33–41. 2003a Building Identity: The Four-Room House and the Israelite Mind. Pp. 411–23 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. William G. Dever and Seymour Gitin. Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–May 31, 2000. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2003b The Four Room House: Embodying Iron Age Israelite Society. Near Eastern Archaeology 66: 22–31. Burnette-Bletsch, Rhonda 2000 Women after Childbirth (Lev 12:1–8). P. 204 in Women in Scripture: A Dictionary of Named and Unnamed Women in the Hebrew Bible, the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books, and the New Testament, ed. Carol Meyers, with Toni Craven and Ross S. Kraemer. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Bynum, Caroline Walker 1991 Women’s Stories, Women’s Symbols: A Critique of Victor Turner’s Theory of Liminality. Pp. 27–51, 305–18 in Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and the Human Body in Medieval Religion. New York: Zone. Childs, Brevard S. 1974 The Book of Exodus: A Critical, Theological Commentary. Old Testament Library. Philadelphia: Westminster. Cohen, Shaye J. D. 2005 Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? Gender and Covenant in Judaism. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press. Cohn, Robert L. 1981 The Shape of Sacred Space: Four Biblical Studies. American Academy of Religion Studies in Religion 23. Chico, CA: Scholars Press. Collins, Billie Jean 2004 Rites of Passage: Anatolia. P. 444 in Religions of the Ancient World: A Guide, ed. Sarah Iles Johnston. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cooper, Alan, and Goldstein, Bernard F. 1994 The Cult of the Dead and the Theme of Entry into the Land. Biblical Interpretation 1: 285–303. Cox, Benjamin D., and Ackerman, Susan 2009 Rachel’s Tomb. Journal of Biblical Literature 128: 135–48. Dalley, Stephanie 1991 Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, Gilgamesh, and Others. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Day, Peggy L. 1989 From the Child is Born the Woman: The Story of Jephthah’s Daughter. Pp. 58–74 in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel, ed. Peggy L. Day. Minneapolis: Fortress.

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Deflem, Mathieu 1991 Ritual, Anti-Structure, and Religion: A Discussion of Victor Turner’s Processual Symbolic Analysis. Journal of the Scientific Study of Religion 30: 1–25. Dijk-Hemmes, Fokkelien van 1993 Traces of Women’s Texts in the Hebrew Bible. Pp.  17–109 in Athalya Brenner and Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts: Female and Male Voices in the Hebrew Bible. Leiden: Brill. Dijkstra, Meindert 1998 Astral Myth of the Birth of Shahar and Shalim (KTU 1.223). Pp. 265–87 in “Und Mose schrieb dieses Lied auf”: Studien zum Alten Testament und zum alten Orient. Festschrift für Oswald Loretz zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahres mit Beiträgen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen, ed. Manfried Dietrich und Ingo Kottsieper. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 250. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Dillmann, August, and Ryssel, Victor 1897 Die Bücher Exodus und Leviticus. 3rd ed. Leipzig: S. Hirzel. Douglas, Mary 1966 Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. London: Ark Paperbacks. Driver, S. R. 1911 Exodus. Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eicher, Joanne B., and Erekosima, Tonye V. 1987 Kalabari Funerals: Celebration and Display. African Arts 21: 38–45, 87–88. Eilberg-Schwartz, Howard 1990 The Savage in Judaism: An Anthropology of Israelite Religion and Ancient Judaism. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Exum, J. Cheryl 1993 Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)versions of Biblical Narratives. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International. Flusser, David, and Safrai, Shmuel 1980 Who Sanctified the Beloved in the Womb? Immanuel 11: 46–55. Fox, Michael V. 1974 The Sign of the Covenant: Circumcision in the Light of the Priestly ʾôt Etiologies. Revue Biblique 81: 557–96. Frolov, Serge 1996 The Hero as Bloody Bridegroom: On the Meaning and Origin of Exodus 4, 26. Biblica 77: 520–23. Frymer-Kensky, Tikva 1992 In the Wake of the Goddesses: Women, Culture, and the Biblical Transformation of Pagan Myth. New York: Free Press. Gelernter, David 1988 Tsipporah’s Bloodgroom: A Biblical Breaking Point. Orim 3: 46–57. Gennep, Arnold van 1909 Les rites de passage: étude systématique des rites de la porte et du seuil, de l’hospitalité, de l’adoption, de la grossesse et de l’accouchement, de la naissance, de l’enfance, de la puberté, de l’initiation, de l’ordination, du couronnement des fiançailles et du mariage, des funérailles, des saisons, etc. Paris: É. Nourry. English edition The Rites of Passage, trans. Monika B. Vizedom and Gabrielle L. Caffee. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960. Gerleman, Gillis 1977 Nutzrecht und Wohnrecht: Zur Bedeutung von ‫ אחזה‬and ‫נחלה‬. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentlische Wissenschaft 89: 313–25.

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Gerstenberger, Erhard S. 1996 Leviticus: A Commentary. Old Testament Library. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Greenberg, Moshe 1969 Understanding Exodus. New York: Behrman House for the Melton Research Center of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. Gruber, Mayer I. 1992a Breast-Feeding Practices in Biblical Israel and in Old Babylonian Mesopotamia. Pp. 69–107 in The Motherhood of God and Other Studies. South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 57. Atlanta: Scholars Press. 1992b Women in the Cult According to the Priestly Code. Pp. 49–68 in The Motherhood of God and Other Studies. South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 57. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Gursky, Marjorie D. 2001 Reproductive Rituals in Biblical Israel. Ph.D. dissertation. New York University. Habel, Norman C. 1995 The Land Is Mine: Six Biblical Land Ideologies. Overtures to Biblical Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress. Haldar, Alfred 1950 The Notion of the Desert in Sumero-Accadian and West-Semitic Religions. Uppsala Universitets Arsskrift 1950: 3. Uppsala: Almqvist and Wiksells. Hanson, Paul D. 1986 The People Called: The Growth of Community in the Bible. San Francisco: Harper and Row. Hartley, John E. 1992 Leviticus. Word Biblical Commentary 4. Dallas, TX: Word. Hendel, Ronald S. 1989 Sacrifice as a Cultural System: The Ritual Symbolism of Exodus 24, 3–8. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentlische Wissenschaft 101: 366–90. 2001 The Exodus in Biblical Memory. Journal of Biblical Literature 120: 601–22. Hess, Richard S. 2002 Review: A Reassessment of the Priestly Cultic and Legal Texts (Review of Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation and Commentary; idem, Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation and Commentary; idem, Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation and Commentary [AB 3, 3A, and 3B; New York, Doubleday, 1991, 2000, and 2001]). Journal of Law and Religion 17: 375–91. Hoffman, Lawrence A. 1996 Covenant of Blood: Circumcision and Gender in Rabbinic Judaism. Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Hoffmann, David Zevi 1905–6 Das Buch Leviticus. Berlin: M. Poppelauer. 1954 Sefer Va-Yiqraʾ. Jerusalem: Mosad Ha-Rav Kook. Hoffner, Harry A. 1966 Symbols for Masculinity and Femininity: Their Use in Ancient Near Eastern Sympathetic Magic Rituals. Journal of Biblical Literature 85: 326–34. Holloway, Steven W. 1987 Distaff, Crutch or Chain Gang: The Curse of the House of Joab in 2 Samuel III 29. Vetus Testamentum 37: 370–75. Hopkins, David C. 1985 The Highlands of Canaan: Agricultural Life in the Early Iron Age. The Social World of Biblical Antiquity Series, 3. Sheffield, UK: Almond. 1987 Life on the Land: The Subsistence Struggles of Early Israel. Biblical Archaeologist 50: 178–91.

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Houtman, Cornelis 1983 Exodus 4:24–26 and its Interpretation. Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 11: 81–103. Huehnergard, John 1997 A Grammar of Akkadian. Harvard Semitic Studies 45. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Isaac, Erich 1964 Circumcision as a Covenant Rite. Anthropos 59: 444–56. Jay, Nancy 1992 Throughout Your Generations Forever: Sacrifice, Religion, and Paternity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Jenkins, Ian 1983 Is There Life After Marriage? A Study of the Abduction Motif in Vase Paintings of the Athenian Wedding Ceremony. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 30: 137–45. Kaplan, Lawrence 1981 “And the Lord Sought to Kill Him” (Exod 4:24): Yet Once Again. Hebrew Annual Review 5: 65–74. King, Philip J. 2006 Circumcision: Who Did It, Who Didn’t, and Why. Biblical Archaeology Review 32/4: 48–55. Klawans, Jonathan 2000 Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Kosmala, Hans 1962 The “Bloody Husband.” Vetus Testamentum 12: 14–28. Kunin, Seth D. 1996 The Bridegroom of Blood: A Structuralist Analysis. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 70: 3–16. Leach, Edmund 1983 Anthropological Approaches to the Study of the Bible during the Twentieth Century. Pp. 7–32 in Edmund Leach and D. Alan Aycock, Structuralist Interpretations of Biblical Myth. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press and Royal Anthropological Institutes of Great Britain and Ireland. Levine, Baruch 1989 Leviticus: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation. The JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society. Lewis, Theodore J. 1989 Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit. Harvard Semitic Monographs 39. Atlanta: Scholars Press. 1991 The Ancestral Estate (‫חלַת אֱל ִֹהים‬ ֲ ַ‫ )נ‬in 2 Samuel 14:16. Journal of Biblical Literature 110: 597–612. Lonsdale, Steven H. 1993 Dance and Ritual Play in Greek Religion. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Macht, David I. 1933 A Scientific Appreciation of Leviticus 12:1–5. Journal of Biblical Literature 52: 253–60. Magonet, Jonathan 1996 “But if it is a Girl, She is Unclean for Twice Seven Days . . .”: The Riddle of Leviticus 12.5. Pp. 144–52 in Reading Leviticus: A Conversation with Mary Douglas, ed. John F. A. Sawyer. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement 227. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press. Malul, Meir 1990 Adoption of Foundlings in the Bible and Mesopotamian Documents: A Study of Some Legal Metaphors in Ezekiel 16.1–7. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 46: 97–126.

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Matthews, Victor H., and Benjamin, Don C. 1993 Social World of Ancient Israel 1250–587 BCE. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. McCarter, P. Kyle 1980 1 Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 8. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Metcalf, Peter, and Huntington, Richard 1991 Celebrations of Death: The Anthropology of Mortuary Ritual. 2nd ed. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Meyers, Carol 1988 Discovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1997 The Family in Early Israel. Pp. 1–47 in Families in Ancient Israel. The Family, Religion, and Culture. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. 2002 From Household to House of Yahweh: Women’s Religious Culture in Ancient Israel. Pp. 277–303 in Congress Volume, Basel 2001, ed. André Lemaire. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 92. Leiden: Brill. 2005 Households and Holiness: The Religious Culture of Israelite Women. Minneapolis: Fortress. Milgrom, Jacob 1991 Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 3. New York: Doubleday. Morgenstern, Julian 1963 The “Bloody Husband” (?) (Exod 4:24–26) Once Again. Hebrew Union College Annual 34: 35–70. Moyle, Natalie K. 1986 Mermaids (Rusalki) and Russian Beliefs about Women. Pp. 221–38 in New Studies in Russian Language and Literature Presented to Bayara Aroutunova, ed. Anna Lisa Crone and Catherine V. Chvany. Columbus, OH: Slavica. Murray, Alexander 1998 Suicide in the Middle Ages. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Myerhoff, Barbara G., Camino, Linda A., and Turner, Edith 1987 Rites of Passage: An Overview. Pp. 380b–386a in vol. 12 of The Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Mircea Eliade. New York: Macmillan / London: Collier Macmillan. Nakhai, Beth Alpert 2008 Female Infanticide in Iron II Israel and Judah. Pp.  257–72 in Sacred History, Sacred Literature: Essays on Ancient Israel, the Bible, and Religion in Honor of R. E. Friedman on His Sixtieth Birthday, ed. Shawna Dolansky. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Niditch, Susan 1997 Ancient Israelite Religion. New York: Oxford University Press. Niehr, Herbert 1991 Ein unerkannter Text zur Nekromantie in Israel. Ugarit Forschungen 23: 301–6. Noth, Martin 1977 Leviticus: A Commentary. Rev. ed. Old Testament Library. Philadelphia: Westminster. Olyan, Saul M. 2000 Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 2005 Some Neglected Aspects of Israelite Interment Ideology. Journal of Biblical Literature 124: 601–16. 2008 Disability in the Hebrew Bible: Interpreting Physical and Mental Differences. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pardee, Dennis 1997 Dawn and Dusk. Pp. 274–83 in vol. 1 of The Context of Scripture, ed. W. W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger. Leiden: Brill.

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Patai, Raphael 1960 Family, Love and the Bible. London: MacGibbon and Kee. Pearson, Mike Parker 1999 The Archaeology of Death and Burial. College Station, TX: Texas A&M University Press. Peckham, Brian B. 1987 Phoenicia and the Religion of Israel: The Epigraphic Evidence. Pp. 79–99 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross. ed. Patrick D. Miller, Paul D. Hanson, and S. Dean McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress. Pringle, Jackie 1983 Hittite Birth Rituals. Pp. 128–41 in Images of Women in Antiquity, ed. Averil Cameron and Amélie Kuhrt. London: Routledge. Propp, William H. C. 1987 The Origins of Infant Circumcision in Israel. Hebrew Annual Review 11: 355–70. 1993 That Bloody Bridegroom (Exodus iv 24–6). Vetus Testamentum 43: 495–518. 1999 Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 2. New York: Doubleday. 2004 Symbolic Wounds: Applying Anthropology to the Bible. Pp. 17–24 in Le-David Maskil: A Birthday Tribute for David Noel Freedman, ed. Richard Elliott Friedman and William H. C. Propp. Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego 9. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Ray, Benjamin C. 2005 Turner, Victor. Pp. 9405–7 in vol. 14 of The Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Lindsay Jones. Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA. Redfield, James 1982 Notes on the Greek Wedding. Arethusa 15 (1982): 181–201. Reis, Pamela Tamarkin 1991 The Bridegroom of Blood: A New Reading. Judaism 40: 324–31. Richter, Hans Friedemann 1996 Gab es einen “Blutbräutigam”? Erwägungen zu Exodus 4, 24–26. Pp. 433–41 in Studies in the Book of Exodus: Redaction—Reception—Interpretation, ed. Marc Vervenne. Bibliotheca Ephemendum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 126. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Ritner, Robert K. 2008 Household Religion in Ancient Egypt. Pp. 171–96 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. John Bodel and Saul M. Olyan. Oxford: Blackwell. Robins, Gay 1994–95  Women and Children in Peril: Pregnancy, Birth and Infant Mortality in Ancient Egypt. KMT 5/4: 24–35. Robinson, Bernard P. 1986 Zipporah to the Rescue: A Contextual Study of Exodus IV 24–6. Vetus Testamentum 36: 447–61. Römer, Thomas 1994 De l’archaique au subversif: le cas d’Exode 4/24–26. Études théologiques et religieuses 69: 1–12. Schwally, Friedrich 1892 Das Leben nach dem Tode nach den Vorstellungen des alten Israel und des Judentums einschliesslich des Volksglaubens im Zeitalter Christi. Giessen: J. Ricker. Scott, Susan, and Duncan, Christopher J. 2002 Demography and Nutrition: Evidence from Historical and Contemporary Populations. Oxford: Blackwell Science.

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Scurlock, Jo Ann 1991 Baby-Snatching Demons, Restless Souls and the Dangers of Childbirth: MedicoMagical Means of Dealing with Some of the Perils of Motherhood in Ancient Mesopotamia. Incognita 2: 135–83. Seaford, Richard 1987 The Tragic Wedding. Journal of Hellenic Studies 107: 106–30. Selvidge, Marla J. 1984 Mark 5:25–34 and Leviticus 15:19–20: A Reaction to Restrictive Purity Regulations. Journal of Biblical Literature 103: 619–23. Smith, Mark S. 2006 The Rituals and Myths of the Feast of the Goodly Gods of KTU/CAT 1.23: Royal Constructions of Opposition, Intersection, Integration, and Domination. Resources for Biblical Study 51. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Sourvinou-Inwood, Christiane 1987 A Series of Erotic Pursuits: Images and Meanings. Journal of Hellenic Studies 107: 131–53. Sprinkle, Joe M. 2000 The Rationale of the Laws of Clean and Unclean in the Old Testament. Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 48: 637–57. Stol, Marten 2000a Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting. Groningen: Styx. 2000b Private Life in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp. 485–502 in vols. 1–2 of Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, ed. Jack M. Sasson. Reprinted, Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Talmon, Shemaryahu 1966 The “Desert Motif” in the Bible and in Qumran Literature. Pp. 31–63 in Biblical Motifs: Origins and Transformations, ed. Alexander Altmann. Philip W. Lown Institute of Advanced Judaic Studies, Brandeis University, Studies and Texts 3. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 1976 Wilderness. Pp. 946a–949a in Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible: Supplementary Volume, ed. Keith Crim. Nashville: Abingdon. Toorn, Karel van der 1994 From Her Cradle to Her Grave: The Role of Religion in the Life of the Israelite and the Babylonian Woman. The Biblical Seminar 23. Sheffield: JSOT Press. 1996 Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel: Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life. Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 7. Leiden: Brill. 2003 Nine Months among the Peasants in the Palestinian Highlands: An Anthropological Perspective on Local Religion in the Early Iron Age. Pp. 393–410 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. William G. Dever and Seymour Gitin. Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–May 31, 2000. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Toorn, Karel van der, and Lewis, Theodore J. 2006 ‫ ְּת ָר ִפים‬terāpîm; ‫ אֵפֹוד‬ʾēpôd. Pp. 777–89 in vol. 15 of Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, ed. G. Johannes Botterweck, Helmer Ringgren, and Heinz-Josef Fabry. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Trible, Phyllis 1981 A Meditation in Mourning: The Sacrifice of the Daughter of Jephthah. Union Seminary Quarterly Review 36: 59–73. 1984 The Daughter of Jephthah: An Inhuman Sacrifice. Pp. 93–116 in Texts of Terror: Literary Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives. Overtures to Biblical Theology 13. Philadelphia: Fortress.

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1987 A Daughter’s Death: Feminism, Literary Criticism, and the Bible. Pp. 1–14 in Backgrounds for the Bible, ed. M. P. O’Connor and D. N. Freedman. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Turner, Victor 1967 The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. 1969 The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. 1977 Process, System, and Symbol: A New Anthropological Synthesis. Daedalus 106: 61–80. 1979 Process, Performance, and Pilgrimage: A Study in Comparative Symbology. Ranchi Anthropology Series 1. New Delhi: Concept. 1985a Epilogue: Are There Universals of Performance in Myth, Ritual, and Drama? Pp. 291– 301 in On the Edge of the Bush: Anthropology as Experience, ed. Edith L. B. Turner. Tucson, AZ: The University of Arizona Press. 1985b Process, System, and Symbol: A New Anthropological Synthesis. Pp. 151–73 in On the Edge of the Bush: Anthropology as Experience, ed. Edith L. B. Turner. Tucson, AZ: The University of Arizona Press. 1986 Dewey, Dilthey, and Drama: An Essay in the Anthropology of Experience. Pp. 33–44 in The Anthropology of Experience, ed. Victor W. Turner and Edward M. Bruner. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Vaux, Roland de 1997 Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions. Reprinted, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans / Livonia, MI: Dove. Vogt, Ernst 1975 Benjamin geboren “eine Meile” von Ephrata. Biblica 56: 30–36. Weinstein, Donald, and Bell, Rudolph M. 1982 Saints and Society: The Two Worlds of Western Christendom, 1000–1700. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Welmers, William E. 1949 Secret Medicines, Magic, and Rites of the Kpelle Tribe in Liberia. Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 5: 208–43. Wenham, Gordon J. 1979 The Book of Leviticus. New International Commentary on the Old Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. 1994 Genesis 16–50. Word Bible Commentary 2. Dallas, TX: Word. Whitekettle, Richard 1995 Leviticus 12 and the Israelite Woman: Ritual Process, Liminality, and the Womb. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentlische Wissenschaft 107: 393–408. 1996 Levitical Thought and the Female Reproductive Cycle: Wombs, Well-springs, and the Primeval World. Vetus Testamentum 46: 376–91. Willett, Elizabeth A. 2008 Infant Mortality and Women’s Religion in the Biblical Periods. Pp. 79–98 in The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, ed. Beth Alpert Nakhai. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Wright, David P., and Jones, Richard N. 1992 Discharge. Pp.  204a–207b in vol. 2 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. David Noel Freedman. New York: Doubleday. Wyatt, Nicholas 1992 The Pruning of the Vine in KTU 1.23. Ugarit Forschungen 24: 425–27.

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals for Reconstructing Judahite and Israelite Family Religion Rainer Albertz Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster

During the past 15 years, several volumes have been published that assemble hundreds of epigraphically attested Hebrew personal names from ostraca, seals, bullae, and weights, most of which can be dated to the period of the 9th to 6th centuries b.c.e. (e.g., J. Renz and W. Röllig 1995 [HAE II/1] and 2003 [HAE II/2], comprising most of the Hebrew material published elsewhere up to 2000, including that of N. Avigad and B. Sass 1997 [WSS; in addition, see the collections made by R. Deutsch and M. Heltzer 1995 [NEE] and by R. Deutsch 2003a [FHCB], 2003b [BPHB], as well as several other smaller publications such as that of A. Lemaire and A. Yardeni 2006 [Others]. 1 From these collections, a sample of 675 different Hebrew personal names may be drawn, which are attested 2,922 times altogether (see Table 1). 2 Although not complete, this sample is representative enough for drawing topical and statistical conclusions. Up to now, this rich evidence has not been comprehensively utilized to reconstruct the family religion of Ancient Judah and Israel, although nearly 85% of the epigraphic Hebrew personal names are theophoric.

1.  Checking the Sources There are several possible reasons for explaining this strange fact. First, since the majority of the seals and bullae did not come from controlled excavations but from the antiquities market, many scholars have reservations about making use of the material, because they fear that it may include an unknown number of forgeries. Second, some scholars suggest that the naming of children in ancient Israel—as in modern times—was determined more by fashion than by religious convictions and, therefore, personal names are not a suitable source for reconstructing religio1.  Most of this material is also collected by F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, J. J. M. Roberts, C. L. Seow, and R. E. Whitaker 2005, which was unfortunately published too late to be included in this study. 2.  The entire sample has now been published in R. Albertz and R. Schmitt, Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel and the Levant (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2012). There the reader will also find a much more detailed argument.

33

34

Rainer Albertz

HAE II/1

HAE II/2 125 554

41

80 10

81 246 37

19 27

68 132

87 32 125 135 493

35

44 13 251

Instances

Names

Total

Not Included Names

Instances

Secular names Names

Instances

Names of birth

58

Names

Instances

Equating names Names

Instances

Names

Instances

Names of praise

Names of confession

70 144

Names

Instances

Names

Names of thanksgiving

Table 1.  Epigraphical Judean and Israelite Personal Names Verified by Different Collections

477

60 131 49 470 1636

12

14

8

8

2

2

2

2

16

21

4

4

1

44

51

8

9

5

10

3

3

1

1

9

10

4

6 21

30

39

BPHB

66 251

36

19 12

41

71 196

28

55 23 227

644

Others

18

19

10

11

NEE FHCB

Total

21

8

82 14 8

5

5

6

7

23

164 993 119 434 48 135 47 234 192 875 105 251

7

66

75

675 2922

historical reality. 3 Third, since Hebrew personal names—following the rules of Northwest Semitic name-giving—normally lack objects and personal suffixes, they can be interpreted in a more general way, as J. Fowler (1988) has proposed. Her intent is to draw from them “a detailed picture of what the Hebrew man conceived his God to be” (p. 18). Interpreted in this way, personal names make general religious statements and cannot be taken as expressions of family religion. Of course, biblical scholars would be happy to have less ambiguous epigraphic texts that would bear witness to the practices of ancient Judahite and Israelite family religion, practices such as such as birth and death rituals, private prayers, oracles, incantations, omens, etc. However, apart from some blessings and curses from Kuntillet Ajrud, Khirbet el-Qom, and a few other places, we do not possess such texts. Thus, up to this time, personal names constitute the primary source for reconstructing the beliefs of family religion. Personal names undoubtedly belong to the realm of family, because they were chosen by the mother or the father for their baby. 4 Probably given during a feast, 3.  For example, F. Stolz 1996: 125–26. 4.  In the Hebrew Bible, the naming of a child is reported 46 times. In 25 instances, it is the mother who names the child (see Gen [4:2], 25; 16:11; 19:37, 38; 29:32, 33, 34, 35; 30:6, 8, 11, 13, 18, 20, 21; 35:18a; 38:4, 5; [Exod 2:10]; Judg 13:24; 1 Sam 1:20; Isa 7:14; 1 Chr 4:9; 7:16. In 15 instances, the father chooses the child’s name (see Gen 4:26; 5:3, 29; 16:15; 17:19; 35:18b; 38:3; 41:45; Exod 2:22; Isa 8:3; Hos 1:4, 6, 9; Job 42:14; 1 Chr 7:23). In two cases, both parents give the name (see Gen 25:25, 26). In a few cases, the Hebrew text fluctuates between both genders (Gen 4:26; Exod 2:22; 2 Sam 12:24). In only a single case are people beyond the family involved: in Ruth 4:17, the female neighbors chose the name, but—present during the birth process—they are closely related to Ruth’s family.

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals

35

after the impurity of the woman who gave birth has ended on the 8th or 15th day— depending on whether the child is a boy or a girl (Lev 12:3, 5)—the names often explicitly refer back to the dramatic and often dangerous process of birth (see the secular names Ḥūšay ‘the speedy’, 5 Porpar ‘shaken to and fro’ 6). These names have to do with family crises experienced by the mother or other members of the family during the process of pregnancy and childbirth or similar dangerous situations. Thus, personal names probably reflect not the entire spectrum of family beliefs but surely those related to crises. It will be shown, however, that the reservations mentioned above can mainly be dispelled. First, there are many hints that Hebrew personal names ought to be understood as related specifically to the name bearer or his or her family. There are some names explicitly written with a suffix, such as: ʿImmādīyâhû = ‘Yhwh is with me’, 7 or (Immānûyāhû = ‘Yhwh is with us’. 8 Given the Aramean name Šamašʿidrî ‘Shamash is my help’ (WSS 848), it is most probable that the Hebrew name Yĕhô ʿezer ‘Yhwh is help’ is to be understood in the same sense: “Yhwh is my help” (HAE II/2 10.38–39). Even if it is theoretically possible to relate the verbal sentence name ʾElqānāh ‘El has created’ (HAE II/2 1.101) to the creation of the world or animal life, the name from the same root, Miqnēyāhû = ‘creature of Yhwh’, 9 which denotes a certain individual, makes clear that the creation of the name-bearer is meant. Thus, the names actually express a personal piety existing in families. Second, it can be demonstrated from biblical birth stories that, in ancient Israel, name-giving was less a matter of fashion than a deliberate act: although Rahel, who died during the birth of her second son, called him Ben-ʾônî ‘Son of my disaster,’ expressing her desperation, Jacob changed his name to Binyāmîn ‘Son of luck’ (Gen 35:18). The name Jacob itself demonstrates that Israelites sought meanings for personal names, even if they did not understand them in the correct way. In the Jacob story, the name is incorrectly explained as derived from either the verb ʿqb I ‘to deceive’ (Gen 27:36) or ʿqb II ‘to hold back’ (25:25–26), while the correct meaning attested by the Amorite name ya-aḫ-qú-ub-ilu ‘El has protected’ (see H. B. Huffmon 1965: 203–4) had obviously become unknown. The name Yišmaʿʾēl ‘El has heard’, however, rightly refers back to a given birth oracle saying that Yhwh has heard the misery of the mother (Gen 16:11). 10 Thus, we can infer that personal names—much more than today—refer to personal experiences of 5. The name refers to a precipitate labor; see Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad (8):57,1; 2003: no. 8.65. 6.  The name refers to the birth of a baby that has to be shaken to and fro to provoke its breathing; see Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 16.49. 7.  Attested in the present sample 7 times; see: Renz and Röllig 1995: Gaz(7):1, 2; 2003: no. 1.58; 15.14; 16.60–62, 16.75; plus two variants, see Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 16.63; Deutsch 2003b: no. 45. 8.  Thus far attested 2 times; see Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 16.64; Deutsch 2003b: no. 306; plus one variant loc. cit. no. 307. 9.  Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(8):60,4; 72,1; 2003: no. 1.57; 13.73–6 .87; 18.9; Deutsch 2003b: no. 203–4; 247–48; 256; 316? 10.  In the present sample, the name is epigraphically attested 33 times: Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 83:77,2; Renz and Röllig 1995: Jer(8):8,1; 2003: no. 8.40; 10.52 .66 .78 .84–90; 13.17 .52 .65 .106; 17.16 .42; 21.81; 30.15–6; 50.5; Deutsch 2003b: 32; 45; 212–14; 215a.b; 216–17a–e; 403a–c; Lemaire and Yardeni 2006: 211:10, rev. 3? It is the only name from the patriarchal narratives that is common in the 8th–6th centuries b.c.e.

36

Rainer Albertz

the family. 11 Third, concerning the authenticity of the epigraphic material, I must depend on the views of the archaeological and epigraphic experts. All seals and inscriptions that are suspected of being forged are, of course, excluded from the sample. There is some control possible through comparison with epigraphic material from Phoenicia, Syria, Ammon, Moab, and Edom, which is less likely to be forged. Moreover, a close study of the various collections published in recent years leads to the surprising observation that the distribution of name types in each one of the collections is almost the same, regardless of whether the collection contains mainly excavated inscriptions (HAE II/1), seals from the antiquities market (HAE II/2), or plundered bullae (BPHP). As Table 2 demonstrates, the maximum deviation is 8.7%, but in all other cases the range is from 5.7% to 1.2%. If one groups the names of thanksgiving and confession together, given that they are closely interrelated with regard to content, the maximum deviation decreases to 4.7%. In short, the more-orless constant distribution of names points to a social and religious reality of ancient Israel’s family religion. Even if there are still some undiscovered forgeries in the present sample, they are of nearly no statistical relevance.

2.  Grouping the Personal Names For the correct understanding of personal names, their classification is of crucial importance, as M. Noth (1928: 3) has pointed out. Although an isolated single name can easily be misunderstood, the names of a group may be compared and patterns discerned, therefore significantly reducing the danger of misinterpretation. Classification based purely on grammatical criteria, as done by R. Zadok (1988), J. Fowler (1988), and H. Rechenmacher (1997) is not sufficient for reconstructing the piety reflected in names, since it separates on grammatical grounds names that express the same belief (e.g., ʿAśāyāhû = ‘Yhwh has made’, 12 a verbal sentence name, and Maʿaśēyāhû = ‘work of Yhwh’, 13 a construct epithet name type). Noth (1928) considered both content and grammatical criteria in his analysis, distinguishing names of thanksgiving, names of confession, names of trust, names of desire, and secular names. The names-of-desire category was criticized by J. J. Stamm (1980: 62–64), who convincingly argued that in such names the imperfect conjugation is still used with an archaic past tense meaning, as attested at Mari and Ugarit. In my older study (Albertz 1978: 49–77), I partly followed Noth by distinguishing between names of thanksgiving, names of confession (including the names of trust), and secular names, but I also introduced an additional form-critical criterion: I distinguished names of praise (which parallel the hymns) and equating names, which contain two theophoric elements. After introducing the criterion of context, I have come to believe that there is an additional coherent group of names overlooked thus far: it consists of all personal names that directly refer to the process of birth. It has turned out that the birth names constitute the largest group with regard to the number of 11.  Recently acknowledged also by E. Gerstenberger (2001: 52–53). 12.  In the present sample, the name is epigraphically attested 17 times: Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 83:77,1; 89:78,4; Renz and Röllig 1995: Lak(6):15,7; 2003: no. 1.4 .37 .144; 10.44; 16.68–71; 21.91; 56.6; Deutsch 2003b: no. 217a–e; 223?; 312; 368. 13.  In the present sample, the name is epigraphically attested 13 times: Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 1.77 .116; 10.5 .57; 13.66–70; 14.6; Deutsch 2003a: 56:8; 2003b: no. 243; 320.

All Epigraphical

Maximal Deviation

BPHB

HAE II/2

HAE II/1

144

70

125

554

8.7

24.3%

164

119

1.1

1.4

34% 17.6%

993

thank+confess:

2.5

14.9%

434

4.7

4.0

51.7%

12.8%

44.9%

38.9% 15.8%

48.9% 82

43.8%

246 15%

36

251

thank+confess:

29.1%

66

81

33.9% 17.2%

thank+confess:

26.6%

47.0%

16.8%

30.2% 16.3%

44.2%

80

41

thank+confess:

27.9%

Names

Instances

Names

Instances

Names of confession

Names of thanksgiving

7.1%

48

3.9

6.2%

14

7.9%

37

4.0%

10

Names

27

Names

4.6%

135

2.3

3.0%

19

5.3%

87

7.0%

47

5.5

5.3%

12

6.8%

32

4.0% 10.8%

19

Instances

68

Names

135

71

192

4.3

8.0% 28.4%

234

5.7

6.4% 31.3%

41

7.7% 28.7%

125

12.1% 27.0%

58

Instances

35

Names

493

60

28

105

1.7

29.9% 15.6%

875

2.7

30.4% 12.3%

196

30.1% 12.8%

8.6%

251

1.2

8.5%

55

8.0%

131

9.2%

44

Instances

Secular Names

27.7% 14.0%

132

Instances

Names of praise Equating names Names of birth

23

49

13

Names

675

227

470

251

Names

not included Total

Table 2.  Epigraphical Judean and Israelite Personal Names according to Their Distribution in Various Collections

2,922

644

1,636

477

Instances

38

Rainer Albertz

names (192 or 28.4%) and the second largest with regard to frequency of occurrence (875 times or 29.9%; see Table 2). Thus, this class of names demonstrates the centrality of birth for the life and piety of Israelite families. Since it is possible to assign nearly all of the 675 epigraphically attested names that can be read and interpreted with some degree of probability to one of the six groups determined above, the plausibility of this grouping is evident.

3.  Distribution of Names In Table 3, the distribution of names among the six groups is shown. Names of thanksgiving such as ʾElīzākār ‘(my) god has remembered (me)’ 14 or Haušaʿyāhû = ‘Yhwh has saved (me)’ 15 occur a little less frequently (24.3%) than the names of birth (28.4%) but are attested more often than all other name types (34%). The third biggest group is constituted by names of confession such as ʾUrīyāhû = ‘my light is Yhwh’ 16 or Mibṭaḥyāhû = ‘(my) trust is Yhwh’ 17 (17.6% of names, 14.9% of instances). Both groups, which are closely interrelated, together comprise more than 40% of all the names and nearly 50% of all instances. The verbs and nouns used in both groups have a high degree of correspondence to the rhetoric of individual laments (Ps 3:8; 27:1; 71:5), thanksgiving psalms (Ps 30:11), and oracles of salvation. Sixty percent of all verbs and nouns in the thanksgiving and confession names occur in the individual laments, thanksgiving psalms, and oracles of salvation of the Hebrew Bible, and 50% of nouns and verbs in the laments, thanksgivings, and oracles occur in the names. This is the case even though the psalms constitute a more ritualized form of prayer and are often of later origin. In any case, individual prayers and oracles, which are related to the concrete needs of the individual, played an important role in family religion. In contrast, names of praise such as ʾElîrām ‘my god is exalted’ (HAE II/1 1.82– 83) or Mīkāyāhû = ‘who is like Yhwh?’, 18 which have their counterpart in the hymns (Ps 99:2; 113:5), are considerably fewer in number, comprising only 7.1% of the names and 4.6% of the instances. This means that the form of prayer that praises god’s majesty and grace in a more general way, as was usual in the great pilgrimage feasts at the sanctuary, did not shape family religion to a great extent. The Gattung of hymn belongs to the stratum of official religion. In short, there was an overlap between family and official or state religion, but its extent was rather limited. Prayer names taken together comprise 49% of all names and 53.5% of all the instances.

14. See Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 1.65; 10.101; 21.2; Deutsch 2003b: no. 79. 15.  In the present sample, the name is epigraphically attested 39 times: Renz and Röllig 1995: MHas(7):1,7; Lak(6):1.3,1; Gaz(7):1,3; 2003: no. 1.36 .73; 2.16; 3.21; 4.4 .12–15; 5.12–20; 17.22–26; 21.47; 50.1; Deutsch 2003a: 69:18; 2003b: no. 47; 152; 153?; 154; 155a.b; 156a–d; 157–58; 187; 236. 16.  In the present sample, the name is epigraphically attested 27 times: Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 1.49 .138–41 .141/a .142; 10.33 .77; 11.4; 13.105; Deutsch 2003a: 91:41; 2003b: no. 114–18; 134; 152; 163; 209; 210a.b; 351; 354–55; 393; Lemaire and Yardeni 2006: 217:13,4? 17.  So far the name is epigraphically attested 6 times: Renz and Röllig 1995: Lak(6):1.1,4; 2003: no. 13.3–5; Deutsch 2003b: no. 30; 36. 18.  In this spelling, it is epigraphically attested 18 times: Renz and Röllig 1995: Lak(6):1.11,3; 2003: no. 13.20–29 .31; 14.18; 16:48; Deutsch 2003a: 86:35; 2003b: no. 235; 330; Lemaire and Yar­ deni 2006: 205:4,1.

Biblical

Epigraphical

465

76

41.9%

all prayer names:

44.5%

34.1% 14.0%

thank+confess:

30.5%

166

all prayer names:

thank+confess:

34.0% 17.6%

119

993

164

24.3%

Names

Instances

Names

47.3%

13.2%

180

48.9%

14.9%

434

Instances

Names of confession

Names of thanksgiving

50.3%

5.8%

32

49.0%

7.1%

48

Names

52.9%

5.6%

76

53.5%

4.6%

135

Instances

6.2%

34

7.0%

47

Names

192

Names

95

170

7.0% 31.2%

105

Names

Secular names

67

32.2% 12.3%

439

29.9% 15.6%

875

Instances

Names of birth

8.0% 28.4%

234

Instances

Equating Names of praise Names

Table 3.  Comparing the Distribution of Epigraphical and Biblical Names

7.9%

107

8.6%

251

Instances

Names

545

675

Names

not included Total

1,362

2,922

Instances

40

Rainer Albertz

A relatively small group is constituted of those names that equate different divinities or divine epithets with one another, names such as ʾAbībaʿal ‘(my divine) father is Baal’, 19 ʾAḥîʾēl ‘my (divine) brother is El’, 20 or Malkīyâhu= ‘my king is Yhwh’. 21 This type comprises only 7% of all names and 8% of all the instances. In most cases, either the family god (‘my father’ et al.) or the personal god (‘my god’ et al.) is identified with a major deity, whose power they inherit (see above); in a few cases, the image of the major deity is shaped by the character of the family or personal god and is all but divested of his usual characteristics (Yĕhôʾaḥ ‘Yhwh is [divine] brother’). 22 Sometimes, one major deity is even substituted for another one (e.g., El by Yhwh in Yauʾēl ‘Yhwh is El’ [HAE II/1 10.46]). Thus, the equating names point to an interesting feature of family religion: on this level, of religion the gods became interchangeable; they were no longer specific personalities but rather defined by their functions, which they performed for families and their members. However they were addressed, their benevolent functions for the family were almost identical. As already mentioned, birth names constitute the second largest group next to prayer names (28.4% of the names, 29.9% of the instances). They allude to nearly every event or possible occurrence during the long-lasting birth process: the distress of infertility (ʾAsāpyāhû = ‘Yhwh has taken away [the stigma of childlessness’ [BPHB 108] cf. Gen 30:23), prayers, vows, and oracles (Tenʾēl ‘give, oh god!’ [HAE II/1 22.2], or Dĕrašyāhû = ‘Yhwh has asked for [the payment of the vow]’ 23 cf. Deut 23:22; Baʿalnāḥāš ‘Baal has predicted’), 24 confinement, pregnancy, creation, and deliverance (Rĕpāʾyāhû = ‘Yhwh has healed’, 25 Yaubānāh ‘Yhwh has created’ [HAE II/1 13.55], or Daltāyāhû= ‘you, oh Yhwh, have drawn out [the child]’ [HAE II/1 4.5]), and finally the divine care for the child, its acceptance in the family, its blessing, and sometimes its circumcision (Ḥawwīyāhû = ‘Yhwh has brought to life’ [HAE II/1 16.69], ʾElnātān ‘El has given (the child), 26 Berekyāhû = ‘Yhwh has blessed (the child)’, 27 or Malyāhû = ‘Yhwh has circumcised’). 28 Infant mortality is reflected in substitute names such as ʾElyāšīb ‘El has caused [the deceased child] to return’. 29 19. See Renz and Röllig 1995: Sam(8):1.2,4 from the Samaria ostraca. The name is also attested in Phoenicia; see Benz 1972: 54; Sader 2005: 23:1; in plene writing, see Benz 1972: 54. 20. See Renz and Röllig 1995: Jer(7):36; Jer(6):37; Naveh 2000: 2:2,1; 3:3,4. 21. With 32 occurrences it is the most popular name of this group: Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(8):40,3; Seb(8):7,1; Arad(7):39,2; Arad(6):24,14; 2003: no. 1.114; 13.36–45.61; 14.2.26–27; 15.20; 53.4?; Deutsch 2003b: no. 33a.b; 97; 185; 211; 236; 238; 268a–g; 269a.b; 388; 405; Lemaire and Yardeni 2006: 214:11,5? 22.  Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(9):79; 2003: no. 10.21–3; 16.40; Deutsch 2003b: no. 9; 318. 23.  Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 4.17–18; Lemaire and Yardeni 2006: 201:2,11? 24.  Lemaire and Yardeni 2006: 220:15,1. 25.  Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 13.88; 14.8; 18.11; 20.7–12; 21.40; Deutsch 2003b: no. 292?; 345; 346; 413? 26. In the present sample the name is epigraphically attested 14 times: Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 89:78,3; Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(8):69,6; Arad(6):110,1; Lak(6):1.3,15; 11,2; 2003: no. 1.92–6 .139; 3.26; 13.90; Deutsch 2003b: no. 93. The name also occurs in the Ammonite (WSS 904) and the Aramean onomastica (Maraqten 1988: 69). 27. See Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 83:77,4; Renz and Röllig 1995: Gar(7):1,1; Arad(6):22,1; 2003: no. 2.26–31. 28.  In the present sample, the name occurs in 4 names of the 7th century b.c.e.: Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 13.32–34; Deutsch 2003b: no. 404. 29.  In the present sample, the name is epigraphically attested 14 times: Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(8):64,2; Arad(7):38,5; 47,1; Arad(6):1,1 et al.; Lak(6):15,8; 2003: no. 1.84–90; 21.56; Deutsch 2003b: no. 88.

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals

41

Secular names constitute the largest small group: they consist of 15.6% of all the names and 8.6% of all instances. There is a considerable range among these names: they can refer to the circumstances of birth (Šilgî ‘born on a snowy day’), 30 the esteem of the child (Galgūl ‘little bell’), 31 or personality traits (ʿAupay ‘like a bird’). 32 For evaluation of the significance of family religion, it is important to note that less than 10% of the population in Israel and Judah of the monarchic period bore secular names. One might argue that the religious names represent only the religion of the upper class, who were able to buy seals, which were often made from precious or semi-precious stone. Yet, if one considers separately the ostraca, which mention people from all social strata, secular names are a little bit more numerous, indeed (9.8%), but still below 10%. Thus, it can be concluded that during the monarchic period, family religion seems to have played a prominent role in nearly all Israelite households, whether rich or poor. The onomasticon of the Hebrew Bible shows a similar distribution of personal names among the six groups (see Table 3). Here, the proportion of the names of thanksgiving is a bit higher and that of the names of confession a bit lower, but the total of both groups does not differ significantly from that of the epigraphs. In both the epigraphic and biblical samples, prayer names constitute about 50% of the total. The portion of secular names in the Hebrew Bible is slightly lower than in the epigraphic sample (12.3% of all names, 7.9% of all instances).

4.  The Absence of Official Religious Traditions In my earlier study (Albertz 1978: 56–58), I argued that the official traditions of ancient Israelite religion were virtually unattested in the onomasticon of the Hebrew Bible. This observation also applies to the individual psalms 33 and the older proverbs (Prov 10–29). 34 Strikingly, the epigraphic material under consideration here confirms these earlier observations. In the context of this essay, only a limited overview can be provided. Although some elements of priestly language concerning vows and sacrifices appear in epigraphic personal names, for example Ḥăšabyāhû = ‘Yhwh has taken (the vow or the sacrifice) into account’, 35 there are no allusions to any official 30. See Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 10.43, corrected by Deutsch 2003b: 201:195a–d. 31.  Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(8):49,3. 32.  Plene writing in Renz and Röllig 1995: Kom(8):1,1; 2,1; defective writing in Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 13.16; 16.65; Deutsch 2003b: no. 309. 33.  The few exceptions are Pss 22:4–6; 77:14–21; 143:5; the reference to the trust of Israel’s fathers in Ps 22:4–6, which constitutes a doublet of the confession of confidence in 22:10–11, was in fact a literary addition that belongs to a later edition of the psalm in the community of the poor (22:24 to v. 27 or to v. 32). Ps 77 is a special case of individual complaint about the crisis of Israel’s salvation history during the period of exile. Ps 143:5 seems to be a later gloss influenced by Ps 77:6, 12; see Albertz 1978: 27–32, and Gerstenberger 1988: 108–13. 34.  This is an old observation made initially by J. Fichtner 1933: 123–25; W. Zimmerli 1933: 178–79; 1969: 300–302, and repeated by O. Plöger 1984: XXIV–V; H. D. Preuß 1987: 59–60; A. Meinhold 1991: 37–39; T.-K. Kim 2008: 1–11. 35.  In priestly language, the verb ḥāšab denotes the divine acceptance of a sacrifice (Lev 7:18; 17:4; Num 18:27; cf. Gen 15:6; Ps 32:2, and G. von Rad 1961: 130–33). The name is epigraphically attested twice; see Renz and Röllig 1995: MHas(7):7,1; 2003: no. 8.64. In the Hebrew Bible, all variants of this name constitute a total of 12 instances, which all refer to Levites and temple singers mentioned in post-exilic texts. The epigraphic attestation, however, shows that the names of this root do not point to a professional priestly background (pace Albertz 1978: 56).

42

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religious traditions, neither to the exodus, Sinai, and conquest traditions, nor to the Zion, Bethel, and kingship traditions. Perhaps the name Sĕʿaryāhû ‘Yhwh has stormed’, which appears 3 times in its full form and once in its hypocoristic form, 36 refers to a theophany (thus Renz and Röllig HAE II/1: 77; II/2: 329), but since names from the root sāʿad ‘to support’ are better attested (9 times), 37 it may be that the letter dalet occurs in the four former cases as well, though badly written with an overextended downstroke of the triangle (so Avigad and Sass 1997 for WSS 286 = HAE II/2 21.7; WSS 355 = HAE II/2 15.20; and Zadok 1988: 28). Sĕʿadyāhû = ‘Yhwh has supported’ would constitute a normal name of thanksgiving. There are, however, some ambiguities. For example, the name Hiṣṣīlyāhû = ‘Yhwh has delivered’ 38 can, of course, be related to the exodus, since the verb nāṣal Hiphil is used in this context (Exod 3:8; 6:6; 18:8–10; Josh 24:10). But since names such as Hiṣṣîlʾil ‘Il has delivered’ 39 and Yaṣṣīlbaʿal ‘Baʿal has delivered’ (BPPS 197) are attested in Ammon and Moab—that is, among peoples that did not experience an exodus—it is more likely that all names derived from this root refer to the deliverance of the baby. The name ʿEgelyau ‘young steer of Yhwh’ (HAE II/1 Sam[8]:1.41,1), which may refer to the cult statue of Bethel, is similar, because names with the same noun are attested in the Aramean and Phoenician onomasticon. 40 Since the Deuteronomist uses the term ʿēgel in a pejorative sense to condemn the cult statues of Jeroboam (1 Kgs 12:28), which were in the form of a wild bull (in Hebrew par, šôr, or rĕʾēm, cf. Num 23:22; 24:8), the correspondence is probably only accidental. In the names, the noun ʿēgel is more likely used as a term of affection, casting the child as a little companion of the deity (like the names with kāleb ‘dog’). 41 In his investigation of biblical names, Noth (1928: 213–15) mentioned two names that he believed refer to Israel’s national history. The first name, ʾElyāšîb, he related to the return from exile in the sense that ‘God may cause to return (the dispersed Israel)’, but since the name is already attested in inscriptions from Arad and Lachish (8th to the 6th centuries), 42 this explanation is proved untrue. Stamm (1980: 71) has explained ʾElyāšīb as a substitute name, an interpretation that I accept. The second name, Šĕkanyāh, ‘Yhwh has taken his home’ Noth related to the construction of the Second Temple, because it is attested in the Bible in texts from the post-exilic period (Ezra 8:3, 5; 10:2; Neh 3:29; 6:18; 12:3; 1 Chr 3:21–22). In my earlier study, I was prepared to accept this explanation (Albertz 1978: 38). But we now know that the name Šĕkanyāhû is attested 8 times from the early 7th to the early 6th centuries, 43 36.  Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(7):31,4; 2003: no. 15.20; 21.7; 10.58 (yrʿs). 37.  Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 15.15–9; Deutsch 2003b: no. 281–82; 328; Lemaire and Yardeni 2006: 215:12,4? 38.  Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 92:79,18; Renz and Röllig 1995: Gaz(7):1,4; Lak(6):1.1,1; 2003: no. 5.23–26; 14.11–12 .48; 16.57; 62.1; Deutsch 2003b: no. 141; 159; 254; 307a.b. 39.  Hübner 1992: 27:1,2; Avigad and Sass 1997: no. 928; Deutsch and Lemaire 2000: no. 170 (BPPS). 40.  So the Aramean name ʿEgelhadad ‘young steer of Hadad (WSS 835, showing a goddess) and the probably Phoenician Hypocoristicon ʿAglāʾ ‘young steer of (DN)’ (WSS 1096). 41. See the Hebrew hypocoristicon Kālēb (HAE II/1 Arad[6]:58,2) and the Phoenician name Kalbʾēlīm ‘(faithful) dog of the gods’ (Benz 1972: 131). 42.  For the references, see above, p. 40. 43.  Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 92:79,10; Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 10.15; 17.29; 21.24–26; Deutsch 2003b: 361a–c; 362a.b.

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals

43

and in its northern variant Šĕkanyah once even in the 9th century (Kuntillet Ajrud). 44 Thus, Noth’s explanation is proved untrue. Because the name also occurs in the Northern Kingdom, even a necessary relationship to Jerusalem seems improbable. Moreover, because the divine presence in a temple can normally not be doubted, there would be no need for a name that stresses it. Therefore, it is highly improbable that the name is related to an established sanctuary at all. It only makes sense if it is related to a place where no permanent divine presence can be supposed. Thus, I now prefer to relate the name to domestic cult spots or neighborhood chapels where the mother or the young couple has prayed for a child: that Yhwh has actually been present in the domestic cult of the parents is proved by a happy pregnancy of the mother and a trouble-free birth of the child. Thus, the second of Noth’s two alleged references to Israel’s national history in the personal names must be rejected.

5.  Considering the Onomastica from the Northwest Semitic Environment Noth (1928) spoke of a common heritage of Semitic name-giving 45 the characteristics of which Hebrew names shared. Fowler (1988: 317) argued against this idea, stating that in spite of some similarities, “there are sharp distinctions between the religious thought discernible in the Hebrew theophoric names and other Semitic names.” In order to evaluate these viewpoints and to determine the proper relationship of Israelite family religion to the family religions of Israel’s Levantine neighbors, I have decided to include personal names from Phoenicia, Aramean Syria, Ammon, Moab, and Edom in my present investigation. This was a somewhat challenging enterprise, because there are no recent comprehensive collections of personal names available in these fields. For the Phoenician and Punic names, the older collection of F. L. Benz (1972) exists; for the Aramean names, the study of M. Maraqten (1988) is relevant. Thus, the samples had to be collected by drawing upon a variety of less comprehensive publications. In some cases, assignment to an onomasticon is tentative, given that some names have been classified on purely epigraphic grounds because their exact origin is unknown. In spite of these methodological difficulties, it was possible to assemble Ammonite, Moabite, Aramean, and Phoenician onomastica of considerable size (see Table 4). The Edomite names were set aside because their small number (only 19) does not allow for a meaningful statistical analysis. A large number of Aramean and Phoenician names of Akkadian, Iranian, Hurrian, or Hittite origin were not included because they do not properly belong to Northwest Semitic culture. Punic names were also excluded. The material from Israel’s neighbors under consideration here consists of a total of 1,394 pieces of evidence. Although these samples are probably far from being complete, they seem to be numerous enough for a sound comparison. It is striking that the personal names of Israel’s neighbors cannot only be assigned to the same onomastic categories as the Hebrew names but that they also have a similar distribution among the six groups. In all of the onomastica, the birth 44.  Thus far, it is only mentioned by Zadok (1988: 279 no. 72127:15; oral communication from the excavator). 45.  In German, the title of his study is Die israelitischen Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung.

Hebrew

Phoen.

Aram.

Moabite

Ammon

98

38

18

83

all prayer names:

48.9%

14.9%

41.9%

34.0% 17.6%

thank+confess:

24.3%

53.5% 434

50.8%

228 39.2%

119

993

all prayer names:

164

112

14.3% 35.1%

thank+confess:

15.7%

50

all prayer names:

49.9%

29.1%

50.8%

20.8% 30.2%

thank+confess:

20.6%

47.6% 129

47.3%

12 19%

113

92

all prayer names:

77

10

28.6% 18.2%

thank+confess:

29.1%

16

all prayer names:

49.8%

17.7%

32.1% 23.3%

49.3%

54

34

thank+confess:

26%

Names

Instances

Names

Instances

Names of confession

Names of thanksgiving

49.0%

7.1%

48

56.9%

6.3%

20

57.2%

6.4%

24

52.8%

5.5%

3

58.9%

9.6%

14

Names

6

5.5%

8

Names

53.5%

4.6%

135

58.1%

4.8%

28

55.8%

5.9%

26

52.4%

7.0%

47

9.4%

30

7.8%

29

4.8% 10.9%

3

58.7%

8.9%

27

Instances

37

Names

8

17

83

86

192 8.0% 28.4%

234

9.3% 26.9%

52

8.1% 22.2%

36

12.7% 30.8%

15

Names

Secular names

3

48

5.5%

21

105

6.6%

29.9% 15.6%

875

27.9%

162

23.2% 12.8%

103

30.1

19

29.2% 10.3%

89

Instances

Names of birth

4.9% 25.3%

15

Instances

Equating Names of praise names

8.6%

251

4.8%

28

12.9%

57

4.8%

3

7.2%

22

Instances

Table 4.  Epigraphical Personal Names from Israel and Its Environment

58

101

3

28

114

Names

675

319

374

55

146

Names

not included Total

2922

581

443

63

305

Instances

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals

45

names constitute a large proportion of the total, varying between 22.2% and 30.8%. In all of the samples, we have a small group of equating names, which range between 5.5% and 10.9%. The secular names are a bit more frequent, varying from 5.5% to 15.6%, with the Hebrew onomasticon having the highest proportion of them. Were the ancient Israelites a little bit less pious than their neighbors? Maybe! Also, the fact that names of praise constitute only a minor group is a common feature of all of the onomastica; they vary from 5.5% to 9.6%. There is only one major difference, and it concerns the thanksgiving and confession names: in the Ammonite, Moabite, and Hebrew onomastica, there is a higher proportion of thanksgiving than of confession names, but in the Aramean and—to an even higher degree—the Phoenician onomastica, it is quite the opposite. But if one combines the names of both closely interrelated classes, one observes a similar pattern in each of the cultures under consideration (a proportion between 41.9% and 50.8%). All of the prayer names together constitute half or even a little bit more than half of each onomasticon. From these findings we can infer that the family religions of Syria and the Levant during the first half of the first millennium b.c.e. had a similar basic structure. By going into details, one can detect some differences. For example, in Aramean and especially Phoenician culture, names of the type ‘Servant of DN’ are more popular than in Israel. This is the main reason for the higher rate of confession names; even female variants such as ‘Maiden of DN’ occur here. Also, the type ‘Son or Daughter of DN’, which is frequent in the Aramean and Phoenician onomastica and occurs once in the Ammonite, was not fully developed in Israel, occurring there only in names of foreign origin such as Pašḥūr ‘Son of Horus’. 46 This may have to do with the fact that in Israel the personal relationship with the divine was less often conceived in terms of sexual categories. But these differences are rather limited. As far as the piety reflected in personal names is concerned, there is no single religious concept that could be classified as uniquely Israelite. Even the fact that only a few goddesses are mentioned in the Hebrew onomasticon is not a unique feature (pace J. H. Tigay 1987: 168–71) but is shared by the Moabite and Ammonite onomastica (all around 2%); in the Aramean onomasticon, the portion is a little bit higher (about 4%); only among Phoenician names do a considerable number of female deities appear (nearly 14%). 47 Thus, Noth’s notion is confirmed: family religion in ancient Israel should be regarded as just one variant of the closely related family religions of Levantine cultures.

6.  The Basic Structure of Familial Piety Related to Crisis Experiences The basic structure of familial piety can be determined to a large extent on the basis of the names of birth, thanksgiving, confession, and praise. But in contrast to my earlier work on this topic (Albertz 1978), I would like to emphasize here that not all aspects of family religion are reflected in the onomasticon. Because all personal names are connected with the dramatic events of the birth process in some way, 46. See Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(8):54,1; Ar(8):2,1–2; 2003: no. 1.22; 17.39–43; Deutsch 2003b: no. 329. 47.  Details and possible reasons are discussed in Albertz and Schmitt 2012.

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they are more or less related to crisis experiences. Thus, the piety revealed by the prayer names constitutes the segment of family religion that is focused on coping with individual and familial crises. This is a very important segment of familial piety, because it has always been a central task of any religion to overcome the difficulties of life, but it does not reflect—as can be shown by the biblical proverbs 48—the entire range of family religion. Israelite family religion as far as it is reflected in personal names is strongly shaped by a close personal relationship of the individual with the divine. The god named in theophoric names is often denoted as ‘my god’ (ʾelî ), which means it belongs to the type ‘personal god’, conceived as being closely linked with the name-bearer. Although in the epigraphic material from the 9th to the 6th centuries b.c.e., personal suffixes were mostly not written or intermingled with other name elements—often with first letter of the Yhwh name—there are many cases where a divine appellative determined by a 1st-person singular suffix can be detected without any doubt. To give only a few examples: ‫ אליסמך‬ʾElîsāmāk ‘my god has supported (me)’ (HAE II/2 3.29), as well as the more frequent defective spelling ‫ ;אלסמך‬49 ‫ אליצר‬ʾElîṣūr ‘my god is (my) rock’ (HAE II/2 1.74), as well as ‫ ;אלצר‬50 or ‫ אליעז‬ʾElîʿoz ‘my god is (my strong) protection’ (HAE II/2 1.73; 10.21), as well as ‫אלעז‬. 51 This grammatical interpretation of the epigraphic material is supported by many names in the Hebrew Bible, which are often written plene and thus explicitly show the yod of the 1st-person singular suffix: for example, ‫ אחישחר‬ʾAḥîšaḥar ‘my (divine) brother is (my) dawning’ (1 Chr 7:10 cf. LXX Αχισααρ). In addition, the concept of a personal god is also reflected in the form of address used in the individual psalms of lament: in the 39 texts of this type, Yhwh is addressed as ‘my god’ no less than 29 times. 52 This personal style of address is also found in expressions of trust such as ‘god of my salvation’, 53 ‘god of my protection’, 54 ‘my merciful god’, 55 ‘god of my justice’, 56 or ‘god of my praise’, 57 which recall confessions of confidence. Finally, Yhwh can be addressed as ‘my lord’ (Ps 16:2; 38:16; 86:12), ‘my shepherd’ (23:1),

48.  In contrast to the individual psalms, proverbs (especially those of Prov 10–29) focus less on crises and more on the conduct of every day life. By retelling daily experiences and providing counsel, the proverbs mainly address the individual’s rationality, not his piety. A considerable number of proverbs, however, include a religious dimension. Generally, it can be maintained that the proverbs not only regard Yhwh as creator, savior, and protector of the individual but also as his examiner, judge, and agent of punishment. Thus, the piety of the proverbs explicitly shows a strong ethical orientation; for more details, see Kim 2013: 29–58. 49.  Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 1.97; 3.30; 15.17; Deutsch 2003b: no. 94. 50.  Renz and Röllig 1995: Seb(8):2,1; Deutsch 2003b: no. 96. 51.  Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 1.98–99; 10.22–23; 13.22. 52.  Five times as ʾelî Ps 22:2, 11; 63:2; 102:25; 140:7, and 24 times as ʾĕlōhay Ps 3:8; 5:3; 7:2, 4; 13:4; 22:3; 25:2; 31:15; 35:23, 24; 38:16, 22; 40:18; 42:7; (= 42:12 = 43:5); 43:4; 59:2; 69:4; 71:4, 12, 22; 86:2, 12; 109:26; 143:10, both with the same meaning. 53. So ʾĕlōhē yišʿî in Ps 25:5; 27:9; ʾĕlōhē yĕšūʿātî in Ps 88:2; ʾĕlōhē tĕšūʿātî in Ps 51:16, all with the same meaning. 54. So ʾĕlōhē māʿūzzî in Ps 43:2 in a confession of confidence. 55. So ʾĕlōhē ḥasdî in Ps 59:18, a final address after a confession of confidence. 56. So ʾĕlōhē ṣidqî in Ps 4:2 as an opening address. 57. So ʾĕlōhē tĕhillātî in Ps 109:1 as an opening address; cf. the confession of confidence in Ps 71:6.

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals

47

‘my king’ (5:3), and ‘my rock’ (28:1). Thus, the individual’s close relationship to his deity is obvious; it is the most characteristic trait of family religion. 58 The close personal relationship between the individual and his deity is expressed in a number of ways by the names of confession, which correspond to a high degree with the confessions of confidence in the individual laments of the Psalms. Here the personal god is confessed as providing the decisive salvation, help, and protection needed by the individual; here the individual’s fundamental trust in his god is impressively stated. In the defective writing of epigraphic Hebrew names, the personal reference of such statements to the name bearer is not explicitly indicated in most cases. But there is ample evidence from the spelling of Aramean names that these confessions ought to be understood personally, for example: ‫ שמשעדרי‬Šamašʿidrî ‘Shamash is my help’ (WSS 848) or ‫ אדמעזי‬ʾAddumaʿuzî ‘Adad is my refuge’ (Maraqten 1988: 66). This understanding is supported by the corresponding confessions in the Psalms, which are formulated personally, without exception: for example, Ps 54:6: “See, god is a helper for me (‫)עזר אל‬, the Lord is among the supporters of my life!”, or Ps 31:5: “Set me free from the net men have hidden for me, because you are my refuge (‫ ”!)מעוזי‬Moreover, the epigraphic Hebrew names ‫ עמדיהו‬and ‫ עמנויהו‬ʿImmādīyāhû and ʿImmānûyāhû= ‘Yhwh is with me’ or ‘with us’ 59 explicitly indicate the personal reference. 60 The latter name suggests in fact that the entire family could be included in the relationship to the personal god. 61 Thus, the trusting personal relationship with the divine, be it of the individual family member or the entire family, must be seen as the most characteristic feature of family religion. If we wish to identify the foundations of this personal relationship to god, the answers given by the names will not suffice. Because confession names such as those mentioned above were given by parents to their children, we can infer that the religious relationship was handed down from one generation to the next and was not a matter of an individual choice. 62 Before a child was able to make any decision, it bore such a name, which reflected the religious experiences of its parents. But these 58.  The pattern observed in the psalms supports the interpretation of personal names given above. These parallels cast doubt upon Noth’s (1928: 33–36) reluctance to interpret the letter yod in the names as an indicator of the 1st-person singular suffix. His argument that the interlucatory vocal î lacks any semantic significance because the same name could be spelled with and without it is not convincing. The inconsistency of spelling is, rather, the effect of defective writing in older Hebrew as represented by many epigraphic names. That it actually represents the suffix of the 1st-person singular in many cases is now acknowledged by Zadok (1988: 51–55). Only in cases where it appears between the two nominal elements of construct-form names can the survival of an old construct ending be convincingly suggested. 59.  For reference to the singular forms, see above, p. 35; the plural form is attested by Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 16.64; Deutsch 2003b: no. 306. 60. The spelling of ‫ עמדיהו‬ʿImmādīyāhû= and ‫ עמדיו‬ʿImmādīyau ‘Yhwh is with me’ (HAE II/2 16.63) also presupposes the suffix of the 1st-person singular because the preposition ‫ עם‬ʿim ‘with’ uses this fuller form only in connection with that suffix (see Ges-K § 103c). 61.  The meaning of the Hebrew name ‫ שפטן‬Šipṭān ‘our legal assistance’ (HAE I/1 Msa[7]:3,3) and the Ammonite name ‫ אלעזן‬ʾIlʿuzzān ‘El is our protection’ (BPPS 162) is not certain. 62.  That the personal relationship to god was inherited in Israelite families can also be seen from the expression ‘god of my father’ (or similar), which occurs often in the family stories of the patriarchal narrative (Gen 31:5, 29, 42; 32:10; 43:23; 46:1, 3; 50:17). It explicitly states that the god venerated by the children was taken over from the father. This familial divine appellative is also attested outside of Israel. See Albertz 1994 I: 27–30.

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considerations reveal more the social, rather than the theological, foundation of the piety of an individual. We come closer to the latter by observing that the same type of construct epithet name, which expresses a lifelong personal relationship to a deity, a name such as ‫ אבדיהו‬ʿAbdīyāhû = ‘servant of Yhwh’, 63 has an exact parallel among the creation names, such as ‫ מעשיהו‬Maʿaśēyāhû = ‘work of Yhwh’ 64 and ‫ מקניהו‬Miqnēyāhû = ‘creature of Yhwh’. 65 The close relationship with god, which is formulated by the former from a human perspective, is conceived by the latter from a divine-human one. An individual is related to his deity for his entire life because god has created him and by doing so has established his relationship to him. From this consideration, we can suggest that the names of birth, especially the extended group of creation names (39 names from 11 roots with 148 occurrences), reveal the foundations of the personal relationship to god, which is so vividly witnessed by the prayer names. This suggestion can be substantiated with the help of the psalms. In two prominent confessions of confidence found in two different psalms of individual lament, both one’s birth or personal creation by god and one’s personal relationship to this god are closely connected: Ps 22:10 But you are he who drew me (‫ )אתה גחי‬from the womb, who instilled confidence (‫ )מבטיחי‬in me at my mother’s breasts. 11

Upon you I was cast from the day of my birth; from my mother’s womb you have been my god (‫)אלי אתה‬.

The emergence of the sufferer’s confidence here is traced back to his birth, which is conceptualized as his personal creation by god. Like a midwife, god has drawn him from the womb of his mother. What is said here with the participle of the root ‫גחי‬ gāḥāh is expressed by other roots in creation names such as ‫ דליהו‬Dĕlāyāhû = ‘Yhwh has drawn out’, 66 ‫ הצליהו‬Hiṣṣīlyāhû = ‘Yhwh has delivered’, 67 or ‫ איץ‬ʾIṣ ‘(DN) has accelerated (the birth)’ (HAE II/2 1.27). This divine act of creation, acknowledged by the petitioner of Ps 22, has instilled confidence in him (Hiphil participle from the root ‫ בטח‬baṭaḥ). The result of this is expressed by names of confession that are derived from the noun of the same root: ‫ מבטחיהו‬Mibṭaḥyāhû = ‘my trust is Yhwh’. 68 Thus, the trusting relationship of a sufferer to his personal god is the result of his creation by his god. It started with the very beginning of his life; like his birth, it has been predetermined for him. Therefore, it can never have been a matter of his choice. Apart from this, one can learn from the second line of v. 10 and the first of v. 11 that this

63.  In the present sample this name is epigraphically attested 18 times: Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 92:79,9; Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(8):49,8; Arad(6):10,4; 27,2; 2003: no. 10.38; 14.59; 16.7– 13; Deutsch 2003b: no. 137; 287–9; 359. 64.  For the references, see above, p. 36. 65. For the references, see above, p.  35. Once the northern variant Miqnēyau occurs (Renz and Röllig 2003: no. 13.77a.b). 66.  Renz and Röllig 1995: Lak(6):15,4; 2003: no. 2.7; 4.3–4; 5.21; 14.24; Deutsch 2003b: no. 141; the northern variant occurs once, see Renz and Röllig 1995: Haz(8):3,1. 67.  For the references, see above, p. 42. 68.  For the references, see above, p. 38.

The Relevance of Hebrew Name Seals

49

lasting personal relationship to his god is characterized by both a strong confidence in and a strong dependence on god. The confession of confidence in Ps 71 is similar: Ps 71:5

You are my hope (‫)תקותי‬, oh Lord, Yhwh, my trust (‫ )מבטחי‬since my youth.

6

From birth I have leaned upon you (‫)נסמכתי‬, you are he, who has severed me (‫ )גוזי‬from the womb of my mother my praise was ever about you.

7

I became a frightening sign for many, but you are my strong refuge (‫)מחסי‬.

In old age (Ps 71:18), a man traces his lifelong trust in Yhwh back to his youth. He also locates the beginning of his intimate relationship to god in the situation of his birth, when Yhwh—acting again like a midwife—severed his umbilical cord. What is expressed in v. 6 with a participle of the root ‫ גזה‬gāzāh ‘to cut’ probably finds its direct counterpart in the hypocoristic creation name ‫ גזא‬Gāzāʾ ‘(DN) has severed (me from the navel-string)’ (BPHB 341). 69 Also the designation ‘my hope’ (‫ תקותי‬tiqwātî) in v. 5 has a parallel in the Hebrew personal name ‫ תקוה‬Tiqwāh ‘(my) hope (is DN)’ (HAE II/2 22.5); 70 a similar confession of confidence given in v. 6: ‘I have leaned upon you’ (‫ סמך‬sāmak Niphal) is expressed by the Aramean name ‫ אלסמכי‬ʾElsumkî ‘El is my support’ (WSS 1106). 71 Finally, the confessional statement of v. 7 that Yhwh has been the refuge of the sufferer (‫ )מחסי‬has its direct counterpart in the name ‫מחסיהו‬ Maḥsēyāhû = ‘(my) refuge is Yhwh’. 72 In Ps 71, it becomes obvious that the individual’s relationship with the divine, which was initiated by his creation and started with his birth, normally lasted for all his life. It could be actualized throughout life in the face of every danger or hardship. Since both of these psalmistic confessions and the names of birth and confession have a high degree of verbal and material correspondence, the thesis that the central feature of Israelite family religion, the personal relationship to god is rooted in one’s creation, can be considered to be proved. 73 Rooted in the creation of man, Israelite family religion clearly differed from the central beliefs of the official religion of Israel and Judah. As is apparent from Pss 22 and 71, individual sufferers could try to secure the attention of god by reminding him of their intimate relationship to him, which he himself founded at their creation. In the collective laments, the entire community tried to do the same by reminding Yhwh of his founding acts for his people, be they the exodus from Egypt and the occupation of the promised land (Ps 80:9–12; cf. 44:2–4), the election of the Jerusalem temple (74:2), or the election of the Davidic kingdom (89:20–38). 69.  Thus, a correction of the text according to the Septuagint and Jerome is superfluous. 70.  See also the imperative name Qawwēh ‘set your hope (on DN)!’, Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 92:79,12. 71.  The Hebrew names of this root are constructed as thanksgiving names; see above, p. 46. 72.  In the present sample, the name is epigraphically attested 13 times: Deutsch and Heltzer 1995: 92:79,3; Renz and Röllig 1995: Arad(6):23,6; 2003: no. 13.9–13; 21.14 .72; 50.6; Deutsch 2003: no. 229; 230a.b; 231. 73.  Thus, my earlier ideas about the beliefs of family religion (Albertz 1978: 78; 92–95; 2008: 103–4) have been elaborated and given greater nuance and a stronger foundation.

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Although Israel’s relationship to Yhwh is likewise personally structured 74—a feature by which it differs from all official religions of the Ancient Near East 75—it is deeply rooted in political history. In contrast, Israelite family religion, like the family religion of its neighbors, was not based on history but rather on birth. As the absence of all official religious traditions in the personal names indicates, 76 family religion was independent from Israel’s salvation history. Instead, it had its own religious center: the personal creation of every individual. 74.  See Yhwh’s most frequent epithet ‫ אלהי ישראל‬ʾĕlōhē Yiśrāʾel ‘god of Israel’ ( Judg 5:3, 5; 1 Sam 14:41; 1 Kgs 1:30 et al.), which occurs 198 times in the Hebrew Bible. Through it, Yhwh is defined as a god who stands in a personal relationship to a large group. 75.  Here, the relationship between the gods and their cities or countries comes to the fore. The deities commissioned their kings to keep their property in order; see, with reference to Old Babylonian state religion, Albertz (1978: 152–63). It is not by chance that the Moabite king Mesha wrote in his inscription that the national god Kemosh was angry at his land, not his people (KAI 181:5; ANET 320). 76.  See above, pp. 41–43.

References Albertz, Rainer 1978 Persönliche Frömmigkeit und offizielle Religion: Religionsinterner Pluralismus in Israel und Babylon. CThM A 9. Stuttgart: Calwer. English edition, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006. 1994 A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period. 2 vols. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. 2008 Family Religion in Ancient Israel and Its Surroundings. Pp. 89–112 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan. The Ancient World: Comparatives Histories. Oxford: Blackwell. Avigad, Nahman, and Sass, Benjamin 1997 Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals. Jerusalem: Keter. (= WSS). Benz, Frank L. 1972 Personal Names in the Phoenician and Punic Inscriptions. Rome: Biblical Institute. Bodel, John, and Olyan, Saul M. 2008 Comparative Perspectives. Pp. 276–82 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan. The Ancient World: Comparatives Histories. Oxford: Blackwell. Deutsch, Robert 2003a A Hoard of Fifty Hebrew Clay Bullae from the Time of Hezekiah. Pp. 45–98 in Shlomo: Studies in Epigraphy, Iconography, History and Archaeology in Honor of Shlomo Moussaieff, ed. R. Deutsch. Tel Aviv-Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publications (= FHCB). 2003b Biblical Period Hebrew Bullae: The Josef Chaim Kaufman Collection. Tel Aviv: Archaeological Center Publications (= BPHB). Deutsch, Robert, and Heltzer, Michael 1995 New Epigraphic Evidence from the Biblical Period, Tel Aviv-Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publications (= NEE). Deutsch, Robert, and Lemaire, André 2000 Biblical Period Personal Seals in the Shlomo Mussaieff Collection. Tel Aviv: Archaeological Center Publications (= BPPS).

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Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W.; Roberts, Jimmy Jack McBee; Seow, Choon Leong; and Whitaker, R. E. 2005 Hebrew Inscriptions: Texts from the Biblical Period of the Monarchy with Concordance. New Haven: Yale University Press. Fichtner, Johannes 1933 Die altorientalische Weisheit in ihrer israelitisch-jüdischen Ausprägung: Eine Studie zur Nationalisierung der Weisheit in Israel. BZAW 62. Gießen: Töpelmann. Fowler, Jeaneane D. 1988 Theophoric Personal Names in Ancient Hebrew: A Comparative Study. JSOTSup 49. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Gerstenberger, Erhard S. 1988 Psalms. Part I, with an Introduction to Cultic Poetry. FOTL 14. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 2001 Theologien im Alten Testament: Pluralität und Synkretismus alttestamentlichen Gottesglaubens. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer. Hübner, Ulrich 1992 Die Ammoniter: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte, Kultur und Religion eines transjordanischen Volkes im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. ADPV 16. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Huffmon, Herbert Bardwell 1965 Amorite Personal Names in the Mari Texts. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Kim, Tae-Kyung 2013 Frömmigkeit in der Weisheit: Untersuchungen zum religiösen Geschehen zwischen Gott und dem einzelnen Menschen in der Weisheitstradition. EHS 13, 933. Frankfurt am Main: Lang. Lemaire, André, and Yardeni, Ada 2006 New Hebrew Ostraca from the Shephela. Pp. 197–223 (and 20 plates) in Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typological and Historical Perspectives, ed by S. E. Fassberg and A. Hurvitz. Publications of the Institute for Advanced Studies 1. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes and Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Maraqten, Mohammed 1988 Die Semitischen Personennamen in den alt- und reichsaramäischen Inschriften aus Vorderasien. TSO 5. Hildesheim: Georg Olms. Meinhold, Arndt 1991 Die Sprüche. 2 vols. ZB.AT 16.1–2. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag Zürich. Naveh, Joseph 2000 Hebrew and Aramaic Inscriptions. Pp. 1–14 in Excavations at the City of David 1978– 1985 directed by Yigal Shiloh, ed by D. T. Ariel; Vol. VI: Inscriptions. Qedem 41. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University. Noth, Martin 1928 Die israelitischen Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung. BWANT 46. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Ploeger, Otto 1984 Sprüche Salomos (Proverbia). BKAT 17. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Preuß, Horst Dietrich 1987 Einführung in die alttestamentliche Weisheitsliteratur. Uni Taschenbücher 383. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Rad, Gerhard von 1961 Die Anrechnung des Glaubens zur Gerechtigkeit. Pp. 130–35 in G. von Rad, Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament. TB 8. Second edition. Munich: Chr. Kaiser. Rechenmacher, Hans 1997 Personennamen als theologische Aussagen: Die syntaktischen und semantischen Strukturen der satzhaften theophoren Personennamen in der hebräischen Bibel. Münchener Universitätsschriften 50. St. Ottilien: Eos Verlag.

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Renz, Johannes, and Röllig, Wolfgang 1995 Handbuch der althebräischen Epigraphik. Vols. I, II/1, III. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. 2003 Handbuch der althebräischen Epigraphik. Vol. II/2. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Sader, Hélène 2005 Iron Age Funerary Stelae from Lebanon. Cuadernos de Arqueología Mediterránea 11. Barcelona: Universidad Pompeu Fabra. Stamm, Johann Jakob 1980 Hebräische Ersatznamen. Pp.  59–95 in Beiträge zur hebräischen und altorientalischen Namenskunde, ed. J. J. Stamm and A. Klopfenstein. OBO 30. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. Stolz, Fritz 1996 Einführung in den Biblischen Monotheismus. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Tigay, Jeffrey H. 1987 Israelite Religion: The Onomastic Evidence. Pp. 157–94 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Studies in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. P. D. Miller, P. D. Hanson, and S. Dean McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress. Zadok, Ran 1988 The Pre-Hellenistic Israelite Anthroponomy and Prosopography. OLA 28. Leuven: Peeters. Zimmerli, Walther 1933 Zur Struktur der alttestamentlichen Weisheit. ZAW 51: 177–204. 1969 Ort und Grenze der Weisheit im Rahmen der alttestamentlichen Theologie (1963). Pp. 300–15 in W. Zimmerli, Gottes Offenbarung: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament. TB 19. Munich: Kaiser.

The Household as Sacred Space Beth Alpert Nakhai The University of Arizona

Introduction The study of Iron Age religion has developed in so many ways over the past century and more, since archaeologists and biblical scholars began working together to flesh out an understanding of the religions of Israel, Judah and their neighbors. Of all the well-known developments, perhaps the most important is that scholars are finally convinced that women not only lived in the past, but also that they played important roles in sustaining the lives of their families and their nations. 1 This was true in matters of daily life and sustenance, and also in matters of religion. The impact of this “discovery” on any reconstruction of Israelite religion, whether at the national, regional, village or household level, is considerable. The focus of this article is the religion of the household, what R. Albertz (1994: 94–103; 2008) and others call “family religion.”  2 Scholars have reconstructed a multi-tiered approach to Israelite religion, identifying religious practice at the national level (in Jerusalem), at the regional level (in smaller sanctuaries located in sites of military and administrative importance, such as Arad and Megiddo), and at the level of the family or household (Holladay 1987; Nakhai 2001: 161–200 and references therein; see also Albertz 1994: 17–21). It has now become clear that the idea of “family” or “household” religion itself represents a broad category that must be broken down in order to understand the full range of religious beliefs and behaviors in Israel and Judah. What I suggest is that household religion functioned both at the level of the bêt ʾāb—that is, the extended family or residential kin group—and at the level of the individual or, even more specifically, at the level of women within Author’s note: An earlier version of this paper was given in a session on Household Archaeology at the Vienna meeting of the European Association of Biblical Studies and the Society of Biblical Literature (2007), organized by Rainer Albertz and Rüdiger Schmitt. I thank them for their dedication to this important topic and for including me among the discussants then and at the Münster conference in 2009. A version was also presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature (2009). 1.  As Sered notes, “Women are not a fringe group; women are 50 percent of the population” (1995: 209). 2.  See articles in Bodel and Olyan, eds. (2008; and especially Ackerman 2008: 127–28) for definitions and for discussions of concepts and terminology related to household, family, and domestic religion.

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the household (Nakhai 2011). 3 The points that support this understanding are as follows. 1.  Family religion, writ large, related to those aspects of life that were of greatest concern to all Israelites: sustenance and economic survival, on the one hand, and health and reproduction, on the other. 4 All members of the bêt ʾāb or extended family assumed responsibility for sustenance and economic survival and they worked variously in fields, with livestock, in crafts and trades, in food preparation, clothing production, and so forth. 5 However, the burden of health and reproduction fell most heavily upon the shoulders of individual women within the family, who not only undertook the risks and responsibilities of pregnancy and childbearing but who were the most likely to be trained as midwives, healers, and caretakers. 6 2. The typical Israelite or four-room house allowed for sensitivity to family needs, whether seasonal or personal, as these needs related to food production, clothing manufacture, craft production, storage, livestock, reproduction, and more. 7 Studies of the four-room house indicate its capacity to meet a range of needs within a rather small space. Indeed, its effectiveness in doing so is attested to by the relative stability of its floor plan over a period of some 600 years, from the beginning of the Iron I (1200 b.c.e.) until the Babylonian destruction (587 b.c.e.) (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003; Faust and Bunimovitz 2003). 3.  Most commonly, the individual house was situated within a compound of houses, which as a unit was inhabited by a kin-based group. 8 The residents of each individual house included a nuclear family and its dependents. The residents of the housing compound comprised a bêt ʾāb or extended family that included, more or less, the ranking elders (matriarch and patriarch), as well as their sons and sons’ families, and their dependents (de Vaux 1961: 7–8; Stager 1985; Halpern 1991: 49–59; van der Toorn 1996: 194–99; see also Faust 2000: 32). This generalization, which is supported by archaeological and textual evidence, holds true throughout the Iron II, even though other factors, such as the urban-rural dichotomy (Faust 1999, 2000; see also Faust and Bunimovitz 2003) and “categories of wealth” (Routledge 2009: 54) had an effect on household size and social structure. 9 4.  Research by C. Meyers and others has stressed gender interdependence and the heterarchical nature of the Israelite household—and, in some instances, of the larger society (Meyers 1997: 32–41; 1999: 40; 2002: 302–3; 2003; 2006; Hendon 2006; Nakhai 2007). 10 What this means is that women and men assumed complementary 3.  Olyan (2008) and Ackerman (2008) discuss the important roles played by non-familial, nonhousehold members in family religion. 4. As Albertz demonstrates, “the domestic cult centrally aimed at the protection of all family members and the survival of the family group” (2008: 98). 5.  For the bêt ʾāb as a land-owning entity with economic responsibilities, see Levine 2003. 6.  For ethnographic comparanda, see Canaan 1927; Friedl 1980; Gross 1980. 7.  Similar points have been made about 19th–20th century traditional housing in Iran (Kramer 1979: 157) and in Palestine (Amiry and Tamari 1989: 27). 8.  For a near-modern parallel, see Canaan 1933: 41, which describes the Palestinian hamuleh inhabiting a complex of houses built around a courtyard. 9.  According to Faust, village housing was larger than housing in towns and cities, suggesting that rural housing accommodated extended families, while urban housing accommodated nuclear families (1999, 2000). 10.  For women’s authority within the bêt ʾēm (Gen 24:28, Ruth 1:8, Song 3:4, 8:2), the mother’s household, see Meyers 1991.

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positions in areas of specialization for which they were afforded some measure of prestige or social status. These specializations required training, as a result of which individuals were “credentialed,” as it were, to perform tasks essential to the physical and/or spiritual wellbeing of their communities. Both men and women organized themselves in informal ways or into formal guilds, and they gained status from their labors. Rather than function as competitors for a single position of authority, as the outmoded “patriarchal” model posits, the heterarchical model demonstrates that women and men alike were credited for their respective contributions. 5. In this way, the social responsibilities of the extended family were carried out within the context of the housing compound. Insofar as these responsibilities included the enactment of cultic ritual, one can conclude that the familial elders, matriarch and patriarch alike—who together were responsible for all other aspects of family survival—together undertook or officiated over those religious obligations. 11 This seems especially clear when sacrifice was required, because the decision to offer food otherwise destined for family consumption would have to be made by family elders who could best balance subsistence needs against ritual requirements (Nakhai 2007, 2011; Ackerman 2008: 145–47). 12 6.  Archaeological evidence for what I call “shrines of the family elders” is found in some of the housing compounds excavated in Iron Age settlements in Israel and Jordan. These shrines, which include a constellation of offering benches, alcoves, niches, maṣṣebot, offering stands, portable altars, model shrines, cultic vessels, and more, have been identified at sites including Tell en-Nasbeh, Tall al-ʿUmayri, Tel Halif, Beersheba, Tell el-Farʿah (N) (Holladay 1987: 275–81; Halpern 1991: 69; Levinson 1998: 62–64; Willett 1999: 101–65; Nakhai 2001: 190–91; Zevit 2001: 123–266). 13 7.  Important aspects of daily life and community sustenance related to physical health and wellbeing and to reproduction. Insofar as women were trained in the field of healthcare, they were the individuals upon whom the primary responsibility for healing fell. 14 There is no reason to imagine that men, too, did not undertake 11.  According to Sered (1995: 208), women whose children are grown are better able to engage in ritual activities; indeed, when they no longer need to provide constant physical care for their growing families, they care for them through prayer and ritual acts. 12.  In poorer Middle Eastern (primarily Palestinian or Egyptian) families, for whom economic necessity required women’s daily work, women had more opportunities to influence men’s decisions than did their well-to-do counterparts, who did not play an important role in the family’s economic status (Graham-Brown 1988: 148). 13.  Another example is found at Tel Masos in the northern Negev Desert, where Str. II dates to the early Iron II (Fritz and Kempinski 1983). Willett identified small shrines in Houses 314 (Area H), 167 (Area A2), and 42 (Area A1) (1999: 107–17). Each had an offering bench, and one wall of the House 167 shrine was “paneled” with potsherds. The imported ceramic wares and bone and limestone figurines found in House 167, and the decorated stand and pedestaled bowl in House 42, may have been used in domestic rituals overseen by family elders. House 314 contained a special hearth and metalworking tools, as well as four stone votive figurines and an ivory lion head. Its extensive and elegant ceramic repertoire indicates the service of meals to individuals beyond its residential family. Religious ephemera from these three houses, which include lamps, incense burners, beads, Red Sea shells, and a bone ring-and-dot amulet, reflect reproductive and healing rituals. 14.  According to Avalos, Hannah’s petition at the shrine in Shiloh was effective not because of the “therapeutic or divinatory techniques of the personnel that administered the locus” but rather because at that place, Yahweh’s presence was made manifest (1995: 334). This suggests that it is the presence of the Divine (invoked in the household through the manipulation of cult shrines, figurines, and other ritual objects) that created ritual efficacy; a religious specialist sanctioned by an

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medico-magical work (Scurlock 1991), but women’s responsibilities within the home meant that they were the ones best positioned to offer long-term care. Furthermore, when it came to the kinds of illnesses and traumas that resulted from reproductive problems, it was women rather than men who were the responsible parties (Meyers 2002; 2005: 37–47). 15 Indeed, it is unlikely that men were even aware of the full range of biological issues that women (who died on average ten years before men, due to unequal access to adequate nutrition and to the dangers of childbirth) constantly confronted (Meyers 1988: 112–13; Gross 1980; Scurlock 1991: 140 n. 53; MacDonald 2008: 86–87). 8.  The excavation of four-room houses reveals a wealth of religious ephemera that suggest women’s daily ritual acts (Willett 1999: 157–65, 292–388; Meyers 2005: 27–35). These objects, small and personal, include shells, beads and other pieces of jewelry, amulets, figurines, and more. Clothing and textiles, too, made of fabrics dyed in specially chosen colors, played a role in acts of apotropaia and healing, but such organic materials are not preserved in the archaeological record. 16 It is through recourse to this corpus of small sacred objects that we can best see women’s participation in the everyday religious life of the Israelite and Judean household. These, then, are the eight main points that facilitate a discussion of the sacralization of the house and that support the distinction between “shrines of the family elders” and women’s personal piety. Each kind of religious act transformed the house, or some part of it, into sacred space. At the same time, given the many other domestic tasks taking place in and around the house and housing compound, this sacralization must be seen as temporal, meaning that space, like people, “multitasked.” An examination of archaeological data from housing compounds and from four-room houses clarifies these points. external authority was not required. Albertz concurs, “Seldom was there need of a religious expert; in most cases the father or the mother carried out the ritual functions” (2008: 92). For ethnographic comparanda, see Drower 1938, which enumerates the ritual responsibilities of midwives in Iraq. 15.  The house itself was the primary place in which women’s religious obligations were fulfilled. Faust and Bunimovitz claim that the four-room house was designed to accommodate Israelites’ purity concerns (2003). If so, then the structure itself, its floor plan and its architectonics, mirrored religious beliefs and traditions as they concerned (primarily) women. However, “Most women spend most of their lives premenstrual, postmenstrual, or amenstrual as a result of nursing, pregnancy, or (unfortunately) malnutrition. From a female perspective, menstruation is a poor explanation for women’s religious concerns, participation, and emphases” (Sered 1995: 208). In her study of contemporary Jewish women from traditional backgrounds now living in Israel, Sered noted that they perceive childbirth as positive and miraculous, not as polluting—despite their knowledge of Jewish laws that describe it as such (2001: 246). Meyers suggests that purity rituals described in the Bible may have been operative at community shrines but not at household shrines (2002: 283). Together, these points caution against accepting an androcentric text such as the Hebrew Bible as hegemonic and suggest that what Faust and Bunimovitz consider a guiding principle in residential construction could have been construed differently by half the inhabitants of the Israelite household. 16.  Many studies have documented the fragile and obscure nature of religious ephemera used in contemporary rituals. See, for example, S. Graham-Brown, who recorded late-19th to mid-20thcentury Palestinian ritual practices. They included leaving food and oil at shrines, lighting candles at shrines, tying rags to trees as offerings, and leaving stones, pottery, or buttons on graves (1980: 67). For the use of color and shape to imbue Mauritanian Kiffa beads with symbolic meaning and ritual purpose, see Simak 2006.

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The Archaeological Data Archaeologists have identified shrines, which they often call household shrines or cult rooms, in Iron Age houses; some have related them to the family and even to women’s domestic rituals (Holladay 1987; Negbi 1993; Willett 1999: 101–65; Nakhai 2001: 190–91; Zevit 2001: 652–55, and for terminology, see 123–24; Dever 2005: 176–251; Ackerman 2008). 17 These shrines incorporate a combination of built and portable elements, which vary in response to family customs, needs and resources. I suggest that in light of their spatial positioning, their architectural features, and their contents, they are best understood as “shrines of the family elders.” These shrines had a distinct function within the parameters of family religion: they existed alongside—but not in opposition to—religious paraphernalia used by the households’ female residents. Their archaeological characteristics are increasingly apparent. Some were constructed as an alcove or niche in which an image of a protective deity was placed. Some incorporated a platform or offering bench and some displayed a maṣṣebah. They contained specialized objects such as terracotta model shrines built to hold the image of a protective deity, portable stone altars and offering stands, and zoomorphic figurines. Additional objects, including votive vessels, luxury goods, imported wares, lamps, arrowheads, animal bones, and the like might also have been utilized, in accordance with local beliefs, ritual requirements, available resources, or crises demanding resolution. At the same time, evidence for personal religion is indicated by the cultic ephemera commonly found in four-room houses. Such ephemera stand in contradistinction to the ritual materials used in the “shrines of the family elders.” Personal religious objects are commonly found in domestic work areas, interspersed among artifacts and installations indicative of women’s domestic activities, especially those of food preparation and textile production. As such, they are understood to belong to the unique kit of women’s religious objects. 18 These personal religious objects include pillar-based figurines, Bes amulets, lamaštu plaques, and jewelry including shells, beads in colors chosen for their apotropaic powers, and more (Scurlock 1991; Willett 1999: 292–388; Meyers 2002: 287–89; Limmer 2007: 160–62, 394–95). 19 They underscore the dual responsibilities women undertook as they cared for the physical and spiritual maintenance of both home and family. As S. Ackerman (2003, 2006) has demonstrated, in all that women did—preparing food, making clothing, and attending to their families—they, like the men in their families, participated in the worship of both Yahweh and Asherah. An examination of the data from six Iron Age sites illuminates “shrines of the family elders” and women’s religious ephemera, and the relationship between them.

17.  Cultic assemblages similar to but not identical with those in Israel and Judah are found in Iron II houses at Tall Jawa in Ammon (Daviau 2001). 18.  For women’s religious rituals, unknown to men, that surround menstruation and childbirth in aboriginal Australia, see Gross 1980. 19.  In Mesopotamia, pregnant women were thought to be particularly susceptible to witchcraft; amulets served them as protection (Rollin 1983: 40).

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Tall al-ʿUmayri Tall al-ʿUmayri, in the Transjordanian Highlands, was a fortified town in the second phase of its Iron I occupation (Str. 12). Three large two-storey structures, Buildings A, B, and C, were constructed in Fields A–B against the perimeter wall, while an alley and, eventually, courtyards extended along the other side. 20 Buildings A and B shared a common wall. A nearby refuse pit was filled with at least 25,000 animal bones and thousands of fragments of cooking pots and other domestic wares. 21 The rectilinear Building A had four rooms, as well as an alcove (A4) set opposite Cult Room A2. A smooth, nicely shaped maṣṣebah stood in stone-paved Room A2; a similarly well-formed flat stone altar lay in front of it. Cultic paraphernalia, including chalices, a perforated vessel perhaps used for ritual oil, and a pair of bronze cymbals, were found nearby. 22 Alcove A4 contained several stones that may also have functioned as maṣṣebot. A three-tiered plastered platform in the innermost Room A3 might have served as a second altar; near it were a number of collared-rim store jars. Food preparation and cooking were done in Room A1, which contained a hearth and several bins. It opened into the outermost Room A5 (Herr and Clark 2001, 2009: 82–89; Herr 2006). According to its excavators, L. Herr and D. Clark, Building B was large enough to accommodate a three-generation family. The residents of this four-room house used the side rooms for the storage of food products, tools and fuel, and for stabling. They lined the walls of one room with more than 20 collared-rim store jars and did some cooking in the house, although more cooking seems to have been done in Building A. Typical domestic pottery, ground-stone tools, and textile implements were found inside the house and in the courtyard. In addition, a basalt tripod bowl, an imported alabaster bowl, a jar handle with an abstract seal impression, a sandstone bead, and the lower part of a bronze human figurine came from in and around the house. The preparation and service of communal meals is indicated by the extensive evidence for food storage, preparation, and consumption in Building A and by the massive refuse pit outside the two buildings (Herr and Clark 2001, 2009: 82–89; Herr 2006). As a whole, the ʿUmayri evidence points to a small community in which an elite family, presumably the community elders, presided over ritual feasts and cultic ceremonies in Building A. Whether they also lived in that building or lived in Building B or another nearby four-room house is unknown.

Tell el-Farʿah (N) Tenth-century Tell el-Farʿah (N) (Level 7b) contained several “shrines of the family elders.” In House 440 in the northernmost of the excavated housing compounds, a stone offering bench was installed near the back of the central chamber (Chambon 1984: fig. 3). Ritual objects scattered throughout the area include figurines portray20.  Str. 12 structures are found elsewhere on the tell but have not yet been excavated (Herr and Clark 2009: 82–89). 21. See Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007: 95 for the difficulties encountered in determining whether bone middens result from secular or sacred meals. Factors that assist in the determination include the size of the midden, its location near a space used for ritual activities, and the types of faunal materials in the deposit. 22.  At Tall Jawa, ritual areas were commonly situated in second stories or on rooftops (Daviau 2001). It is possible that some of the cultic materials from Tall al-ʿUmayri may also have originated in the building’s second storey (Herr and Clark 2001: 47).

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ing a nursing woman and a tambourine player, a model shrine, a horse head from a zoomorphic vessel, an alabaster pendant, and beads (Chambon 1984: 136–37). Some objects, such as the model shrine and the zoomorphic vessel, might have been used in the small shrine but others, including the figurine of the nursing woman and the jewelry, are better understood as having been used by women in their own religious rituals. House 442, contiguous to and slightly larger than House 440, was not as rich in cultic objects and contained no shrine (Chambon 1984: 137), suggesting that the residents of House 442 joined the elders in House 440, worshiping at their centrally located “shrine of the family elders.” At the same time, the women residing in House 442 enacted their own rituals using the ephemera that it contained. Contemporary shrines, comprised of small alcoves near the entrances, were also found in Houses 436 and 355, each of which was located in a separate housing compound. The luxury votive objects found in House 436 testify to its identification as a “shrine of the family elders.” A model sanctuary buried in the courtyard of House 149B, at the opposite end of the House 436 compound, might signal the desacralization of its shrine, due to altered familial status. Religious ephemera were found in most, if not all the tenth-century houses at Tell el-Farʿah (N) (Willett 1999: 118). These objects can be related to safety and defense (horse figurines and arrowheads); the domestic economy (votive juglets, zoomorphic vessels, bovine figurines, and a seal of a nursing calf); and to healing and reproduction (beads, a blue jewelry plaque, an ivory pendant, a faience amulet, nursing female figurines, and more). Hand-drum figurines are connected with women’s rituals, whether military or funerary, while lamps were used in many kinds of ritual ceremonies.

Beth Shean Although the Beth Shean excavations have not exposed an extensive area of Iron Age housing, one very important house, which I suggest belonged to community elders, has been uncovered. This mid-eighth century building (Area P, Str. P-7, L. 28636) is one of the largest four-room houses known from Iron Age Israel (Mazar and Fink 2006: 212–30; Mazar 2006a: 269–78). For this discussion, two rooms are of particular importance. One is the central roofed chamber (L. 28638 and L. 28641), in which women made clothing and prepared food that was then cooked in the open space in front of the house. It contained a small bin, a grinding installation and grinding stones, storage jars, charred wheat and lots of pottery (Mazar 2006b: photos 12.2–12.5), as well as two looms and other evidence for textile working. There is no question that domestic work predominated in this room. At the same time, religious ephemera suggest that ritual acts were integrated into the daily lives of the women who spent their days working there. They include an uninscribed clay tablet; a second one was found elsewhere on the site (Yahalom-Mack and Mazar 2006: 471–73). The function of these tablets has not been determined, but they may relate to women’s religious “literacy.” S. Starr Sered discussed the idea that religious value can accrue to written material in ways that transcend the word and its meaning (1995); 23 in this instance, I suggest that women made tablets void of word or image, in imitation of lamaštu plaques and similar objects on which sacred words 23.  In her discussion of elderly illiterate Jewish women of Middle Eastern (primarily Kurdistani) origins who now live in Jerusalem, Sered wrote: “When the women treat texts as ritual objects, they

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were found. Other ephemera include a finely carved miniature alabaster cosmetic dish with a gray exterior and white core (a second, with blue coloring in one set of concentric circles carved into its rim, was found nearby, in a slightly later stratum), a bone spatula perhaps used for cosmetics, and a small gypsum juglet. Additional objects used in domestic rituals, including the head of a female figurine, a Bes amulet, an astragalus, and an animal figurine, were found near the house (Yahalom-Mack and Mazar 2006). Room 18601, to the right of the central chamber, bears special consideration as the location of a “shrine of the family elders.” A libation area to the left of its entrance consisted of an unusual stone and brick installation that held a large water jar, a small vessel, and a basalt bowl. In one corner of the room, an assemblage of domestic pottery lay on and around a low bench. Luxury goods, some used in cultic rituals, include a stone cosmetic bowl and lid, small gypsum juglets, a blue faience bead, seashells, juglets, and five iron arrowheads; they were found elsewhere in the room (Yahalom-Mack and Mazar 2006). That at least two of the arrowheads were used ritually is suggested by the fact that they were fixed to an iron ring. According to its excavator, A. Mazar, this spacious house contained enough ceramic vessels to feed some twenty people. While Mazar concluded that the house was occupied by a single wealthy family (Mazar 2006a: 273–74), I suggest that the inhabitants were elders. They were responsible for convening their extended family for ceremonial occasions, including ritual meals, and for this purpose they maintained an extensive pantry. At these and other times, they officiated over community rituals in the Room 18601 “shrine of the family elders.”

Tell en-Nasbeh Tell en-Nasbeh contained a series of Iron II housing compounds in Str. 3 (Zorn 1994). A. Brody documented life in one of these compounds, which consisted of five buildings (2009). Atypical two-room and three-room structures flanked three similarly sized three-room houses. 24 Common walls linked these five buildings, and this compound was separated from nearby compounds by streets on three sides and by the so-called “rubble heap” behind it. According to Brody, this compound represents the homes of a single extended family that included three nuclear families and their dependents. Each nuclear family lived in one of the separate residences, and all shared resources and working spaces within the larger compound (2009: 54). As we will see, they also shared a single cultic “shrine of the family elders,” which in this instance was not located inside a house. In the three-room houses, the interior broad room (Rooms 610, 612, and, presumably, Room 579) was the “living” room, used for eating, entertaining, and sleeping. The two flanking buildings, each of which had a courtyard (607 and 581), were not residential structures. Depending on the season, cooking took place in Courtyard 581, in Room 608, and perhaps in Room 584. Pottery was stored in two of the houses (Rooms 584 and 578) and in each flanking structure (Room 609 and Courtincorporate the texts into their interpersonal, relationship-oriented religious world: books, mezuzot and pages with Hebrew writing guard over one’s home and loved ones” (1995: 211). 24.  In large towns like Tell en-Nasbeh, and in cities, three-room houses were the most common type of house (Faust 1999: 246).

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yard 607 in the northern building; Rooms 513 and 575, flanking Courtyard 581, in the southern building). Tools for preparing food and for sewing clothing and textiles were found in many of the rooms, while the only evidence for workshop activities was the concentration of stone tools in Room 576 and the oil press in Room 588. Weapons, which Brody attributes to the destruction of Str. 3, were distributed among the buildings’ westernmost rooms (2009). A limited amount of jewelry came from courtyard kitchen 581, although several pieces were also found in Rooms 578 and 579. Room 513 contained a carnelian bead, a mollusk pendant, and bronze earrings. Additional cultic items include fragments of three pillar-base figurines, a horse-and-rider figurine and an animal figurine, a sculpted face that may have come from a ceramic shrine, and the only imported vessel found in this compound, a Phoenician trefoil-mouth jug. One cultic item (including figurine fragments) was found in each of six rooms, 610, 608 Sub-Level I, 588, 584, 578, and 576. Chalices were found in Rooms 576, 584, 607, and 608 Sublevel I (Brody 2009). Tell en-Nasbeh, then, contains an excellent example of a “shrine of the family elders,” located in a specialized tripartite building at one end of an extended family’s housing compound. Additional evidence suggests that women enacted rituals within the individual houses. Research into the other Str. 3 compounds should reveal further evidence for personal religion and for “shrines of the family elders.”

Lahav/Tel Halif Lahav/Tel Halif was home to a fortified town in the eighth century (Str. VIB). Field IV contained a row of three four-room houses whose rear walls formed part of the town’s perimeter wall. The two northernmost houses may have shared a wall, even as they were separated from the southern house by a small courtyard. According to its excavator, J. Hardin, one house contained a shrine, but cultic ephemera representing women’s rituals were found in the other buildings as well (2004). The residents of House 1, the northern building, engaged in metalworking, weaving, and viticulture. Room 1, a small corner room, was used seasonally for food preparation and for storage. Room 2, a broad cobbled room, extended across the rest of the back of the house. Its northern third contained pottery and tools used for food preparation and service and for textile manufacture. It also contained a small shrine, identified by its two finely dressed stone offering stands, as well as a fenestrated ceramic stand, a “pomegranate” jug, and a pillar-base figurine. The absence of artifacts in the rest of the room suggests that much of it was used for family activities and for sleeping. Long rooms 3, 4, and 5 were utilized for domestic activities, textile and metal production, and other small-scale enterprises. Animals may have been stabled in Room 4 as well. Religious ephemera found in Room 3 include a figurine fragment, seashells (including a shell bead), and red ochre for ceremonial use (Hardin 2004; Cobb Institute of Archaeology 2009). The southern four-room house, Structure 3, contained no cultic area like that in the northern house. A cooking area is indicated by a tabun in one room, which also contained an iron plough point, a loom weight, stone tools, restorable pottery, and a figurine fragment. Restorable pottery was found elsewhere in the house, as well. Fragments of figurines, including two pillar base figurines, a zoomorphic figurine and a horse and rider figurine, were found on the floor of one room and in the remains of

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the collapsed second story of the house. Other religious ephemera, including shells and beads, were also found. Fragmentary walls, surfaces, and a pillar base are all that are left of the structures that stood between and east of the northern and southern houses in Field IV (Hardin 2004; Cobb Institute of Archaeology 2009). Despite their fragmentary nature, they clarify the fact that the two better-known buildings stood within a housing compound that contained both a “shrine of the family elders” and religious ephemera used for women’s personal rituals.

Sites: Conclusions At Tall al-ʿUmayri, Tell el-Farʿah (N), Beth Shean, Tell en-Nasbeh, and Tel Halif, there was some variation in what might be considered a “shrine of the family elders.” Whether this variation was due to chronological developments, regional variations, settlement size, access to resources, or the nuances of social structure is as yet unclear, and some combination of all these considerations is most likely. However, the “shrines of the family elders” contained certain consistent elements, including dedicated space, some kind of permanent architectural feature(s), substantive cultic materials, and facilities for cooking and serving food to communities larger than the nuclear household. At the same time, archaeological evidence indicates that each compound, and perhaps each house within the compound, contained an eclectic assortment of religious ephemera used by women so that they could enact personal religious rituals.

Elders What more can be said about the elders who resided in and presided over these housing compounds? The system of elders administering justice on behalf of the community was an essential component of Israelite culture, one that was based upon “collective leadership at family unit level” (Reviv 1989: 187; see also de Vaux 1961: 137–38, 152–53; Weinfeld 1972; Halpern 1991: 52; van der Toorn 1996: 192–94; Levinson 1998: 110–11, 126). According to V. Matthews and D. Benjamin (1993: 126–27), The integrity of the village or city rests on the willingness of its citizens to support the legal system and to settle disputes through arbitration rather than force or violence (Deut 5:17–20). By acknowledging their need for one another through this style of legal justice, they guarantee the solidarity of the community.

The classic understanding of the Israelite elder is that of a man who sat in council with other men, often at the city gate, and who, when necessary, offered judgment. 25 These elders might receive and divide up spoils of war (David in 1 Sam 30:26), handle homicides (Deut 19:11–13, 21:1–9; Josh 20:4), interact with kings and other notables ( Jehu in 2 Kgs 10:1–7), mediate property disputes (Naboth in 1 Kgs 21:8), partake in ceremonial meals with other community leaders (Exod 18:12), officiate over ceremonies and communal meals in gateways (Deut 12:15; see also 2 Kgs 23:8), 25.  This allocation of authority changed subsequent to the Josianic reforms of the late sixth century (2 Kgs 23) in response to Neo-Assyrian influences. Only then did Levites replace elders as the legal authorities at the city gates, emphasizing the long tradition of elders as gateway judges (Leuchter 2007; see also Levinson 1998).

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and more (Lam 5:14; Ps 69:13). 26 It is noteworthy that male elders had time to sit at the city gate and wait for problems to arise. Given the endless household tasks for which women were responsible, it should not surprise us that they, too, could not sit and wait. Consider, for example, all that the “woman of valor” accomplished, as she maintained her household and guaranteed its solvency, while her husband sat at the gate among the elders (Prov 31:10–31). A case can be made, though, for women functioning together with men as familial elders and community leaders. The responsibility of elders to adjudicate disputes and enforce punishment within the family context is emphasized by the commandment to honor one’s parents, both father and mother (Exod 20:12; Deut 5:16). For youths who were legal minors but approaching adulthood, too young to be judged for their serious transgressions by Israel’s legal system but too old for informal reprimands, the authority of familial elders would have prevailed (Fleishman 1992). That women as well as men shared in this authority is supported by the inclusion of mothers in the Exod 20/Deut 5 commandment(s). Several passages in Deuteronomy (29:17; see also 12:12, 17:2, 31:10–13) highlight the responsibility that all members of the community, “man or woman, family or tribe” (ʾ îš ʾô-ʾiššâ ʾô mišpāḥâ ʾô-šēbet) bore toward Israel’s religious obligations, whether public or private. 27 Certain situations might have required women to be numbered among the elders at the gate. 28 These would include the determination of virginity at the time of marriage, in which the handling of a bloody garment was required (Deut 22:13–21); the termination of the widow’s obligation to marry her deceased husband’s brother (Deut 25:5–10; see also Ruth 4:1–12); and the punishing of a disobedient son, in which the mother as well as the father was obligated to press charges (Deut 21:18–21). The “wise women” of Tekoah (2 Sam 14) and AbelBeth-Maacah (2 Sam 20:14–22), both of whom gave valuable counsel to outsiders on behalf of their communities, were publicly renowned for their knowledge and authority. C. Camp has demonstrated the identification between wisdom and women; the real-life female sage is transformed into the biblical personification of Wisdom as a woman who honors God within her community (1990). In Proverbs (1:21, 8:3), she shares her wisdom from the city gate. Even the “woman of valor” seems to have found some time to join her husband among the elders at the gate (Prov 31:31). As J. Plaskow documented in another context, the masculine plural in Hebrew (here, zikēnîm) can, and does, include women (1991). 29 Additional biblical passages highlight women undertaking the responsibilities of the elders at the household level as they share in familial ceremonial obligations. They show women preparing food for sacral meals and offerings (Sarah and Abraham in Gen 18:1–15; Hannah at Shiloh in 1 Sam 1:23–25; Judean women in Egypt in Jer 44:15–19); bound by the laws for Pesach food preparation and consumption (Exod 12:33–39, 13:6–7; Deut 16:1–8); learning law together with men at Sukkot

26.  Gateway shrines have been excavated at Tell el-Farʿah (N) (Chambon 1984: 26, 40, pl. 8–10; see also Zevit 2001: 238–41) and Tel Dan (Biran 1994: 237–46; see also Nakhai 2001: 185; Zevit 2001: 191–96). See also 2 Kgs 23:8. 27.  For further discussion, see Gruber 1987. 28.  For Wisdom hypostatized as a woman at the city gates, see Prov 1:20–21 (Camp 1990). 29.  See also Braulik 1999: n. 39.

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(Deut 31:9–13) and at other times ( Josh 8:35); taking charge of tĕrāpîm 30 (Rebecca in Gen 31:19; Michal in 1 Sam 19:13–16); preparing cakes for the “Queen of Heaven” ( Jer 7:18, 44:19); and commissioning the fabrication of a pesel ûmassēkâ  31 and funding a Levite to officiate at the family’s bêt ʾĕlōhîm (understood here as a “shrine of the family elders,” in Judg 17–18). Each of these passages suggests that women—not only men—were responsible for upholding religious obligations within the house. 32 As a whole, this evidence demonstrates that some elders, women and men alike, noteworthy by virtue of their age, social standing, expertise, accomplishments, and authority, were considered “ritual experts.” It was they who, as mater- and paterfamilias, officiated over worship in the “shrines of the family elders.”

Feasting Feasting, the ritual display of largesse and the sharing of sacred meals, was vital for maintaining clan and familial ties. 33 Feasting was one important way in which social standing was expressed and social ties strengthened, obligations created and met, festivals celebrated, and more. The Canaanite roots of feasting are only now being explored but it seems clear that feasting was a way in which the elite established and expressed socioeconomic, political, and religious hierarchies. According to J. Lev-Tov and K. McGeough, “Religious feasts in the ancient Near East . . . were intimately intertwined with social status, and proper conduct of feasts was determined according to participants’ usual group memberships within society” (2007: 87). Effective feasting required the maintenance of exacting ritual standards. In her analysis of feasting in Late Bronze Age Hazor, S. Zuckerman (2007) concluded that feasting was closely linked to religious life, ritual calendars, and the honoring of local deities. She discussed physical elements that include: spacious accommodations; an abundance of specialized and plain ceramic vessels including storage and serving pieces; luxury objects; everyday and expensive foods; ritual paraphernalia, including figurines, ceremonial weapons, portable shrines, and more; and specialized costume, jewelry, and other items of personal adornment. Like Israelite religious practices (Nakhai 2001: 192–93) and burial customs (Bloch-Smith 2009: 131), Israelite social structure had Canaanite roots (Schloen 2001: 135). In consequence, the fundamental rituals of the Late Bronze Age social group traversed chronological boundaries and became integral to the bêt ʾāb, the extended family of the Iron Age. In Israel and Judah, I suggest, feasting remained a ritual responsibility within the context of the bêt ʾāb, which was undertaken by family elders. They may have overseen ceremonial meals at the city gates (Deut 12:15). They made space for a “shrine of the family elders” within their homes, providing food and service for the large meals that ritual celebrations entailed. 34 Each “shrine of the 30. See Olyan 2008: 119 for tĕrāpîm as images of household ancestors. 31. See Ackerman 2008: 132 n. 12 for pesel ûmassēkâ as a single cult image. 32.  For further discussion, see Meyers 2002, 2005; Ackerman 2003, 2006, 2008; Nakhai 2007. 33.  According to Hayden, a feast is “any sharing between two or more people of special foods (i.e., foods not generally served at daily meals) in a meal for a special purpose or occasions” (2001: 28). 34. As Braulik noted, no priest was required for efficacious sacrifice. Furthermore, it was not the slaughter but rather the sharing of the commensal meal with family and with God that mattered (1999).

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family elders” that I have discussed incorporates some of the components necessary for familial feasting, which include spacious domestic quarters, an abundance of vessels for food storage, preparation, and service, the discard of lots of animal bones, and so forth. Of course, in the Israelite and Judean family compound, feasting took place on a scale far smaller than that enjoyed by Canaan’s elite. Given the reduced scale, extensive material remains need not be anticipated (Hayden 2001: 54–55). Feasting was at the heart of sacrifice in the village setting, and women shared in the preparation and consumption of festal meals (Exod 13:1–8). 35 Proverbs 9:1–6 underscores the prominent role that Wisdom, the personification of wise women, played in feasting. Wisdom has built her house, she has hewn her seven pillars; she has killed a beast and spiced her wine, and she has spread her table. She has sent out her maidens to proclaim from the highest part of the town, “Come in, you simpletons.” She says also to the fool, “Come, dine with me and taste the wine that I have spiced. Cease to be silly, and you will live, and you will grow in understanding.”

As described here, the role women played in feasting is more than the mundane, behind-the-scenes preparation of food; rather, one is left wondering what role men might have played in this important ceremony. In his discussion of Israelite burnished pottery, A. Faust explored gender as it related to food preparation and service (2002). His conclusion, that women prepared and men served meals destined for consumption in the public domain, echoes P. Bird’s discussion of a “pattern of male usurpation of female activities when they move outside the home” (1989: 293). This accords with biblical and ethnographic evidence, which broadly documents gender distinctions. For example, E. Friedl investigated gender roles in a Greek village of the 1960s (1967). She related the sexual division of labor to the economic well-being of the household, describing a continuum of tasks that included those carried out inside the house, which were linked to women; those carried out in the housing compound, which were linked to both women and men; and those carried out in the fields, which were linked primarily to men. A distinction between men’s responsibilities and women’s responsibilities was evident during Greek Orthodox festival celebrations within the household setting. At those times, the male head of household would act as host even though women prepared and served the food, and male guests were treated to better food and accommodation than were female guests. In Friedl’s words, “A man is a host on these occasions but his womenfolk are not hostesses. They serve his and his household’s honor by their good cooking and by the proper presentation of enough food, but they do not create honor by being in charge of the festivities” (1967: 100). Sered’s study of traditional Middle Eastern Jewish women in Jerusalem made a similar point. These women, many of whom were functionally illiterate, discussed their responsibility for maintaining holiness within their homes and for their families through enacting rituals related to food preparation. 36 Some of these rituals involved adherence to biblically and rabbinically mandated dietary laws, while others 35.  For Deuteronomistic changes to this practice, when Judah was subjected to Assyrian domination, see Levinson 1998: 53–97. 36.  Here, the association of figurines with “high-status ceramics and items related to women’s activities” at Tall Jawa (Daviau 2001: 202) is of particular interest.

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reflected ritual responsibilities that women undertook on their own accord, as they labored to ensure that food preparation and consumption fulfilled Jewish requirements for food holiness. As Sered made clear, the women she interviewed “opt[ed] to do this work because, for them, it is a sacred activity” (1992: 102). She concluded with a point that resonates with Friedl’s: “Although it is not an absolute distinction, it does seem that while men celebrate or observe the Sabbath and holidays, women make or prepare the holy days” (1992: 102). At the same time, these same women engaged in a myriad of ritual acts designed to promote the health and well-being of their families and their nation. For example, they kissed amulets, mezzuzot, books on which sacred text was written, and bookcases upon which sacred books stood. Through their actions, they understood that they were promoting healing in times of illness, reproductive health and success among their loved ones, and more (Sered 1992). Their ritual acts resemble those undertaken by Iron Age women, both in their homes and within their housing compounds.

Conclusions Within the Israelite or Judean town or village, the typical housing compound represented the home of a bêt ʾāb or extended family, which included an elder couple, several younger couples related through the male line who lived in contiguous three- or four-room houses, and familial dependents. The elder couple bore the responsibility for ritual integrity within the household by maintaining a “shrine of the family elders” and by sponsoring feasts and other communal celebrations related to the sustenance and survival of the social group. Women were included among the elders and bore responsibility for some aspects of worship and feasting within the extended family. At the same time, within the confines of their own homes, women undertook responsibility for a gamut of issues related to health and reproduction. They were aided in their supplications to the Divine by religious ephemera, small cultic items chosen for qualities ranging from personal preference to proven efficaciousness. In this way, the house and housing compound can be considered sacred space, the venue for a wide range of ritual acts, and at the same time profane space, as myriad other household activities took place within their walls.

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Dever, W. G. 2005 Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Drower, E. S. 1938 Woman and Taboo in Iraq. Iraq 5: 105–17. Faust, A. 1999 Differences in Family Structure between Cities and Villages in Iron Age II. Tel Aviv 26: 233–52. 2000 The Rural Community in Ancient Israel during Iron Age II. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 317: 17–39. 2002 Burnished Pottery and Gender Hierarchy in Iron Age Israelite Society. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 15/1: 53–73. Faust, A., and Bunimovitz, S. 2003 The Four Room House: Embodying Iron Age Israelite Society. Near Eastern Archaeology 66/1–2: 22–43. Fleishman, J. 1990 The Age of Legal Maturity in Biblical Law. Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 21: 35–48. Friedl, E. 1967 The Position of Women: Appearance and Reality. Anthropology Quarterly 40/3 (Special Issue: Appearance and Reality: Statues and Roles of Women in Mediterranean Societies): 97–108. 1980 Islam and Tribal Women in a Village in Iran. Pp. 159–73 in Unspoken Worlds: Women’s Religion Lives in Non-Western Cultures, ed. N. A. Falk and R. M. Gross. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Fritz, V., and Kempinski, A. 1983 Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen auf der Ḫirbet el-Mšāš (Tēl Māŝōŝ) 1972–1975, Teil I: Textband. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Graham-Brown, S. 1980 Palestinians and Their Society 1880–1946: A Photographic Essay. London: Quartet. 1988 Images of Women: The Portrayal of Women in Photography in the Middle East 1860–1950. New York: Columbia University Press. Gross, R. M. 1980 Menstruation and Childbirth as Ritual and Religious Experience among Native Australians. Pp. 277–92 in Unspoken Worlds: Women’s Religious Lives in Non-Western Cultures, ed. N. A. Falk and R. M. Gross. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Gruber, M. I. 1987 Women in the Cult according to the Priestly Code. Pp. 35–48 in Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel, ed. J. Neusner, B. A. Levine, E. S. Frerichs, and C. McCracken-Flesher. Philadelphia: Fortress. Halpern, B. 1991 Jerusalem and the Lineages in the Seventh Century bce: Kinship and the Rise of Individual Moral Liability. Pp. 11–107 in Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel, ed. B. Halpern and D. W. Hobson. JSOT Supplement Series 124. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Hardin, J. W. 2004 Understanding Domestic Space: An Example from Iron Age Tel Halif. Near Eastern Archaeology 67/2: 71–84. Hayden, B. 2001 Fabulous Feasts: A Prolegomenon to the Importance of Feasting. Pp. 23–64 in Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, ed. M. Dietler and B. Hayden. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution.

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Hendon, J. A. 2006 The Engendered Household. Pp.  171–98 in Handbook of Gender in Archaeology, ed. S. M. Nelson. Berkeley, CA: AltaMira. Herr, L. G., and Clark, D. R. 2001 Excavating the Tribe of Reuben. Biblical Archaeology Review 27/2: 36–47, 64. 2009 From the Stone Age to the Middle Ages in Jordan: Digging up Tall al-ʿUmayri. Near Eastern Archaeology 72/2: 68–97. Herr, L. G. 2006 An Early Iron Age I House with a Cultic Corner at Tall al-ʿUmayri, Jordan. Pp. 61–73 in Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever, ed. S. Gitin, J. E. Wright, and J. P. Dessel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Holladay, J. S., Jr. 1987 Religion in Israel and Judah under the Monarchy: An Explicitly Archaeological Approach. Pp. 249–99 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. P. D. Miller, Jr., P. D. Hanson, and S. D. McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress. Kramer, C. 1979 An Archaeological View of a Contemporary Kurdish Village: Domestic Architecture, Household Size, and Wealth. Pp. 139–63 in Ethnoarchaeology: Implications of Ethnography for Archaeology, ed. C. Kramer. New York: Columbia University Press. Leuchter, M. 2007 “The Levite in Your Gates”: The Deuteronomic Redefinition of Levitical Authority. Journal of Biblical Literature 126: 417–36. Lev-Tov, J., and McGeough, K. 2007 Examining Feasting in Late Bronze Age Syro-Palestine through Ancient Texts and Bones. Pp. 85–111 in The Archaeology of Food and Identity, ed. K. C. Twiss. Center for Archaeological Investigations Occasional Paper 34. Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press. Levine, B. A. 2003 The Clan-Based Economy of Biblical Israel. Pp. 445–53 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Levinson, B. M. 1998 Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation. New York: Oxford University Press. Limmer, A. S. 2007 The Social Functions and Ritual Significance of Jewelry in the Iron Age II Southern Levant. Ph.D. dissertation, The University of Arizona. MacDonald, N. 2008 What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Matthews, V. H., and Benjamin, D. C. 1993 Social World of Ancient Israel: 1250–587 bce. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Mazar, A. 2006a Analysis of Stratum P-7 Building 28636. Pp. 269–86 in Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Volume 1: from the Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period, ed. A. Mazar. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 2006b The Iron Age II Pottery from Areas S and P. Pp. 313–84 in Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Volume 1: from the Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period, ed. A. Mazar. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Mazar, A., and Fink, A. S. 2006 Area P: The Stratigraphy and Architecture of Strata P-10-P-1. Pp. 202–68 in Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Volume 1: from the Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period, ed. A. Mazar. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society.

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Meyers, C. 1988 Discovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context. New York: Oxford University Press. 1991 “‘To Her Mother’s House’” Considering a Counterpart to the Israelite Bêt ʾāb. Pp. 39– 51 in The Bible and the Politics of Exegesis, ed. D. Jobling, G. T. Sheppard, and P. L. Day. Cleveland: Pilgrim. 1997 The Family in Early Israel. Pp.  1–47 in Families in Ancient Israel, ed. L. G. Perdue, J. Blenkinsopp, J. J. Collins, and C. Meyers. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. 2002 From Household to House of Yahweh: Women’s Religious Culture in Ancient Israel. Pp. 277– 303 in Congress Volume Basel 2001, ed. A. Lemaire. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 92. Leiden: Brill. 2003 Material Remains and Social Relations: Women’s Culture in Agrarian Households of the Iron Age. Pp. 425–44 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2005 Households and Holiness: The Religious Culture of Israelite Women. Minneapolis: Fortress. 2006 Hierarchy or Heterarchy? Archaeology and the Theorizing of Israelite Society. Pp. 245–54 in Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever, ed. S. Gitin, J. E. Wright, and J. P. Dessel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Nakhai, B. Alpert 2001 Archaeology and the Religions of Canaan and Israel. ASOR Books 7. Atlanta: American Schools of Oriental Research. 2007 Gender and Archaeology in Israelite Religion. Compass Religion 1/5: 512–28. 2011 Varieties of Religious Expression in the Domestic Setting. Pp. 347–60 in Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond, ed. A. Yasur-Landau, J. R. Ebeling, and L. Mazow. Leiden: Brill. Negbi, O. 1993 Israelite Cult Elements in Secular Contexts of 10th Century bce. Pp. 221–30 in Biblical Archaeology Today, 1990: Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology, ed. A. Biran and J. Aviram. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Olyan, S. M. 2008 Family Religion in Israel and the Wider Levant of the First Millennium bce. Pp. 113– 26 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Plaskow, J. 1991 Standing Again at Sinai: Judaism from a Feminist Perspective. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Reviv, H. 1993 The Elders in Ancient Israel: A Study of a Biblical Institution. Jerusalem: Magnes. Rollin, S. 1983 Women and Witchcraft in Ancient Assyria. Pp. 34–45 in Images of Women in Antiquity, ed. A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt. London: Croom Helm. Routledge, B. 2009 Average Families? House Size Variability in the Southern Levant Iron Age. Pp. 42–60 in The Family in Life and in Death: The Family in Ancient Israel, ed. P. Dutcher-Walls. New York: T. & T. Clark. Schloen, J. D. 2001 The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East. Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 2. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Scurlock, J. A. 1991 Baby-Snatching Demons, Restless Souls and the Dangers of Childbirth: MedicoMagical Means of Dealing with Some of the Perils of Motherhood in Ancient Mesopotamia. Incognita 2:135–83. Sered, S. Starr 1992 Women as Ritual Experts: The Religious Lives of Elderly Jewish Women in Jerusalem. New York: Oxford University Press. 1995 Toward an Anthropology of Jewish Women: Sacred texts and the Religious World of Elderly, Middle-Eastern Women in Jerusalem. Pp. 203–18 in Active Voices: Women in Jewish Culture, ed. M. Sacks. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois. 2001 Childbirth as a Religious Experience? Voices from an Israeli Hospital. Pp. 239–51 in Feminism in the Study of Religion: A Reader, ed. D. M. Juschka. London: Continuum. Simak, E. 2006 Traditional Mauritanian Powder-Glass Kiffa Beads. Ornament 29/3: 50–54. Stager, L. E. 1985 The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 260:1–35. Toorn, K. van der 1996 Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel: Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life. Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 7. Leiden: Brill. Vaux, R. de 1961 Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions. New York: McGraw-Hill. Yahalom-Mack, N., and Mazar, A. 2006 Various Finds from the Iron Age II Strata in Areas P and S. Pp. 468–504 in Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Volume 1: from the Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period, ed. A. Mazar. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Weinfeld, M. 1972 Elder. Pp. 578–81 in vol. 6 of Encyclopedia Judaica, ed. C. Roth. New York: Macmillan. Willett, E. A. R. 1999 Women and Household Shrines in Ancient Israel. Ph.D. dissertation. The University of Arizona. Zevit, Z. 2001 The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. London: Continuum. Zorn, J. R. 1994 Estimating the Populations Size of Ancient Settlements: Methods, Problems, Solutions, and a Case Study. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 295: 31–48. Zuckerman, S. 2007 “. . . Slaying Oxen and Killing Sheep, Eating Flesh and Drinking Wine . . .”: Feasting in Late Bronze Age Hazor. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 139/3: 186–204.

Philistine Cult and Household Religion according to the Archaeological Record David Ben-Shlomo The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

1. Introduction It is agreed upon today by almost all scholars that the Philistine material culture reflects the arrival of a new population from the west on the southern coast of Israel. The Philistine material culture can be considered one of the best examples of historical records (both biblical and extra-biblical) combining with the appearance of a distinct material culture in a limited geographical and chronological context in the archaeology and history of the Levant (Dothan 1982). In addition to the decorated Philistine pottery and various small finds such as terracottas, metals, and other items, the Philistine material culture is also characterized by distinct dietary and cooking traditions (e.g., Ben-Shlomo et al. 2008). The latter include the use of special cooking facilities (the hearths), special cooking vessels (the cooking jug), and an increase in the use of pigs as well as other specific foods (see Ben-Shlomo et al. 2008 for further references). Therefore, the appearance of the Philistines may indeed be considered as a good example of the “pots and people” connection. All these components are not found in the Late Bronze Age and early Iron Age local cultures of the southern Levant and are links to the Aegean region and Cyprus, thus marking the arrival of an immigrant population during the beginning of the 12th century b.c.e. During the subsequent stages of the Iron Age—the late Iron Age I and the Iron Age II—Philistia maintained a degree of political and cultural independence (see, e.g., Ehr­lich 1996; Stern 2001: 102–29; Gitin 2003; Ben-Shlomo et al. 2004; Shai 2006) and it thus seems justified to continue to treat the material culture of Philistia throughout the Iron Age as a well-defined cultural unit. The study of Philistine material culture, including its cultic aspect, has advanced substantially in recent years. This is due mainly to the increase of evidence from new archaeological excavations at the Philistine sites of Ekron (Tel Miqne), Ashkelon, and Gath (Tell es-Safi). This adds up to the previous evidence from Ashdod and Tell Qasile. A number of studies describe various aspects of Philistine religious and cult both in the Iron Age I (Mazar 2000; Yasur-Landau 2001; Dothan 2003) and Iron Age II (Gitin 2003, Ehrlich 1996, Maeir 2006, 2007, 2008a, 2008b). In very recent years, even more data has emerged from excavations at an Iron Age IIA favissa pit

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near Yavneh (Kletter et al. 2006; and Kletter 2007) and at a late Iron Age I temple at Nahal Patish (Nahshoni 2009). Indeed, a substantial advance on the descriptions and analysis given in T. Dothan’s seminal work, The Material Culture of the Philistines (Dothan 1982) has been made. Nonetheless, our knowledge is still fragmentary, and no subsequent work has summarized all of the new evidence thus far, although several publications in recent years have highlighted specific aspects of Philistine material culture or finds that can be related to cultic practices and religion. 1 It is therefore very fitting to reexamine these issues in light of the new archaeological evidence, as well as to try to reconstruct various aspects of Philistine cult and religion. Here, then, the issue of Philistine household cult and religion will be considered. The issue of archaeological interpretation of cult and religion in general and household (or family) religion in particular entails several methodological problems (see, e.g., Renfrew 1985: 1–26). In the first place, the boundaries between household or family religion and public, state, or official religion needs to be clarified. In practice, the spatial locations of religious activities—whether in domestic contexts or in temple, shrine, or palace locales—does not entirely overlap with this kind of separation in all cases. Yet, in connection with archaeological interpretation, this division should probably be maintained, because it is the most intuitive and achievable distinction. Thus, if household religion is defined as the cultic practices conducted in the household, one still has to define the household and how to recognize traces of cultic activity within it. As we know, almost any artifact or immovable installation within the house could on some occasion be used for cultic or religious activities or purposes, but this approach is not very useful in ordinary archaeological research. If one desires to identify ritual activity, the search must be for objects or behaviors that have apparent symbolic character and cannot be regularly employed in daily activities. Therefore, objects such as figurines, figurative models, stands and libation vessels, and altars and incense burners are natural candidates because they are objects use in ritual in household contexts in most cultures. This in turn raises another methodological problem: if one identifies these items in a structure, how can we decide whether this is an ordinary house or a shrine or a temple? Intuitively, the issue of the architectural plan and furnishings of the structure have to be examined; in a temple, one would expect a monumental or at least unusual architectural plan and/or building techniques. Also, the quantity of the items as well as the recurrence of similar items are important clues (Renfrew 1985: 1–26). If the quantity of cultic objects seems to exceed what might be used by the inhabitants of the house (as well as if there are numerous examples of the same objects), a cultic context should be considered. The discussion of the archaeological evidence relating to Philistine cult is usually also divided chronologically into the Iron Age I and Iron Age II periods. Although this division is somewhat artificial, it represents to a high degree two different stages in the evolution of Philistine society. It will be shown that most evidence of cultic practice from Philistia proper, especially during Iron Age I (ca. 1,200–1,000/900 1.  Head cups: Maeir 2006; phallus-objects: Maeir 2007; male figurine: Maeir 2008b; pomegranates: Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2007; zoomorphic vessels: Ben-Shlomo 2008; figurines: Schmitt 1999; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009; previous studies include Dothan 1969, 1973 on figurines; Gitin 1989, 1993, 2002, 2008 on altars.

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b.c.e.) probably comes from households (or domestic contexts). Distinctive temple contexts, as well as possible candidates for temples in Philistia, will also be discussed in the light of this evidence. The characteristics of cultic activities and items recovered from Philistine households and temples from Philistia will be compared. In addition, an attempt (so far quite limited due to the fragmentary data) to reconstruct the character of the Philistine religion and its evolution during the Iron Age according to the archaeological evidence will be made.

2.  The Archaeological Record 2.1.  The Iron Age I (ca. 1200–1000/ 900 b.c.e.) Archaeological excavations in Philistia have unearthed households from the Iron Age I at Ashdod (Strata XIII–XI: Dothan and Porath 1993; Dothan and BenShlomo 2005), Ekron (Strata VII–IV: Meehl et al. 2006; Dothan and Gitin 2008) and Ashkelon (Phases 20–17: Stager 2008; Stager et al. 2008). Several of these houses may be defined as belonging to high class or more affluent persons, mainly due to the finds recovered from them. These include, for example, Building 5337 from Ashdod Area H Stratum XII. This building yielded a rich assemblage of small finds, including figurines, gold objects, ivories, jewelry, and scarabs (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 26–28, plans 2.6–2.7); it also contained a rectangular hearth in its main hall. The building excavated south of the street (5128) was of similar plan, although not so richly furnished, but it yielded several female figurines. The complete Ashdod figurine (fig. 1:4; Dothan 1971: fig. 91:1) was discovered in a similar house in a level above it (Stratum XI). In the same area (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: plan. 2.5, fig. 2.16) was an apsidal structure that may also be a candidate for a cultic room on account of its peculiar shape (Dothan 2003: 200); however, it was found nearly empty of finds and could have had other functions. At Ashkelon in Phase 19 (Grid 38), several structures were exposed (Stager 2008: 1580–83; Stager et al. 2008: 216–17), though none are complete. The buildings seem to have been built along a street and included various installations. One of the buildings contained a large hall with a rectangular hearth in its center and a bathtub in the corner. At Ekron in Field IV Lower, a series of Iron Age I structures were built on top of the Middle Bronze Age remains (see Dothan 2003: 193–97; Dothan and Zuker­man 2004; Dothan and Gitin 2008). These include a single-room structure (357) with two pillar bases and a rectangular hearth (Stratum VII) and later, in Strata V–IV, a large public building (Building 350, interpreted by Dothan as a temple: Dothan 2003; see below) was built, with deep stone foundations and a main pillared hall with installations and, in addition, three rooms to the east with benches and unique finds on them (Dothan 2003: figs. 4–6). After a long gap, almost in the same location, a monumental temple-palace structure was built in Stratum IC of the 7th century b.c.e. (Temple-Palace Complex 650; see below). In the upper city of Ekron (Field  I), several locations were mentioned by Dothan (2003) in relation to cultic activities, especially a room from Stratum V (Dothan 2003: 208–9, fig. 17). Although these remains are not yet published, the scale of these units probably indicates domestic cultic activities. The identification of Building 350 at Ekron, which seems to be a public building of some sort, as a temple (Dothan 2003) should be considered with reservation. Though it contained several figurative objects (this is a very diverse

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assemblage: Dothan 1998, 2003) and maintained a fixed orientation and location in the site, its architecture is not monumental or unusual. The analysis of most of its contents seems to indicate that it functioned as either a public building or as the residence of an affluent upper class household (see Mazow 2005). In the contexts described above, only two categories of finds can be clearly associated with cultic activities and religion and they will be discussed below. These include figurines (mostly female and zoomorphic) and various types of libation vessels. Other categories of finds, such as chalices non-figurative stands (as well as more exotic artifacts such as jewelry and ivories) and various architectural elements such as hearths of different types (rectangular, circular, and “key-hole”), baths, and benches or platforms were also mentioned as indicating evidence for cult (see especially Dothan 2003). Yet, because all of these elements can also have non-cultic daily uses in households (see, e.g., Mazow 2005; Ben-Shlomo et al. 2008) and their use in the reconstruction of Aegean religion is rather speculative, they will not be discussed here. 2.1.1.  Aegean-Style Figurines.  Some of the most important evidence for Philistine domestic cult practices is the Aegean-style figurines appearing in Ekron, Ashdod, and Ashkelon during the Iron I (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009). Although these finds are not very common, they are important both because of their links to Aegean and Mycenaean culture and because they seem to be the only type of human figurines appearing in Iron Age I Philistine households. These depictions of clothed or partly clothed females are highly schematic in comparison to the naturalistic and nude Levantine and Canaanite tradition of plaque female figurines appearing during the late 2nd and early 1st millennium b.c.e. (which the former replace in the Philistine cities). Three major types have been described: standing, “Psi-related” female figurines (fig. 1:1–3), seated female figurines (fig. 1:4, “Ashdoda”), and decorated bovine figurines (fig. 1:5). Psi figurines (fig. 1:1–3; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 42–48, figs. 1–4) depict a schematic standing female with her hands uplifted (for the Mycenaean prototype, see Furumark 1941: 86; French 1971: 133–39, pl. 22). This type of figurine appears at Tel Ashdod (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 122, figs. 3.36:2–3, 3.62:2, 3.80:4, 3.115:5), Ekron (fig. 1:1–2; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: fig. 1:1–2) and Ashkelon (fig. 1:3; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: fig. 1:3–4, 4; Stager et al. 2008: 266; Schmitt 1999: 594–99, Type I), and one was a surface find at Tell Qasile (Mazar 1986: 14, fig. 6:2, pl. 3b). These figurines come from domestic contexts (see Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 61–62). Various narrow heads with bird-shaped faces may also belong to this type (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 54–55, figs. 10–12), while shorter heads with a concave polos hat (or hair-dress) may belong to seated female figurines or another unknown type of figurine. Several examples preserve the painted decoration depicting the dress and include horizontal lines and an X-shaped strap on the back (fig.  1:2) or a hatched pattern appearing on the front of a figurine, as seen in an example from Ashdod (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: fig. 10:1). This decoration recalls similar Late Helladic (LH) IIIC figurines from Phylakopi (French 1985: fig. 6.2:1521, 2007), Lefkandi (French 2006: pl. 73:21), as well as figurines from Enkomi on Cyprus (Levels IIIB–C, of LC IIIB; see, e.g., Courtois 1971: figs. 149:687–688, 151:657), and indicates that the Philistines had knowledge of the details of the LH IIIC figurines. The Psi figurine is seen by French as evolving from the Phi figurines, which had a

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Fig. 1.  Aegean-style figurines from Philistia.  1. Psi type figurine from Ekron (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: fig. 1:1).  2. Psi type figurine from Ekron (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: fig. 1:2).  3. Psi type figurine from Ashkelon (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: fig. 1:9).   4. Ashdoda figurine from Ashdod (Dothan 1971: fig. 91:1).   5. Bovine figurine from Ekron (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: fig. 16:1).

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floruit during the LH IIIA (1971: 128). The decorative design varies: during the LH IIIB, vertical stripes on the upper part of the body are very common (French 1971: 127–28), whereas during the LH IIIC, the decoration is more schematic, though the pattern of horizontal bands, probably depicting the dress and jewelry, appears as well (French 1971: 133–34, pl. 20:d). In most cases, the LH IIIC type has small appliedpellet breasts. Thus, the Psi-type figurine is a major early Philistine figurine type strongly linked with Aegean prototypes and illustrates variants that are typical of the Mycenaean Late Psi of the post-palatial LH IIIC during the 12th century b.c.e. (rather than being related to an “archaizing” tradition copying the obsolete 13th-century LH IIIB figurines). A second type of terracotta figurine that is typical of Philistine material culture throughout the Iron Age—and is better known—is the seated female figurine nicknamed Ashdoda (fig. 1:4; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 49–54, figs. 5–9; Dothan 1971: fig. 91:1; Dothan 1982: 234–37; Schmitt 1999: 608–16, Type III; Yasur-Landau 2001). Based on a nearly complete example from Ashdod (fig. 1:4), which stands 17  cm high, the basic features of this type can be reconstructed. The figurine represents a seated female: there is a small schematic head with a low, flaring polos, a long neck, a very schematic vertical flat body with applied breasts, and a seat with four legs. The details of the face include two applied-pellet eyes and applied nose, relatively prominent when preserved. Some head fragments also have applied ears (Dothan and Porath 1993: figs. 44:11; 46:9). The breasts are usually very small, adding to the schematic nature of this figurine. The shape of the seat is either rectangular or square. Larger examples of Ashdoda figurines also occur, as indicated by the large leg of a seated figurine found in Ekron Stratum IV, in a context with Philistine Bichrome decoration, and possibly by large heads from Ekron and Ashkelon (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 53, figs. 5:2, 8; 10:5). It is possible that the Ashdoda figurines were typically larger than other female figurines, specifically the Psi-type; the nearly complete example, however, is relatively small. This form of this figurine shows a mixture of Aegean and Canaanite features (Brug 1985: 186), yet its concept originates from Mycenaean seated female figurines (French 1971: 167–72; Dothan 1982: 234). According to the evidence from Ekron, Ashdod, and Ashkelon, this type of figurine does not appear before the latter part of the 12th century b.c.e. nor does it appear in the typical Philistine Monochrome decoration or fabric (the figurines are either decorated in Philistine Bichrome style or undecorated). Although only one complete example has been found, it seems that both the Psi type and the Ashdoda type appear in domestic contexts (Yasur-Landau 2001: 336–37; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 61–62). Another type of Aegean-style figurine, appearing so far only in the earliest Iron I levels at Ekron, is the decorated bovine figurine (fig. 1:5; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 58–60, figs. 16–18). Decorated zoomorphic figurines are not known otherwise in the early Iron Age southern Levant. The most complete example was found on the east slope of the acropolis in Stratum VIIA. Parallels come from Tiryns (WeberHiden 1990: pls. 41.71, 47.149), Phylakopi (French 1985: pl. 46.c.148), and LC IIIA Enkomi (Dikaios 1971: pl. 137:23). Other decorated bovine figurines of similar style were found on Cyprus, probably locally made, and include examples from MaaPalaeokastro (Karageorghis and Demas 1988: pls. CCXII:424, CLXXI:150,154), Enkomi (Dikaios 1971: pl. 131:41,43,45), and Sinda (Furumark and Adelman 2003: 118,

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pl. 37). Although there are similarities between Aegean-style bovine figurines from Philistia and Cyprus, it should be noted that the origin of this type is in Mycenaean culture, and it appears in both these areas only during the 12th century b.c.e. The fact that Aegean-style bovine figurines have been found so far only at the earliest levels at Ekron may indicate that the practices that related to these figurines (probably cultic) were less widespread among the Philistines than those related to the female figurines (see Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 60). The Aegean-style figurines from Philistia probably represent domestic cultic activities of Philistine immigrants who retained elements of the religion of their motherland; this argument is based both on the contexts of these finds in Philistia and on those of similar finds in the LH IIIC Aegean (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009). This evidence does not seem to indicate the presence or activities of an elite or priesthood class originating from a palatial Mycenaean society (related to the “wanax-hearth” ideology) but rather indicates non-public activities of a non-elite population. Analysis of numerous immigrant societies have shown that migrants usually do not belong either to the highest strata of society or to the lowest (see Burmeister 2000 for references); they often are made up of various groups of medium socioeconomic strength in their origin society. Thus, it is not surprising that Aegean elite-affiliated palatial cultural elements are not evident in the Philistine culture. Burmeister has rightly indicated that, when thinking about the material culture of immigrants, more emphasis should be given to domestic daily practices and assemblages than to public or burial activities (Burmeister 2000). 2.1.2. Other Zoomorphic Figurines.  Undecorated crude terracotta zoomorphic figurines from early Iron Age Philistia (fig. 2) have not yet received any attention in relation to the Philistine material culture. While zoomorphic figurines appear commonly in various periods in the southern Levant (such as the Pre-Pottery Neolithic and the Early Bronze Age), the large number of these figurines in Philistine cities, especially at Ekron (fig. 2), may indicate this is a significant phenomenon that may be related to Philistine material culture, especially because such figurines are not common in LB II contexts in southern Israel. More than 40 undecorated zoomorphic figurines (most are fragments) were found in the Iron I levels at Ekron (fig. 2). Few Iron I examples were published from Ashdod (Dothan 1971: fig. 3:4; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 123, fig. 3.36:8; possibly Dothan and Porath 1993: 79, fig. 35:7), and some were also reported from Iron I levels at Ashkelon (Ross Voss and M. Press pers. com.). Most of these figurines are made of coarse clay rich with organic temper; they were not fired at a high temperature and in many cases carry black soot residues, as if they were put in a fire. Because some figurines are very brittle, it is possible that some have not been preserved or were not recognized during excavation and thus were not published (especially during the 1960s excavations at Ashdod). The figurines are schematically modeled using the creator’s fingertips, and usually only a few characteristic details are portrayed, although more detailed and naturalistically shaped figurines occur as well (as in fig. 2:1). In the smaller figurines, most details are created by pinching the clay rather than by application; the only decoration of these figurines is by incisions or fingernail marks (fig. 2:4). In some cases, the animal depicted cannot be identified because the objects are too fragmentary or lack indicative anatomic details. However, it seems that the most dominant animal depicted is

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Fig. 2.  Undecorated animal figurines from Iron Age I Ekron.

the bull: bovine figurines can usually be identified by their horned head (fig. 2:1–2; albeit this part is often not preserved), and other identifying details are the hump on the back or nape, typical of the Asiatic zebu bovine (fig. 2:1–2), the dewlap on the neck, and the stumpy body, which is ovoid or rounded in section. Several of the figurines have a suspension loop attached to the back (fig. 2:3); these were probably hung by a string, possibly as tokens or pendants. Other animals depicted include a horse figurine (fig. 2:5), which also has a suspension loop and soot marks; it has a long, arched neck, slender body. and remains of a mane. A complete figurine with a head without horns and an in-curving tail (fig. 2:6) possibly depicts a dog. Undecorated crude zoomorphic figurines were published from LH IIIC Tiryns Unterburg (Kilian 1978: 451–52, fig. 7; Melissa Vetters, personal communication), as well as LH IIIC Lefkandi (French 2006: 258, 263, pls. 74:58, 85, 87–88, 75:65). Cretan LM IIIC examples come from Aghia Triadha (D’Agata 1999: 59, pl. XXVI:C1.44–45); Cypriot 12th-century examples come from Enkomi (Dikaios 1971: 692, pls. 131:39– 40, 131:46–48, 137:16–16a, 177:1–4) and Maa-Paleokastro (Karageorghis and Demas

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Fig. 3.  Libation vessels from Ekron.   1. Bird askos (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 1:2).   2. Hedgehog vessel (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 1:1).   3. Bovine vessel decorated in Philistine style (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 2:1).   4. Bovine libation vessel (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 9:1).   5. Vessel in the shape of a donkey carrying jars (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 9:2).

1988: pls. CXX:18,113, CC:317). The increasing number of bovine figurines during the Early Iron Age at Ekron may be connected to a rise in the economic value of this animal during this period (this can also be partly reflected in the archaeozoological data from Ekron; see Ben-Shlomo 2008). These figurines were possibly used in Philistine houses for some sort of cultic practice. Similar crude zoomorphic figurines appear in various locations in the eastern Mediterranean during the 12th century b.c.e., and although these finds are not predominant, they do not seem to occur prior to the 12th century b.c.e., and their appearance at this stage could mark a new culture. These figurines may represent domestic cult or other symbolic practices,

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Fig. 4.  Various cult objects of the Iron I.   1. A ring kernos from Ekron (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 10).   2. A bird rattle from Ashdod (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: fig. 3.36:1).   3. A pomegranate vessel from Ashdod (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo, D.mo 2005:    fig. 3.61).

maybe of a voodoo-like or “sympathetic witchcraft” nature (similar in a way to those attested, for example, by similar Neolithic figurines; Schmandt-Besserat 1997). 2.1.3.  Libation Vessels.  Figurative libation vessels from Philistia, mainly in the shape of animals, were also probably used for some ritual or cultic activities (both in temples and in households). Several of these vessels show strong links to Mycenaean vessels and can be added to the group of Aegean-style cultic objects appearing early Iron Age Philistia (Ben-Shlomo 2008). These include bird-shape askoi (fig. 3:1; Ben-Shlomo 2008: 25, fig. 1:2) and a hedgehog vessel (fig. 3:2; Ben-Shlomo 2008: 25, fig. 1:1; references and discussion therein). These belong to the “Philistine Monochrome” ware and show similarities to LH IIIB–C examples from the Aegean and Cyprus in their shape, decorative pattern, technique, and fabric. Other libation vessels appearing in Philistine houses at Ekron and Ashdod include bovine and bird vessels (fig. 3:3) decorated in the style of Philistine Bichrome decoration (but showing local tradition in morphology and iconographic style; Ben-Shlomo 2008: 27–29, figs. 2–3). Also to be noted are bird-rattles (fig. 4:2) decorated in this style found at Ekron (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 4) and Ashdod (fig. 4:2; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 120, fig.  3.36:1, found in high-class Building 5337). Other libation vessels depicting bovines (fig. 3:4) or equines carrying jars (fig. 3:5), which appear in Iron I

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Philistia, reflect a continuation of Canaanite and Levantine traditions (Ben-Shlomo 2008: 36–39, fig. 9). A somewhat different type of ceramic figurative vessel is the kernos (fig. 4:1), which is a tubular ring with various head-spouts and vessels attached to it. Kernoi appear during the late Iron I and Iron IIA in Israel (Mazar 1980: 109–11) and are essentially a Levantine form but are especially popular in Philistia (Mazar 1980: 109–11; Ben-Shlomo 2008: 39) during the Iron Age IIB–C (see below). A nearly complete kernos with two animals, probably ibexes or goats, was found in Building 350 at Ekron (fig. 4:1; Ben-Shlomo 2008: 39, fig. 10). Lion-shaped head cups decorated in Philistine Bichrome style were previously associated with the Philistine cult (Dothan 1982: 229–334; Mazar 1980: 101–3, figs. 34–35; 2000; Maeir 2006; Ben-Shlomo 2008: 34–35, fig. 8), but this is a Levantine vessel-type as well (see Ben-Shlomo 2008: 35 for refrences). These vessels are rare and appear mostly in temples (i.e., Tell Qasile and Nahal Patish; see below); it seems this vessel continues to appear during Iron II as well (Maeir 2006; Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 8:2–3). Pomegranate vessels, always decorated in red slip, are also probably a Canaanite vessel type but, again, especially popular in this period and appear both in temples and households (fig. 4:3; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2007, with examples from Ekron Building 350, Ashdod, and the Tell Qasile temple). It is difficult to reconstruct either the cultic practices conducted with these libation or figurative vessels or their exact ritual and religious meaning and significance without further archaeological and, especially, textual evidence. Yet, naturally, the bull as well as lion are important symbols in the Canaanite and Aegean cultures and religions (see Ben-Shlomo 2008: 40–42 and additional references therein); pomegranates also were important in various aspects of Mesopotamian, Canaanite, Israelite, and Greek religions and mythologies (see Immerwahr 1989; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2007). 2.1.4.  Iron Age I Temples or Shrines in Philistia.  At the time of writing this essay, two sites from Iron Age I Philistia can definitely be identified as temples. These are the temples of Tell Qasile (Mazar 1980, 1985, 1986) and the newly excavated temple in Nahal Patish (Nahshoni, personal communication, 2009); both of these appear to be temples, according to their architectural plan and the finds in them (they also resemble one another). Note, however, that no structure excavated thus far at a main Philistine city during the Iron Age has been identified as a temple. Thus, we lack evidence for “state temple cult” or “palace temple” from this period, if there was such a thing. The temples from Tell Qasile and Nahal Patish are probably rural or local/town temples. The Iron Age I temples from Tell Qasile (Strata XII–X) are very well known and have been published (Mazar 1980, 1985) and will only be described briefly here. In the lower level (Stratum XII), only a small one-room shrine with benches along the walls and a platform (bamah) was erected; it was somewhat enlarged in Stratum XI. The main evidence comes, however, from the later stage in Stratum X (Temple 131). In this phase, the structure was enlarged and included a rectangular structure with an indirect entrance, entrance room, main hall with pillars, and a back room (cela) with another indirect entrance. Adjacent to it, another small one-room shrine was located (Shrine 300), containing many cultic vessels (Mazar 1980). The finds from the Qasile

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temples clearly indicate ritual activity and include various anthropomorphic and zoomorphic libation vessels decorated in the Philistine Bichrome style (Mazar 1980; Dothan 1982), yet their iconography does not indicate clear Aegean affinities (see Mazar 2000). Other notable finds are a lion-shaped head cup, bowls in the shape of birds with cylindrical stands supporting them, and figurative stands and terracottas (including two pomegranate vessels; see Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2007). The similarities between the plans of the temples of Qasile and Phylakopi in the Aegean was noted (Negbi 1988) but was interpreted as indicating a Canaanite influence on the Aegean (because the plan of the Qasile temple seems to be rooted in Late Bronze Age traditions, as the temples from Lachish may indicate; see Negbi 1988). The temple at Nahal Patish (“Mifgash Hanehalim” site) has not yet been published and a few details are mentioned here as communicated by the excavator Pirhiya Nahshoni of the Israel Antiquities Authority (also Nahshoni 2009). 2 The site excavated is a small, rural site having an area of 12 dunam (1.2 hectares) and dates according to the pottery to the late Iron Age I. Its date and plan are similar to the Tell Qasile temples of Strata XI–X (and the structure is interpreted accordingly). The structure is an asymmetric L-shaped building. The entrance is into a courtyard that has favissae pits (depositories for cultic furnishings) and an altar; one figurative burner was found here, as well as spools (cylindrical loom weights). Two passages lead from the courtyard: to the right there is an entrance to a square storage room with pit/favissa with cooking vessels, other vessels, and cooking pots; to the left there is an indirect entrance to the temple’s cela. This room includes stone benches, a stepped bamah, and a rubble standing stone maṣṣebah; near the bamah two jars, two rounded stands, a strainer spouted jug (in the Late Philistine decoration style), a bronze knife, and gold foil pieces were found here. Outside the courtyard, another small rectangular structure with a pebbled floor was excavated; here the intact lionhead cup was found. Above the temple level (defined as Stratum II), a Stratum I structure has pillar bases and seems to indicate that this temple did not continue into the next period.

2.2.  The Iron II (ca. 1000/900–600 b.c.e.) Excavations in Philistia have yielded evidence for Iron Age II households in Ashdod, Ashkelon, Ekron, and Gath. However, hardly any data was published from Ashkelon; at Ekron, the Iron Age IIA–B is only evident in a rather small area on the higher tell, still unpublished (see Gitin 1998), while at Ashdod in several areas these remains were highly eroded and disturbed by later activity. Nevertheless, important evidence comes from the industrial zone in Area D of the lower city (Dothan and Freedman 1967; Dothan 1971) and to a lesser extent from the gate area, in Area M (Dothan and Porath 1982). Thus, much of the Iron Age II domestic evidence from Philistia, now comes from Gath (Maeir 2006, 2007, 2008a, 2008b), which so far has not yet contributed much evidence for the Iron Age I. Recently, a cultic corner was excavated in Area A, Stratum A3, probably within a household (Aren Maeir personal communication). The finds in this corner include a pomegranate vessel, a kernos with bird and cup/vessel, and a zoomorphic vessel. Two elongated pottery vessels 2.  I wish to thank Pirhiya Nahshoni of the Israel Antiquities Authority for allowing me to convey this new evidence from her recent excavation.

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interpreted by Maeir as phallus vessels (Maeir 2007) were also found in the vicinity. At Ashdod Area D, a shrine or cultic corner was defined near the pottery workshop (Freedman and Dothan 1967: 130–36; Dothan 1971: 86–92). It should be noted, however, that from the “shrine” itself (Locus 1010 and Platform 1022) no cultic objects were recovered, while many of them were found in refuse pits in the vicinity of the kilns. The commercial center of the port of Ashkelon, dating to the 7th century b.c.e., has been excavated (Grid 50) and some figurines and other cultic objects (such as altars; see below) were found in the structures uncovered (Stager 2008: 1584–85; Stager et al. 2008). During this period, Ekron also flourished and a vast quantity of olive oil installations were uncovered (see Gitin 1998, 2003). In these installations, especially in Field III, some zoomorphic vessels and altars were found; this could be considered an “industrial context” and the interpretation of cultic activities here would be similar to those in Ashdod Area D (see below). Again, several elements of material culture found in household or other domestic or industrial contexts that have apparent relationship to cult and religion will be described (although we have less data on some of these categories). These include figurines, figurative terracottas (including stands and libation vessels), and altars. 2.2.1. Figurines and Figurative Stands and Models.  During the Iron Age II, the typical Canaanite naturalistic nude female plaque figurines, or “Astarte” figurines (see Pritchard 1943; Tadmor 1982; Keel and Uehlinger 1998: 97–105; Moorey 2003: 35–46) reappears in Philistia. These figurines return to the Philistine sites during the Iron IIA–B at Ashdod (fig. 5:2; Dothan and Freedman 1967: figs. 35:4, 43:4, 6; Dothan 1971: fig. 64; Dothan and Porath 1982: fig. 34:1; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 213, fig. 3.96:4–5; see also Keel and Uehlinger 1998: 228, fig. 217), Ashkelon (Press 2007: 105–9, fig. 9, cat. nos. 62–67), Ekron (Gitin personal communication) and Gath (Maeir personal communication). The symbolism communicated by these figurines is quite clearly associated with female fertility. Examples of a plaque figurine depicting a “drummer girl” were also found at Ekron (Paz 2007: 13–38, Type A, figs. 2.1–2.3, with many parallels therein). These Canaanite-style plaque figurines appear alongside “debased” or late Ashdoda figurines at Ashdod (Yasur-Landau 2001; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 53, figs. 8:1, 9, references therein). Also to be noted is a recently published seated male figurine from Gath (Maeir 2008b); Maeir interprets it as depicting the Canaanite god El; this is thus far a unique example of this kind of male figurine in Philistia. During this period, Israelite or Phoenician-type female figurines also appear, especially at Ekron (fig. 7:1; Gitin 2003: 287, fig. 4, an example of which comes from the cela in Temple Complex 650; see below) and Ashkelon (Press 2007: 216–32, figs. 6–7, cat. nos. 31–61); these are rather rare at Ashdod. They are defined as composite figurines, with mold-made heads of various styles; they are usually treated as a Levantine-Phoenician artifact (Pritchard 1943: 23–27, 56–57; Moorey 2003: 47–50; Press 2007: 216–32, for more references). Judean pillar figurines (“JPF”; Kletter 1996, 2001), probably related to an “Asherah cult” (see Olyan 1988; Hadley 2000 and additional references therein), were also found in small numbers in eastern Philistia as at Ekron (Gitin personal communication) and Gath (Maeir personal communication), as well as at other sites in Philistia (as at Batash, Beth Shemesh, and Gezer; see Kletter 1996; 2001; see also Hadley 2000). Very few of these types of figurines were found at

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Fig. 5.  Various Iron Age II terracottas.   1. A male(?) figurine from Ashdod (Dothan 1971: fig. 62:1).   2. A female plaque figurine from Ashdod (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: fig. 3.96:5).   3. Bovine libation vessel from Ekron decorated in the “Late Philistine style” (Ben-Shlomo    2008: fig. 5:1).   4. A bull’s head spout from Ashdod (Dothan 1971: fig. 68:6).   5. A late Iron Age bovine vessel from Ekron (Ben-Shlomo 2008: fig. 7).   6. A “Judean”-style horse figurine from Ashdod (Dothan and Porath 1982: fig. 34:7).

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Fig. 6.  The Musicians’ stand from Ashdod (Dothan and BenShlomo 2005: fig. 3.76).

Iron Age II Ashdod, presumably due its greater distance from Judah in comparison to Ekron and Gath (Kletter 2001: 185–88). At Ashkelon, a regional style of Iron Age II hollow female figurines is suggested (Press 2007: 216–32). The typical Iron Age IIB–C horse or “horse-and-rider” figurines (fig. 5:6), which are very common in Judah, are also very rare in the Philistine cities (except at Ashkelon). This may indicate that, although in a general manner the cultic artifacts are similar to those in other parts of the country, the Philistine population had a regional style of its own, possibly also representing a variation in ritual practices, at least in the pentapolis city sites (or some of them). Nevertheless, only with additional publication of material from the

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Fig. 7.  Late Iron II cultic objects from Philistia. 1. A hollow female figurine from Ekron, Temple Complex 650 (Gitin 2003: fig. 4). 2. A knobbed stand from Ashdod (Dothan and Freedman 1967: fig. 38:7). 3. A group of four-horned portable altars from Ekron (Dothan and Gitin 2008: 1955).

7th-century b.c.e. levels at Ashkelon and Ekron will there be enough information for a reconstruction of Philistine iconography during the end of Iron Age II. A different group of terracottas includes figurines and depictions on cultic stands that illustrate a certain continuation of the Philistine style. These include several figurine heads (of either male or female) from Ashdod (fig. 5:1), Ashkelon, and Ekron (Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 58, fig. 15:2–3) and the Musucians’ stand from Ashdod (fig. 6) (as well as depictions on the cultic stands from Yavneh; see below). These examples (fig. 5:1; Dothan and Freedman 1967: fig. 47:5; Dothan 1971: figs. 62:1, 7–8, 63:1; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 224, figs. 3.103:1, 3.115:7) also come from domestic contexts or from industrial or open areas (especially at Ashdod). The Musicians’ stand (fig. 6; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 180–84, figs. 3.78–3.79), dated to Iron Age IIA (Stratum X), is a rare depiction of a complete ensemble of musicians

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from the Iron Age (Paz 2007: 50, 68–71), now paralleled to some extent at Yavneh (Ziffer and Kletter 2007: 24–25, 70–5, no. 1036; see below; the stand from Temple 131 at Tell Qasile depicts a group of dancers [Mazar 1980: 87–89, fig. 23] and is also made in the same technique). This could be a depiction of an orchestra (the “Canaanite orchestra”: Paz 2007: 98–101) playing in a temple or in a religious ritual. The relationship between musicians and cult and temples is attested also in the Old Testament: musical instruments mentioned are cymbals, lyres, harps (violin), tambourines, and trumpets (e.g., 1 Chr 13:8; 15:16, 19; 25:1, 6; 2 Chr 5:12–13). These instruments, associated with prophets, priests, and Levites, facilitated entering into an ecstatic state. For example, note that the passage describing the anointing and prophecy of Saul specifies a group of prophets playing the flute, lyre, tambourine, and harp (violin) (1 Sam 10). In what way these themes were incorporated in Philistine religion is still obscure to us. Also to be noted are rare and peculiar items unique to Ashdod that may have been cultic objects used during Iron Age II in this Philistine city. These are “knobbed stands” (fig. 7:2; having a row of knobs on their lower part) from Ashdod in Area D in the cultic room or shrine (Dothan and Freedman 1967: fig. 38:7–8, Room 1010) and in a possible cultic corner in Area K (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: Room 6212, fig. 2.48). 2.2.2.  Libation Vessels.  As noted, libation vessels (especially zoomorphic) continue to be popular in Philistia, even more so during Iron Age II (fig. 5:3–5). This is especially evidenced by a large group of kernoi and libation vessels from Ashdod (fig. 5:4; Dothan 1971: 125–35, figs. 66–71; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: 197, fig. 3.86), dating mostly from the tenth–eighth centuries b.c.e. (Strata X–VIII). Most depict bovines and are decorated in the Late Philistine Decorated style or Ashdod Ware (fig. 5:3–4; Ben-Shlomo et  al. 2004) with red-burnished slip and black-and-white painted patterns (Ben-Shlomo 2008: 30, fig. 5). Several of the horned-head spouts are decorated with triangles, circles, or other shapes on the foreheads (fig. 5:4; Dothan 1971: fig. 69:1–6; they also appear at Ekron). This could be a depiction of an ornament hung on the bull’s forehead or possibly a reference to the Egyptian god Apis, depicted with the sun rising between his horns (Hornung 1982: 109–13). Another distinctive group of late Iron Age libation vessels come from 7th-century b.c.e. Ekron and include a large group of rather standardized, large schematic bovine vessels (fig. 5:5; Ben-Shlomo 2008: 32–33, figs. 6–7, references therein). This is a large, wheel-made bovine libation vessel with a large, barrel-shaped body; a hollow, button-shaped protrusion depicts the tail; the body is decorated with a red design probably depicting a harness. Two complete examples were found in relation to an olive oil installation in Field IIINE (fig. 5:5); another complete example was found in the Stratum IB destruction debris in Room V of Temple Complex 650, just behind the sanctuary’s cela (Gitin 1998: 173–74, fig. 11). These wheel-made, schematicallydepicted uniform types of bovine zoomorphic vessel may have been produced on a more industrial scale (and they also appear in connection with the olive oil industry). It is possible that the concentration of kernoi, libation vessels, late Ashdodas, offering tables, and plaque figurines in several pits in Area D at Iron Age IIB Ashdod (Dothan 1971; Hachlili 1971) may be related to the industrial activities taking place in this area as well. Cultic activities in local industrial contexts can also be

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Fig. 8.  The royal dedicatory inscription from Ekron (Gitin et al. 1997).

linked to household religion, because it too is ranked lower on the social hierarchy. Other examples of the industry–cult linkage come from the mining temple at Dan (Biran 1992: 143, fig. 118), Timna (Rothenberg 1988: 270–76), the Iron Age at Khirbet el Mudeyina, Jordan (Daviau 2007) and Late Bronze Age Cyprus (Begg 1991: 47, 69); these are connected with metallurgical and agricultural industries. In the case of the bovine libation vessels from Ekron, the bull may represent an agricultural/ industrial fertility symbol, a specific deity, or its vehicle. 2.2.3. Altars.  Another important group of items relating to cult and religion in late Iron Age Philistia are the four horned portable stone altars, studied in detail by Gitin (fig. 7:3; Gitin 1989, 1992, 1993, 2002, 2003, 2008). These appear at Ekron and Ashkelon especially in relation to olive oil installations (at Ekron and Batash; see also in Jordan, Daviau 2007) and to the commercial center of the port of Ashkelon; they were probably used for incense burning. However, their connection to household cult and religion is rather debatable. Gitin sees them as evidence for decentralized official religion and as reflecting Israelite influence (2008). 2.2.4.  Iron Age II Temples or Shrines in Philistia.  There is now more evidence on temples in Philistia after the recent excavation of the very rich favissa from Yavneh (Kletter et  al. 2006; Ziffer and Kletter 2007), which is located in the heart of Philistia (although not in one of the main cities). This evidence includes at least 120 figurative house models or cultic stands depicting a rich iconographic world. Other finds include more than 1,000 chalices, shovels, and a few other stands and fig-

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urative vessels—and hardly any figurines. This favissa reflects the furnishing of a nearby temple, probably at Tel Yavneh. The main themes appearing include naked females, sometimes standing on lions, bulls, or lions as architectural supports, and the palm tree flanked by two ibexes. Also appearing are individual musicians and in groups. All of these are very distinctive and important Canaanite and Levantine iconographic and religious motifs (see, e.g., Keel and Uehlinger 1998; Ziffer and Kletter 2007). Moreover, the bird motif, which is a popular Philistine motif (Dothan 1982; Yasur-Landau 2008), appearing in various media (pottery decoration, figurative pottery, ivories), is absent from the Yavneh assemblage. However, the style of the depictions, especially the human ones, recalls Philistine iconography as it appears in Aegean-style figurines, Iron Age II figurines, and the musicians’ stand from Ashdod, which also shares the theme (see Ziffer and Kletter 2007; Ben-Shlomo and Press 2009: 41, 58). The most important temple in Iron Age Philistia thus far is the monumental temple-palace structure built in Stratum IC, dated to the 7th century b.c.e., at Ekron (Temple-Palace Complex 650, with dimensions measuring 38 × 57 m; Gitin 1998, 2003: figs. 1–2). The background for this temple is the flourishing of Ekron under Assyrian and Egyptian rule during the 7th century and its becoming a major center in the Near East for olive oil production. The structure was destroyed by the Babylonians in 604 b.c.e. (Stratum IB). The most important find in this structure is by far the royal inscription found in its cela (fig. 8; Gitin et al. 1997; Gitin 2003: 284–86, fig. 3); it reads: The house (which) Akhayush (Ikausu/Achish), son of Padi, son of Ysd, son of Ada, son of Yaʾir, ruler (sar ‫ )סר‬of Ekron, built for Pythogaia (Ptgyh), his lady. May she bless him, and protect him, and prolong his days, and bless his land.”

This structure contained hundreds of complete vessels, mostly storage jars, as well as a large assemblage of elephant ivories (some are very large and may come from Egypt in an earlier period). Figurative items from the temple and its vicinity are rare and include one hollow female figurine (fig. 7:1; Gitin 2003: fig. 4), a bovine zoomorphic vessel, and a possible fragment of a lion-head cup (see Ben-Shlomo 2008: 32, 40, fig. 8:3).

3. Discussion 3.1.  Household and Temple Religion in Philistia In order to examine and define Philistine household religion, the cultic evidence from household and temple contexts in Philistia should be compared (table 1). The comparison suggests that, according to the evidence thus far, two types of assemblages of figurative representations in Philistia can be defined: a domestic assemblage and a public/cultic assemblage. It seems that the domestic assemblage, especially earlier, in Iron Age I, includes more Aegean-style depictions, such as the Aegeanstyle figurines and libation vessels. The temples at Tell Qasile and Nahal Patish do not contain these artifacts (nor do the later temples of Yavneh and Complex 650 at Ekron). Although Aegean-style female and bovine figurines were found in domestic household contexts, Canaanite-style female figurines hardly ever appear in Philistine domestic contexts during the early Iron Age, and it seems that the Aegean-style

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Yavneh*

Gath*

Ekron* 650

–

–

–

1

+

–

+

+

1

+

+

+

+

–

–

–

–

–

1

–

–

+

?

–

–

–

–

–

–

+

?

–

few

–

–

–

–

+

1–2

–

?

–

–

–

–

Canaanite/ Levantine female

Iron II

ivory

–

hybrid

hybrid

–

–

+

Other human

Iron II

–

–

+

few

+

–

–

+

+

–

few

+

–

+

+

Lion

few

+

–

+

+

+

–

+

Horse

few

–

–

?

few

–

–

–

+

?

–

+ bird bowls

–

–

+

–

Figurines

+

+

Libation vessels

+

+

Figurative stands

+

–

Altars

+

Aegean-style female

+

Aegean-style birds Other Aegean-style

Object Type

Patish*

Qasile* few

Ekron#

–

Domestic

Ashdod#

Table 1.  Comparison between Cultic Elements Appearing in Households, Possible Temples and Temples in Philistiaa

Theme/style

Bull (Canaanite)

Bird (other)

few

–

–

few

+

–

–

–

Pomegranate

+

+

–

+

–

–

+

–

Egyptian motifs

+

+

–

few

–

–

–

+

phallus?

–

Palm tree

Other depictions

+

+

knobbed figurative stands stands

architecture

a.  “Domestic” is defined as all non-public/cultic contexts; cultic (*; possibly cultic: #) is defined as cultic corners, temples, and public buildings. Note also that the evidence from many of these contexts is not extensively published (Ekron: all contexts; N. Patish and Gath) and is thus provisional.

figurines could have replaced them in the domestic cult. Later, during Iron Age II, these reappear in increasing quantities, while the Aegean style figurines appear only at Ashdod. These later objects could indicate a household cult relatively similar to the cult occurring in other parts of the southern Levant. Zoomorphic libation vessels in the Canaanite style occur in both domestic and temple contexts both in the Iron I and Iron II. Nevertheless, only a few libation vessels and hardly any figurines of any sort appear in the Iron II temples of Yavneh and Complex 650 at Ekron. Libation vessels commonly appear in domestic and industrial contexts and open areas as well. Most undecorated zoomorphic figurines, dated to Iron Age I, were found in domestic contexts or open areas. Cypriot and Aegean undecorated zoomorphic figurines are similar to the Philistine figurines in terms of type of clay, the soot marks, the modeling of the details, and the type of animals represented, including mostly bovines but

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other species as well. These figurines may represent domestic cult or other symbolic practices, perhaps of voodoo-like or “sympathetic witchcraft” nature. Canaanite-style human depictions appear several times in the Tell Qasile temple (such as a hybrid anthropomorphic libation vessel, a stand with dancers, and a mask), on several of the Yavneh stands (with an iconography that carries some Philistine traits) and once at Complex 650 at Ekron. Most figures depicted are female. Other Canaanite motifs, such as the palm tree, are common at Yavneh, while pomegranates appear at Ekron, Tell Qasile, and Gath. Note that nearly all these items and motifs also appear in domestic contexts (see table 1). The differences between household and temple contexts and between the Iron I and Iron II assemblages in Philistia reveal certain aspects of Philistine immigrant society during the Iron Age. The analysis of migration processes and evidence of them in the archaeological record have been discussed in several studies during recent decades (see McGuire 1982; Anthony 1990, 1992; Burmeister 2000; Yasur-Landau 2002, 2003). The evidence coming from the household and domestic sphere has been shown to be especially important in relation to the characteristics and mechanisms of migrations and the behavior of immigrants in both anthropological (Boyd 1989; Zimmerer 2004) and archaeological (Burmeister 2000: 542–47) examples. The material culture from domestic contexts and regular households would be more sensitive to the arrival of new immigrants than the culture represented by public, monumental, and official religious structures (Berry 1997: 12). Most of the archaeological evidence from Philistia thus far indicates a gradual and possibly mostly peaceful immigration process (see Bunimovitz 1999; Yasur-Landau 2002, 2003; Ben-Shlomo 2007) rather than a dramatic military event. Moreover, it seems that an “integration” strategy rather than a “separation” strategy was undertaken by these immigrants after their initial arrival (Yasur-Landau 2003; Ben-Shlomo 2007). Whether, when, and how the Philistines managed to establish themselves as social and political elite in Philistia at any given stage of the Iron Age is still an obscure issue, due to the lack of sufficient archaeological evidence. Even if this process occurred at a very early date, eventually, as illustrated by the material culture as well as textual evidence, persistence of the local native culture is evident, accompanied by Philistine elements, to the end of the Iron Age in Philistia. Various modern examples show that immigrants are more faithful to their homeland practices in their private domain and conform more to the host culture in the public domain (see Ostergren 1988; Burmeister 2000). In the initial stage (early Iron I), the Philistine immigrants were probably not in political control of Philistia, nor were they the socioeconomic elite but preserved their own traditions. This was done mostly in the private domain, in elements such as pottery decoration and terracottas that were made in the Aegean style, probably by immigrant potters. The influence of the Canaanite tradition was present at all times and probably intensified in the course of time, both as result of intermarriage but also, in the later stage, as the immigrants became stronger and sought political influence. In the later stage (late Iron I, Iron IIA), the immigrants who sought integration interacted more with the local elements and thus had a stronger motivation to incorporate elements of Canaanite traditions (but without actively abandoning all of their own traditions). This could have been true especially in regard to certain power and cult symbols at the stage when the immigrant population gained strength and self-confidence. This process, in which immigrant groups

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Fig. 9.  The “enthroned goddess” motif.   1. A seal from Mycenaean Tiryns, Greece (after Yasur-Landau 2008: fig. 3:3).   2. A pictorial krater from Ashkelon (after Stager et al. 2008: fig. 15.40; courtesy of the     Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon).   3. The Ashdoda figurine (Dothan 1971: fig. 91:1).   4. A cylinder seal from Iron I Ashdod (Dothan and 2005: fig. 3.66).   5. A procession with statues of gods looted from Gaza(?), from Tiglath-pileser III south     west palace of Nimrud (after Barnett and Falkner 1962: pl. 92).

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are more conservative regarding their otherness during the initial stage, is termed “opposition” and has been noted in various historical examples (see Spicer 1971; McGuire 1982): religion, symbols, and iconographic representations are an important component of the maintenance of ethnic boundaries and thus can contribute to this “opposition” (McGuire 1982: 161). In the later stage, the Philistine may have felt less need to zealously and faithfully preserve their own traditions from their homeland in the form of specific iconographic depictions on objects used in household rituals (such as figurines and terracottas).

3.2.  Can We Reconstruct a Philistine Religion? While the differences between household : temple and Iron I : Iron II Philistine cultic assemblages has been pointed out and discussed, the issue of the actual content and nature of Philistine religion itself still remains quite obscure. This is especially due to the lack of texts. Nevertheless, one may attempt to reconstruct at least segments of this religion according to the archaeological evidence from Philistia, the few brief biblical references, and iconographic and textual references—though few and sometimes indirect—from contemporary Near Eastern sources. The Aegean-style female figurines in Philistia could be interpreted in various ways. They can be seen as representing goddesses, priestesses, devotees, or votives. It has been suggested that the seated figurines (fig. 9:3) depict an Aegean goddess seated on a throne (“the enthroned goddess”; see Yasur-Landau 2001, 2008), in line with various Aegean depictions of a similar goddess (fig. 9:1, depicted on a seal from Mycenaean Tiryns; see Nilsson 1968: 350–51; Rehak 1995: 106, 116–17). Similar seated figures appear on a cylinder seal from Ashdod (fig. 9:4) and possibly on a krater from Ashkelon (fig. 9:2; as suggested by Yasur-Landau 2008), there holding a drinking vessel. The Ashdoda figurines have been interpreted as goddesses in several studies dealing with Philistine cult and religion (Singer 1992; Schmitt 1999: 635–43; Mazar 2000; Yasur-Landau 2001), although the identity of this goddess has not been agreed upon: T. Dothan (1982: 234), Mazar (2000: 223), and Yasur-Landau (2001, 2008) have stressed its Aegean identity, but Brug has proposed a Canaanite origin (1985: 186) and Sherratt suggested a connection with the cult of sailors and merchants of the eastern Mediterranean (1998: 306–8). Singer, meanwhile, suggested a connection to the Anatolian Kybele/Kubaba (Singer 1992). Given the iconographic depiction—a seated and clothed figure—the Aegean identity is most likely. The meaning of these objects and their symbolic world would thus be clearly cultic, possibly related to the important or even principal role the seated female image (an “enthroned goddess,” queen goddess, or “mother goddess”) played within Aegean society and cult (Rehak 1995). Therefore, there is good reason to conclude that the deity worshiped by the dwellers of the Philistine household during Iron I was depicted by these Ashdoda figures (and also possibly the Psi figurines), linking it with an Aegean or Mycenaean goddess. Interestingly, there might be a late Iron II (8th century b.c.e.) reference to this Philistine goddess (see also Ziffer and Kletter 2007: 29). A group of deity statues is seen on a depiction of a procession of god statues looted from captured cities from Tiglath-pileser III’s southwest palace of Nimrud (fig. 9:5; Barnett and Falkner 1962: pl. 92). There is a good possibility that these gods come from Gaza at the time of the rebellion of king Hanun (Uehlinger 2002: 115, and references therein). The female seated goddess on the far right of the procession (fig. 9:5, far right) seems to be

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depicted holding a conical cup (a kylix[?], similar to the Ashkelon depiction in fig. 9:2; see also Ziffer and Kletter 2007: 29, though, the item held is interpreted there as a flower or a ring and sheaves of grain, linking it with the Anatolian goddess Kubaba). If so, it would be a depiction somewhat similar to Aegean depictions of the seated goddesses (see fig. 9:1; Yasur-Landau 2001, 2008, and references therein). The other goddess in fig. 9:5 holds a ring and may not be clearly identified (as well as another small-sized standing god/goddess), and the male god depicted on the left resembles the Mesopotamian/Levantine weather-god (e.g., Uehlinger 1997: 127). This Assyrian depiction could also be evidence that the major official temples in the Philistine cities had life-size (probably composite) statues depicting their gods. The royal inscription from 7th-century Ekron (fig. 8) also mentions a goddess having a probable Aegean name: Ptgyh, king Ikausu’s “lady” (note: potnia in the Mycenaean world = “lady”). Ptgyh has been associated with the sanctuary at Delphi known as Pytho, the shrine of Gaia, the Mycenaean Mother-Goddess (SchäferLichtenberger 2000; Gitin 2003: 286). This goddess is mentioned as the local king’s “lady” in the royal inscription found in the cela of the large temple complex of Iron Age IIC Ekron (Gitin et al. 1997; Demsky 1997; Schäfer-Lichtenberger 2000). This is indeed the “smoking gun” noted by Gitin (2003: 286) in regard to evidence of late Iron Age Philistine religion. Both the evidence from Ekron and the Assyrian depiction may indicate a late Philistine cult combining Aegean and Canaanite gods. This pantheon includes two or three goddesses (one Levantine, maybe Ashera; and an Aegean goddess, maybe Ptgyh) and one male Levantine god (a weather god, perhaps Baʿal). The cult of a Philistine male god is mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, either in regard to Dagon of Ashdod (1 Sam 5) or Gaza ( Judg 16:23) 3 or Baʿal Zebub of Ekron (2 Kgs 1:2–3). Baʿal is also mentioned in an inscription from the Temple Complex at Ekron (“to Baʿal and Padi” ‫ ;לבעל ולפדי‬Gitin and Coogan 1999; Stern 2001: 120–29; Gitin 2003: 288, fig. 5). The cult of Asherah could fit the usage of Canaanite female figurines during Iron II, which could have been linked to the Asherah cult. Asherah is also mentioned in ostraca from the Ekron Temple Complex 650 (“to Asherat” ‫ ;לאשרת‬Gitin 2003: 289, fig. 8:4) and may be also be depicted in the only figurine found in its cela (fig. 7:1; Gitin 2003: fig. 4). Gitin also links this goddess to Phoenician culture and its influence in this period (2003: 288). Thus, while the Asherah cult was probably practiced in some way in household religion as well as at town temples at Yavneh, the main official “state” temples also acknowledged the “old time” Aegean goddess as well as a local male god (conceived by the Bible and Near Eastern tradition as the primary deity; see Schäfer-Lichtenberger 2000: 88). To summarize: although it is still very difficult to reconstruct the substance of Philistine religion during the entire Iron Age, we have evidence of the existence of distinctive household religious practices of some sort. These practices seem to reflect the special origin and nature of the immigrant population of Philistia during the initial stage of the Iron Age. Later on, a fusion of the Philistine tradition with the local religious traditions, as both textual and material remains of the Iron Age II in Philistia indicate more explicitly, took place. 3.  Singer (1992) relates the Philistine god Dagon to Hebrew dag (“fish”), but it is more reasonable to associate this with the Semitic agricultural god Dagon.

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Acknowledgments I wish to thank Trude Dothan and Seymour Gitin for allowing me to study and publish material from Tel Miqne–Ekron. Aren Maeir and Pirhiya Nahshoni have provided me some yet-unpublished information from their excavations. I thank Raz Kletter and Irit Ziffer for information and insight on the excavation at Yavneh. Lawrence Stager and Dan Master allowed me to illustrate finds from the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon; Michael Press allowed me to cite information from his Ph.D. dissertation. The illustrations of finds from Ashdod are courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority. I thank the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, which provided a grant supporting me during my fruitful stay in Münster, and Rainer Albertz and Rüdiger Schmitt for inviting me to participate in the conference on household religion.

Abbreviations AA AJA B.A.R. BASOR IAA IES IEJ NEAEHL UF

Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archaologischen Instituts: Archaologischer Anzeiger American Journal of Archaeology British Archaeological Reports Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Israel Antiquities Authority Israel Exploration Society Israel Exploration Journal Stern et al. 1993, 2008 Ugarit Forschungen

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Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Sherratt, E. S. 1998 “Sea Peoples” and the Economic Structure of the Late Second Millennium in the Eastern Mediterranean. Pp. 292–313 in S. Gitin, A. Mazar, and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries b.c.e. Jerusalem: IES. Singer, I. 1992 Towards the Image of Dagon, the God of the Philistines. Syria 69: 431–50. Spicer, E. H. 1971 Persistent Cultural Systems. Science 174: 795–800. Stager, L. E. 2008 Tel Ashkelon. Pp. 1578–86 in 81 in vol. 5 of NEAHL. Jerusalem: IES. Stager, L. E., Schloen, J. D., and Master, D. M., eds. 2008 Ashkelon 1: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006). Final Reports of the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon 1. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Stern, E. 2001 The Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Volume II: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732–332 b.c.e.). New Haven: Yale University Press. Tadmor, M. 1982 Female Cult Figurines in Late Canaan and Early Israel: Archaeological Evidence. Pp. 139–73 in T. Ishida (ed.), Studies in the Period of David and Solomon and Other Essays: Papers Read at the International Symposium for Biblical Studies, Tokyo, 5–7 December, 1979. Tokyo: Yamakawa-Shuppansha / Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Uehlinger, C. 1997 Anthropomorphic Cult Statuary in Iron Age Palestine and the Search for Yahweh’s Cult Images. Pp. 97–156 in van der Toorn, K. (ed.), The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East. Leuven: Peeters. 2002 Hanun von gaza und seine Gottheited auf Orthostatenreliefs Tiglatpilesers III. Pp. 92–125 in U. Hübner and E. A. Knauf (eds.), Kein Land für sich allein: Studien zum Kulturkontact in Kanaan, Israel/Palästina und Ebirnâri für Manfred Weippert zum 65 Geburstag. Fribourg: Editions Universitaires / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Weber-Hiden, I. 1990 Die mykenischen Terrakottafigurinen aus den Syringes von Tiryns. Tiryns: Forschungen und Berichte 11: 35–85. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Yasur-Landau, A. 2001 The Mother(s) of All Philistines? Aegean Enthroned Deities of the 12th–11th Century Philistia. Pp. 329–343 in R. Laffineur and R. Hägg (eds.), Potnia: Deities in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegeum 22. Liège: Université de l’Etat. 2002 Social Aspects of Aegean Settlement in the Southern Levant in the end of the 2nd Millennium b.c.e. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation. Tel Aviv University. 2003 The Many Faces of Colonization: 12th Century Aegean Settlements in Cyprus and the Levant. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 3/1: 45–54. 2008 A Message in a Jug: Canaanite, Philistine and Cypriote Iconography and the “Orpheus Jug.” Pp. 213–30 in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), Bene Israel: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages in Honor of Israel Finkelstein. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 31. Leiden: Brill. Ziffer, I., and Kletter, R. 2007 In the Field of the Philistines: Cult Furnishings from the Favissa of a Yavneh Temple. Tel Aviv: Eretz-Israel Museum. Zimmerer, K. S. 2004 Cultural Ecology: Placing Households in Human-Environment Studies: The Cases of Tropical Forest Transitions and Agrobio Diversity Change. Progress in Human Geography 28/6: 795–806.

Anomalies in the Archaeological Record Evidence for Domestic and Industrial Cults in Central Jordan P. M. Michèle Daviau Wilfrid Laurier University

The investigation of cultic behavior is once again a focus of attention with the excavation of well-preserved temples and ritual sites in the Levant and Eastern Mediterranean during the last quarter of the 20th century. A more nuanced theoretical approach to the data derived from these excavations was first articulated by Renfrew (1985) for the temple at Phylakopi on Melos and appropriated and adapted by Levy (2006) for the site of Gilat in the Negev. Zevit (2001), in his monumental reexamination of previously known cultic sites throughout Israel, made use of a “synthesis of parallactic approaches,” embodying many of Renfrew’s criteria. These criteria enable archaeologists to identify cultic structures, features, and objects in the archaeological record and suggest their function as components of recognizable ritual activities. For other contexts, such as domestic or industrial buildings, archaeologists continue to infer the function of these ancient structures based on their construction techniques, building plan, room arrangement, internal traffic patterns, and distribution of artefacts in a given room or set of rooms. Public buildings, houses, and workshops can be identified in this way, and so can the distribution of activities carried out in the architectural space. What is more difficult to interpret is the archaeological evidence from a structure whose plan does not fit easily into a recognizable class, one that is anomalous, or one that is outside of a settlement or completely isolated in its landscape, at least from our point of view. This applies to sites such as ʿEn Ḥaseva in the Arabah, Ḥorvat Qiṭmit in the Negev, and Kuntillet Ajrud in northern Sinai, as well as certain sites identified in regional surveys, such as those found by the Wadi ath-Thamad Project in central Jordan. One such site is WT-13, an isolated hilltop structure in the vicinity of a larger fortified site known as al-Rumayl (Daviau 2006). Without artefacts to suggest the type of activities carried out at these sites, we would not be able to explain either the sites themselves or their features. The same is often Author's note: I would like to thank Prof. Dr. Rainer Albertz (Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität, Münster) for his generous invitation to participate in the International Conference on Household Religion held in Münster, April 1–3, 2009. Dr. Rüdiger Schmitt provided logistics and guidance for participants and made our visit to Münster a pleasure.

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Fig. 1.  Map of sites in central Jordan showing the location of Tall Jawa and Khirbat al-Mudayna on the Wadi ath-Thamad.

true of artefacts. As a component of a meaningful assemblage or tool-kit, an artefact and the reason for its presence in the archaeological record are easily recognized. Unique, random, or isolated finds are less easy to identify, especially those that may be related to ritual or cultic activity in an otherwise domestic context. In view of an increasing number of recent excavation and regional survey projects in Jordan, 1 which have revealed a number of towns and sites with Iron Age 1.  For a list of Ammonite sites excavated since 1950, see MacDonald (1999: 41–45), and for Moab, see Routledge (2004).

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occupation (fig. 1), this study will examine, first, the theoretical approaches to understanding behavior patterns in the domestic space based on the objects and features associated with various activities. Second, two sites, Tall Jawa in Ammonite territory and Khirbat al-Mudayna in northern Moab, will be explored in an attempt to identify the range of artefacts most likely employed in ritual activities in the domestic and industrial spheres. These assemblages will then be investigated for the light they shed on cultic practice in their respective cultural settings.

Artefacts in the Archaeological Record The study of artefacts can be approached using various theoretical and taxonomic models. In a number of field reports, small finds are presented in a separate chapter, with each class and its types described in turn. These typologies can become quite elaborate: for example, the study of stone objects from Ugarit by Elliott (1991) in Arts et industries de la pierre (1991) and the volume on Excavations at Tall Jawa, Jordan, Volume II: The Iron Age Artefacts (Daviau 2002). While such studies are important in the understanding of ancient technology as well as wealth and status, they contribute only to a limited degree to the understanding of patterned behavior and the role objects played in the lives of ancient peoples. Moving beyond such typologies, archaeologists design clusters and paradigms of the artefacts related to specific patterned behaviors typically carried out in a domestic, industrial, or cultic context. Of course, the material components of daily life are moved from one place to another, abandoned, and discarded over time; but most utilitarian objects are easily recognizable. What remains difficult to understand is an object that does not seem to be related to any recognizable assemblage within a given setting, one that cannot be immediately classified, or one that apparently should belong to another assemblage altogether. Thus it is the anomalous artefact, one that does not fit into any known type or into a meaningful working assemblage, that gives us pause. Although we no longer jump to the conclusion that such an object is cultic, we may still have difficulty assigning to it a meaningful designation. Clearly, we still have to expand our knowledge of the full range of objects created and used by ancient peoples in their daily and communal activities. Recourse to ethnographic observation in illuminating aspects of his excavations was already attempted by H. Schliemann during his work at Troy (1881: 53–54), on the basis of reports by Professor R. Virchow, his associate, concerning the layout of traditional houses. The same was done by Albright (1943: 60) in interpreting certain installations at Tell Beit Mirsin. 2 The most exhaustive study of early 20th-century Palestine is presented in the eight-volume work of Gustav Dalman (1928–42), in which he documented all aspects of daily life and cottage industry. In the second half of the century, various American ethnographers documented village life in western Iran with a special focus on the relationship between architectural space, artefact distribution and patterned behavior. Their research involved choosing a community 2.  Albright refers to a description by Dalman of the process of dyeing cotton, which he observed near Hebron, in order to support his interpretation of certain stone vats as “dye-plants” (Albright 1943: 60 [§37]); but Albright also admits that Dalman did not agree with this interpretation of the stone vats at Tell Beit Mirsim; rather, Dalman thought they were oil presses, an opinion that is now generally accepted in view of the extensive finds from Tel Miqne–Ekron (Gitin 1987).

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P. M. Michèle Daviau Table 1.  Food Preparation Equipment at Hasanabad Activity

Artifacts

Food Preparation deep pots

Installations hearth

shallow pans

bin

iron bread plate

niches

tripod

pegs

tongs/poker

storage pit

metal bowl/s

bench

pot lids wooden spoon tea kettle & tray wooden sugar bowl sugar hatchet basket rice drainer wooden pounder bread board stone pestle boulder mortar skin water bag rotary quern

with a level of social and economic complexity, similar life-style, and, if possible, a continuity of traditions comparable to ancient agricultural and pastoral societies. Just to take one example, we can look at the food-preparation equipment itemized by Patty Jo Watson at Hasanabad (1979: table 5.1). Her list represents a coherent assemblage, along with a few multifunctional items in the mix (Table 1 above). What we would consider meaningful assemblages for an ancient society are those in which each object can easily be seen to be at home in its context: bowls, jars, juglets, a knife blade, cooking pots, a millstone and its saddle quern, and a hand grinder all surrounding an oven fit perfectly into a food-preparation and consumption activity set. This was the idea that I had in mind in designing paradigms against which I could test the assemblages from recognizable domestic settings (Daviau 1993: table 2.12). Paradigms of ideal assemblages for various activities were formulated with each type of object in the assemblage given a reasonable degree of occurrence (Table  2). The paradigm was then tested against the archaeological record: for example, the storage paradigm was compared, using Robinson’s coefficient of similarity, against the contents of a storeroom in the Tablet House at Tell Hadidi (Table 3; Daviau 1993: table 2.13). Since the archaeological record is rarely complete and more than one activity may have been carried out in the same space, it is clear that this system only works well for the dominant activity. To account for the actual finds reported for each room in my study of houses, I included the category “Other” for those items that

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Anomalies in the Archaeological Record Table 2.  Weighted Functional Paradigms Food Preparation and Consumption Baking tray/oven

Storage

3%

Bowls

12%

Cooking pots

20%

Storejars

72%

Bowls

46%

Jugs/juglets

12%

Storejars

13%

Other

Jugs/juglets

13%

4% 100%

5%

Other

100%

Table 3.  Storage (Tell Hadidi, Tablet House, Loci Ia and Ib) Category

Paradigm

Finds

Difference

Similarity

Bowls

12%

0%

12

200.0

Storejars

72%

81%

9

‑29.0

Jugs/juglets

12%

9%

3

171.0 or 85.5%

4%

9%

Other

200 – Dissimilarity = Similarity

5 29

were present but not directly related to the principal tool-kit or activity set. With the ethnographic data in mind, I did not look for evidence of the domestic cult, since the continuity of religious tradition in most observed societies did not apply to the Levant, and at Hasanabad, domestic cult was not a recognizable feature of village life that yielded concrete evidence. However, in my study of the ceramic corpus and objects from the excavations at Tall Jawa in central Jordan, I soon began to find artefacts that could only be considered anomalous; they did not fit into my functional assemblages or into other recognizable domestic or industrial activity sets. These included ceramic figurines, very small or miniature vessels, random finds without clear functional designation, high status and exotic objects, certain imports, and small vessels with special surface treatment. 3

Specialized Artefacts and Vessels In a previous study, 159 anomalous finds possibly related to cultic behavior at Tall Jawa were discussed according to their functional types but not their contexts. For example, the Iron Age anthropomorphic figurines were grouped together, as were zoomorphic figurines. So, too, the miniature and unusual vessels were also presented as a group (Daviau 2001a). The creation of such a taxonomy was due in 3.  A comparison of the cultic equipment from Tall Jawa with that from Khirbat al-Mudayna (Thamad) was presented at a special session of the Society of Biblical Literature International meeting in Vienna, organized by R. Albertz, in 2007.

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Fig. 2.  Plan of Tall Jawa, showing houses from Stratum VIII and Stratum VII.

part to my preparation of the objects and pottery for publication. The small and miniature vessels had also been separated from larger pots and objects to maintain control of these small and delicate vessels and to better appreciate their particular characteristics. The same was true for a group of limestone altars from the domestic and industrial buildings at Khirbat al-Mudayna in northern Moab, some of which were published in the festschrift for Othmar Keel (Daviau 2007). It is now time to put these objects and miniature vessels back into their respective contexts and see what else we can learn from them about the importance of the anomalous artefact.

Domestic Cult at Tall Jawa At Tall Jawa, there are three buildings that each have 10 or more objects and specialty vessels that constitute groupings relevant to religious ritual (fig. 2). 4 In Stratum VIII (Iron Age IIB), there are three domestic structures on the west half of the mound (B102, B113, and B200), along with a kitchen (Room 202), and one house to the north (B300) that are worthy of analysis, while in Stratum VII, on the east, the largest assemblage was in Building 800. The remaining structures were less completely excavated and their contents are not fully known. 5 In the buildings where preservation was sufficient for study of artefact distribution, certain factors of their use and destruction have affected the integrity of the archaeological record. The pattern of discard of broken objects and vessels is not well understood and is complicated by the patterns of collapse, abandonment, and 4.  The original topographic map was the work of G. Johnson, with later additions by R. Force; the building plans were finalized by E. Kirby (Daviau 2003), and the master plan published here was assembled by C. J. Gohm. 5.  Additional buildings include B100, B204 in Stratum VIII, and B700, 900, and 905/910 in Stratum VII. Building 700 was reoccupied in the late Byzantine–early Islamic period (as B600), and the Iron Age remains were badly disturbed (Daviau 2010).

Anomalies in the Archaeological Record

Fig. 3.  Objects and special pots from Building 102: (1) TJ 100; (2) TJ 1877; (3) TJ 1696+1829; (4) TJ 218; (5) TJ 1569; (6) TJ 1782; (7) TJ 1713; (8) TJ 122; (9) V215; (10) B64/32.2; (11) V214; (12) A4/44.3; (13) A4/6.2; (14) B65/52.2; (15) V161; (16) B64/8.2; (17) TJ 2238.

Table 4.  Objects and Small/Miniature Vessels from Building 102 1 pillar(?) figurine (TJ 1696+1829) 3 male figurines (TJ 100, 1872, 1877) 1 figurine mould (TJ 1782) 1 ceramic limb (TJ 2062) 1 cup 1 perforated tripod cup 1 lamp 6 small bowls 1 Assyrian-style bowl (V215) 3 juglets

2 ceramic statue sherds (TJ 1713, 1783) 3 shrine model sherds (TJ1569,1570,2236) 2 small columns (TJ 1816, 2234) 1 ceramic capital (TJ 218) 1 chalice 1 small painted amphora 1 miniature lamp 1 strainer bowl (V214) 1 stone baetyl (TJ 2238) 2 basalt bowl/trays 1 small calcite mortar (TJ 122)

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Fig. 4.  Figurines, objects and special vessels from Building 300: (1) TJ 1119; (2) TJ 1375; (3) TJ 1249; (4) TJ 493; (5) TJ 2059; (6) V318; (7) V551; (8) E65/12.2; (9) V526; (10) V504; (11) V333; (12) V383; (13) V362; (14) V340; (15) V525; (16) V 382; (17) V380; (18) V381; (19) V316; (20) V443; (21) V524; (22) V491; (23) V502; (24) V331; (25) V366.

modern disturbance of the site. Thus, the quantities recorded for each structure are minimal, giving only a sample of the most securely stratified finds from the total corpus in use in the final phase of occupation. Changes in religious observance during the life of the houses at Tall Jawa are even more difficult to document.

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Table 5.  Objects and Small/Miniature Vessels from Buildings 113 and 100 Building 113 1 zoomorphic vessel (TJ 139) 1 shrine model sherd 1 cup 1 tripod cup perforated 3 small bowls 2 small cooking pots 1 small jar 1 miniature cooking pot 1 miniature jug 1 alabastron

Building 100 1 ceramic statue (TJ 2240) 1 zoomorphic figurine 1 cup 4 small bowls 1 small amphoriskos 1 small juglet 1 miniature cooking pot 1 miniature mortar

Table 6.  Objects and Small/Miniature Vessels from Building 300 3 female figurines (TJ 1119, 493, 1375) 2 zoomorphic figurines (TJ 1249) 1 wall plaque (TJ 2059) 1 chalice 7 cups 6 perforated tripod cups 1 tripod cup unperforated 3 lamps 11 small bowls 2 small kraters (V341,V383)

3 incised/painted saucers 1 incised jug 1 miniature pithos 1 small decanter 1 small juglet 2 miniature cooking pots 6 miniature juglets 2 black juglets 1 strainer bowl (V491) 7 basalt bowls/trays

Building 102.  The largest and best-preserved building in Field A was Building 102. In this building, the upper storey levels were excavated throughout, but only one lower room (R110) in the northeast corner was completely exposed. When we return the figurines and small vessels to these upper storey rooms, male iconography appears to dominate, including a ceramic male head with an atef crown (Daviau and Dion 1994), a stone male figure with a depression in his leg for a support, and a graphic granite baetyl (fig. 3; Daviau 2002: figs. 2.33:1, 34:1; 2001a: fig. 5:3). 6 Although the rich repertoire of small and miniature vessels, which we will see below in Building 300, is not represented here, there are several high-status specialty items (Table 4), including sherds from model shrines and ceramic statues 7 scattered in the soil layers filling the rooms, along with a miniature lamp, a perforated tripod cup, several small bowls, a miniature mortar, and a small white-slipped amphora painted with black bands (V140; Daviau 2001a: fig. 4:4). 8 Along with the miniature juglets, 6.  Only the best preserved and most photogenic objects and vessels are presented in the figures, which were compiled by C. Ramsoomair. 7.  These fragments were originally identified as “appliqués,” Class II-A/1c (Daviau 2002: 69), since the presence of hollow ceramic statues in central Jordan was not well known prior to the excavation of Wadi Thamad Survey Site WT-13 (Daviau 2006). 8.  While high-status items are not in themselves cultic equipment, their appearance in a setting with obvious cultic/ritual objects and few other high-status pots suggests that they were associated with the ritual actions carried out in the house.

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Fig. 5.  Objects and special vessels from Building 800: (1) TJ 1106; (2) V777; (3) V863; (4) C17/11.4; (5) C16/15.1; (6) A83/13.2; (7) V853; (8) V846; (9) V854; (10) V771; (11) V793; (12) V859; (13)V772; (14) V801; (15) V858; (16) TJ 1589; (17) V779.

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Table 7.  Objects and Small/Miniature Vessels from Building 800 1 female figurine (TJ 1106) 1 zoomorphic vessel (TJ 1286) 2 chalices 3 cups 1 perforated tripod cup 2 tripod cups unperforated (V846,V859) 6 lamps 1 small saucer 1 small krater 1 small cooking pot

1 small cup 1 small juglet 2 miniature juglets 1 miniature jug 4 small decanters 1 double lamp 1 tridacna dish 4 basalt bowls/trays 1 limestone libation table (TJ 1543)

there was a one-handled cup (a vessel form usually found in tombs) and a red-slipped bowl with black painted bands on the interior, an offset rim, and finger depressions, similar to Neo-Assyrian vessels (Daviau 2001a: fig. 4:1). A small ceramic capital in Proto-Aeolic style (Daviau 2002: fig. 2.43:1) had been attached either to a column of an architectural model or to the head of a figurine, comparable to an Ammonite hermaphrodite figurine from ʿAmman (Harding 1951: pl. XIV:43) that has a double ceramic capital on its head. Two other houses also yielded a number of miniature vessels and figurative objects (Table 5). Building 113 to the east of Building 102 was excavated only in part and consisted primarily of a storeroom with an adjoining kitchen (Daviau 2003: 151–59). More important are the rooms of Building 100, between Building 102 and the outer fortification wall on the south. Here the finds may have been associated with those in Building 113. Building 300.  The richest Stratum VIII assemblage of figurines and miniature vessels was recovered in Field E, Building 300 (fig. 4; Table 6). In this house, female figurines dominate, including one naked female figure molded onto a ceramic pillar (TJ 1375) and another female wearing a shawl and seated on a chair with the back painted in a black, red, and white net design (TJ 1119). An animal figurine decorated with knobs on his head (TJ 1249) is the most ornate of the zoomorphic figurines from the site. Small and miniature bowls imitating the larger domestic repertoire were covered with red slip, and one saucer was decorated with crossed black lines and white wash (Daviau 2001a: figs. 2:8–12; 3:11). Several miniature cooking pots were soot stained, evidence of use, although this is surprising, given their small size (one pot is the size of doll house furnishings; Daviau 2001a: fig. 3:7). Two very small kraters were smudged on the interior in the style of the much larger pots (Daviau 2001a: fig. 2:13). One-handled cups and black-burnished juglets, common in tombs in Transjordan, were also present, along with perforated tripod cups, one with a black-and-white net pattern on pendant petals (Daviau 2001a: fig. 1:6). The pattern of white wash and black painted strokes on the rim of another tripod cup is also seen on an unperforated cup from Building 800 (see below). Of special note are two vessels incised with a checkerboard design, a saucer with a yellow slip, and a juglet with a tall neck (Daviau 2001a: fig. 5:1, 2). While the function of the juglet is a mystery, the design on the saucer is large enough to be used in divination. Other vessel types that were few in number at Tall Jawa are the perforated strainer bowl with a

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Fig. 6.  Figurines and special vessels from Field C-east and Field D Buildings: (1) TJ 963; (2) TJ 1709; (3) TJ 2199; (4) C76/30.4; (5) V920; (6) C76/23.4; (7) V902; (8) V921; (9) C54/19.8; (10) C76/42.1; (11) V943; (12) TJ 1103; (13) D21/15.8; (14) D23/31.1; (15) V717; (16) D13/31.7; (17) D31/68.10.

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Table 8.  Buildings with 10 Objects or Fewer Building 700 (Stratum VII) 2 zoomorphic vessels (TJ 1103, 1900) 1 cup 1 miniature decanter 3 black slipped bowls 1 black ware lamp

Gate Building 905/910 2 female figurines (TJ 1709, 2199)

Building 900 (Stratum VII; Fig. 6) 1 rhyton/model fragment (TJ 963) 1 chalice 1 cup 2 lamps (one painted) 2 small carrot-shaped bottles 1 miniature jar 2 basalt bowls/trays

large × incised on the base (V491), a red-slipped and painted chalice, and a miniature pithos (Daviau 2001a: figs. 4:5; 2:1; 3:4). Building 800.  Among the Stratum VII structures (fig. 2), only Building 800 on the south-central side of the mound was fully exposed with its domestic assemblage in situ. In this corpus, figurines were few, although fragments of naked female figurines and zoomorphic vessels were present, along with small and miniature vessels, which were well represented (fig. 5; Table 7). There were three tripod cups, one perforated and two unperforated (Daviau 2001a: fig. 1:4, 5). Of note is the small uprightrim carinated bowl, an imitation of the much larger red-slipped and burnished bowls of this style that were present in both Stratum VIII and VII. With a similar surface treatment, we have two red-slipped and painted chalices. A small white-slipped cup appears, along with standard-size cups, miniature cooking pots, and juglets. A double lamp (for lack of a better term) is a unique find at Tall Jawa, with no exact parallels from contemporary sites. While it is clear that shells, such as the tridacna (TJ 1471), served as gifts at shrine sites, it is not certain that this was the case in the domestic context; at least, it is more difficult to distinguish personal luxury items from those reserved for ritual use. Only two lamps at the site were painted, and one (V779) of these comes from Building 800. As well, there was a number of high-status pots and objects in the western rooms of this house, such as a double lamp (V793), a slipped and painted chalice (V801), and a ceramic stopper (TJ 1589) painted with the same design as the redslipped and painted saucer from Building 300. In view of the number of undecorated lamps in B800, the painted lamp (V779) was probably part of this specialized cultic assemblage (Daviau 2001a: figs. 3:12; 2:3; 3:10; 5:5). Other Buildings.  The remaining Stratum VII houses at Tall Jawa (fig. 2; B700, B900) yielded many of the same types of objects and vessels, including very small bowls, cooking pots, one-handled cups, and juglets. Among the figurines, female and zoomorphic vessels continue to be represented. New in the corpus is a ceramic alabastron (small, carrot-shaped bottle), a painted lamp originally attached to another object, three miniature black-slipped and burnished bowls, a chalice with finger depressions or dimples, and a ram protome (TJ 963) possibly from an architectural model (fig. 6; Table 8). Only two female figurines were recovered from the gate complex, one (TJ 2199) from the early phase (Building 910) and one (TJ 1709) from the later phase (Building 905); the latter is in the style of the “woman at the window.”

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Based on these assemblages, two manifestations of religious activity can be identified, one centered on male figurines and the other on female figures, with zoomorphic figurines and ceramic vessels playing a role in both clusters. In addition, the remaining cultic equipment from houses in both periods appears to include comparable small and miniature vessel types consisting primarily of miniature bowls, cooking pots, and juglets, along with one-handled cups, chalices, and tripod cups. Speciality items, such as strainer bowls, vessels incised with a checkerboard, speciality lamps, ceramic statues, and architectural models may also have been used in ritual activities. The range of suggested cultic activities includes setting up a figurine or symbolic stone/baetyl, sprinkling or purification of the cultic area, and the use of aromatics in tripod cups, although this does not necessarily involve burning resinous incense, since most cups lack soot stains. 9 Other cultic rituals include making offerings in small or miniature vessels and probably the pouring of libations. Although the miniature cooking pots retain evidence of use, their tiny size makes it obvious that they were not used for cooking large amounts of food for a family. They are similar in size to the tiny pots from Late Bronze Age Temple Area H at Hazor (Yadin et al. 1961: pls. 274:10; 289:11). The bowls included among the “small” and “miniature” categories are somewhat larger and less standardized than the truly miniature votive vessels mass produced for one time use, such as those from the Orthostat Temple (Yadin et al. 1961: pl. 269:1–20) or those from Egypt in the collection of the Universität Leipzig Ägyptisches Museum (case 14, shelf 6) 10 and in the permanent collection at Wilfrid Laurier University (personal observation). This makes it clear that the carefully made vessels used for cultic purposes at Tall Jawa were designed for repeated use, although they were too small to be part of a corpus in use for a communal cultic meal. Thus these finds can best be interpreted as evidence of a cultic offering on the domestic level, whereas vessels necessary for a family ritual meal might be difficult to distinguish from those used by the family in their purely domestic activities. As a final clue to the types of cultic activity practiced in Building 800, one last element of the furnishings is worth mentioning. Limestone table TJ 1543 is unusual in the domestic setting (Daviau 2002: fig. 2.81.6). Found in an upper storey room, this large stone tray (42.5 × 47.0 cm) with a shallow upper depression can only be compared to libation tables known from temples in Cisjordan (Yadin et al. 1961: pl. 284:5–8) and to the small “lustration” slabs carved from a single stone and located in small houses at Tell el-Amarna (Spence 2007: 285, 291). 11 Spence considers these slabs to be a link between temple cult practices and domestic rituals where offerings could be made both to the ancestors and to gods and goddesses (2007: 291). 9.  For a comprehensive study of tripod cups, see Zwickel 1990, although his evidence leads him to suggest a somewhat different interpretation than mine (Daviau 2007). 10.  My thanks to Dr. Friederike Seyfried for kindly showing me this collection in the storeroom of the Ägyptisches Museum in Leipzig (April 17, 2009). 11.  At Amarna, the small slabs measured in the range of 0.6 × 0.6 m, while in House P47.2 the so-called lustration slab measured 1.5 × 2.7 m and was constructed of a number of flat stones cemented in place with lime mortar. This installation was surrounded by a “raised rim” (Spence 2007: 285).

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Fig. 7.  Plan of B400–B404 Complex in Field E.

In regard to the divinities worshiped at Tall Jawa, there is a great affinity between the iconography of the figurines from Tall Jawa and the statues found in the ʿAmman area, implying a common belief system. This is especially true in regard to the male head with the atef crown, which can be linked to the stone statues from ʿAmman (Abou Assaf 1980) and the small ceramic head found on the ʿAmman citadel (École biblique 1989: fig. 15). This applies as well to the female figurine from Building 905, which has facial features, hairdo, and earrings comparable to the four double heads from ʿAmman (Zayadine 1973: pls. 21–23; Dornemann 1983: figs. 83–84), which are themselves in the style of the “woman at the window,” known from the Samaria and Nimrud ivories (Pienaar 2008; Herrmann 2008: pl. H). Without the archaeological evidence of a temple building in Ammonite territory contemporary to Tall Jawa, it is not possible to determine the degree to which domestic religious behavior might mirror the official cult.

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Fig. 8.  Altars and figurines from B400– B404 Complex: (1) MT 2158; (2) MT 2673; (3) MT 2766; (4) MT 2174; (5) MT 1950; (6) MT 1909; (7) MT 1936.

Fig. 9.  Plan of B330–B309 Complex.

Domestic/Industrial Cult in Late Iron Age Moab When we turn to Moab, there are two temple buildings known from recent excavations: Temple 149 at Khirbat al-Mudayna on the Wadi ath-Thamad (Daviau and Steiner 2000) and the temple at ʿAtarus. Khirbat al-Mudayna, located in northern Moab, had its principal phases of occupation during the Iron Age II, when it was fortified with a casemate wall system and a six-chambered gate (North Gate 100; Chadwick et al. 2000). Ten seasons of excavation have revealed evidence of cultic rituals in the domestic and industrial buildings that can be related to those carried out in the temple. An initial study of the material remains related to these activities

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Fig. 10.  Altars and figurines from B300–B309 complex: (1) MT 2817; (2) MT 2622; (3) MT 2402; (4) MT 2191; (5) MT 2663.

centered on certain objects that have obvious cultic associations, such as the male, female, and zoomorphic figurines. A second important class consists of stone altars recovered in both the temple and in other locations throughout the site (Daviau 2007). An investigation of the contexts of these finds shows that there was a serious disconnect between the objects and their setting. While limestone altars in a temple are to be expected, similar altars in the domestic setting are not the typical religious furnishing. B400–404 Complex.  The domestic structures, such as Buildings 400 and B404 at the south end of the town (fig. 7), yielded a number of male and female figurines in ceramic and stone along with one miniature altar, one stepped cuboid altar, and one cylindrical altar (fig. 8). The small anthropomorphic stone figurines from this building were stylized, with the exception of a small number of pillar-figurine bases and fragments of zoomorphic figurines. The most unusual figure is a limestone bust, possibly used as a support or element in a balustrade. B300–306 Complex.  Figurines were also present in partially excavated houses (fig. 9) located across the central roadway (S220) from a large industrial complex (see below). In each building, the number of anthropomorphic figurines was comparable to the finds from the temple area. Greater in number are the fragments of zoomorphic figurines, of which there are more than 125 broken horse figures from the houses and the central roadway. Here, too, there were three altars: one miniature and two cylindrical altars (fig. 10). In view of the presence of both anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines at Tall Jawa, one might expect to find at Khirbat al-Mudayna an assemblage of small or

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Fig. 11.  Plan of Building 210, one of the industrial buildings in Complex B200–B210.

miniature vessels to be used in association with these figurines and altars, but this appears to be lacking in the final occupation phase. Slightly earlier pottery discarded in the silos in front of the six-chambered gate does include a number of chalices and miniature bowls, but other than these examples, there are no other recognizable vessels that could be directly linked to cultic rituals inside the town. 12 B200–B210 Complex.  South of Temple 149 (Dion and Daviau 2000; Daviau and Steiner 2000) was a series of three pillared industrial buildings, all sharing party walls and used for textile production (fig. 11; Daviau et al. 2006, 2008). In these structures, figurines of females and horses are few, while the dominant cultic material consists of limestone altars (fig. 12). Among these are miniature altars in various shapes, as well as cuboid altars and shaft altars of different styles. The context for these altars was primarily the upper storey of the industrial buildings and the street immediately outside (fig. 13), amidst the collapsed wall stones. 13 Each season of excavation has brought more of these altars to light and, apart from the painted shaft altar (MT 390-4/11) from the temple, which was obviously a libation altar (Daviau and Steiner 2000: figs. 8, 9), the altars were designed to burn organic material. This equipment suggests cultic behavior that can be compared favorably with the finds from Tel Miqne–Ekron, where shaft and cuboid altars were found in association with the 12.  Two miniature altars (MT 623, MT 649; fig. 14:2, 3 here) were located in a domestic structure (B130) under Temple 149. Only one altar (MT 265; fig. 14:1 here) was recovered in the upperstorey collapse of Room 153 in the western half of Gate 100. 13.  There are now 25 examples in different styles and sizes from the site as a whole. In an initial study of 16 altars (Daviau 2007), I related the shaft, cuboid, and block altars to Gitin’s typology (1989). The most complete description of the temple altars from the Khirbat al-Mudayna temple remains that of Daviau and Steiner (2000)

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Fig. 12.  Altars and figurines from Industrial Complex 200–210: (1) MT 1591; (2) MT 1728; (3) MT 2599; (4) MT 2752; (5) MT 2358; (6) MT 2424; (7) MT 2327; (8) MT 1986; (9) MT 684; (10) 2523; (11) MT 1543; (12) MT 2333.

numerous olive-pressing buildings of the late Iron Age II period (Gitin 1989; 2002). Of importance for the interpretation of the Khirbat al-Mudayna altars is the note by Gitin that the olive-pressing buildings at Tel Miqne–Ekron were used for weaving during the eight months of the year when oil-pressing was not going on (Gitin 1990: 38). Identifying these stone objects as altars implies that they served a cultic function rather than a purely industrial one, such as fumigation (Gitin 1990: 40; 1992). It is possible that they served both functions, although it would have been more useful in that case for the Khirbat al-Mudayna altars to have been on the ground floor, since the entrances to the industrial buildings were below street level in their final-use phase. Instead, the pattern of collapse indicates that the altars were on the upper storey, where ventilation was probably better, or even on the roof itself.

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Fig. 13.  Altars and figurines from the Eastern Street (S220): (1) MT 1745; (2) MT 1889; (3) MT 1982; (4) MT 1837; (5) MT 1884; (6) MT 1839; (7) MT 1333.

All organic evidence recovered with the stone altars suggests that plant material was burned. Only the candelabrum style altar from Temple 149, inscribed with the word “incense altar” (Dion and Daviau 2000), may have been used to burn more expensive aromatics. However, this term may refer to the same plant material recovered in situ in two altars, one from a kitchen (B140; fig. 14:4) and the other from the pillared building. These altars each have a large depression to contain the organic material. The deity to whom these offerings were made remains unknown, even though two female figures have Hathor style curls: one figurine from Street 220 outside B300–306 complex (fig. 13:5) and a protome on a jug neck from B306 (fig. 10:3). While Phoenicio-Egyptian influence is seen in the iconography of both Ammon and Moab, it is probably local deities who are depicted in Egyptian style. Furthermore, in spite of this rich assemblage, the full range of cultic behaviors carried out in these buildings cannot yet be assessed. To date, our interpretation of ritual behavior is not supported by the ceramic corpus, which consists primarily of utilitarian vessels, especially kraters, jugs, storejars, and pithoi. Further study of the ceramic corpus may yield additional information that will help to explain the rituals practiced at Mudayna in the late Iron Age II, since there are vessels that are clearly high status, including ca. 30 globular juglets, 14 some painted Black-on-Red, a number of conical (decanter style) juglets that are imitations of the Kition Black-on-Red juglets of the same shape (Karageorghis 1976: pl. XVIII), 14.  The small globular juglets are often identified as “Cypro-Phoenician,” although P. M. Bikai does not find this terminology useful (personal communication, 2009). For the most part, the juglets from Mudayna and a few red-slipped bowls were made of a distinctive compact clay fabric not represented in other local wares. One juglet has black bands and concentric circles filled with red paint.

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Fig. 14  Altars from Gate 100, Building 130 (under Temple 149) and Building 140: (1) MT 265; (2) MT 623; (3) MT 649; (4) MT 647.

painted decanters, and a Neo-Assyrian pointed bottle. The only vessels that link the Khirbat al-Mudayna corpus to that of Tall Jawa are the pointed bottles and the onehandled cups, which appear in both standard and small sizes. Although the painted carrot-shaped bottles from these two sites are not in the same size range, they are clear indicators of a 7th-century date. One caveat pertains to anomalous objects found in the archaeological record for which we do not have an unambiguous identification, such as the four possible “cult stands” recovered in the House of the Bullae in the City of David (Shiloh 1984: pl. 43.2; Daviau 2007: n. 11). Prag (1987: 122; fig. 1c) has suggested that these rectangular stones are units in an ornate balustrade. Although not identical to the better known proto-Aeolic balustrades from Ramat Rahel (King and Stager 2001: ill. 99), these supports may have had palmette attachments and served a similar architectural function. Nine such objects have been recovered in the pillared buildings at Khirbat al-Mudayna, but we have not included them in our cultic assemblage at this time, since they were most often located in association with loom weights and the wood of the loom. In summary, when we put the cultic materials at Khirbat al-Mudayna back into their respective contexts we have three settings: • Anthropomorphic figurines (both male and female) are associated with cooking installations and domestic equipment; • Zoopomorphic figurines are present predominantly in the industrial building complex and in the central street but also appear in a few of the houses; • The limestone altars are present predominantly in the industrial building complex and in the central street, with a smaller number present in houses. This distribution of male and female figurines at Khirbat al-Mudayna may say something about their importance to the household, while the female figurines found in Temple 149 may indicate their greater importance to the community as a whole. On the other hand, the horse figurines and altars seem to be concentrated in the textile-

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production buildings and related to the success of this industry, which appears to have been the raison d’être of the site in the Neo-Assyrian period.

The Cult at Khirbat al-Mudayna When we look at the cultic actions represented at Mudayna, the dominant ritual is the burning of aromatic plants and the use of figurines, either as votives or as symbols of the presence of the divine. While there is a degree of similarity between the domestic and industrial cult practiced at Khirbat al-Mudayna and the activities carried out in the town’s temple, there is less affinity between Mudayna and Shrine Site WT-13, located only 3.0 km to the west. This small site had a rich cultic assemblage indicative of a number of practices, including food consumption and the offering of votive gifts. Among the few links between the two sites that have been noted is the presence of both female and male figurines, including female pillar-figurines playing a drum, although at Mudayna this type is rare (only one drum with an attached hand has been recovered; MT 2320). More obvious are the differences: WT-13 has more than 30 tripod cups, 17 ceramic statues, fragments of several architectural models, faience amulets, model furniture, exotic shells, coral, and fossils, jewelry, and miniature ceramic vessels—all with negligible representation at Khirbat al-Mudayna. On the other hand, there were no altars at WT-13 and zoomorphic figurines are represented by only one fragment. On the basis of these data, there is minimal affinity in this region of northern Moab between the cult practices carried out at the wayside shrine (WT-13) and the domestic and industrial rituals practiced in the small walled town of Khirbat al-Mudayna (Thamad), in spite of their proximity.

Conclusions This short study has shown that there is great value in careful assessment of artefact assemblages in order to determine the dominant activities carried out in the domestic and industrial space and items that appear anomalous. When seen together, the anomalous objects indicate other aspects of family life and belief above and beyond those related to daily necessities. The differences observed between the cultic activities at Tall Jawa and those at Khirbat al-Mudayna may point to a greater variety in religious observance than could be suspected based exclusively on finds from temple contexts. This is especially true for Transjordan at this stage in its excavation history, since the number of temples is limited. Thus, the material evidence for family religion provides a starting point for determining the extent of divergent religious beliefs and practices among the Ammonites, Moabites, and other ethnic groups in central Jordan.

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References Abou Assaf, A. 1980 Untersuchengen zur ammonitischen Rundbildkunst. Ugarit-Forschungen 12: 7–102. Albright, W. F. 1943 The Excavation of Tell Beit Mirsim, Vol. III: The Iron Age. Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 21–22. New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research. Chadwick, R.; Daviau, P. M. M.; and Steiner, M. 2000 Four Seasons of Excavations at Khirbat al-Mudayna on the Wadi ath-Thamad, 1996– 1999. Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 44: 257–70. Dalman, G. 1928–42  Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina. 8 vols. Schriften des Deutschen Palästina-Instituts. Gütersloh: C. Bertelsmann. Daviau, P. M. M. 1993 Houses and Their Furnishings in Bronze Age Palestine: Domestic Activity Areas and Artifact Distribution in the Middle and Late Bronze Ages. JSOT/ASOR Monograph 8. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 2001 Family Religion: Archaeological Evidence for the Paraphernalia of the Domestic Cult. Pp. 199–229 in The World of the Aramaeans, Volume II: Studies in History and Archaeology in Honour of Paul-Eugène Dion, ed. P. M. M. Daviau, J. W. Wevers, and M. Weigl. JSOT Supplement 325. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 2002 Excavations at Tall Jawa, Jordan, II: The Iron Age Artefacts. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 11/2. Leiden: Brill. 2003 Excavations at Tall Jawa, Jordan. Volume I: The Iron Age Town. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 11/1. Leiden: Brill. 2006 Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine in its Landscape. Iron Age Towns, Forts, and Shrines. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 122: 14–30, pls. 4–9. 2007 Altars Large and Small: The Iron Age Altars from Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine ( Jordan). Pp. 125– 49, pl. XXI in Bilder als Quellen/Images as Sources: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern artefacts and the Bible inspired by the work of Othmar Keel, ed. S. Bickel et al. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Special volume. Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. 2010 Excavations at Tall Jawa, Jordan, Volume IV: The Early Islamic House. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 11/4. Leiden: Brill. Daviau, P. M. M., et al. 2006 Excavation and Survey at Khirbat al-Mudayna and its Surroundings: Preliminary Report of the 2001, 2004 and 2005 Seasons, with R. Chadwick, M. Steiner, et al. Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 50: 249–83. 2008 Preliminary Report of Excavations and Survey at Khirbat al-Mudayna ath-Thamad and in its Surroundings (2004, 2006 and 2007). Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 52: 343–74. Daviau, P. M. M., and Dion, P. E. 1994 El, the God of the Ammonites? The Atef-crowned Head from Tell Jawa, Jordan. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 110: 28–34, pls. 1–3. Daviau, P. M. M., and Steiner, M. L. 2000 A Moabite Sanctuary at Khirbat al-Mudayna. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 320: 1–21. Dion, P.-E., and P. M. M. Daviau 2000 An Inscribed Incense Altar of Iron Age II at Ḥirbet el-Mudēyine ( Jordan). Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 116: 1–13, pls. I–II. Dornemann, R. H. 1983 The Archaeology of the Transjordan in the Bronze and Iron Ages. Milwaukee: Milwaukee Public Museum.

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École Biblique 1989 L’École Biblique et archéologique Française de Jérusalem 1890–1990. Jerusalem: L’École Biblique et archéologique Française de Jérusalem. Elliott, C. 1991 The Ground Stone Industry. Pp. 9–97 in Arts et industries de la pierre, ed. M. Yon. Ras Shamra-Ougarit VI. Lyons: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Gitin, S. 1987 Tel Miqne–Ekron in the 7th Century bc. City Plan Development and the Oil Industry. Pp. 81–97, figs. 1–14 in Olive Oil in Antiquity, ed. M. Heltzer and E. Eitam. 1987 Conference, Haifa. Haifa: University of Haifa, Israel Oil Industry Museum, Dagon Museum. 1989 Incense Altars from Ekron, Israel and Judah: Context and Typology. Eretz-Israel (Yigael Yadin Memorial Volume) 20: 52*–67*. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 1990 Ekron of the Philistines. Biblical Archaeology Review 16/1: 20–26. 1992 New Incense Altars from Ekron: Typology, Context and Function. Eretz-Israel (Avraham Biran Volume) 23: 43*–49*. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 2002 The Four-Horned Altar and Sacred Space: An Archaeological Perspective. Pp. 95–123 in B. Gittlen (ed.), Sacred Time, Sacred Space. Archaeology and the Religion of Israel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Harding, G. L. 1951 Two Iron-Age Tombs in Amman. Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 1:37–40, pl. XIV. Hermann, G., and S. Laidlaw 2008 Ivories from the North West Palace (1845–1992). Ivories from Nimrud VI. London: British Institute for the Study of Iraq. King, P. J., and L. E. Stager 2001 Life in Biblical Israel. Library of Ancient Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Levy, T. E., ed. 2006 Archaeology, Anthropology and Cult: The Sanctuary at Gilat, Israel. London: Equinox. MacDonald, B. 1999 Ammonite Territory and Sites. Pp. 30–56 in Ancient Ammon, ed. B. MacDonald and R. W. Younker. Leiden: Brill. Pienaar, D. N. 2008 Symbolism in the Samaria Ivories and Architecture. Acta Theologica 28/2: 48–68. Prag, K. 1987 Decorative Architecture in Ammon, Moab and Judah. Levant 19: 121–27. Renfrew, C. 1985 The Archaeology of Cult: The Sanctuary at Phylakopi. London: The British School of Archaeology at Athens/Thames and Hudson. Routledge, B. 2004 Moab in the Iron Age. Hegemony, Polity, Archaeology. Archaeology, Culture, and Society. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Schliemann, H. 1881 Ilios the City and Country of the Trojans. Reprinted, New York: Arno, 1976. Shiloh, Y. 1984 Excavations at the City of David I, 1978–1982. Qedem 19. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Spence, K. 2007 A contextual Approach to Ancient Egyptian Domestic Cult: The Case of the ‘Lustration Slabs’ at el-Amarna. Pp. 285–92 in Cult in Context. Reconsidering Ritual in Archaeology, ed. D. A. Barrowclough and C. Malone. Oxford: Oxbow.

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Watson, P. J. 1979 Archaeological Ethnography in Western Iran. Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology, 57. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press. Yadin, Y., et al. 1961 Hazor III–IV: An Account of the Third Season of Excavations, 1958. Jerusalem: Magnes Press/Hebrew University. Zayadine, F. 1973 Recent Excavations on the Citadel of Amman. Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 18: 17–35. Zevit, Z. 2001 The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. London/New York: Continuum. Zwickel, W. 1990 Räucherkult und Räuchergeräte: Exegetische und archäologische Studien zum Räucheropfer im Alten Testament. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 97. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

The Judean “Pillar-Base Figurines” Mothers or “Mother-Goddesses”? William G. Dever University of Arizona

Introduction In 1984, I published an article entitled “Asherah, Consort of Yahweh? New Evidence from Kuntillet ʿAjrûd” (Dever 1984). There I attempted to document the existence of a “cult of Asherah” in ancient Israel, using both the recent archaeological and textual data, and building upon my 1970 publication of the 8th century b.c.e. Kh. el-Qôm “Asherah” inscription (Dever 1969/1970). In the 25 years since then, there has developed a virtual “cottage-industry” of Asherah studies, the first major work being that of our colleague, Saul Olyan, who in 1988 published Asherah and the Cult of Yahweh in Israel (Olyan 1988). Although he disagreed with my then-controversial proposal to read the word ʾA/ašērāh in the el-Qôm and ʿAjrûd inscriptions as referring to the goddess herself, Olyan concluded that Asherah was an acceptable and legitimate part of Yahweh’s cult in non-deuteronomistic circles. The association of the asherah and the cult of Yahweh suggests in turn that Asherah was the consort of Yahweh in circles both in the north and the south. (1988: 33)

The Cult of Asherah The most significant studies of Asherah specifically among the gods and goddesses of Canaan and Israel since then would include, at minimum, Day (2000); Ackerman (1992; 2003); Dietrich and Loretz (1992); Keel and Uehlinger (1992); Frevel (1995); Binger (1997); van der Toorn (1997; 2003); Hadley (2000); Smith (2000); Wiggins (2001); Zevit (2001); Becking, Dijkstra, and Vriezen (2001); Nakhai (2001); and Cornelius (2004). 1 I would be remiss not to mention also the third edition of Raphael Patai’s prescient work, The Hebrew Goddess (1990). 2 1.  In addition to these references, see works cited in the discussions of Dever 2001: 176–251; Kletter 2001; add now Wiggins 2001. 2.  The first edition of The Hebrew Goddess appeared astonishingly in 1967, but it was almost universally dismissed. I knew Patai, a non-specialist, personally in his last years, and I found him to be a charming Old World polymath—years ahead of his time.

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In 2005, I summarized the gradual acceptance of the notion of a cult of Asherah in my semi-popular book Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel (Dever 2005). Once again, my point of departure was primarily the burgeoning body of archaeological data. Among the artifacts I adduced were the well-known Iron Age female “fertility figurines,” which I regarded as cult symbols—that is, as images somehow connected with the goddess Asherah (Dever 2005: 176–95). Other scholars, however, have considered these figurines either (1) merely as talismans, used in magical rites; or (2) as votives, in effect, replicas of human figures serving as “stand-ins” in the presence of a deity. There the matter remains.

The “Fertility” Figurines Generally The standard reference for one group of figurines, the so-called “Judean Pillarbase” figurines of the 8th–6th centuries b.c.e.—the only ones I shall consider here— is Raz Kletter’s masterful 1996 corpus, The Judean Pillar Figurines and the Archaeology of Asherah (Kletter 1996). 3 Kletter catalogues 854 of these distinctive late Judean female figurines out of a total of as many as 2,000 known figurines of all types. 4 Here I specifically exclude two other sub-types: (1) the 10th–6th centuries b.c.e. figurines showing a female holding a decorated disc at her left breast, possibly a sundisc, a frame-drum, or, as I prefer, a mold-made bread cake. The latter interpretation invokes, of course, Jer 7:18: “The children gather wood, the fathers kindle fire, and the woman knead dough to make cakes for the Queen of Heaven.” If this connection could be made, then these distinctive terra cotta figurines with the disc would represent Astarte (the usual identification of the reference in the biblical text, or perhaps Asherah). 5 (2) The other sub-type to be excluded here is the 8th–7th century b.c.e. terra cotta depicting a figure also holding a circular object, but in this case in her two outstretched arms. This circular object has been interpreted as an offering bowl, a sun-disc, or more often as a frame-drum (not a “tambourine,” which is not played this way, as the eminent Israeli folk-musicologist Yoachim Braun has shown). 6 In any case, these figurines indeed appear to represent humans, not deities. Carol Meyers long ago pointed this out (1991), and I concur. All 100 or so of these latter figurines, however, are Phoenician, many from coastal sites like Achziv or Shiqmona, not Israelite–Judean, as Sarit Paz shows in her recent work Drums, Women, and Goddesses: Druming and Gender in Iron Age II Israel (2007). Paz concludes that the women playing a frame-drum represent priestesses, cult musi3.  See conveniently Kletter’s 2001 summary (although written before the appearance of the corpus in 1996). 4.  Kletter has disputed my estimate of as many as 3,000 female figurines (Dever 2005: 180). But I was depending on Holland’s 1977 count of 2,711 of all types (Holland 1975), plus hundreds that have come to light since then. Cf. Kletter 2001: 181, on at least 500 more Judean pillar-base figurines published since 1975—plus many more unpublished examples from Jerusalem excavations. My estimate of 3,000 is no doubt on the low side. 5.  See the discussion in Ackerman 1992. For an actual mold from Mesopotamia, see Schroer 1987: 99 (Mari). My preference for Asherah as the deity is based largely on the preference for that name in the Hebrew Bible over Astarte, which is exceedingly rare. 6. See Braun 2002: 118:25. My student Theodore Burgh, a gifted musician, has also studied these figurines, and he still favors the “frame-drum” explanation; see Burgh 2006: 3–35.

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cians, or ritual mourners, although even so there may have been overtones of “fertility” motifs in all the related practices. But Paz declines to identify any particular goddess as the cult-figure in question. 7 The pillar-base and other Israelite-Judean figurines have recently been restudied in larger context in the late P. R. S. Moorey’s magisterial Schweich Lectures, Idols of the People: Miniature Images of Clay in the Ancient Near East (2003; not yet available to me when I wrote Did God Have a Wife?). For Moorey, the Iron Age figurines continue the legacy of the well-known Late Bronze Age plaque figurines, which he surprisingly says were not representations of female deities but rather procreative talismans associated with female domestic piety. Thus, Moorey specifically denies that our Judean pillar-base figurines represent any deity. 8 They are “votives”—that is, human supplicants. Moorey thinks that their “meaning” can be determined only by their “larger social context,” not on the basis of any individual traits of the objects themselves. Thus, he places the figurines initially within the context of other artifacts. Given the admitted difficulty of so-defining “social context,” Moorey’s overall conclusion is not surprising but somewhat disappointing. He concludes that If the full range of male and female images, of animals and birds, and of furniture are taken together, they epitomize the primary pre-occupations of the common people whether acting individually or corporately: the continuity of the family (past, present and future) and of the household in all its aspects. Which supernatural powers were particularly solicited through these images is not selfevident and not yet elucidated beyond reasonable doubt by any written evidence directly associated with them. (Moorey 2003: 65)

Part of Moorey’s hesitation is due to his assumption that, if the female figurines represent a female deity, then we should have male figurines that represent a male deity. Moorey does indeed attempt to interpret the familiar Judean “horse-and-rider” figurines as images of male deities; but this is unpersuasive (although see Taylor 1993). Most authorities agree that we have few if any Israelite-Judean male figurines. And this may not be surprising if the Second Commandment were adhered to even nominally. Finally, as for Moorey’s notion of “continuity of the family” as the object of religious practices, read simply “fertility.” 9 If women did not safely conceive, bear and nurse several children; if the farm animals did not reproduce and multiply; if the fields did not yield abundant harvests, the gods were angry. As a consequence, the 7.  One might suggest the Phoenician Iron Age reflex of Canaanite Asherah, Elat (or possibly Baʿalat). A further indication that the Phoenician figurines represent mortal women is the fact that an alternate type portrays a very pregnant female, whereas deities are almost never to my knowledge so portrayed. 8. Against Moorey’s idiosyncratic position one could cite almost any standard work, such as Cornelius 2004 (and references there). The only Late Bronze Age Canaanite plaques that represent humans show a reclining figure on a bier, the well-known “mourning plaques”; cf. Tadmor 1982. 9.  In recent years, there has been an understandable reaction against the previous generation’s notion of an all-encompassing ancient “fertility” or “Goddess cult.” The “Myth and Ritual” school, for example, resulted from a perverse fascination with imagined “sacred marriage and exotic sexual rites, plus a misreading of ritual texts such as those from Ugarit.” See, for example. Dever 2005: 33, 34; 306–8; Kletter 2001: 197, 198 and references there. Nevertheless, “fertility” in its more realistic sense of survival was obviously a fundamental concern of all pre-modern religions.

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family and its heritage would be wiped out. That is what folk (and “official”) religion is all about—not correct theology. 10 And if “fertility” was indeed the preoccupation of the masses, then why not with reference to Asherah, the preeminent Iron Age “Mother Goddess”? This, of course, was the implication of Albright’s original term for the figurines long ago: dea nutrix. A further word about Moorey’s “context.” However desirable it may be to observe context, with the figurines we are lacking in evidence for both dimensions of context: (1) the material and (2) the social. (1) In trying to reconstruct any material context, we must face the fact that our figurines and fragments are found everywhere, as Kletter has shown: in houses; courtyards and streets; storehouses; pits and refuse heaps; wells and cisterns; tombs; and open areas (Kletter 2001: 194). Nearly all these are domestic loci. Surprisingly, no more than a handful of figurines (less than 1%) come from clear cultic contexts—that is, shrines or temples (a fact that will soon become relevant). There are none, for instance, at the Beersheva or ʿAjrûd shrines. 11 (2) The larger social context is even more difficult to reconstruct, as archaeologists know all too well. For this we would need not only adequate representative assemblages of artifacts of every type but also (many would argue) textual evidence that might augment and illuminate the material culture data. Relevant Iron Age texts, however, are found thus far principally in the Hebrew Bible. Yet the canonical literature is now seen to be largely elitist, especially in its portrait of religion. It purposely neglects “folk religion,” except to condemn it, while at the same time rarely characterizing it in any detail (as I have documented in my Did God Have a Wife?). As for the female figurines themselves, we now have some 2,000 of them (according to Holland’s tally; and add now those of the Shiloh excavations from Jerusalem). 12 They must have been familiar items in every Iron Age household. Yet the Hebrew Bible does not mention them by name even once. There are several Hebrew terms for various kinds of “images,” such as tĕrāpîm, gillūlîm, pesel, massēkāh, semel, and the like. But none, in my judgment, can be directly connected with any of our Iron Age terra cotta figurines (Dever 2005: 181–86). The “silence of the text,” like the obliviousness of the biblical writers, may turn out to be significant.

Developing a Method I admire Moorey’s erudition and elegant arguments; but I think that we can say more about the figurines. And I would add that the task is one more for biblicists, historians of religion, and archaeologists than for art historians working in isolation. Yet, to say more, we must develop a specific method that goes beyond intuition or aesthetic appreciation—that is, beyond the typical art-historical approach—and especially a method that transcends typological comparisons. The limitations of art history are seen, for example, in the late Pirhiya Beck’s study of the figurines in the Moorey Festschrift (Beck 2003). She is content with 10.  See further Dever 2005: 59–62. 11. See Kletter 2001: 194. He obviously assumes that the dozens of female figurines (including Judean pillar-base figurines) found by Kenyon in Cave I in Jerusalem were not in situ but rather deposited in a favissa. If they could be related to an original cult site, it would change our statistics significantly. But would this automatically make most examples “votives”? I do not think so. 12.  See n. 4 above.

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merely describing and classifying them, without offering any explanation of their function or meaning (Beck 2003). We archaeologists may be “poorly equipped to be paleo-psychologists,” as the American New World archaeologist Lewis Binford warned. But we must try or else reconcile ourselves to becoming mere antiquarians. One approach might be to take seriously Ian Hodder’s notion of “reading” artifacts like texts—his “context” as “con-text,” with text. This epistemological model was first set forth in Hodder’s work Reading the Past: Current Interpretation in Archaeology (1986). I have built upon this to suggest that there are in fact parallel interpretive “schools” in both the disciplines of biblical and archaeological studies, opening up new possibilities for true dialogue (Dever 1997). But what hermeneutical rules would apply in attempting to “read” our pillar-base figurines, for instance? I can only suggest here that the old theological principle of “the plain meaning of the text” may have to suffice—that is, common sense, comprised principally of (1) arguments based on analogy and (2) practical experience. (1) As for analogy, almost all archaeological reasoning does in fact depend upon it—that is, we attempt to explain the unknown on the basis of the known or extrapolate the function and meaning of artifacts from what we happen to have. (2) And in addressing specifically religious phenomena, all of us invariably fall back on some sort of universal, timeless sense of the numinous, however inchoate, assuming that the human species is preadapted for religious beliefs and rites. These general heuristic considerations may not appear to constitute much of a rigorous “method.” Yet I would argue that they do allow us at least to take an analytical, if not “scientific,” approach. Thus I want now to develop some of what I take to be rational arguments for and against the proposition that the Judean pillarbase figurines represent deities, not humans (“votives”). (To his credit, Kletter [2001] has attempted something of the same systematic approach; and here I draw on some of his data.)

Arguments for the Pillar-base Figurines as Votives By “votive” I shall mean here an object that serves as an ex voto, an offering to a deity that represents the individual worshiper’s vows, prayers, or veneration in general. The votive is, in effect, a “stand-in” for the worshiper in his/her absence, like a lighted candle in a church. In the following, I shall ignore the occasional notion that the figurines are “toys,” which as Kletter points out (2001: 195, 96) is absurd. Equally absurd is Byrne’s notion that the pillar-base figurines are state-produced, like the Judean royal stamped jar handles, to stimulate the birth rate in the face of the Assyrian crisis (2004). The major “minimalist” arguments can be summarized as follows. 1. The figurines exhibit no specifically divine iconography, as the Late Bronze Age “Astarte” plaque figurines do, depicting only the female breasts. 2. The closely related local Phoenician figurines with drums are human—that is, votives. 3. The Iron Age parallels elsewhere for such figurines are clearly votives, particularly in Cyprus, where they appear with distinct individual human features and in large numbers in shrines (Connelly 1989). 4. There are no comparable Iron Age male images of deities in Israel or Judah.

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5. In ancient Israel, there would have been a reluctance to reify or “personalize” the goddess Asherah. The ʾAshērāh was only a “hypostasis” of Yahweh’s supposedly female attributes (McCarter 1987). That is to say, the official cult would have prohibited such “idols.” 6. If the figurines were representations of a goddess, the lower body, especially the pubic triangle, would have been prominently featured, as on the Late Bronze Age “Astarte” plaques. Yet there are obvious objections to all these arguments. (1) The prominence of the female breasts, often larger-than-life, is surely an emphasis on “fertility” (below). (2)  The fact that the Phoenician figurines are votives (above), even if proven, is irrelevant. (3)  The same is true of parallels from far-off Cyprus (Connelly 1989). (4)  We have already explained why male figurines are not “parallels” and would not be expected in ancient Israel. (5) The final argument—that orthodoxy” would have prohibited actual images of Asherah in ancient Israel—has been exploded by our new understanding of the “folk religions” that prevailed until the end of the Monarchy, now a nearly universal consensus that requires no documentation. As for (6), I have argued elsewhere that the Iron Age images of Astarte/Asherah are more typically modest. The Canaanite Goddess is “the courtesan of the gods,” while the more chaste Israelite version of her is as “the patroness of mothers” (Dever 2005: 187, 88). This may be why the figurines model only the female breasts, not, as might be expected, the genitalia.

Arguments for the Pillar-base Figurines as Images of Asherah By “image,” I shall mean here simply a figural representation of a deity, not a full anthropomorphic model. Some have maintained that the figurines (like the biblical ʾāshērah as a tree-like object) are “only” symbols. But the symbol would have had no meaning if it did not invoke the reality and power of the Goddess herself. The major arguments can be summarized as follows. 1. The antecedent Late Bronze Age figurines, whether terra cotta or metal, are clearly images of deities, both male and female (Moorey’s denial of this is extraordinary). This remains true even if some were used practically as votives, as at Byblos, Ugarit, and elsewhere. 2. The pillar-base figurines are mostly mass-produced, especially the ones with nearly identical mold-made heads (the “pinched-nose” varieties are simply poorer, vernacular examples). A few dozen molds would account for all the examples of heads we have, as Kletter has shown (2001: 189, 90). And in the 10th century b.c.e. Taʿanach shrine, we actually have a mold for an entire figurine (although of the disc-type). 13 In short, the nearly absent identity of the figurines in our corpus militates against the notion that they represent individual humans. They are “generic” and embody a universal ideal.

13.  On the Taʿanakh mold, see Beck 2002 and references there. Note, however, that only the mold was found at the Taʿanakh shrine. There were no actual figurines, suggesting to me that these were mass-produced and sold at the shrine but used elsewhere. The absence of the figurines at Taʿanakh fits with that elsewhere; see above and n. 11.

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3. It may be argued that the figurines, lacking the usual iconographic motifs associated with deities (serpents, lions, birds, trees, astral symbols, etc.) must represent humans. 14 But I very much doubt that ancient Israelite and Judean women would have portrayed themselves entirely nude, as are the figurines. To be sure, the breasts pose no problem, since nursing a child carried none of the lascivious connotations of the modern Western world view of “sex as sport.” But the figurines are entirely nude, although it is true that the genitalia are not modeled in flagrante (as on some of the Late Bronze plaques). I dismiss, of course, the possibility that the cone-shaped lower torso represents a long dress or a “tree-trunk” (although the tree would be an Asherah-symbol). 4. I have already interpreted the singular (and sometimes striking) emphasis on female breasts as a “fertility” motif—the nearly timeless, universal, atavistic symbol of nourishment, of “plenty” (Kletter’s term; 2001: 205). These are then the female version of Yahweh’s “breasts and womb” that bring blessings—that is, the fecundity of Nature and the human family, powerful visual and psychological symbols. 5. The pillar-base figurines do lack “labels” (as do almost all figurines, except perhaps the one on the famous Winchester plaque). 15 Yet we have almost identical bare-breasted female figures on the 10th century b.c.e. Taʿanach offering stand, where the lions she is grasping by the ears identify her as the well-known “Lion Lady”—that is, Asherah. And more recently, other Iron Age offering stands with female figures and Asherah imagery have come to light at 10th–8th century Rehov, in the Jordan Valley (Mazar 2008). Finally, the naoi, some of them clearly Israelite, exhibit iconographic symbols connected with Asherah, such as trees, doves, and lions (Dever 2008). So we do have some “labels” for the old generic “Mother Goddess.” In the Iron Age, she is clearly now known as Asherah. 16 6. Context, all-important, may not be as specific as we would like, but the overwhelmingly domestic context of the figurines argues that they were typically used not in temples (as we know in fact) but rather in household shrines, “the deities of hearth and home.” Votive-offerings, or “stand-ins,” make little sense in such domestic contexts; the worshipers were continually present themselves. 7. Finally, the view of a previous generation that Asherah images and cults were effectively prohibited by the deuteronomistic establishment in ancient Israel finds no supporters today. The insistent prohibition of “idolatrous” cults by prophets and reformers—in the very period when the pillar-base figurines were most common—in itself proves their widespread popularity. I am well aware that scholarly controversies are not settled by a vote. Yet, it is significant that virtually all current biblical scholars, as well as archaeologists who have expressed an opinion, concur that the pillar-base figurines do represent the goddess 14.  Yet only Franken and Steiner (1990) and Cornelius (2003) seem adamant in that view. See further below. 15. There the naked goddess, wearing a Hathor wig, riding her typical lion, and grasping a serpent and a lotus blossom, is called “Qudshu” (“Holy One,” or Asherah); ʿAnat; and Astarte. See conveniently Winter 1983: fig. 37. 16.  KIetter notes the various names common in the literature (2001: 197) but, like me, prefers “Asherah.” See further n. 17 below.

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Asherah in some way. This is evident even if she is not understood as an archetypical, cosmic “Mother Goddess” (an obvious caution, but understandable in the light of a previous generation’s overstatements). 17 Kletter himself at first (1990) expressed doubts about the “Asherah” identification (even characterizing me as “a devotee of Asherah”). But more recently he has modified those doubts, combining the “magical” and “Asherah” explanations (rightly so). Kletter (2001: 2005) concludes: The function of the Asherah figurines was probably as a protecting figure in domestic houses, more like a figure which bestowed “plenty,” especially in the domain of female lives (but not necessarily used by women only).

I would differ only from Kletter’s opinion elsewhere that the figurines were not “objects of cult practices,” conceding only that they may have been “addressed in prayers and wishes” (2001: 205). But prayer is a cult practice, preeminently so. And we should take seriously Susan Ackerman’s admonition that in the ancient world generally “the image is the deity” (1992: 65). Ziony Zevit, in his brilliant exposition of Israelite “folk religion,” aptly coins the phrase “prayers in clay” for our figurines (2001: 267, 274). This would also seem to combine the “votive” and “Asherah-image” explanation, and this is very close to my own conclusion (below). After all, our modern Western “rational,” either-or categories of thought must not be projected back on the ancient world, which viewed matters much more organically and holistically. Carol Meyers has recently returned to the issue of the Judean pillar-base figurines with what she terms methodologically an “anthropological perspective,” based principally on Peter Ucko’s 1968 analysis (2007). Meyers’s point of departure is what she sees as the overwhelming attempt of other scholars to identify the figurines with a particular female deity (usually Asherah), which she opposes and which she argues “obfuscates their magical function and concomitantly makes us less likely to ask who used them . . . and why they were used” (2007: 122). Meyers rightly holds that of Ucko’s four basic types—(1) cult figures (i.e., “idols”); (2) vehicles of magic; (3) initiation figures; and (4) toys—our Judean figurines can only be classified as number 2. They were used like amulets, in magic rituals, evidently connected, Meyers concedes, with “fertility” (a term she otherwise eschews). And “magic”—the attempt “to influence supernatural powers” (Meyers 2007: 122)— as Meyers notes, is of the essence of religion. For her, the household rituals of the women who used these figurines—the “non-verbal practices”—“should be considered no less important than the elaborate procedures of priests in communal or national shrines” (2007: 122, 126)—and, I would add, of the men who wrote the Hebrew Bible. These are points that I myself have made forcefully for some years now. 18 17.  I have been criticized for arguing, following my teacher Cross, that Asherah, ʿAnat, and Astarte could all be understood as local or temporal manifestations of a cosmic “Mother Goddess.” See Dever 2005: 236; and cf. Kletter 2001: 198, 199. I would now downplay ʿAnat’s role as “mother” (better a “huntress/warrior”); but even so she exhibits fertility motifs in her overt sexual behavior, as even Walls acknowledges. As for the general identity of the three female deities, see the well-known New Kingdom Winchester plaque, which gives all three names to the naked goddess astride her lion; (1) Qudshu (= Asherah); (2) Astarte; and (3) ʿAnat (cf. Winter 1983: fig. 37). 18.  Meyers’s contrast of “non-verbal or at least non-textual practices” (2007: 122) with the canonical or literary traditions of the Hebrew Bible is reminiscent of my contrast of the differing

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Meyers specifically refutes my claim in Did God Have a Wife? (2005) that the pillar-base figurines “represent” Asherah. This is unlikely, she says, because “there is no evidence, outside the problematic biblical references, that Asherah continued as a prominent Canaanite (or Phoenician) deity after the Late Bronze Age” (2007: 118). Thus, there cannot have been, as I argued in 2005, a “cult of Asherah” in ancient Israel, particularly in the role of a consort of Yahweh. This, I confess, I find to be an inexplicable assertion, since the overwhelming consensus among scholars in the field today is that there was just such a cult (as Olyan and I first showed more than 25 years ago). Recently, the distinguished Israeli biblical historian Nadav Naʾaman reinterpreted the 9th–8th century b.c.e. Kuntillet ʿAjrûd complex as a “tree-shrine” dedicated to Asherah the tree-goddess. In doing so, he simply assumed the existence of an Asherah cult, and he did not even bother to refer to the by now exhaustive literature (Naʾaman and Lissovsky 2008). Meyers reconstructs a magic ritual connected with reproduction, having “its own set of empowering dynamics for women” (2005: 62–69; 2007: 126), but she has no deity to whom such rites were directed. She will only say that “their use could well have been directed to some female or male deity” (2007: 122). I would say that they must have been so used; and the only “Mother Goddess” we know in Israel in the Iron Age is Asherah. Thus, I argue, our figurines “represent” her. This is hardly a radical view, nor does it go beyond the evidence that we now have, both textual and artifactual.

Conclusion Our figurines are not “votives,” representing ordinary humans praying before a deity. Nor are they “idols,” monumental cult-figures, which as Susan Ackerman has reminded us actually were the gods in the ancient worldview generally. They are indeed “cult-figures,” but only in the sense that they are used to “represent” the deity, that is, to re-present her, to make the deity palpably present again and cultically available. The figurines are thus visible symbols, pointing to an invisible reality beyond themselves, without which they would have had no efficacy. The deity being approached for most supplicants was probably female and thus identified with “Asherah,” long familiar in Canaan as a Mother Goddess. But I would argue that as the archetypical Mother she could have been known to some unlearned worshipers by other names, such as Astarte, “Queen of Heaven,” or the like (as attested in the Hebrew Bible). Furthermore, the Goddess could easily have been thought of in folk religion as the consort of Yahweh (as Asherah is of Baʿal in the view of the biblical writers) and thus a legitimate part of the cult, at least in nonDeuteronomistic circles. The ancients would not have been troubled by our modern preoccupation with reason, consistency, or theological niceties. Religion was what worked. This was precisely what the women said to Jeremiah (in chap. 7) when he reproached them for praying to the “Queen of Heaven”: “Before you came along with your petty orthodoxy, we were doing just fine”! Let me make use of a real anthropological model (not Ucko’s theoretical formulations). In Roman Catholic piety, particularly among millions of poorly educated “visceral” and “verbal” traditions of women and men in general—for which I have been criticized by some feminists. But by this I make absolutely no value judgments.

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devotees, a woman might pray while fervently grasping a crucifix or staring at a small image of the Virgin Mary. But unsophisticated though she be, she knows instinctively that these physical artifacts are not themselves gods but only symbols, tangible aids that help to mediate their spiritual presence. I would argue that the pillar-base figurines served the same function in ancient Judah. The orthodox writers and even the final redactors of the Hebrew Bible were well aware of such nonconformist beliefs and practices and condemned them. But they were too uneasy to specify such things as our figurines by name and thus confer on them an unwanted reality. And in time Asherah and her cult were driven underground and almost forgotten. The later rabbis knew only that the term “Asherah” had something to do with trees and idolatry. But archaeology has brought the Goddess to light again, and with this a renewed appreciation of family cults in ancient Israel and Judah, as well as new insights into vital roles that countless women must have played in the religions of heart and home. 19 We may never know precisely what an ancient Israelite man or woman felt when they confronted a figurine or held it in their hand. But our appreciation of the function of such symbols has grown recently with the new emphasis on “family religion” rather than on the written tradition. Already in 1992 our host, Prof. Albertz, had written persuasively on the subject. He was followed by other male scholars such as van der Toorn (1994; 1997); Berlinerbrau (1969); Becking, Dijkstra, and Vriezen (2001); Gerstenberger (2002); Zevit (2001); the “Freibourg School” of Keel and Uehlinger; and others, myself included (e.g., Dever 2005). A number of women scholars, whether they would style themselves “feminists” or not, have been true pioneers in restoring women and women’s cults to their rightful place in ancient Israel. I would mention scholars such as Phyllis Bird; and especially our women colleagues here today, all of whom—Ackerman, Meyers, Nakhai, and Daviau—have distinguished themselves by publishing widely on archaeology and women’s cults. Their papers (and others) at this symposium should do much to illuminate aspects of ancient Israelite “folk religion,” particularly women’s practices, that for too long have remained obscure. I am honored to be among them. 19.  See their bibliographies in the papers presented at this symposium.

Bibliography Ackerman, S. 1992 Under Every Green Tree: Popular Religion in Sixth-Century Judah. Atlanta: Scholars Press. 2003 At Home with the Goddess. Pp. 455–68 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Albertz, R. 1992 Religionsgeschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit, Band I: Von den Anfängen bis zum Ende der Königszeit. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Beck, P. 2002 The Cult Stands from Taʿanach: Aspects of the Iconographic Tradition of Early Iron Age Cult Objects in Palestine. Pp. 392–422 in P. Beck, Imagery and Representation: Studies in Art and Iconography: Collected Articles. Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology.

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Berlinerblau, J. 1996 The Vow and the Popular Religious Groups of Ancient Israel. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Binger, T. 1987 Asherah: Goddesses in Ugarit, Israel and the Old Testament. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Bird, P. A. 1987 The Place of Women in the Israelite Cultus. Pp. 397–419 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. P. D. Miller, P. D. Hanson, and S. D. McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. 1991 Israelite Religion and the Faith of Israel’s Daughters: Reflections on Gender and Religious Definition. Pp. 39–51 in The Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman K. Gottwald on His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. D. Jobling, P. L. Day, and G. T. Sheppard. Cleveland: Pilgrim. Braun, J. 2002 Music in Ancient Israel/Palestine: Archaeological, Written, and Comparative Sources. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Burgh, T. 2006 Listening to the Artifacts. London: T. & T. Clark. Byrne, R. 2004 Lie Back and Think of Judah: The Reproductive Politics of Pillar Figurings. Near Eastern Archaeology 67: 137–51. Connelly, J. B. 1989 Standing Before One’s God: Votive Sculpture and the Cypriote Religions. Biblical Archaeologist 52/4: 210–18. Cornelius, I. 2004 The Many Faces of the Goddess: The Iconography of the Syro-Palestinian Goddesses Anat, Astarte, Qedeshet, and Asherah 1500–1000 b.c.e. Fribourg: Academic Press. Day, J. 2000 Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Dietrich, W., and Loretz, O. 1992 Jahwe und seine Aschera: Anthropomorphes Kultbild in Mesopotamien, Ugarit und Israel. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Dever, W. G. 1969/1970  Iron Age Epigraphic Material from Khirbet el-Kôm. Hebrew Union College Annual, 40–41: 139–204. 1984 Asherah, Consort of Yahweh? New Archaeological Evidence from Kuntillet Ajrud. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 255: 29–37. 2005 Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Franken, H. J., and Steiner, M. L., eds. 1990 Jerusalem II: Excavations in Jerusalem 1961–1967. The Iron Age Extramural Quarter in the South West Hill. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Frevel, C. 1995 Aschera und der Ausschliessichkeits-anspruch YHWHs: Beitrage zu literarischen religions­ geschichtlichen und ikonographischen Aspecten der Ascheradiskussion. Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum. Gerstenberger, E. S. 2002 Yahweh the Patriarch: Images of God and Feminist Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress. Hadley, J. M. 2000 The Cult of Asherah in Ancient Israel and Judah: Evidence for a Hebrew Goddess. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Hodder, I. 1986 Reading the Past: Current Approaches to Interpretation in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holland, T. 1995 A Study of Palestinian Iron Age Baked Clay Figurines with Special Reference to Jerusalem Cave I. Levant 9: 121–55. Keel, O. 1998 Goddesses and Trees, New Moon and Yahweh: Ancient Near Eastern Art and the Hebrew Bible. JSOT Supplement 261. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Keel, O., and Uehlinger, C. 1992 Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels aufgrund bislang unerschlossener ikonographischer Quellen. Freiburg: Herder. Kletter, R. 1996 The Judean Pillar Figurines and the Archaeology of Asherah. BAR International Series. Oxford: Archaeopress. 2001 Between Archaeology and Theology: The Pillar Figurines and the Asherah. Pp. 179– 215 in Studies in the Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Judah, ed. A. Mazar. Sheffied: Sheffield Academic Press. McCarter, P. K. 1987 Aspects of the Religion of the Israelite Monarchy: Biblical and Epigraphic Data. Pp. 13–59 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. P. D. Miller, P. D. Hansen, and S. D. McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress. Meyers, C. 1991 Of Drums and Damsels: Women’s Performances in Ancient Israel. Biblical Archaeologist 54: 16–37. Recovering Objects, Re-Visioning Subjects: Archaeology and Feminist Biblical Study. Pp. 270–84 in Magic: A Feminist Companion to Reading the Bible: Approaches, Methods, and Strategies, ed. A. Brenner and C. Fontaine. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 1997 Recovering Objects, Re-Visioning Subjects: Archaeology and Feminist Biblical Study. Pp. 270–84 in Magic: A Feminist Companion to Reading the Bible: Approaches, Methods, and Strategies, ed. A. Brenner and C. Fontaine. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 2007 Terracottas without Texts: Judean Pillar Figurines in Anthropological Context. Pp. 115–30 in To Break Every Yoke: Essays in Honor of Marvin L. Chaney, ed. R. B. Coote and N. K. Gottwald. Social World of Biblical Antiquity 2/3. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Moorey, P. R. S. 2003 Idols of the People: Miniature Images of Clay in the Ancient Near East. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Naʾaman, N., and Lissovsky, N. 2005 Kuntillet Ajrûd, Sacred Trees and the Asherah. Tel Aviv 35/2:186–208. Nakhai, B. A. 2001 Archaeology and the Religions of Canaan and Israel. Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Olyan, S. M. 1988 Asherah and the Cult of Yahweh in Israel. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Patai, R. 1990 The Hebrew Goddess. Third enlarged edition. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Paz, S. 2007 Drums, Women, and Goddesses: Drumming and Gender in Iron Age II Israel. Fribourg: Academic Press. Smith, M. S. 2002 The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

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Tadmor, M. 1982 Female Relief Figurines of Late Bronze Age Canaan. Eretz-Israel 15: 79–84 (Hebrew). Taylor, J. G. 1993 Yahweh and the Sun: Biblical and Archaeological Evidence for Sun Worship in Ancient Israel. JSOTSS 11l. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Toorn, K. van der 1994 From Her Cradle to Her Grave: The Role of Religion in the Life of the Israelite and Babylonian Woman. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 1997 The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East. Leuven: Peeters. 2003 Nine Months among the Peasants in the Palestinian Highlands: An Anthropological Perspective on Local Religion in the Early Iron Age. Pp. 393–410 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Ucko, P. J. 1968 Anthropomorphic Figurines. Royal Anthropological Institute Occasional Paper 24. London: Institute of Archaeology. Vriezen, K. J. H. 2001 Archaeological Traces of Cult in Ancient Israel. Pp. 45–80 in Only One God? Monotheism in Ancient Israel and the Veneration of the Goddess Asherah, ed. B. Becking, M. Dijkstra, and K. J. H. Vriezen. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Wiggins, S. A. 1993 A Reassessment of Asherah: A Study According to the Textual Sources of the First Two Millennia b.c.e. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. 2001 Of Asherahs and Trees. Some Methodological Questions. Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 1: 158–87. Winter, U. 1983 Frau and Göttin: Exegetische und ikonographische Studien zum weiblichen Gottesbild im Alten Israel und seiner Umwelt. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Zevit, Z. 2001 The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. New York: Continuum.

The House and the World The Israelite House as a Microcosm Avraham Faust and Shlomo Bunimovitz Bar Ilan University

Houses serve not only as shelters from the elements. Since they accommodate families of various types, sizes, and social configurations, they embody a variety of social and cognitive aspects (e.g., Oliver 1987; Waterson 1990). The built environment allows for certain types of social activities and interaction, and therefore structure the inhabitants’ perceptions. As Winston Churchill once said, “we shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” This clearly seems to be the case in Iron Age Israel. In this period, a house of a very rigid plan became very dominant, and this rigidity in itself might hint at its social importance. The social significance of the house as a social unit is also exemplified by the language: the word for “house” (bayit) is also used to designate a “family” and even larger kinship units; at times, this word reflected the entire kingdom (for the usages of the term, see Schloen 2001; in connection with the four-room house, see Faust and Bunimovitz 2008: 161–62, and references). In this article we intend to discuss the Iron Age dwelling—the famous fourroom house—to show that it was a microcosm of the Israelite world. 1 This structure can serve, therefore, as a window into all aspects of Israelite society, from family structure, through wealth, to ethnicity, cosmology, perceptions of space, and even notions of social justice.

Background The Four-Room House The four-room house is a unique feature of Iron Age settlements in the land of Israel (e.g., Shiloh 1970; 1973; 1987; Wright 1978; Holladay 1992; 1997; Netzer 1992; Ji 1997; see also Bunimovitz and Faust 2002; 2003; Faust and Bunimovitz 2003). Hundreds of four-room houses are known today from Iron Age sites, mainly in the highlands—that is, the Galilee, Samaria, Judea, and the Transjordanian Plateau. In most cases, these structures dominate the built environment. Such a predominance 1.  Many of the ideas discussed in this article have been published previously (see Bunimovitz and Faust 2002; 2003; Faust and Bunimovitz 2003; see also Faust 2005: 237–55; 2012b: 213–29). The present paper, however, is not only updated but is also more comprehensive and includes additional discussion.

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of one house plan is unparalleled in other periods. Furthermore, at some sites, public buildings are also built along similar lines, and even the typical Judahite tomb seems to mimic the four-room plan in form (below). Chronologically, the four-room house first appears in an irregular form in the Iron Age I period and soon crystallized into the characteristic three- or four-room form that was prevalent during the Iron Age II, until its sudden and complete disappearance at the end of the Iron Age. Many studies have therefore been devoted to the structure’s various aspects, such as its architectural plan and its presumed origins, 2 its functions, the relation between its various sub-types and between them and family demography in ancient Israel. Scholars also have attempted to explain its great popularity throughout the country for some six centuries and have discussed the ethnic background of its builders and inhabitants.

Description The term “four-room house” is a convention used to designate the typical Iron Age dwelling in ancient Israel. This is a long house (and in this it deviates from the Bronze Age architectural tradition), whose ideal plan is composed of four main rooms, or, more accurately, spaces or areas. In this configuration three parallel longitudinal spaces are backed by a broad-room, with the entrance to the building located at the central space. As will be seen, while the number of these spaces (usually four or three) is part and parcel of the basic architectural configuration of the house, the number of rooms (i.e., inner division of the areas) varies greatly. There are, however, subtypes of the “ideal” form, comprising three spaces and, in exceptional cases, even five spaces. In many instances, rows of pillars separate the longitudinal front areas from each other. It had been thought that the central space may have been an open courtyard (Shiloh 1973: 280). This space is usually wider than the building’s other spaces and contained more installations, especially tabuns and ovens, than other areas (Netzer 1992: 196). Many archaeologists, however, nowadays believe that the central space was roofed. This reassessment is the outcome of a growing tendency to reconstruct the four-room house as a two-storey building with the main living level on the upper floor (e.g., Holladay 1992; 1997; Stager 1985). The presence of stone steps in a considerable number of excavated buildings also indicates the existence of a second storey. Furthermore, the buildings’ thick walls and the closely spaced monoliths are too massive for a single-storey structure (e.g., Netzer 1992). Apparently, the second storey was reached by steps or a wooden ladder.

Past Trends in Explaining the Four-Room House The Ethnic Explanation Many studies, in the spirit of the culture-history school, have attempted to explain the great popularity of the four-room house along ethnic lines (e.g., Shiloh 1970; 1973; Wright 1978; Netzer 1992, and many others; see more below). The view 2.  Some see it as a reflection of the nomad’s tent (Finkelstein 1988: 257, and references). Others look for its roots in Late Bronze Age architecture, especially in the region of the Shephelah (Mazar 1985: 66–68), or in Iron Age Phoenicia (Wright 1978: 154), while Shiloh has suggested that it was an original Israelite “invention” having no antecedents (1973: 285).

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that the four-room house was the Israelite house par excellence is summarized by Shiloh: In the light of the connection between the distribution of this type [of house] and the borders of Israelite settlement, and in light of its period of use and architectural characteristics, it would seem that the use of the four-room house is an original Israelite concept.” (Shiloh 1970: 180)

Others have criticized the ethnic label attached to the house (e.g., Ahlström 1993: 339–40; Finkelstein 1996: 204–5; Edelman 2002: 44–45; London 2003; Bloch-Smith 2003: 406–8). In their opinion, the appearance of the four-room house in Iron Age I sites in the lowlands and in Transjordan—namely, in regions traditionally thought to be inhabited by non-Israelites—means that the exclusive affiliation of the house with Israelites is unwarranted. Thus, Finkelstein, after stating that houses do sometimes reflect ethnicity, continues: Unfortunately, this is not the case in the Iron Age. Y. Shiloh described the fourroom house as an Israelite house type, but it has later been found also in the lowland and Transjordanian Iron I sites. Its popularity in the central hill country must be linked to environmental and social factors, rather than to the ethnic background of the communitie.” (1996: 204, 205)

Since the “ethnic explanation” for the wide distribution of the four-room house has fallen into growing disfavor, scholars have looked for an alternative interpretation. Until recently, function was the key attribute embraced almost unanimously to explain the house’s great popularity.

The Functional Explanation A functional analysis of daily life within the four-room house is based primarily on ethnographic analogy and assumes that data about activities conducted in traditional houses today can shed light on the use of the various rooms of the four-room house in antiquity. In the spirit of the New (Processual) Archaeology, such ethnographic analogies have resulted in an interesting suggestion regarding its functional success: The pillared house takes its form not from some desert nostalgia monumentalized in stone and mudbrick, but from a living tradition. It was first and foremost a successful adaptation to farm life: the ground floor had space allocated for food processing, small craft production, stabling, and storage; the second floor was suitable for dining, sleeping, and other activities. . . . Its longevity attests to its continuing suitability not only to the environment . . . but also for the socio­ economic unit housed in it—for the most part, rural families who farmed and raised livestock. (Stager 1985: 17)

Similar conclusions are reflected in the following: From the time of its emergence in force until its demise at the end of Iron Age II, the economic function of the “Israelite House” seems to have been centered upon requirements for storage and stabling, functions for which it was ideally suited. . . . Furthermore, its durability as preferred house type, lasting over 600 years throughout all the diverse environmental regions of Israel and Judah, even stretching down into the wilderness settlements in the central Negeb, testifies

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that it was an extremely successful design for the common—probably landowning—peasant. (Holladay 1992: 316)

Attributing the success of the four-room house to its suitability for peasant daily life is a highly compelling argument, yet it falls short of conveying the full story of the structure’s exceptional dominance as an architectural form during the Iron Age, and beyond that, as a cultural phenomenon. There were houses typical of other periods that functioned well, but none of them achieved such a dominant position in the architectural landscape of their time. Moreover, none were so uniform in plan. While the standardization of the house was a long process, beginning probably at the end of the thirteenth century b.c.e. and ending during the eleventh or tenth century, its disappearance from the archaeological record in the sixth century b.c.e. is quite sudden (e.g., Shiloh 1973: 281; Holladay 1997: 337; Faust 2004, and references; 2012a: 100–106). No functional explanation can account for the house’s sudden loss of popularity. If the house was so suitable for “peasant life” in the Iron Age, why did the peasants living in the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods stopped using it? Morever, if the great uniformity of the plan reflects its functional quality, at least some uniformity in the use of the various spaces within the house is expected. This, however, is not the case. In some houses, the finds in the back rooms indicate daily activities (Singer-Avitz 1996), while in others, this room was used for storing a large number, sometimes even hundreds, of storage-jars (Feig 1995: 3; Herr and Clark 2001: 45). 3 The fact that all houses, whether urban or rural, rich or poor, are built according to the same plan also argues against the functional theory. In addition, it should be recalled that the four-room plan was applied to public buildings that had nothing in common with “peasant life” (e.g., the western tower at Tell Beit Mirsim or the Fort at Hazor; see Albright 1943; Yadin 1972, respectively; see now Lehmann and Killebrew 2010) and even to the late Iron Age Judahite tombs (e.g., Mazar 1976: 4 n. 9; 1990: 521; Barkay 1994: 147–52; 1999; Faust and Bunimovitz 2008). A close scrutiny of the functional explanation, therefore, brings into relief its shortcomings and paves the way for a new perspective on the four-room house.

Social Aspects of the Four-Room House We believe that the four-room house embodied Israelite society and values and can be seen as a mircocosm of the Israelite world. An examination of the house can bring many insights into the social and cognitive world of the Israelites. While the question of the ethnicity of the people living in the houses will be addressed in some detail later, suffice it to state that even if non-Israelites dwelt in four-room houses, it is clear that Israelites inhabited them extensively during the Iron Age. It is therefore appropriate to discuss Israelite society in connection with the four-room house. 3.  One could claim that the supposed uniform pattern of use is obliterated by finds that fell from the house’s second floor. Careful excavations, however, should be able to differentiate between the finds, and, moreover, if the house was used in such a uniform way as some scholars believe, this should apply also for the second floor. The finds in all houses must, therefore, exhibit a similar pattern even if some of them belonged originally to the house’s second storey. Moreover, in some cases the finds were clearly in situ, and the two floors were differentiated.

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The House and the Family Before discussing the architectural qualities of the four-room house and its social significance, we would like to address the homology between the house, as a structure, and the family unit (see also Faust and Bunimovitz 2008: 161–62). In Israelite society, as in some other societies (cf. Carsten and Hugh-Jones 1995), the term “house” (‫ )בית‬came to symbolize the kinship unit that dwelt within it (cf. Schloen 2001: 71). As Yeivin (1954: 54) wrote, the term was initially used for the dwelling structure of a family and was borrowed to denote a family living together. In Biblical Hebrew, therefore, the word “house” has two meanings. The first is “(T)he ordinary dwelling unit of the settled population,” and the second “can signify a family line like the “house of Levy” (Schaub 1994: 441, 442). Examples are, of course, numerous, both in the Bible and in other sources, for example, in the famous case of the “house of David.” Hence, anyone who establishes a family is building a “house” (see also Stager 1985). The same is true for the non-verbal language. In Iron Age II, the four-room house (including its various sub-types) symbolized the family that lived in it. As we will presently see, four-room houses usually represented extended families, in contrast to the smaller three-room houses that usually were inhabited by smaller nuclear families. Thus, in Israelite society, the (residential) structure symbolized the concept (residing kinship group).

Family Structure and the Four-Room House Many biblical scholars, using the biblical texts as a guide, have studied the structure and size of the Israelite family during the Iron Age. Although less often, archaeologists have examined this issue as well, mainly in relation to the four-room house. Most archaeologists who have discussed the four-room house are of the opinion that each single structure housed a nuclear family (e.g., Shiloh 1980; Broshi and Gophna 1984; Stager 1985; Hopkins 1985; Holladay 1992; 1995). These scholars relied primarily on houses excavated at urban sites such as Tel Beersheba, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tell en-Nasbeh, Tell el-Farʿah (N), Tell es-Saʿidiyeh, Hazor, and others. Since the average size of the houses in these sites is 40 to 80 square meters, according to the commonly used density ratio of one person per 10 square meters (roofed area), 4 scholars assumed that they probably accommodated only a nuclear family. Several archaeologists, however, have suggested that the four-room buildings were typically inhabited by extended families (e.g., Dar 1986: 80). Those scholars, however, based their observation only on a few large houses excavated at rural sites. The size of these houses is approximately 120 to 130 square meters (ground floor only)—about twice the area of four-room houses in cities. In previous publications, we showed that a close examination of a large sample of Iron Age rural and urban houses reveals that this is a repeated pattern, and that a clear differentiation must be made between the urban and the rural sectors (Faust 1999; 2005; 2012). 4.  Most studies of housing in ancient Israel use this constant, following Naroll (1962) and others. Although this figure is frequently used in Near Eastern archaeology, it is not universally accepted, and some scholars are of the opinion that other constants should be used (e.g., Brown 1987). It is also probable that the ratio between house area and the number of its inhabitants is not universal but culture dependent. Since all settlements discussed below were part of the same cultural unit, cultural variation cannot account for the differences observed.

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The difference in size between urban and rural four-room houses seems to be a result neither of function—for example, the agricultural needs of the rural population—nor of circumstances—for example, more free ground for building in villages than in cities (Faust 1999). Rather, it is a faithful reflection of the different social units comprising the urban versus rural sectors of Israelite society during the Iron Age. On the one hand, the comparatively small size of the urban four-room houses supports the common view that they housed nuclear families, comprising two parents and a couple of unmarried children. On the other hand, the large size of most of the rural houses indicates that they housed extended families of at least three generations, which probably included parents, married sons and their children, unmarried daughters, unmarried aunts, additional relatives, and possibly also servants. 5 Such extended families are considered by many scholars as the biblical Beth Av, the ideal family type of the Iron Age (see Faust 2000 for references; for the structure of nuclear and extended families, see Yorburg 1975: 6–8). Notably, a number of large houses have occasionally been unearthed in towns, but they are usually also of a higher quality and most probably represent the urban elite (see further discussion below). The difference in house size between urban and rural sites, along with the existence of a few large and better-built structures in cities, is in line with socioanthropological information. Particularly relevant is Yorburg’s observation that in agricultural societies “the nuclear family . . . seem[s] to be, or ha[s] been, the most prevalent form in urban fringe or urban centers,” while “the extended family is most prevalent among the rich and among the land-owning peasants . . .” (1975: 9). Differences in dwelling size between towns, in which nuclear families are more characteristic, and villages, in which extended families predominate, are therefore expected. Moreover, it is also expected that rich urban families would maintain extended families, therefore explaining the existence of a few large and nicely built houses among the normally small urban houses. 6 Iron Age urban and rural four-room houses differ not only in their size but also in their planning and internal division. Almost all the houses in the rural areas are of the classic four-room type, while the majority of the urban houses (not including those of the elite) are of the three-room subtype. In addition, while many of the rooms in rural four-room houses are further divided, the majority of urban houses have no internal division beyond the three basic rooms. Thus, the number of rooms in a typical rural house (ground floor only) is usually five to eight—more than twice the number of rooms in its urban counterpart. The large number of rooms in rural 5.  In rural sites in which a relatively large number of structures were uncovered, major differences between the structures were not discerned, and most of them were of similar size and architectural characteristics (Faust 2005; 2012). This, again, stands in contrast to the reality in cities. 6.  The idea that during the Iron Age II several small buildings typically comprised a compound inhabited by an extended family (e.g., Schloen 2001: 51; see already Stager 1985; Callaway 1983; Harmon 1983: 122) does not stand scrutiny, and in reality, hardly any such compound can be reconstructed. This can be seen very clearly by the various settlement plans, for example, at Beersheba, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tell en Nasbeh, and other sites (see extensive discussion in Faust 2005; 2012, and references and plans there). In the few, relatively rare cases in which a number of buildings can be grouped together, this seems to arise from architectural limitations that forced the builders to use a shared courtyard rather than from social reasons. It is probable, however, that such compounds were prevalent in the Iron Age I—the main period discussed by Stager, Callaway, and Harmon—but this is beyond the scope of the present discussion.

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houses should be attributed to the fact that the houses were inhabited by extended families. This required more options for separation, segregation, and privacy, especially between the separate nuclear families living in the house. This interpretation is strengthened by the fact that the internal division within rural houses varies considerably in spite of their great uniformity in overall planning. It is reasonable to assume that this variation results from the “life-cycle” of the extended family. In some stages of this cycle, more inhabitants—and nuclear units—would have lived in the house and greater division would have been required. At other times, the number of inhabitants was reduced, and spaces could be enlarged. Apparently, from an archaeological point of view, each excavated four-room house gives us only a snapshot of one stage in the complicated life-cycle of both the house and its past inhabitants. The contrast regarding family structure (nuclear versus extended) between city and village has already been identified independently by biblical scholars unfamiliar with the disparity revealed in the archaeological data between urban and rural houses (de Vaux 1965: 22–23; Reviv 1993: 50–52). According to them, the rural sector in Israelite society was more conservative, preserving the traditional family framework, whereas families in the urban sector underwent a structural change. As de Vaux (1965: 22–23) wrote: Of those great patriarchal families which united several generations around one head, few, if any, remained. Living conditions in towns set a limit to the numbers who could be housed under one roof: the houses discovered by excavations are small. We rarely hear of a father surrounded by more than his unmarried children, and, when a son married and found a new family, he was said to ‘build a house’.

The reasons for this change are complex but seem to be closely related to the rise of the monarchy and the resulting increase in urbanization. Gradually, many settlements became cities, the majority of which also became administrative centers. Large numbers of workers were required for the construction of the cities and a variety of monumental building projects. Apparently, the accelerated urbanization was accompanied by major population shifts from the rural areas to towns (Faust 2003). Many sociologists have detected a connection between urbanization and changes in family structure (e.g., Yorburg 1975; Wirth 1965). Some scholars are currently of the opinion that the use of hired labor rather than urbanization per se is the direct cause of changes in family structure (following Greenfield 1961). Most likely, however, there is a high correlation between the two processes, and this seems to be true for the period under discussion. Both urbanization and hired labor generated different residential patterns in towns and villages.

The Four-Room House as a Status Symbol: Rich and Poor As shown above, variation in house sizes exists not only between towns and villages, but also within towns (see Faust 1999; 2005: 42–141; 2012, and many references). In the latter, it is usually accompanied by a disparity in quality: larger houses were also better built. This seems to be a result of socioeconomic stratification within the cities. Large and well-built houses have been discovered in practically every Iron Age II city, including Hazor (e.g., Yadin 1972; Geva 1989), Tell en-Nasbeh (e.g., Branigan 1966), Tell Beit Mirsim (the West Tower) (Albright 1943; 1993), Shiqmona

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(Elgavish 1994), Tel ʾEton (Faust 2011) and Tell el-Farʿah North (de Vaux 1965: 72–73; 1992: 1301; Chambon 1984). These houses stand in sharp contrast to the common small urban houses that most probably were inhabited by nuclear families. Based on the size of the structures, the quality of their plan and building (including, at times, the use of ashlar masonry), and other features, such as their location and the fact that they usually avoided using shared (common) walls, it is clear that these houses belonged to large (extended) and wealthy families, comprising the urban elite. Houses, like other components of material culture, participate in a society’s nonverbal communication and can be used to communicate several types of messages. These messages might be canonical or indexical (Blanton 1994). A canonical message “pertains to the meaning of enduring symbols reflecting concepts held in common by the people participating in a common cultural system” (p. 10). Symbolic communication through the medium of the dwelling involves the creation of a built environment that manifests social divisions based on gender, generation, and rank. In these instances, the house as a living environment is a medium of communication primarily among the occupants of the house itself, providing a material frame that structures day-to-day interactions (pp.  9–10). In this sense, the form of the house embodies taxonomic principles specific to a cultural system; by living in the house, its occupants are constantly made aware of these principles, which are thus inculcated and reinforced. In an indexical message, on the other hand, “information is communicated concerning the current status of a household . . . in terms . . . such as wealth” (pp. 10– 11). While the canonical messages lie primarily within the inner parts of the house, the indexical communicative role of the house involves its more public areas and elements that provide information about costliness and taste to outsiders. The two kinds of messages are seemingly contradictory: “(O)ne could predict that the goals of social linkage communication (which says, ‘we’re part of the community’) could come into conflict with the goals of indexical communication (which might contain the message: ‘we’re better than everybody else’)” (p. 13). In reality, however, it is sometimes not easy to distinguish between the two, and it seems as if both can be transmitted from the same house at the same time. Clearly, the large and wellbuilt four-room houses participated in non-verbal communication and transmitted messages of social difference of the “I’m better than . . .” type. Many of their special attributes were external and sent a clear message to anyone seeing them from the outside.

The Four and Three Room Houses as Representing Different Types of Social Organization A message of difference was seemingly also expressed in the usage of different architectural models of three-, four-, and five-room houses. The four-room houses are usually larger and better constructed than the three-room houses. The size difference can of course be explained functionally: the larger the building, the more internal walls and/or pillars are required to support the ceiling, and so more interior spaces are created. However, this explanation does not apply to the quality issue. Furthermore, even the small four-room houses are usually more nicely built and of higher quality of construction (see, for example, the building in area G at Hazor; Yadin 1972; Geva 1989). This difference cannot always be explained as an economic

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gap, arguing that the four-room houses were inhabited by the wealthy, while the three-room ones housed the poor. Although generally true, we cannot always assume that rich families lived in the smaller four-room houses. Moreover, almost all the rural houses are of the four-room type, even though this is not the richest sector in society. So, wealth is only a partial explanation of the differences between the four- and three-room houses and of their distribution. Perhaps the solution to this problem lies elsewhere. Above, we analyzed family structure and presented evidence that in the rural sector there were mainly extended families, while in the urban sector there were mainly nuclear families. We also saw that among the urban rich there were extended families (compare Yorburg 1975: 8). This evidence matches the distribution of the building types. Perhaps we may conclude that the four-room houses represent extended families and the strategy of multi-generational continuity, while the three-room houses represent nuclear families. To be precise: this does not mean that each and every four-room house was inhabited only by extended families or that every three-room house was inhabited by a nuclear family, but merely that the number of spaces conveys a certain social message regarding the family structure. This theory is confirmed by the use of the four-room plan in Judahite tombs (A. Mazar 1976: 4 n. 9; Barkay 1994: 147–52; 1999; Hopkins 1996). These late Iron Age tombs served a multi-generational family: for many generations, the deceased were placed on benches, and after a while their bones were gathered into a repository and the newly deceased were placed on the benches. Thus, the four-room, or four-spaces, tombs conveyed a social message of multi-generationalism, just like the houses (on the connection between buildings and tombs in other cultures, see, e.g., Hodder 1994). No tombs have been found carved in a three-room shape, but it appears that the majority of the population—probably the same people who lived in three-room houses—was buried in simple inhumations that did not usually survive (Barkay 1994: 148; see also Faust 2004; Faust and Bunimovitz 2008). So it is possible that the simple inhumations reflect a section of society that lived in three-room houses, as nuclear families, while the four-room houses and tombs represent the section of society that lived as extended families.

The Four-Room House and the Israelite Mind And this leads us to additional cognitive aspects of the four-room house. The relation between a society and its architecture is reflexive: People structure their built environment, and the latter, in turn, structures people’s perception of space (Bourdieu 1977; Giddens 1979). Thus, there is a strong connection between the built environment and the human cognitive system. Through an analysis of the house’s cognitive aspects, we will offer additional insights into the four-room house phenomenon.

Access Analysis A close examination exposes some interesting qualities of the four-room house. Following the work of Hillier and Hanson (1984) concerning the social logic of space, different building plans can be analyzed and compared for their “space syntax.” This term refers to spatial configuration within a built structure and the hierarchy of

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accessibility or passage from one room to the other. The social meaning of space syntax is the possible contact between a building’s inhabitants and strangers as well as among themselves. Different syntaxes hint, therefore, at different systems or codes of social and cultural relations. When properly analyzed, the syntax of the four-room house exhibits a very shallow “tree shape”—that is, all the inner rooms are directly accessible from the house’s central space. On the other hand, other types of dwellings, for example, the Middle Bronze Age–Late Bronze Age courtyard house and the “Canaanite–Phoenician” house of the Iron Age show either a “path” or a “deep” tree shape—that is, there is a hierarchy of access within the house: some rooms can be entered only by passing through other rooms (not including the central space). Egalitarian Ideology.  An intriguing implication of access analysis of the fourroom house is the correspondence between its non-hierarchical configuration—a quality that is lacking in most complex houses—and the “democratic” or egalitarian ethos of Israelite society observed by biblical scholars from diverse schools of thought (e.g., Gordis 1971: 45–60; Gottwald 1979; Berman 2008), as well as by archaeologists. Archaeologically speaking, this ethos is expressed in the lack of decoration on pottery, the avoidance of imported pottery, burial in simple inhumations rather than elaborate tombs throughout the Iron I and most of the Iron Age II, the lack of royal inscriptions in Israel and Judah (for an extended discussion, see Faust 2006), and also by the space syntax of the four-room house, to be discussed presently. Relying on a cross-cultural sample of houses and households, Blanton demonstrated that large households display a complex and hierarchically structured arrangement of living and sleeping spaces reflecting their complex social structure (1994: 64). This is often manifested in hierarchical grading of accessibility and structural depth of spaces within the house related to generational and in some cases gender-based status distinctions, or both. These are houses in which special living/ sleeping areas are frequently set aside for married children, as opposed to the ad hoc sleeping arrangements or shared sleeping spaces often seen in societies with simpler houses. Since four-room houses, especially in the rural sector as well as those of the urban elite, usually contain multiple rooms created by secondary division of the main spaces, it is clear that established arrangements for space usage were part and parcel of daily life within these houses. Yet, as mentioned above, the typical fourroom plan lacks “depth” or access hierarchy, thus expressing a more egalitarian spirit than contemporaneous or previous house plans in the region. The structure of the four-room house, with its supposedly egalitarian ethos, seems to bear a canonical message essential for the structuring of society. By living in the house, its occupants absorbed the values embodied in it, thus ensuring the continuity of the ethos itself. Purity and Space Syntax.  Another major outcome of the analysis of movement within the four-room house is that the house was most appropriate for a society that considered privacy to be of importance or when contact had to be regulated. Since each room could have been accessed directly from the central space, there was no need to pass through other rooms. More than twenty years ago, the biblical scholar Moshe Weinfeld tentatively suggested that the four-room plan might have facilitated the separation between

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purity and impurity such as men’s avoidance of women during menstruation (Netzer 1992: 19 n. 24). The access analysis of the four-room house makes this suggestion possible. According to this analysis, purity could be strictly kept even if an unclean person resided in the house, because the other inhabitants could avoid the room in which he or, more often, she, stayed at this time. Notably, most of the biblical purity laws, 7 while imposing restrictions on menstruating women, do not require them to leave the house, unlike other ancient Near Eastern societies (Milgrom 1991: 952–53) and many societies throughout the world (e.g., Gallaway 1997). These laws might, therefore, reflect a situation in which menstruating women were allowed to stay within the house, but due to the restrictions imposed on them it is reasonable that they spent some of their time in a separate room. The plan of the four-room house seems suitable for such a custom. As will be discussed later, the possible connection between the four-room plan and a specific ethnic behavior such as that related to purity/impurity laws may hint that the plan was adapted or developed to accommodate such a practice or, more likely, that the laws—conducts of behavior—were structured by the house plan (clearly there is some interrelation between the two; see, e.g., Giddens 1979). Whether or not purity matters were involved, it is obvious that the four-room house enabled contact regulation and ensured privacy. But why was the house so prevalent and uniform?

Order, Dominance, and Conformity According to Mary Douglas, many of the biblical laws, mainly those related to holiness, are actually about order (1966). In an insightful analysis of the abominations of Leviticus (that is relevant also to other biblical passages), she developed the idea that holiness is exemplified by wholeness and completeness. Many of the laws—covering all aspects of life from war to sexual behavior, and from social conduct to dietary rules—are related to sets of precepts stemming from that basic principle. All of these precepts embrace the idea of holiness as order and of confusion as sin. Holiness requires completeness in a social context—an important enterprise, once begun, must not be left incomplete. Holiness requires that individuals conform to the class to which they belong and that different classes of things should not be mixed with each other. To be holy is to be whole, to be one; holiness is unity, integrity, perfection of the individual and of the kind. Hybrids and other confusions are abominations. In light of this ideology, the astonishing dominance of the four-room plan on almost all levels of Israelite architectural design becomes intelligible. 8 If the Israelites 7.  Mainly those of P, the Priestly source of the Pentateuch. While there is almost a consensus regarding the dating of some of the laws to the late Iron Age (those of D, the Deuteronomist source), the dating of P is debated. Apparently, most scholars believe that P was written during the Persian Period. Recently, however, there is a tendency to date P to the Exilic period and to maintain that some, or even most, of its content is earlier in origin (e.g., Clines 1993: 580). This suffices to allow us to refer to P in our discussion, but it is even more important and relevant that a growing number of scholars studying the Pentateuch (and P) date P on various grounds to the Iron Age (e.g., Wenham 1979: 13; Friedman 1987: Milgrom 1991: 12–13). 8.  It should be noted that a similar pattern can be seen in other facets of Israelite material culture, for example, the eastern orientation of houses and settlements (below).

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were deeply engaged with unity and “order” as a negation of separateness and confusion, then these concepts must have percolated through all spheres of daily life, including material culture. Thus, it can be surmised that once the four-room house took shape and was adopted by the Israelites, for whatever reasons, it became the “right” house type and hence rose in popularity. Building according to other architectural schemes must have been considered a deviation from the norm.

Cosmology and Conformity As we have seen, houses participate in a society’s non-verbal communication. The ideological aspects of egalitarianism, purity, and order fall into the category of canonical communication. In many cases, canonical messages refer to cosmological schemes. This is best exemplified in the case of the four-room house by its orientation. An examination of four-room buildings, and even Iron Age settlements, indicates that the vast majority of them were oriented toward the east, while the west was extremely under-represented (for an extensive discussion, see Faust 2001). An examination of various climatic and functional considerations does not explain the phenomenon. Many ethnographic studies have demonstrated the strong influence cosmological principles have on the planning of buildings and settlements, and in many cases the east is regarded as the most auspicious direction (e.g., ParkerPearson and Richards 1994; Waterson 1990, and many references). In the case of the four-room house, we have additional information that supports the latter idea. The common Biblical Hebrew word for east is qedma “forward,” while the west is ʾaḥora “backward.” This means, unsurprisingly, that the Israelite “ego” faced east. Additional words for these directions indicate that east had a good connotation, while the west had a bad one, expressed for example by calling it yam—that is, “sea,” which in biblical thinking sometimes represented the forces of chaos and unknown—that is, the exact opposite of order, or God, and can therefore be seen as “anti-God.” Furthermore, it is quite clear that, in the perception of the society in which much of the Bible was authored, it is not only that the west was seen as “bad” direction, but the east was regarded as the location of God. This can be seen not only in the connotations of the various words but also in several narratives. In the Exodus story, for example, the Sea of Reeds is forced to open for the Israelites by the easterly wind—God’s wind. This is also quite explicit in various passages in Ezekiel 40–48, where Ezekiel describes the temple in Jerusalem. According to Ezekiel’s description, the Temple courts had three gates each, the main one in the east and two others in the south and north. It is striking that no entrance is described in the west. Perhaps more important is the description of the eastern gates. This is the main gate through which Ezekiel enters the temple (40:4ff.). Later, however, the eastern gate is described as being closed, since this is the gate through which God is entering the Temple (44:2): “The Lord said to me, “This gate is to remain shut. It must not be opened; no one may enter through it. It is to remain shut because the Lord, the God of Israel, has entered through it.” The eastern gate as the entrance through which God enters the Temple is illustrated very clearly in chapter 43:1–4: Then the man brought me to the gate facing east, and I saw the glory of the God of Israel coming from the east. His voice was like the roar of rushing waters, and the land was radiant with his glory. The vision I saw was like the vision I had seen when he came to destroy the city and like the visions I had seen by the Ke-

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bar River, and I fell facedown. The glory of the Lord entered the temple through the gate facing east.

In chapter 46, the inner eastern gate is described as being closed except on the Sabbath and the beginning of the new month, and the Nasi (Prince) enters the court through this gate (see vv. 1, 9). It should be clear that, topographically, the easiest way to approach the Temple was from the north (or south), but because the northern edge of the Temple Mount was also the northern edge of the city, the northern approach was probably out of the question, and the best way to approach the Temple from within the city was from the south. To the east lies the Kidron Valley, which lay outside the city wall and from which it was very difficult to climb toward the Temple. This eastern direction for the main entrance in Ezekiel’s vision could only have therefore been chosen only for quite specific religious or, more accurately, cosmological reasons. It is clear that the description is not historical and, at best, contains some historical elements. Not only, however, is the question whether the description is historical or not completely irrelevant, the fact that it is, at least to a very large extent, ahistorical even reinforces its importance, because it provides an insight into what Ezekiel, and the period’s society, considered appropriate. The eastern orientation of the majority of four-room houses seems, therefore, to reflect their inhabitants’ cosmology (see extended discussion in Faust 2001). The strict adherence to this cosmological scheme adds to the other cognitive aspects of the four-room house discussed above and seems also to result from the Israelite ordered world-view.

The House as a Microcosm The above discussion leads us to the similarity between the house and the settlement, and it appears that the dwelling served also as a microcosm. Not only were both oriented to the east, but both shared a similar perception of space (on the relation between residential houses and the city in terms of the perception of space, see Rapoport 1969: 69–78). The perception of space in the Israelite city can be divided into three types: “private space,” meaning the home; “communal space,” encompassing the public areas of the city, including the streets and the public (communal) area near the gate; and “public space,” meaning the areas outside the city where everyone could move freely. A similar perception of space existed regarding the residential house: the private space for the residents was their rooms and intimate activity spaces, such as the rooms of the nuclear families within the extended family dwelling; the central space, and perhaps also the front yard, was perceived as space common to all the house’s inhabitants; while the space beyond the house was considered, in terms of the family unit, as public.

Private and Public Buildings, or Justice and Righteousness in the Israelite City And this leads to another issue. The eastern orientation was partially at least meant to protect the entrance to the house and the city. Entrances are transitional spaces and are therefore weak and dangerous places that require special attention and protection. Elsewhere (Faust 2005: 111–22; 2012b: 100–109), we have suggested that, in the city, the gate area served various purposes, including the well-known functions of juridical procedures, cult, trade, etc., but that the term “gate,” šaʿar,

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refers to the entire public quarter that was unearthed in most cities next to the gate and which was communal to all members of the city. One function that is often mentioned in the Bible in relation to the gate is related to the poor and needy (for example, Exod 20:10; Deut 14:21; 14:28–29; 15:7; 23:15–16; 31:12; Amos 5:12; Job 5:4; Prov 22:22, and many others). It appears that fringe social elements stayed in this transitional area. But where? Elsewhere we have suggested that, when the famous pillared buildings, usually interpreted as stables or storehouses but also as barracks, markets, and custom houses (the literature is vast; see for example, Yadin 1975; Holladay 1986; Currid 1992; Herzog 1992; Fritz 1995: 142–43; Kochavi 1992; 1998; Blakely 2002), appear in the gate complex, they could not have served as stables or storehouses. The finds in these structures are domestic in nature—although the quantities are very large (e.g., Herzog 1973: 25; Fritz 1993: 200; 1995: 142; Kochavi 1992; Faust 2005: 114–15; 2012b: 101–2)—and, moreover, when “real” storehouses are found—for example, in Jerusalem, Tel Ira, Lachish and more—they were built following a completely different architectural concept (Mazar and Mazar 1989: E. Mazar 1991; Beit Arieh 1999; Zimhoni 1990; Ussishkin 2004). In our view, the pillared buildings uncovered in the gate area served various functions but also as a place where the poor, widows, orphans, strangers, etc. could stay. They were part of the “justice and righteousness” system in the ancient Israelite city (the issue cannot be dealt with in detail here; for extensive discussion, see Faust 2005: 111–22; 2012b: 100–109). It is therefore striking that these pillared buildings are very similar in form to the four-room house and that they appear in the same time. The long pillared buildings appear from the end of the Iron Age I to the end of the Iron Age II (for literature, see Currid 1992; Herzog 1992; Blakely 2002). Like the four-room house, the pillared building is a long building, and in this respect they both deviate from the dominant architectural tradition of Israel in the Bronze Age. Both contain three internal long spaces, and both, in many cases, use stone pillars (monoliths). In this context, Herzog’s description of the pillared building is remarkably similar to the front three spaces of the four-room house (ignoring the section about troughs): Pillared buildings are a well-defined architectural group in the framework of Iron Age construction. They are rectangular and their space is divided longitudinally by pillars into three narrow halls. The flanking halls are generally paved with flagstones, and the floor in the central hall is beaten earth. . . . The entrance to the pillared building was generally in the short side, making its plan that of a longhouse. (Herzog 1992: 223)

We already suggested that the pillared buildings served, among other things, as a refuge for society’s poor and oppressed, on the one hand, and as a place of justice, on the other hand. According to this interpretation, the public pillared building expresses the ideology of “justice and righteousness” to which Israelite society felt committed (see extensive discussion in Weinfeld 2000), just as the private four-room houses expressed an ideology (or ethos) of equality. These two ideological principles are, of course, linked to one another. Thus, the ideological commitment is realized both at the individual level and at the public level. The state’s, or the king’s, duty to uphold justice and care for its under-classes is equivalent to similar duties imposed upon family members in a traditional society.

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The father and elders served, to a great extent, as judges for their family members, and the Bible often notes the individual’s duty to care for the weaker elements of society. The similarity between the four-room house and the pillared building may also be related to the similar ideological message of mutual responsibility they both express: the residential house reflects the concern for weak members of the family, its poor and unfortunate, just as the public building reflects this attitude toward society’s oppressed, the poor and unfortunate of the entire city. We should note that this does not mean that this ideology did not lose its validity over time, or that it ever dictated public behavior—only that the structures expressed an ideology.

Enhancing Identity We must note that the great uniformity of the four-room house and its dominant position in the Iron Age architectural landscape strengthened the “we-ness” of its users and reinforced their values and ideology. It is important to bear in mind that building a house according to the traditional code of a society communicates a social message—“we are part of the community”—and enhances the coherence of that community.

The Four-Room House and Ethnicity Revisited We associate the four-room house with Iron Age Israelite society. As already mentioned, however, some scholars reject the ethnic label attached to the house, pointing to its distribution beyond Israelite territory (above). In our opinion, this objection is unfounded, first, because most of the examples presented by these scholars do not fall within the four-room house category. The houses do have four rooms or pillars, yet their overall architectural configuration is completely different. This is, for example, the case at Sahab, Tel Qiri, Tel Keisan, Afula, and other structures used as examples of four-room houses outside Israelite territory (e.g., Ibrahim 1975; Gilboa 1987: 60; Ahlström 1993: 339). At Tel Keisan, for example, the houses are very different from four-room houses, and this was explicitly stated by the excavator, Humbert: “the building consisted of four units, but it cannot be defined as a ‘four-room house’” (1993: 865–66). At Sahab, after excavating what he thought was a similar building, Ibrahim (1975: 72–3) wrote: There are just a few examples of the “pillared house” [note the terminology and its alternation—A.F. and S.B.] excavated in East Jordan. A series of pillared houses from the Iron Age II were excavated at Tell es-Saʿidiyyeh in the Jordan valley, Crystal Bennet excavated a very similar structure at Tawilan near Petra.   However, this type of room were excavated in a large number of Palestinian sites, especially at Tell Beit Mirsim, Tell el-Farʿah, Tell el-Qadi (Hazor) [sic A.F.], Tell en-Nasbeh, Tell el-Mutassallim (Megiddo), Jericho, and others. Most of these examples have been considered in various discussions, including two articles by Y. Shiloh. . . . At least one point should be mentioned, that the examples found within the Ammonite and Edomite regions do not fit with the conclusion of Shiloh.

But the house at Sahab has nothing to do with the four-room house. The mere existence of pillars seems to have misled Ibrahim, who confused four-room houses with houses with pillars. And the same is true for Afula, where a house with four rooms

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was misunderstood by some scholars to mean a four-room house. We must stress, therefore, that neither the number of rooms nor the presence of pillars are sufficient indicators for a four-room house. Second, some of the exceptional examples of four-room houses mentioned in the literature are located in Transjordan and were probably used by Israelite groups living in this region (e.g., Ji 1997; Herr and Clark 2001). Finally, most of the few “real” four-room houses outside Israelite territory date to the Iron Age I (e.g., Daviau 1999: 132), prior to the final crystallization of ethnic groups in the region. Notably, the number of Iron Age II four-room houses outside Israelite territory is minimal (e.g., Ghareh), and this stands in contrast to their dominant position within this territory. 9 It is clear, therefore, that in this period the distribution of fourroom houses almost overlaps Israelite settlement. Like the spatial distribution of the four-room house, the temporal span of its existence also associates it with the Israelites. The house crystallized in the Iron Age I, the period of the Israelite settlement, became prominent during the period of the monarchy, and disappeared with the destruction of the kingdom of Judah. This being said, the four-room house could still have been used by non-Israelites who found it suitable for their needs. Practically, however, this occurred rather rarely, perhaps because the house gradually became “associated” with the Israelites. 10 Indeed, it is the Israelites who used the four-room house extensively because it successfully complemented their way of life, both reflecting and shaping their mindset.

Summary: The Four-Room House and Israelite Society Four-room houses of various subtypes first appeared in Iron Age I, alongside other types of houses. It is possible that at this stage function played a major role in the development of the house, but it should be noted that the “classical” four-room plan was not yet standardized. Gradually, however, the house evolved into its wellknown form. It seems that this process occurred concurrently with the ethnogenesis of the Israelites. We are well aware today that material culture should not be simply equated with ethnicity. However, in the process of self-identification of any human group vis-àvis other groups, certain aspects of material culture may reflect ethnic behavior or even be deliberately chosen to communicate ethnicity. The four-room house should be viewed in this light. Internally, the house successfully negotiated Israelite values and way of life. In consequence, and because of the Israelite ordered world-view, the 9.  The existence of relatively large number of exceptions in Transjordan is a result of the fact that ethnic boundaries (especially in the Iron Age I) were more blurred there than in Cisjordan (Faust 2006: 221–26). 10.  Not only are such houses not frequent outside the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, but even within the boundaries of these polities, these houses were usually not used by non-Israelites, for example, in the northern valleys (Faust 2000; Faust 2005: 256–83; 2012b: 230–54). This also explains Mazar’s (2008: 333) statement that the situation in Tel Rehov is an exception to the rule, since no four-room houses were found in this city, which is located within the Kingdom of Israel. On various grounds, it is quite clear that most of Tel Rehov’s inhabitants were non-Israelites, and hence the absence of four-room houses should not be a surprise.

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four-room house (and its subtypes) came to be the most popular dwelling in Iron Age II, inhabited by extended and nuclear families, rich and poor. 11 While the house was structured according to the Israelite mind, its mature form structured, in a dialectical process, Israelite codes of behavior. Ultimately, it became a mental template that also influenced the plan of public buildings and even of Judahite tombs. Thus, the four-room house that dominated the domestic architecture of the Iron Age II epitomizes Israelite society. Eventually, the destruction and exile of Israel and Judah brought an end to the house that embodied the Israelite way of life and, to a large extent, structured the Israelite mind. 11.  And its association with the Israelites, in turn, diminished its use by non-Israelites.

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Hodder, I. 1994 Architecture and Meaning: The Example of Neolithic Houses and Tombs. Pp. 73–86 in Architecture and Order, ed. M. Parker Pearson and C. Richards. London: Routledge. Holladay, J. S. 1986 The Stables of Ancient Israel: Functional Determinants of Stable Construction and the Interpretation of Pillared Building Remains of the Palestinian Iron Age. Pp. 65–103 in The Archaeology of Jordan and Other Studies Presented to Siegfried H. Horn, ed. L. T. Geraty and L. G. Herr. Berrien Springs: Andrews University Press. 1992 House, Israelite. Pp. 308–18 in vol. 3 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman. New York: Doubleday. 1995 The Kingdoms of Israel and Judah: Political and Economic Centralization in the Iron Age II A–B (ca. 1000–750 b.c.e.). Pp. 368–98 in The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land, ed. T. E. Levy. London: Leicester University. 1997 Four Room House. Pp. 337–41 in OEANE 2. New York: Oxford University Press. Hopkins, D. 1985 The Highlands of Canaan. The Social World of Biblical Antiquity 3. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 1996 Bare Bones: Putting Flesh on the Economics of Ancient Israel. Pp. 121–39 in The Origin of the Israelite States, ed. V. Fritz and P. R. Davies. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Humbert, J-B. 1993 Keisan, Tell. NEAE 3: 862–67. Ibrahim, M. M. 1975 Third Season of Excavation at Sahab: 1975 (Preliminary Report). ADAJ 20: 69–82. Ji, C. H. C. 1997 A Note on the Iron Age Four-Room House in Palestine. Orientalia 66: 387–413. Kochavi, M. 1992 ‘Pillared Buildings’ on the Main Road: The Ancient Trade Centers of Iron Age Eretz Israel. Pp. 34 in The Eighteenth Archaeological Conference in Israel. Tel Aviv: Israel Exploration Society (Hebrew). 1998 The Eleventh Century b.c.e. Tripartite Pillar Building at Tel Hadar. Pp. 468–78 in Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries b.c.e., ed. S. Gitin, A. Mazar, and E. Stern. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Lehmann, G., and Killebrew, A. E. 2010 Palace 6000 at Megiddo in Context: Iron Age Central Hall Tetra-Partite Residences and the Bit-Hilani Building Tradition in the Levant. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 359: 13–33. London, G. 2003 Four-Room Structures at Late Bronze/Iron I Hill Country Workstations. Pp. 69–84 in The Near East in the Southwest: Essays in Honor of William G. Dever, ed. B. Alpert Nakhai Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Mazar, A. 1976 Iron Age Burial Caves North of the Damascus Gate, Jerusalem. IEJ 26: 1–8. 1985 The Israelite Settlement in Canaan in the Light of Archaeological Excavations. Pp. 61–71 in Biblical Archaeology Today, 1984: Proceedings of the International Congress on Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem, April 1984, ed. J. Amitai. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 1990 Archaeology of the Land of the Bible 10,000–586 b.c.e. New York: Doubleday. 2008 The Iron Age Dwellings at Tell Qasile. Pp. 319–36 in Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Prof. Lawrence E. Stager, ed. D. Schloen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Mazar, E. 1991 The Ophel of Jerusalem in the First Temple Period. Pp. 135–42 in Jerusalem in the First Temple Period (Idan, 15), ed. D. Amit and R. Gonen. Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi (Hebrew).

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Mazar, E., and Mazar, B. 1989 Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount: The Ophel of Biblical Jerusalem. Qedem 29. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Milgrom, J. 1991 Leviticus 1–16. Anchor Bible 3A. New York: Doubleday. Naroll, R. 1962 Floor Area and Settlement Population. American Antiquity 27: 587–89. Netzer, E. 1992 Domestic Architecture in the Iron Age. Pp. 193–201 in The Architecture of Ancient Israel from the Prehistoric to the Persian Period, ed. A. Kempinski and R. Reich. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Oliver, P. 1987 Dwellings: The House Across the World. Oxford: Phaidon. Parker-Pearson, M., and Richards, C. 1994 Ordering the World: Perceptions of Architecture, Space and Time. Pp. 1–37 in Architecture and Order, ed. M. Parker-Pearson and C. Richards. London: Routledge. Rapoport, A. 1969 House Form and Culture. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. Reviv, H. 1993 The Society in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah. Jerusalem: Bialik (Hebrew). Schaub, M. M. 1996 House. Pp. 441–42 in HarperCollins Bible Dictionary. San Francisco: HarperCollins. Schloen, J. D. 2001 The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East. Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 2. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Shiloh, Y. 1970 The Four Room House, Its Situation and Function in the Israelite City. IEJ 20: 180–90. 1973 The Four-Room House–The Israelite Type-House? Eretz-Israel 11: 277–85. 1980 The Population of Iron Age Palestine in Light of a Sample Analysis of Urban Plans, Areas and Population Densities. BASOR 39: 25–35. 1987 The Casemate Wall, the Four Room House and the Early Planning in the Israelite City. BASOR 268: 3–15. Singer-Avitz, L. 1996 Household Activities at Beersheba. EI 26: 166–74 (Hebrew). Stager, L. E. 1985 The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel. BASOR 260: 1–35. Ussishkin, D. 2004 Area GE: The Inner City-Gate. Pp. 624–89 in The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish 1973–1994, ed. D. Ussishkin. Monograph Series of Tel Aviv University, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology 22. Tel Aviv. Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology. Vaux, R. de 1965 Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions. New York: McGraw Hill. 1992 Farah, Tell el-, (North), NEAEHL 4: 1297–1302 (Hebrew). Waterson, R. 1997 The Living House: An Anthropology of Architecture in South-East Asia. Singapore: Thames and Hudson. Weinfeld, M. 2000 Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East. Jerusalem: Magnes. Wenham, G. J. 1979 The Book of Leviticus. The New International Commentary on the Old Testament. London: Hodder and Stoughton.

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Wirth, L. 1965 Urbanism as a Way of Life. Pp. 46–63 in Cities and Society, ed. P. K. Hatt and A. J. Reis. New York: Free Press. Wright, G. E. 1978 A Characteristic North Israelite House. Pp. 149–54 in Archaeology in the Levant: Essays for Kathleen Kenyon, ed. P. R. Moorey and P. Parr. Warminster: Aris & Phllips. Yadin, Y. 1972 Hazor: The Head of All Those Kingdoms. London: Oxford University Press. 1975 The Megiddo Stables. Eretz-Israel 12: 57–62 (Hebrew). Yeivin, S. 1954 House. P. 54 in Encyclopedia Biblica 2. Jerusalem: Bialik (Hebrew). Yorburg, B. 1975 The Nuclear and the Extended Family: An Area of Conceptual Confusion. Journal of Comparative Family Studies 6: 5–14. Zimhoni, O. 1990 Two Ceramic Assemblages from Lachish Levels III and II. Tel Aviv 17: 3–52.

Healing Rituals at the Intersection of Family and Society Erhard S. Gerstenberger Philipps Universität Marburg

1.  Overlapping of Social Structures Since time immemorial, humankind has existed in social groups and bands, much like primates still do today. Over the millennia, we may assume, rules of consanguinity and exchange of wives with other wandering units gradually emerged. 1 This small-scale social organization may justly be considered, then, as the most basic form of human companionship persisting (through transformations and modulations) into our own epoch. Completely autonomous families or clans—that is, selfsufficient in economic, political, technical, and spiritual terms—may have lived in a very remote, prehistorical time and/or in immense regions of very sparse population. They certainly cannot be verified nor presupposed by any means in regard to the densely inhabited regions of the Fertile Crescent ever since settled life began there about 10,000 years ago. 2 We may flatly assume that in the Ancient Near East—sociologically speaking, in spite of firm, independent patriarchal family structures—the basic units of societal stratification were never devoid of contacts and interlacements between neighboring groups and institutions of some sort of society at large. It is reasonable to suppose that self-sufficiency was a goal, as much as possible, in all aspects of daily life, sustenance, security, and also medical care. Especially in the last instance, people of all periods and cultures tend to cherish their domestic knowledge, often inherited from the ancestors, 3 to cope with injuries, sickness, and endangerment (by demons or magical machinations, etc). 4 If the threatening situation worsens, however, or family resources are clearly insufficient from the beginning, the time came to look for outside help from recognized experts in the fields of diagnostics and therapy. 1. Cf. Lévi-Strauss 1981 (French: 1949, English: 1969). 2. Cf. Ribeiro 1968 (German: 1971, English: 1969). 3.  My own grandmother used to collect about 30 different herbs during spring and summer to take care of colds and other infections in our family. Veneration of ancestors was a formidable characteristic of social cohesion in the Ancient Near East and should not be underestimated also for early Israelitic civilization; cf. van der Toorn 1996: 206–35. 4.  Anthropological research can contribute to clarify general potential and expectations; cf. some classical studies, for example: Fortune 1963; Leo W. Simmons (ed.) 1942; Shostak 1981.

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Since I intend to focus on matters of illness and healing, we may directly raise a pivotal question: what does the fact of essential intertwinement mean for families and social institutions when it comes to medical care and healing practices? How did the interaction of different societal institutions work to begin with? The Old Testament writings do not offer detailed and comprehensive information on matters of illness and healing; yet, some texts may give us valuable insight into the nature of the problem. We have to juxtapose these texts to the much more elaborate, even if not all-encompassing, information from Ancient Near Eastern sources. The story of Elisha and the Shunamite woman’s sick boy (2 Kgs 4:18–37) gives an example of a family (mother) stretching out for help, seaking the expert knowledge of a charmer, magician, or shamanistic healer. Further “sending-out” or “going-toconsult” instances are found in 1 Kgs 14:1–3 and 2 Kgs 1:2–3, cases of illness in the royal family. The Syrian captain Naaman travels far to get to his (prophetic?) doctor (2 Kgs 5:1–19). Sometimes, the other way around, the outside world for one reason or another takes interest in the bad condition of sick or calamity-stricken persons, as in 1 Kgs 17:7–24, 2 Kgs 4:18–37, Job 33:19–30, and Isa 38:1–8:21 (the “messenger” and the “prophet” in the last two passages are sent by God!). Visitors from the outside, apparently lay-people as far medical knowledge is concerned, also appear, for example, in Ps 41:6–10 and Job 2:11–13. Their role is to comfort the sufferer and perhaps to give good advice, thus demonstrating the fact that neighbors— that is, secondary social organization—sympathize with the ill-fated. Visitors may be shocked, however, by what they encounter at the sick-bed (cf. Ps 11:1; 41:8–9; 88:9), assuming, perhaps, that the unfortunate patient is suffering from dangerous and contagious conditions sent by God himself. This very issue, the precise cause of illness, looms large in the Priestly writings. Is a given disease a sign of God’s wrath, which could well affect the community at large? (cf. Lev 13–14; Num 12:1–15; Deut 24:8; 2 Kgs 15:5; 2 Chr 26:19–21). Therefore, it is the duty of priests to determine correctly the symptoms of such things as skin diseases, as well as to prescribe and control ritual atonement for all kinds of impurities (cf. Lev 12; 15). Priestly activities, consequently, whether sought after or imposed by the experts, may interfere with domestic misadventures on behalf of the holiness of God and his chosen people, offering purification and atonement. All these texts referring to various types of interaction between “primary” family organization and “secondary” social systems 5 in the event of grave illness or ominous calamities demonstrate the universally recognized social and ideological distance that exists between family and practitioners. It clearly testifies to a diversification and specialization of medical knowledge, therapeutic skills, and religious spirituality. In dealing with one another, the two parties as a rule enter into an economic contract, the healer being a professional. Evidence for paying shamans/performers is scarce in the Old Testament but overwhelming in Ancient Near Eastern sources. 6

5.  In taking this particular perspective, I want to emphasize the special importance of social structures for the ancient employment of healing rituals and our understanding and interpretation of such procedures; cf. Gerstenberger 2002: 35–49; 101–6; 130–38. 6.  Cf. 1 Sam 9:7 (Samuel is to receive a piece of silver for his divinatory help); 2 Kgs 5:19b– 27 (Gehazi, the assistant of Elisha, quite naturally expects a good remuneration from the rescued Naaman).

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More information about healing procedures may be gleaned by inference from Old Testament texts that describe or mention illnesses, holders of public offices, means and tools of health-care (e.g., herbs, ablutions, medical equipment, charms), mental states in regard to hopes, desires, and despair, utopian sketches of future bliss, curses against evil-doers, description of plagues and pestilences, and so on. All these topics needed to be aired but a comprehensive treatment would by far overburden this paper. 7

2.  Family Measures in Case of Sickness But we may briefly touch upon the apparently “normal” procedures used to combat illnesses in ancient Israelite family life. Of course, they are hardly documented in Hebrew literature, because they always have been a rather insignificant part of public knowledge. Manageable infections, injuries, demonic attacks, and slandering certainly were dealt with in the small group on the basis of family expertise and experience. Women may have always had a special affinity for domestic medicine, curatives, plants, and perhaps even blessings and conjuring words. Traces of this kind of self-help based on that special kind of absolute solidarity among one another 8 may be found in narratives and wisdom sayings in the Hebrew Bible. Wounds and broken arms have to be bandaged (Isa 1:6; Jer 30:13; Ezek 30:21; 34:4). Sick ones are lying on their beds (1 Sam 19:14; Job 33:19; Dan 8:27). Household knowledge of medical techniques or procedures is never the focus in biblical literature, however. But we may surmise, nevertheless, that there were strategies for coping with lesser forms of physical impairment due to injury or infection. Mothers attended, as almost everywhere around the globe, to their children, holding them on their laps (1 Kgs 17:19; 2 Kgs 4:20). People in general apparently knew that water, oil, balms, and certain herbs could ease pain or fever (cf. 2 Kgs 5:10; Isa 1:6; Jer 8:22; 46:11; 51:8; Gen 30:14–16; Ezek 17:12; Wis 16:12). There was indeed a both-gender, male-andfemale profession of “lotion-maker” (1 Sam 8:13). 9 Whatever domestic knowledge and experience there may have been in ancient Israel, it would have been shared, perhaps under the main leadership of the female head of the household, by all members of the family within the tight system of mutual responsibility and solidarity so characteristic of ancient family units. Neighbor-participation in family-healing practices is unattested and remains an open question. We may speculate about the likely ingredients of knowledge of magic and formulas, well known from some anthropological research. At the least, this family treasure would not be shared with anybody outside the group, because of an unsurmountable fear of the potential to lose the magical power and irritate the personal deities that provided it. 10 7. Cf. Seybold and Müller 1978; Brown 1990: 617–25; Schroer and Staubli 1998; Frey-Anthes 2007. 8. Cf. Gerstenberger 2002: 61–75. 9.  The participle of rqh and the pertinent noun occur but 6 times in the canonical Hebrew writings (Exod 30:25–35; 37:29, where the ingredients for the holy balm are to be mixed “by the perfumer”; Qoh 10:1: “Dead flies make the perfumer’s ointment give off a foul odor”; Neh 3:8: “Hananiah, one of the perfumers”). Apparently (cf. the above references to the prophetic books) medical use of some “balms” may have been included. 10.  Cf., for instance, Fortune 1963: 133–77.

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Familial capacity to deal with mishaps affecting individual members came to its limit when the situation of the patient worsened and death was threatening, in spite of all efforts to preserve the life of the patient. Most biblical accounts of sickness within Hebrew narrative literature and the individual complaint psalms 11 portray the situation of threatening death. Outside help from trained experts becomes imperative. Here we get into a different social sphere: diverse shamanistic professionals can be identified in the Ancient Near East and partially also in ancient Israel on the basis of references in the Hebrew Scriptures. First, the more general background in the Ancient Near East: in order to get down to the social moorings of various healing professions, it may be necessary to differentiate in broad terms between diagnosticians and practitioners, temple-bound and autonomous healers, although the border lines are not always very clear 12 and there quite probably have been shifts in subsequent periods as well as in contemporary regions of the Ancient Near East and Egypt. Literary evidence in the ANE reveals a variety of professions dedicated to mantic or magic practices. Correct diagnostics always have been essential for the treatment of diseases. After all, one has to know exactly why and how the deities appealed to for help had caused the perturbations of the sufferer’s life and fate. Therefore, the medical “analyst” (the term has semantically moved to refer to a person dealing with economic ailments in our time) had to investigate all pertinent facts, including omina, dreams, and physical and psychic symptoms of the patient. 13 A primary figure concerned with such investigation certainly was the barû-priest, often dedicated to extispicy and to a broad spectrum of other ominous phenomena. But many other specialists would work in the same general field of prognosis and diagnostics. 14 The other group of traditional performing doctors, which nowadays runs afoul of contested interpretation, 15 apparently was concerned with giving direct treatment to the patient by performing sacrificial rituals, incantations, exorcism, supplications, purification, and by administering “real” medicines such as drugs and bandages. The distinction between “ritual” and “medical” healing, of course, is entirely a modern one. Yet, the a-zu (Sumerian: “medical” doctor; “Wasser-Kundiger”? Akkadian: asû, “medical” doctor) seems to have been fairly close to non-religious treatment of sick people, if there ever was such a thing as “secular” treatment or ritual in antiquity. Main incantation performers were called in Sumerian lúmaš-maš or lúinim-inim-ma and in Akkadian āšipu, but as it turns out in modern research, it is exactly this latter “incantation-priest” or “conjurer,” according to the voluminous “handbook of diagnostics” recently studied again in much detail by Nils P. Heeßel, who was quite 11. Cf. Gerstenberger 1965 / 2009: 134–47. 12.  The debate about the exact functions of ancient Mesopotamian healers and conjurers is still going on, quite controversially; see below. 13.  Labat 1951; Heeßel 2000. Further relevant literature in Cryer 1994; Jeffers 1996; Schmitt 2004. 14.  The main Sumerian term for barû in lexical lists is máš-šu-gíd-gíd and similar professions follow in these lists: a-zu, iá-zu, me-zu, etc. = “experts” in “healing”, “divine powers”; cf. von Soden 1965: 109. 15.  The hypothesis goes back to Ritter 1965: 299–322.

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involved with the medical evaluation of the patient. 16 Following the overall structure of the SA.GIG compilation, which comprises 40 tablets summarizing more than 3,000 entries of instruction for the āšipu, Heeßel reconstructs the agenda of the diagnostician. 17 The vivid depiction of that specialist’s house-call to the patient is worth presentation here in condensed form: When approaching the house of the sick person the āšipu already starts working. He meticulously takes note of everything unusual he may spot, “be it a potsherd in a vertical position, a couple of coloured pigs, oxen or asses, some dwarf-size humans, corpses or blind people.” “Very probably he also began murmuring an adequate incantation formula in order to recognize the causative force of the sickness” (Heeßel 2000: 70). “When he reached the house of the patient he paid high attention to the sound of the door through which he entered the house, and then he has the family members report anything ominous that happened at their place.” “The āšipu next undergoes, for his own protection, a purification ritual and finally turns to the patient. He administers three tests on him, sprinkling water in his face, on his head and into his mouth taking note of his reactions. This done, he systematically inspects the whole naked body from head down to the feet” (Heeßel 2000: 70). In particular, the head with its eyes, temples, mouth are screened, and all abnormalities of the body like changed colours of the skin, swellings and inflammations are taken account of (Heeßel 2000: 71). A thorough questioning of the sick one and his companions in regard to ill-feelings, pains, strange behaviour etc. is in order; also, his gender, age, and physical shape fall into consideration (Heeßel 2000: 72). Excrements of the sick person are evaluated (Heeßel 2000: 73) and the pulsation of the blood as well as the temperature of the body are tested; obviously the “doctor” has only his bare hands to register the facts. Sometimes the āšipu “recommends to call additionally an asû and ask for his diagnosis; this eventuality proves that even in ancient Mesopotamia one single medical scholar sometimes did not see himself fit to handle all the phenomena of sickness.” (Heeßel 2000: 74). — For the modern reader of SA.GIG it is certainly striking to recognize quite some similarities to to-day’s procedures of medical scrutiny, although we do not know how much ancient rites of purification, incantation, and exorcism may have entered already the dry and down to earth examinations of the “handbook” SA.GIG. And a second observation: Roles and functions of āšipu and asû must have been distinct in a way despite the fact that both are able to cooperate and even are considered equivalent in their common task of diagnostics.

Most important for our purposes is the position of these professionals in the society at large. Their long and demanding education for sure was not entirely a private affair. Knowledge of “specific literature . . . exacting broad theological insight and prolonged periods of learning” was presupposed, and a certain monopoly on such magical skills was always maintained. 18 Incantation specialists were very much 16.  “To determine the real cause of the calamity, that is the deity who sent the disease, therefore quite clearly was the task of the āšipu and not of the asû” (Heeßel 2000: 94). 17.  The excursus “Die diagnostische Untersuchung” appears on pp.  69–74 of Heeßel’s book (2000); it is expressis verbis marked as a reconstruction on the basis of the progressive unfolding of the conjurer’s task from tablet to tablet. 18.  Schmitt 2004: 79.

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needed by the whole of society (with the exception of poor people?). They came to be essential institutions, growing out of public consensus and common discourse about sickness and cure, with the addition of the ideologies of the professionals themselves. The service provided by the class was respected and needed to be paid for in cash or goods. Archaeologists at times have been able to identify houses of incantation specialists at, for example, Assur, 19 where a large collection of pertinent ritual and prescription tablets were found. The name of the conjurer was Kiṣir Aššur, and he must have been literate. This very fact raises the question of the protagonist’s professional education and social position. In our modern way of thinking, we may combine diagnosticians (āšipu, asû), diviners (barû), and incantation-performers (āšipu), since all their activities were, from the family perspective, integral parts of the battle for survival. How did they acquire their knowledge and the skills necessary for treating sick people? What was their world-view in contradistinction to that of simple lay people? In Ancient Near Eastern high cultures, to begin with, candidates had to learn the art of writing and internalize a very rich literary tradition in the fields of diagnostics, omina, and incantation rituals, including also rules for sacrifice and medical knowledge. Who maintained the schools for this purpose? How did students earn their sustenance? Was the professional know-how the property of the senior performer? To compare non-literate tribal societies and make some observations: anthropologists long have observed the tedious education, lasting for years without end, required of members of their own families if a member was a prospective shamanistic practitioner. They had to memorize and practice countless words and endless rites in order to make the rituals effective. More developed societies such as those from Mesopotamia added literary skills to the curriculum of the student diviners and conjurers. To what extent did the requirement of literary capability make the curative professions a sort of public function of society at large? And in which ways did the mentality and outlook of the curers influence patients in their small-scale family environment? 20 To get a more vivid impression of the āšipu’s routine work, Assyriologists such as Erich Ebeling and Stephan M. Maul 21 have assembled the available information into a continuous narrative. The comprehensive collections of incantation rituals labeled šu-illa and namburbi (“hand-lifting” and “untying”) make it easy to paint a picture of the healing experts’ work. They do contain explicit ritual prescriptions directed to the conjurer (second-person address, as if given by an unnamed master of ceremonies) telling him step by step how to arrange properly and perform the healing rites and even reveal some of the underlying ideological concepts. There are preparatory ablutions and purification of the performer and his patient as well as of the locale. The ways and means of “sanctification” could include baths, incense-burning, and

19. Cf. Schwemer 2007: 6–7, Maul 1994: 159–62. 20.  The largest collections of incantations in the 1st millenium b.c. are the collections šu-illa and namburbi, both involving the āšipu as the main agent. The first collection was edited by Ebeling (1953) and later was augmented by Loretz and Mayer (1978). Since the incantation rituals are very much the same, in the following account I concentrate on Stefan Maul’s descriptions. To evaluate the functioning of the conjuror, cf. also Ebeling 1931, 1953; Maul 1994, Zgoll 2003, Frechette 2008, 2012; Lenzi 2011. 21.  Ebeling 1931, Maul 1994: 37–113.

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abstinence from certain foods or drinks in the diet. 22 The night before starting the main incantation ceremony, the āšipu had to prepare the “holy water” for further ablutions, using the prescribed ingredients of plants, minerals, metallic or mineral powders, cereals, syrups, and ground-up colored materials (Maul 1994: 41–46). Furthermore, in namburbi-rituals, the object that had revealed a bad omen to the patient needed to be included in the performance. Quite often, a clay replica, which might be more readily available than the original object, was fashioned for use in the ceremony instead of the original ominous piece (Maul 1994: 46–47). “The ritual proper began with a sacrifice to Ea, Šamaš, and Asalluḫi. These three ‘high Gods’ . . . were to be called to correct the ill-fate . . . and their benevolence needed to be secured by the offering” (Maul 1994: 48). Maul explains intricate details of sacrificial arrangements (small portable altars, incense stands, figurines of deities) and offered materials that mostly included vegetables, cereals, and beer. Sometimes, a sheep was slaughtered (Maul 1994: 48–59). Only after the sacrifice had been accepted by the great gods (was there an unmentioned sign or signal involved that would be interpreted as divine approval?) could the patient present his case to them in an intense supplication (namburbi-like šuilla prayers have much in common with Old Testament individual complaints), 23 probably whispered to him by the conjuror. The patient threatened by an evil omen as a rule had to lift up to the supreme deities the very object or the replica thereof that had manifested the evil portents. He entreated the great gods to withdraw the threatening evil before it could break loose. In most cases, the ills had been determined by lesser gods or demons who, naturally, were subservient to the sentence of their superiors (Maul 1994: 60–71). Patently, the conjurer operates on a higher level of potency than the personal or household-gods ever could attain. It is exactly because the lesser deities normally attending primary groups, their “natural” clientele, had been unable to solve the problem of sickness or bad omen that the call to the conjuror had gone out. The rest of the lengthy namburbi-ceremonies, according to the analysis by Maul, is concerned about the transfer of evil power, symbolized by the ominous object, from the person not only threatened but already infected by it to some other object or being that could easily be “cast away” or “disposed of” (Maul 1994: 72–93). The final ritual actions revolved around a thorough purification of the patient and his home and some prophylactic measures destined to prevent the evil powers from returning (Maul 1994: 94–113). By their sheer quantity and variability, the rituals altogether and the intricate system of their application constitute a veritable mountain of knowledge that needs to be mastered by the performers. A specific question at this point is the possible involvement of sanctuaries in the cure of the sick or in the education of young aspirants to the profession, for that matter. There are, indeed, a good number of indications favoring close ties of some Mesopotamian specialists to temple institutions. The barû-priest himself, entrusted with omen materials and texts, may be considered a test case. He certainly belonged to the 22.  Maul, for example, refers to a royal purification advice: “For three days the king shall sanctify himself. Fish, garlic, and leeks he must not eat” (Maul 1994: 39). To what extent modern understandings of cleanliness and hygiene may be supposed to “stand behind” such precautions is another matter. 23. Cf. Gerstenberger 1980/2009: 64–160.

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staff of a temple. 24 It was his task to identify and interpret ominous situations and to keep the archives of proven portentous occurrences. Archaeologists have discovered huge collections of observations denoting a phenomenon X to announce an event or consequence Y. How the work of a barû was connected to the namburbi-officiant (an āšipu) who had to deal with the concrete incidents of evil portent we just do not know. Furthermore, seal iconography often shows a supplicant being introduced by his personal deity, or perhaps even the āšipu, to a higher-ranking god or goddess, the latter very probably being visualized as living in a temple. Temple-archives, not only private collections, contain texts of incantations and other genres relevant to healing practices. 25 We may say, therefore, that the necessary virtual presence of the highest gods in the healing ceremony presupposes at least a temple-orientation for both healer and patient. Would it not have been appropriate, then, to act out the ritual in the temple precincts? Along this vein, we may also consider the ritual expert’s employment by and consequent dependence on the royal court. Palaces (and temples, for that matter) also may have been proprietors of scribal and other professional schools. Would, by chance, the educational career already have put the barû and the āšipu under the control of a powerful institution? In fact, there are numerous tablets referring to the neo-Assyrian kings as ordering and overseeing appropriate rituals to ward off evil omina and threatening disasters. 26 But the relationship of ritual experts to the court should not be taken as exclusive; the majority of extant texts witness to the fact that they also served the general public. 27 On the other hand, we have significant evidence in the texts themselves for independent performances of diviners and healers in the service of needy people. The most important conclusion to draw from this is the obvious mobility of the practitioners. They all supposedly visited the sick person in his or her home, did their diagnostic work as described above, prepared a cultically clean place for the ritual either on the roof of the house, near a river, or within the vicinity of the patient’s lodging. 28 One reason for this fact is clear enough: in many cases, the sick person was not able to visit the temple precincts. And a quite “natural” aversion to sickness and death may also have been a motivation to keep stricken persons away from the sanctuary. “Holy” places in the Ancient Near East as a rule were sensitive to all kinds of defilement and profanation. In any case, ritual treatment quite clearly was avail24. Johannes Renger already in 1967 placed barû-priests in the context of temples (1967: 110– 88; 1968: 104–230). Many researchers have followed him in this conclusion. 25.  Some deities and their specific temples specialized in fact in healing rituals, such as, for example, Gula: she was venerated originally at Isin but later also at Assur, Borsippa, and Nippur (cf. Avalos 1995: 227, 395; in general, Avalos seems to overstress the importance of temples for healing rituals). The mašmaš of Assur, just referred to, owned copies of namburbi texts made at Gula’s temple at Assur (Maul 1994: 161). For the namburbi-series, most references are to the great gods Ea, Šamaš, and Asalluḫi, as stated above. 26. Cf. Maul 1994: 29–36, 216–21. The passage referred to last does mention a collection of incantations NAM.BÚR.BI.MEŠ allegedly ordered by Assurbanipal himself to be used for his own protection. 27.  See references in n. 20. 28. The namburbi-texts investigated by S. M. Maul or the šu-illas edited by E. Ebeling et al. do not refer to temples. Namburbi rites sometimes even were to be executed at an “inaccessible” locale, near a river (Maul 1994: 69–70).

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able for everybody who needed expert help and could afford it. How the location of healing rituals for a normal citizen could be reconciled with the ideal of his appearance before the high gods remains unclear. We may surmise, however, that prayers and seal iconography were working with a virtual introduction of the sufferer to one or more of the decisive authorities in his or her case of complaint. Be this as it may, for our purposes, we need to emphasize again: without firm ties between the ritual expert and superior institutions, the healing professionals brought their dominant knowledge and frames of mind to the patient’s home. They alone decided what to do in the ritual, just as medical experts today normally have the privilege of know-how and experience and the authority to make decisions. They determine medicines, ways of behavior, dietary rules, and, in the case of ancient ritual performance, every word and gesture that is to be used. Prayers of praise, complaint, and supplication were in order in Ancient Near Eastern ceremonies for the sick. The patient had to repeat word for word what the ritual performer told him. The small world of family beliefs and the mundane, urban, educated views of the expert came into contact with one another.

4.  Traces of Shamanism in the Old Testament Professional healing practices are known all over the world; anthropologists and researchers in the science of religion usually call ritual healers by more encompassing terms: “shamans” or “medicine men / women.” 29 They perform their diverse functions, as seen above in the Akkadian sources, as independent but publicly acknowledged mediators between patient and superior divine powers. It may be an open question whether or not tribal societies allowed for an equally wide gap between family religion and the shaman’s world-view, as we have noted in the literate Babylonian culture. As we shall see below (section 5), oral cultures did possess professionals with a large treasury of memorized knowledge, but they hardly knew of a hierarchic pantheon and the correlate social stratification. Consequently, for the Old Testament world, we need to distinguish shamanistic healers and their “lowclass profile” from the so-called prophets, especially the “classical” or “literate” ones, sometimes pictured as “Torah”-prophets, a late concept originating only in the postexilic Yahweh community. 30 Turning now to the Old Testament evidence, we first have to consider the personnel dedicated to help ailing persons as they are described in the Hebrew scriptures. The most prominent representatives of the “medical” class of the early Israelite period are Elijah and Elisha. They are formidable “men of God,” not yet specified as Yahweh-messengers, but gifted with specific powers to dominate natural events, to miraculously help the poor, and to command and expel evil powers from stricken persons to the point of resuscitating one deceased boy each. The examples of healing (apart from some ecstatic experiences brought to the fore) bring these men close to a shamanistic profile. Naaman is healed by the word of the Man of God and a little submersion-rite in a river (2 Kgs 5). The dead boys require more ritual investment, namely, prayer and sympathetic magic (1 Kgs 17:17–24; 2 Kgs 4:8–37). As little as 29. Cf. Eliade 1994, Brown 1981: 375–400. The concept of “shaman” includes ecstatic and magic capacities that are not of central interest for this paper. 30. Cf. Gerstenberger 1998: 266–90.

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this may seem in terms of full-fledged incantation activity, these are traces that fit the shamanistic type of mediator. Both Elijah and Elisha, however, are not at all presented from a literary angle as scholars of ritual healing art. Proper knowledge of the procedures, nonetheless, is a prerequisite of their achievements. Interestingly, the portraits of Elijah and Elisha show them as itinerant miracle-workers and healers. Their relationship with their clients is exquisite, based on a give-and-take friendship but distinctly standing outside family bonds. Their power of manipulation, spirit possession, and Elijah’s journey toward heaven (2 Kgs 2:1–12) are shamanistic. Isaiah exhibits some “healing” capacities (Isa 38:21); and this is either an old residue of preliterate traditions or a chance accretion to the classical prophetic picture. Second, I want to point out that there is one authentic ritual text, along some other merely allusive ones, in the Hebrew Scriptures: Num 5:11–31, the so-called “law in cases of jealousy,” exercised a higher level of power. A priest is officiating the pertinent rites (giving magic water to the accused and making her swear a cleansing oath, etc.), and we get the impression that literary culture with fixed liturgical agendas is much nearer than in the Elijah-Elisha tradition. The priest, after all, notwithstanding his archaic actions, is clearly aligned to a superior temple hierarchy. A third type of text should be recognized as the literary residue of older Hebrew incantations, namely, the “individual complaints” in the Psalter. 31 If I am correct, this genre of psalms, which is so close in form and content to Babylonian incantation prayers, lost its correlative ritual prescriptions when it was incorporated into the bulk of community texts that served all kinds of liturgical purposes of the emerging faith-congregation of Yahweh-believers during the Persian period. 32 If we acknowledge the character of these complaints (in contrast to personal, biographical, unique supplications), we can imagine the liturgist administering the text to the patient, making him recite the prayer line by line. If we grant that this is possible, we get a notion of how outside influence came into the protected family sphere by way of “official” ritual healing in ancient Israel. There are more inklings of healing practices in the Hebrew Scriptures affecting private lives, such as the aforementioned actions of Isaiah in the multilayered chapter, Isaiah 38, the prophet being successively a Yahweh-word communicator, prayerinstigator, and medical doctor. Or compare the role of the messenger-mediator sent by God to a person on his or her sick-bed in Job 33:14–30. Or, for that matter, the frustrated effort to get a positive oracle from a prophet/Man of God regarding the sickness of a royal prince (1 Kgs 14:1–18; cf. 2 Kgs 1:1–8); in these cases, it is divination, the first step in ritual healing, that flounders and gets ship-wrecked. A successful cure, on the other hand is gained by the Syrian general Naaman in 2 Kgs 5, although in a theologically shortened way. Elisha, without much ado, liberates Naaman from his “leprosy.” Economic reality shines through in that Gehazi, servant of the “man of God,” quite lawfully tries to profit from the successful healing. But Elisha, according to the deuteronomistic narration, is determined not to let the (princely) honorarium overshadow Yahweh’s honor; so “leprosy” comes over Gehazi and his family (2 Kgs 5:26–27). We may deduce from this example that the healing professions potentially 31.  This, at least, is my personal hypothesis, first publicized in Gerstenberger 1980 / 2009 (habilitation thesis at Heidelberg 1971; Gerstenberger 1988 / 2001). 32. Cf. Gerstenberger 2005.

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were highly remunerated, which in turn may throw light on their social position in antiquity. A fuller survey of the magical components of shamanistic healing in the Old Testament, including the powerful effects left in the bones of that unnamed “man of god” (1 Kgs 13), is provided by Rüdiger Schmitt. 33 In sum, we do have sufficient evidence for the existence of shamanistic healing practice in ancient Israel in its historical narratives. The corollary of widespread suppression of most professional medical activity (probably exilic in origin under the auspices of deuteronomistic schools) on the one hand explains well the scarcity of positive statements, and on the other hand, it broadens our idea about what actually was the custom before the “Yahweh-ization” began to take effect. 34 Key passages of prohibiting all service to “other gods” by calling on their help in times of dire need are, for example, Deut 18:9–22; Isa 3:1–3, 18–21; Ezek 13:18–21; Mic 5:9–14; Isa 47:8–15. The emphasis in all of these passages is on “apostasy to other deities,” which—in terms of the daily life of ancient people—in fact occurs first of all in situations of looking for help in desperate situations. The “diviners,” “soothsayers,” and “magicians” of these prohibitive texts all fall into the category of shamanistic mediator. They worked—like the famous “witch” of Endor (1 Sam 28)—for the good of those who needed help. Their basic presupposition and at the same time requirement was that the supplicant, for better or for worse, had to address precisely those deities whom the expert indicated; he or she had to accept this “foreign” power into his or her private life.

5.  Archaic Healing around the Globe Since human beings do suffer comparable ailments in all cultures and regions of this planet, we may safely assume that healing rituals and medical experts are to be found everywhere in human societies. 35 “Rituals of affliction attempt to rectify a state of affairs that has been disturbed or disordered; they heal, exorcise, protect, and purify.” 36 My own personal experience is with Navajo medicine men and their extensive ceremonial heritage, including “sings” for healing purposes that are performed through several nights in the “hogans” (primitive log cabins having a tent shape), ending in a large public dance of supplication and thanksgiving. We, summer workers in the 1960s at some local churches around Window Rock, New Mexico and Fort Defiance, Arizona, attended several of these events at night, celebrating until the morning, watching the squaw-dancers, eating Navajo bread, and talking to tribal people. The spiritual heritage of the Navajo nation once comprised about 100 fullfledged and quite extensive rituals for peace and war, sickness and threats against life. Most of these ceremonies served personal needs of individual people, but they

33.  Schmitt 2004: 209–334. Henrike Frey-Anthes discusses the theological and social implications of sickness, portrays the healers (unfortunately, she uses the title “prophet” instead of “man of god” for healers alongside “doctors” and “priests”), and enumerates 19 different types of illness found in the Hebrew Bible. 34. Cf. Schmitt 2004: 335–81 (“Magieverbote”). 35. Cf. Gerlitz, Toellner, and Rössler 1985: 738–54; Bell 1997: 115–20. 36.  Bell 1997: 115. Statements such as this consider society to be one-dimensional and homogeneous. They ignore the fact that, in general, the expert performers subjugate their clients to their own “superior” symbolic systems and liturgical practice; they have to yield to the specialist’s world-view and belief.

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were the exclusive property of trained medicine men and women. 37 To be recognized by the general public, the medical students had to meticulously memorize texts and rites (including the production of famous sand-paintings and prayer sticks) for a period of at least ten years before being qualified for autonomous practice. One determined shaman could master only one or very few of the known ceremonials. The rituals themselves comprise a tremendously varied, complex sequence of mythical stories, songs, prayers, and concomitant ritual acts. There originally was, when white researchers first came to the reservation, a strict prohibition imposed by medicine men on putting anything of Navajo medical practice into writing or recording it by technical means and then providing it to the white man. In this vein, we could consult innumerable anthropological studies from every continent, filling libraries, tracing the education and performance of shamanistic experts in situations of sickness, depression, and marginalization. Interestingly enough, there has been a modern revival of shamanism, filling the niches left by present-day medicine, psychology, and psychotherapy (see web-links in the literature below). The philosophy of ritual healing remains more or less the same through the ages.

6.  The Well-Being of the Family and Its Intertwinements with Society We should draw some conclusions regarding the contacts of family-structures with larger society in cases of healing procedures. 6.1.  Our brief foray into the fields of healing practices has yielded mixed results. Depending on the texture of social organizations, we find a kind of learned medical art, based on written handbooks and sophisticated school education, in highly developed urban Mesopotamian societies. Similarly, we discovered a more shamanistic, spirit-guided, and orally transmitted system of ritual healing in tribal organizations, with Hebrew traditions apparently participating a little in both types. 6.2.  Evidence of healing procedures in Hebrew scriptures is scarce, due to the character and goals of the collection of the scriptures within the emerging early Jewish community of the Second Temple period. 38 Most ritual prescriptions of ancient origin were discarded in the Hebrew writings because they were suggestive of unorthodox cults, including, possibly, ancestor worship. 39 The list of prohibited cultic functionaries in Deut 18:9–13 and the legend of the “medium of Endor” (1 Sam 28) indicate strong aversions to non-Yahwistic rituals. The “complaints of the individual” in the Psalms have been taken out of their original contexts and replanted into quasi-synagogual casual services for ailing people. Professional healers (“men of God”) have given way to liturgists of prayer and supplication. 6.3.  Even with this kind of transformation of spiritual outlook and cultic behavior on the family level, there remain traces of former roles and procedures; in 37.  Literature about Navajo ceremonials alone is vast, since the Navajo are one of the most extensively researched tribes in the U.S.A., starting full-scale with the work of Kluckhohn (cf. Kluckhohn and Leighton 1943), the Harvard anthropologist. Cf. Reichard 1950: 80–122, 279–348; Spencer 1957; Wyman 1975; Faris 1990. 38. Cf. Gerstenberger 2002: 207–72. 39.  Cf. van der Toorn 1996: 206–35.

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fact, such basic behavior in case of severe illness and life-threats can be traced right into modern relationships between medical experts and patients, as well as rituals developed in this area. 6.3.1.  Families from ancient times until this very day try to cope with milder cases of sickness and misfortune by following their own strategies to the best of their knowledge. In grave cases that cannot be handled by domestic means, outside specialists are sought. They eventually come to the house of the stricken person to combat the evil powers causing misfortune and death. 6.3.2.  All the know-how to analyze the nature of the calamity and to determine adequate counter-actions, all the means necessary to treat the patient (from medicine, cultic equipment, pertinent prayers, etc.) are not to be found in the family realm but are provided by the expert (exactly as in our own societies today). The performance itself, including choice of time, locale, sacrificial gifts to the deity, and so on is completely directed by the expert. Hardly any patient (perhaps the king in ancient Near Eastern contexts?) dares to question the healers’ proposals. 6.3.3.   The logic of all these proceedings, of course, is that a ritual requested by the family of a gravely sick member and imported into the house becomes a service that has to be paid for. The ritual expert does offer his or her know-how because he or she lives on the earnings deriving from the performance. Healing rituals themselves are a type of merchandise, and the rules of economic exchange—not of family solidarity—are the guidelines of these undertakings. 6.4.  Having stated the supreme authority of and a quite unilateral orientation by the medical experts around the ceremonial acts, we immediately become aware of how much interference, for better or for worse, with domestic ways of living is at stake. To put it in more general terms: the typical family-centered world-view of this tightly knit, small, living and working group 40 comes into contact with the different intellectual and spiritual horizons of the incantation specialist. 6.4.1.  Family was a microcosm of its own, much more so than nowadays, which has high percentages of single households and a profoundly individualistic ideology. Any contact to the outside world, whether with other families, neighborhoods, or state or temple officials was a challenge to family members: it put their own little universe into question, relativizing roles and potentialities of the small social unit but also opening up wider perspectives of power, sustenance, and self-realization within society at large. 6.4.2.  For me, the idea of clashing theological conceptualizations is most intriguing in this encounter between family world and the healer’s spiritual experience. If I see the situation more or less correctly, families originally adhered to their domestic, lesser, protective deities, 41 the type described since A. Alt as “god of our fathers” (Vätergott). Now, if a deity such as this was not able to cure his or her client but needed the help of superior powers, it may have been discredited to a certain 40. That small, intimate groups do develop an authentic, very distinct world-view and religious faith is pretty much a consensus among anthropologists and sociologists. Already in his younger years, Rainer Albertz (1978) splendidly adopted this thesis for the interpretation of the Old Testament. 41. Cf. Gerstenberger 2002: 25–91.

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extent. The visit of a diviner or healer who acted in the name of some greater potency would possibly open up avenues to more elevated numina. 6.4.3.  Theological conceptualizations emerging in the new Yahweh faith community had a tendency to aggravate the losing situation for family faith and worship. Exclusive monotheism, in my view, only became ascendant starting with exilic and post-exilic developments within the Judean populace, more intensely with the deportees than with those who stayed at home. The congregation of Yahweh worshipers rallying around torah, Sabbath, circumcision, annual festivals, and so on claimed to be the new family of God alone, purging the community of its old, inherited domestic and local cults. Some women in particular felt the brunt of this fundamental change: “from the time we stopped making offerings to the queen of heaven and pooring libations to her, we have lacked everything and have perished by the sword and by famine” ( Jer 44:18). This is an astounding theological affirmation in favor of an “alien” cult 42 that had been customary in Israel until the exile. 42.  The cult of the “Queen of Heaven” in Jeremiah is kind of a state cult, it seems. But the logic of the context speaks in favor of domestic cults being mentioned by women. So the redactor may have manipulated the original intention of the passage; cf. Zgoll 2003.

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Seybold, Klaus, and Müller, Ulrich 1978 Krankheit und Heilung. Biblische Konfrontationen 8. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Shostak, Marjorie 1981 Nisa: the Life and Words of a !Kung Woman. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Simmons, Leo W. (ed.) 1942 Sun Chief: The Autobiography of a Hopi Indian. New Haven: Yale University Press. Soden, Wolfram von 1965 Akkadisches Handwörterbuch, unter Benutzung des lexikalischen Nachlasses von Bruno Meissner bearb. von Wolfram von Soden, vol. I. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Spencer, Katherine 1957 Mythology and Values: An Analysis of Navaho Chantway Myths. Austin: University of Texas Press. Toorn, Karel van der 1996 Family-Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel: Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life. Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 7. Leiden: Brill. Watanabe, Kazuko 1999 Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter. Wilson, Robert R. 1981 Prophecy and Society. Philadelphia: Fortress. Wyman, Leland C. 1975 The Mountainway of the Navajo. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Zgoll, Annette 2003 Die Kunst des Betens: Form und Funktion, Theologie und Psychagogik in babylonischassyrischen Handerhebungsgebeten zu Ištar. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 308. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. 2006 Traum und Welterleben im Antiken Mesopotamien. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 333. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. See also Modern shamanism: Schamanismus-Akademie, Österreich: www.schamanismusakademie.com; Transmediales Seherinstitut, München: www.schamanenausbildung.de; Der Siebte Himmel, Eckernförde: //der-siebte-himmel.de

Family Religion from a Northern Levantine Perspective Timothy P. Harrison University of Toronto

Karel van der Toorn notes in his contribution to Household and Family Religion in Antiquity that family religion, though the most common and pervasive form of religious practice, has nevertheless been largely ignored in ancient Near Eastern studies (2008: 20). Although efforts have begun to redress this imbalance, particularly in the realm of biblical Israel and her neighbors, our knowledge of household religious practice in the Bronze and Iron Age cultures of Syro-Anatolia and the northern Levant remains woefully limited. This is due in part to the sparse documentary record available, but it must also be acknowledged that archaeological research has devoted very little attention to domestic contexts, as evidenced by the overwhelming focus— over more than a century of exploration—on the elite citadels and public spaces of ancient settlements. As a result, we know almost nothing about everyday life in the region, particularly during the Iron Age. Filling this gap will require a redirection of research agendas, with excavations venturing off the upper mounds of sites and targeting a wider range of settlement contexts, including the residential areas typically found in the lower settlements that encircle most mounded sites. Fortunately, field projects have begun to focus efforts in this area, but it will take time to accumulate meaningful data. Consequently, in this paper I will examine a number of features in the religious traditions of the region that accentuate the central importance of the family and then attempt to identify (or anticipate) remains in the archaeological record that reflect these expressions of family religious life. In so doing, I wish to emphasize the importance of adopting a holistic view of ancient religious behavior. In contrast to our modern western conceptualizations, with their sharp distinctions between public and private life, there is little evidence to suggest that ancient Near Eastern communities maintained such a compartmentalized view of their world.

The House of the Father A central theme of Levantine Bronze and Iron Age society, and indeed of the wider ancient Near East, is the powerful organizing principle of kinship. Although many scholars have discounted its pervasive influence, particularly in complex urban contexts, patrilineal kinship unquestionably was the idiom through which

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social, economic, and political cooperation and organization were mediated in ancient Near Eastern society, as David Schloen (2001) and others have effectively demonstrated. Expressed metaphorically as the “House of the Father,” patrilineal kinship typically assumed the form of a nested hierarchy of households, beginning at the basal level with extended (or joint) family households and culminating at the apex with the household of the god(s). Kinship thus should be viewed as dynamic rather than static, employing the genealogical metaphor to represent each relationship of authority or dependence. Understood in this way, the symbolism of the patriarchal household can serve as both a metaphor of literary discourse and a template for practical social action (Schloen 2001: 350). Although perhaps best characterized as “murky refractions” (cf. Schloen 2001: 350), West Semitic mythological narratives such as the Ugaritic ʾAqhatu and Baʿlu epics clearly held profound meaning for their native audiences and therefore provide a revealing—even if imaginative—reframing of the lived social experience of Levantine communities during this period. Their plots uniformly affirm the fundamental importance of the extended family household as the basic social unit, while highlighting the central drama of the perpetual quest to secure the heir to the paterfamilias, whether in the celestial world of the gods, the political realm of kings and the ruling elite, or the life cycle of the common household. These narrative myths thus portray a patrimonial existence that closely mirrors the patrilineal kinship structures reflected in contemporary administrative texts and material culture. They also emphasize the non-dualistic nature of the Levantine worldview and challenge the perception that ancient Near Eastern communities separated their public and private religious lives, maintaining a dichotomy between their formal, institutionalized religious beliefs and common everyday “folk” practice.

The Cult of the Ancestors Family household religion in the ancient Near East had two key features: the veneration of a “family” god and the maintenance of a cult of the family ancestors (van der Toorn 2008: 20–21). The family god was never anonymous; he (or occasionally she) was always identified, or named, as the patron of a particular individual or family. In glyptic, for example, a seal’s owner would typically be identified as the “servant of god so-and-so.” The primary role of the family god was to serve as an intercessor, though in principle the relationship was mutually beneficial, since by invoking his name and offering their prayers and offerings, the family promoted and attended to him. As family patron, it was important that the family god lived in the immediate proximity, that the god’s cult place was local, whether the family residence was urban or rural. In urban contexts, these often took the form of neighborhood chapels or shrines. When a family moved or emigrated, they usually took the cult of their god with them (see further in van der Toorn 1996: 66–93; 2008: 21–23). The second component of ancient Near Eastern family religious practice was the cult of the ancestors. The responsibility for maintaining this cult rested with the eldest son, or heir, of the paterfamilias. The ancestor cult involved both an oral rite—invoking the name(s) of the dead ancestors—and a material component, a ritual meal known as the kispum. In Mesopotamian practice, the kispu was a daily rite performed in conjunction with the meals of the living, with more elaborate feasts

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prepared once a month during the interlunar and in conjunction with important events in the family life cycle, signifying that these activities occurred in the presence of the ancestors (see further in Tsukimoto 1985; van der Toorn 1996: 42–65; 2008: 25–28). The cult place typically consisted of a house sanctuary, or dedicated room (bit kispim), located in the house of the paterfamilias and was equipped with a ceremonial table ( paššur sakke) upon which were placed the offerings for the dead. Other features of the room included a sacred fireplace (kinunu) and a lamp (nuru). In contrast to Mesopotamian practice, the cult of the ancestors and worship of the family god(s) were intermingled in West Semitic family religion (van der Toorn 1996: 153). The cult place of the family god(s) also served as the place where the family ancestors were venerated. The responsibilities of the paterfamilias are vividly portrayed in the Epic of ʾAqhatu (see specifically KTU 1.17 i 23–33). The driving theme of the narrative concerns the protagonist, Daniʾilu the king, and his desperate desire for a son who might succeed him and thereby secure the family line. The oracle who speaks to the king lists the primary duties involved. They included domestic tasks but significantly also a series of religious duties. The heir to the paterfamilias was to partake of the sacrificial meals presented to the family god(s), in this instance El and Baal, in their temple or sanctuary. The account is reminiscent of the scene in the story of Elkanah and Hannah, parents of Samuel, in which Elkanah gives Hannah a double portion of the sacrificial meal because of his love for her (1 Sam 1:4–5). The heir was also to erect a stela (skn) of his father’s ilib in a sanctuary or temple (bqdš) (KTU 1.17 i 26–27). There has been some debate whether ilib refers to a divinized ancestor, specifically a “divine father,” or to the paternal god of the household, thus “god of the father.” Van der Toorn has argued in favor of the deified status of the deceased ancestor (1993; 1996: 155–60), but a paternal god who served as protector of the household, or clan, seems preferable in this context (Schloen 2001: 343–45). Thus, the dutiful son places a stele of his paternal god, which serves as a “votive emblem” (ztr) of his clan (ʾmh), in a temple on behalf of his father. The list of filial duties, as outlined in the Epic of ʾAqhatu, may also have included communicating with the ancestral spirit, or necromancy, though the wording of the relevant couplet (lines 27–28) is uncertain, and it is plausible that the reference is to maintaining the domestic hearth as a sacred symbol of the family (for contrasting views, see Lewis 1989: 54, 60–65; and van der Toorn 1996: 165). Whether or not deceased ancestors achieved divine status in Ugaritic society, it is clear that an ancestral cult existed. Some have tried to link the Mesopotamian kispu rites to the Ugaritic marziḥi and its Hebrew cognate marzeaḥ (cf. Pope 1981: 174–76), but there seems little if any connection (Lewis 1989: 80–98; Pardee 1996). Nevertheless, the presence of corbel-vaulted tombs beneath the floors of many of the houses in Ugarit provides indisputable proof that the deceased played a direct and continuing role in the lives of their associated households. While attempts to identify evidence of cultic activity in these tombs have not been convincing (see Pitard 1994; van der Toorn 1996: 161), this does not preclude the possibility that such activities did in fact occur in them or within their immediate vicinity. Indeed, this is implied by the funerary ritual that was performed at the burial of the Ugaritic king Niqmaddu III (KTU 1.161; for the text, see Bordreuil and Pardee 1991: 151–63), which included sacrificial offerings to the forefathers and a ceremonial meal partaken at a table (see further in Pardee 1996). In any event, it is clear from the filial

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duties listed in the Epic of ʾAqhatu that a key ritual, the placing of the ancestral stele (see lines 26–27), occurred outside the household, in a temple or sanctuary.

Syro-Hittite Funerary Monuments To date, more than one hundred funerary monuments have been identified within the territories of the Syro-Hittite states of southeast Anatolia and northwest Syria. These include statues (30), carved stelae (70), and at least 13 inscribed stelae (Bonatz 2000a, 2000b: 189). 1 Although many—indeed almost all—of these intriguing monuments suffer from poor provenance, their appearance as a group has been dated generally to the ninth and first half of the eighth centuries b.c.e., placing them within the fluorescent phase of these diminutive Iron Age kingdoms. Hawkins’s identification of several inscribed stelae as funerary monuments (1980; 1989) confirmed Orthmann’s earlier proposal that the feasting scenes carved on many of these stelae represented a funerary ritual (1971: 366–93). The carved scenes typically depict a single male figure, though occasionally male and female couples occur, seated at a table partaking of a meal. The tables are supplied with a variety of foods (usually a combination of stacked loaves of bread or cakes and meat, generally waterfowl, fish, or sheep) and accoutrements. The seated figure(s) is sometimes accompanied by a smaller, standing individual who often is shown waving a fan over the table, as though attending to the care of its contents. The scene is strongly reminiscent of the Mesopotamian kispum ritual, with the seated figure representing the deceased ancestor, the former paterfamilias, and the smaller figure signifying the person charged with maintaining the ancestral cult, namely, the eldest son or heir (Bonatz 2000a; 2000b: 191). The seated figure often holds a drinking cup in one raised hand and various symbols of fertility or regeneration, such as an ear of corn, a sheaf of wheat, a bunch of grapes, a pomegranate, a flower, or a pine cone (as in the KTMW stele from Zincirli; see further below) in the other, while women are often depicted holding a distaff and spindle (Struble and Herr­ mann 2009: 23–24). Other scenes portray a family unit, sometimes with the father figure embracing the child, a protective gesture that further confirms the filial relationship (Bonatz 2000b: 191–93). Standing and seated statue figures, the latter often displayed holding a drinking cup in their right hand, also served a funerary function, as indicated by their iconography and sometimes by an accompanying inscription (Bonatz 2000a; 2000b: 193). However, poor provenance prevents a more precise understanding of the potential role of these monuments in ritual activity, though they are generally found in association with palaces and temples or in public spaces, such as monumental gateways. Despite the general lack of provenance, it is clear that Syro-Hittite funerary stelae were intended as memorials to mark a particular location, presumably—though not necessarily always—the actual grave site of the deceased. The in situ discovery of the KTMW mortuary stele at Zincirli (ancient Samʾal), found in a residential area of the lower town, therefore offers exciting new insight into the functional role of these monuments. The accompanying inscription on the Zincirli stele also provides specific details about the rituals that were expected to be performed in its presence, 1.  A similar unpublished study was conducted slightly earlier by J. Voos (1986); see also Voos 1988a and 1988b.

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including the nature and quantity of the offerings (though the meal portrayed on the stele does not correlate well with the offerings described in the text), their recipients, the practitioners, the frequency of the offerings, and their source (Struble and Herrmann 2009: 29–30; see also Pardee 2009). In contrast to the carved scene, which depicts a male figure seated before a table stacked with loaves of bread or cakes, a duck or waterfowl and a pyxis, the offerings prescribed for KTMW were a leg-cut of mutton and grapes or wine (see lines 8–13; Pardee 2009: 54). The offerings were to be provided annually in perpetuity (line 10), not simply at the time of death and burial, and they were to be supplied, it would appear, from some type of endowment (line 9). As Struble and Herrmann state (2009: 30), however, we should not assume that all such offerings were similar in nature or frequency, since specific reference to a food offering occurs in only one other inscribed funerary stele (specifically Kululu 3; see Hawkins 1989: 191; 2000: 490–91). Nevertheless, the expectation that food and drink offerings were to be presented to a deceased ancestor is clear, as evidenced by the royal mortuary inscription of Panamuwa I, king of Samʾal, preserved on the statue of Hadad found at nearby Gercin (Tropper 1993: 154–58; van der Toorn 1996: 166–68). Although previously thought to have been a privilege reserved for the king (cf. Orthmann 1971: 378; Niehr 1994), the non-royal KTMW stele clearly indicates a broader social practice (Struble and Herrmann 2009: 30–31; see also earlier, Dion 1997: 267–70). As noted, the KTMW stele was discovered in a residential area of the lower town at Zincirli. More specifically, it was found in the northwest corner of a small room, ca. 3.75  ×  3.0 m, of a building (Building II) that formed part of a larger complex (Complex A) in the northern lower town. An earlier phase of the building included two circular ovens, suggesting a possible domestic function for the structure. The stele stood against the back (western) wall of the room and was surrounded by a series of large flagstones, creating a pavement or platform in front of the stele, with a large flat-lying basalt stone to its right that might have served as a bench. A “pedestal” of stones, ca. 0.65 m in height, stood to the left of the stele. These installations presumably served as the immediate setting for whatever cultic activities might have been performed in the room. Unfortunately, the room appears to have been systematically cleaned when it was abandoned at the end of its use, leaving no indication of the activities that might have taken place there, although the cylindrical foot of a basalt vessel was uncovered in the debris above the flagstone pavement, and a blackened fragment of a basalt object was found reused in a later renovation of one of the room’s walls. The room produced no human remains or any trace of a burial. Due largely to the modest size of the associated building, the excavators conclude that the KTMW stele appears to have been housed within a freestanding mortuary chapel, rather than in a cult room belonging to a residential complex (Struble and Herrmann 2009: 33–36).

Syro-Hittite Mortuary Chapels Although Syro-Hittite or, more specifically, Syro-Anatolian religious architecture has been the focus of study (cf. Naumann 1971: 433–72; Mazzoni 2010, and further references there), mortuary chapels have not received much attention in the literature. Perhaps the best example of such chapels is the “Kultraum” that was discovered

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during excavations in the lower town at Tell Halaf (ancient Guzana) (Müller 1950: 357–60). A narrow, rectangular structure, the building measured 6.8 × 10.9 m. The building was oriented to the east, and its central room, or cella, was entered through its east wall by means a small antechamber. An elevated platform, or podium, was built against the western wall of the cella. A statue of two seated figures, a male and a female, 2 was found on this podium, with a second statue, an upright male figure, standing nearby. Both statues faced eastward toward a mud-brick altar and a rectangular basalt “offering table” outfitted with two recessed impressions. The room was also equipped with a bench along its north wall, and it contained a variety of cultic paraphernalia, including basalt vessels and male and female votive figurines made of stone or bronze. Three interconnecting rooms formed a small annex to the south, accessed via a doorway in the south wall of the cella (Müller 1950: 357–60). Two small multi-room structures near the southern gate of the citadel, Baugruppe 1 and 2, were found in association with a subterranean chamber containing human remains (Langenegger 1950: 171–75) and therefore might also have functioned as mortuary chapels (Niehr 2006: 131). Indirect evidence of mortuary chapels might also have been discovered at Carchemish. Although no funerary stelae or statues have been recovered in situ, a towershaped stele bearing an illegible Hieroglyphic Luwian inscription was found in a subsidiary building in the courtyard of the Storm-God Temple (Woolley and Barnett 1952: 167, pls. 29, 36a), a second stele was uncovered in the vicinity of the Kubaba Temple on the acropolis (Woolley and Barnett 1952: 213, pls. 49 and 50a), and a seated male figure was found next to the Hilani Building (Woolley and Barnett 1952: 181, pl. 38). These prompted Woolley (Woolley and Barnett 1952: 184) and later scholars (e.g., Bonatz 2000a: 154; Niehr 2006: 131) to speculate that the Storm-God Temple and the Hilani building were in fact royal mortuary chapels (Struble and Herrmann 2009: 36–37). A key feature of mortuary chapels might have been their orientation to the east, toward the rising sun (Bonatz 2000a: 152; Niehr 2006; Struble and Herrmann 2009: 38), although the limited evidence available to date argues for caution on this point. More importantly, the association of funerary stelae and/or statues with dedicated religious structures, specifically sanctuaries or chapels, seems unequivocal and closely parallels the view conveyed by the textual evidence. It also argues for the possibility that other such buildings might exist. Also significant are the locations of these funerary monuments and chapels. Although some funerary monuments have been found in elite contexts, the location of both the Kultraum at Tell Halaf and the Zincirli stele (and chapel) in the lower towns of these two sites points to the possibility that mortuary chapels might exist in the lower towns and residential areas of other Iron Age settlements, and indeed funerary monuments have been found in similar non-elite contexts, as well as in extramural cemeteries. Unfortunately, the limited amount of excavation conducted thus far in the residential areas of Iron Age sites hampers our ability to explore this possibility. As first noted by Matthiae (1992), a possible neighborhood chapel was excavated by the Syrian-Hittite Expedition at Tell Judaidah in the North Orontes 2.  Several other seated statues have been found at Tell Halaf and in the vicinity, including two of females that were associated with burial shafts containing cremation urns (Langenegger 1950: 159–67).

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Valley (Haines 1971: 28–29, pls. 42–43, 56–57), one of the few Iron Age settlements where a residential area has been excavated, although no funerary monuments were reported in association with the structure. The rectangular building, which measured 9.5 × 26.25 m, bordered the north side of an east–west street and was surrounded by what appears to have been a series of domestic structures. We should anticipate additional discoveries, as excavations begin to focus more explicitly on the residential areas of sites. As stated, the practice of erecting non-royal funerary monuments flourished in the ninth and eighth centuries b.c.e., during the high-point of the Syro-Hittite period. Equally striking is their disappearance after the Neo-Assyrian annexation of the region in the latter decades of the eighth century. The production of the Syro-Hittite funerary monuments has clear antecedents in the funerary rituals and iconography of the Hittite Empire period and can be seen in the sculptural traditions that persisted into the twelfth century, following the collapse of the Hittite Empire, and continued through to the appearance of the first funerary stelae in the late tenth/ early ninth century b.c.e. Bonatz has associated the fluorescence of these funerary monuments with the emergence of local elites who sought to emulate the royal practices of the ruling dynasties that had secured control of the Syrian-Hittite states of this period and thereby achieve identity and status within the revived social hierarchies of these diminutive kingdoms (2000a: 161–65; 2000b: 204–10). Although this may be true, it nevertheless is important to remember that the central theme articulated in both the inscriptions and iconography of these monuments was not the deceased person’s position with respect to the king or the state but to their family, and the critical importance of maintaining the integrity and continuity of the extended family household (Struble and Herrmann 2009: 42).

Family “Household” Religion at Tell Tayinat Tell Tayinat is located on the southern flank of the Amuq Plain at the northern bend of the Orontes River, approximately 30 km east of modern Antakya (classical Antioch). The site was excavated over four field seasons between 1935 and 1938 by the University of Chicago’s Syrian-Hittite Expedition. Their excavations, which were largely confined to the site’s upper mound, or citadel, revealed a series of large monumental buildings, including several bit ḫilani-style palaces (most notably Building I) and a small temple (Building II) (see summary report in Haines 1971). Identified by contemporary sources as Kunulua, the royal city of the Syro-Hittite kingdom of Patina/Unqi, the Chicago excavations at Tayinat have furnished an illuminating view of the impressive regal cities built by the ruling dynasties of the Syro-Hittite period. Certainly, their monumental construction must have heightened the prestige of their builders if not the legitimacy of the local ruling dynasty. However, even within this elite context, there are indications of the persistent influence of kinship and the importance of the patrimonial household metaphor, particularly as expressed through the language of covenant. In 2004, excavations were resumed at Tell Tayinat by the University of Toronto’s Tayinat Archaeological Project (TAP). The TAP excavations, in addition to investigating new areas of the site, have revisited the Chicago trenches, most notably the West Central Area, which produced the monumental buildings of the Syro-Hittite citadel.

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In 2008, in an effort to circumvent a Chicago trench, an area was opened to the east of what remained of the bit ḫilani (building I) complex. Over the next two field seasons, excavations proceeded to uncover the burned remains of a second temple, which has been designated Building XVI (for a more description of this structure, see Harrison 2012: 11–18; Harrison and Osborne 2012). Building XVI, which measured 9 × 21 m in size, was approached from the south by means of a monumental stone staircase. A small basalt column rested on the western edge of the staircase, just in front of the southern end of the building’s west wall. The staircase led to a porch, which supported an ornately carved basalt column base set deeply into its floor. The column base is virtually identical in size, shape, and design to column bases found in the entrance of the nearby Building I. The porch was separated from the central room of the building by two brick piers that served as a doorway. The central room was largely devoid of pottery or organic remains but produced a substantial quantity of bronze metal, including riveted pieces and several fragments of carved ivory inlay. Though heavily burned and damaged, these remains suggest the central room had been equipped with furniture or fixtures, perhaps for a door. The room also produced fragments of gold and silver foil and the carved eye inlay from a human figure. A thick layer of collapsed burned brick sealed the entire room and in some places had fused with the brickwork of the temple’s outer walls, vivid evidence of the intense conflagration that had consumed the structure. A second set of piers separated the central room from a small back room, the inner sanctum, or “holy of holies,” of the temple. This northernmost room contained an elevated, rectangular platform or podium, clearly a later addition to the room. The surface of the podium was paved with ceramic tiles and accessed by steps in its two southern corners. A mud-brick altar stood on the east side of the podium. The room had also been burned intensely by fire, preserving a wealth of cultic paraphernalia found strewn across the podium and around its base, including gold, bronze, and iron implements, libation vessels, and other ornately decorated ritual objects. The surface debris also contained a fragmented assortment of cuneiform tablets written in Late Assyrian script. The analysis completed to date has identified at least eleven discrete texts, all except one preserving literary or historical documents. The most notable document, T-1801, records an oath imposed in 672 b.c.e. by Esarhaddon on the governor of Kunalia, the Assyrian designation for the province that replaced the Syro-Hittite Kingdom of Patina/Unqi, confirming that the final use-phase of Building XVI extended until at least the mid-seventh century b.c.e. (for a preliminary description and assessment of this remarkable temple corpus, see Lauinger 2011; also Lauinger 2012). The construction methods used to build the exterior walls of Building XVI are identical to those typically found in the other public buildings of the West Central Area, including use of the distinctive “wood-crib” construction technique (for more detailed description, see Haines 1971: 45–46). In addition, the exterior face of the temple’s west wall was decorated with a white painted plaster, and the building was surrounded on its west and south sides by a flagstone pavement, part of an expansive open courtyard, or plaza. Significantly, several Hieroglyphic Luwian fragments were found scattered on this stone pavement. Moreover, we have been able to link some of the stones in the pavement in front of the temple entrance directly to a section of pavement uncovered by the Syrian-Hittite Expedition in a probe they ex-

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cavated at the end of their final season in 1938. The Chicago probe also uncovered a square-shaped platform built of finely-dressed basalt orthostats, which appears to have served as the support for a free-standing monument, situated directly in front of the stepped entrance to Building XVI. The Syrian-Hittite Expedition also reported finding numerous Hieroglyphic Luwian fragments in the vicinity, including parts of a block-shaped stele, Tell Tayinat Inscription 2 (see detailed description and commentary in Hawkins 2000: 367–75), and it is tempting to conclude that this stele once stood as a monument on the platform. Since its discovery in 1936 by the Syrian-Hittite Expedition, Building II at Tayinat has been upheld as an exemplar of Iron Age Levantine religious architecture. Many scholars, including its original excavators (Haines 1971: 53), have identified Building II as a megaron-style temple, part of a long-standing West Syrian (or West Semitic) religious tradition. Biblical scholars have largely favored this view, drawing visual inspiration for the various components of the Solomonic temple described in 1 Kgs 6 (cf. Wright 1941; Busink 1970: 558–62). However, others have emphasized the building’s similarities to Neo-Assyrian religious architecture, most notably its langraum-like plan and the magnificently carved double-lion column base(s) that once graced its entrance (in particular, see Frankfort 1954 [1996]: 289–90). These diverging views have all suffered from the limited contextual information available to date. The TAP excavations now offer an opportunity to clarify the lingering stratigraphic and chronological questions that concern this intriguing complex, while clarifying the broader functional role of the Tayinat temples within the religious life of the Iron Age community that erected them. Although a definitive assessment must await the completion of excavations, the existing evidence points to at least two distinct phases of use. Since I have detailed my arguments elsewhere (Harrison 2012: 18–19; Harrison and Osborne 2012), I will only summarize the relevant points here. In short, the Tayinat temples exhibit the characteristics of a religious architectural tradition, the temple in antis, indigenous to West Syria and the Levant, with antecedents that can be traced back to the third millennium b.c.e., though not to be confused with the migdal-type common in the second millennium b.c.e. or its often (wrongly) assumed correlate the Aegean megaron. The salient feature of the anten temples were their distinctive columned-porch entryways or façades and flanking antae, the projecting, or pilastered, ends of the lateral walls that framed the long central room of the building. Access to the central room was restricted by two large piers, or dividing walls, with the cultic sanctum, or adytum, centered at the back of the room, often further secluded by a second internal dividing wall (see the convenient summary in Mazzoni 2010). The construction methods employed, especially the “wood-crib” technique but also the almost identical size, shape, and design of the basalt column bases in Buildings I and XVI, clearly link both temples architecturally to the adjacent bit ḫilani palaces and mark them as an integral, though subsidiary, component—essentially a sacred precinct—within the Syro-Hittite citadel complex. The associated Hieroglyphic Luwian fragments further confirm the ninth–eighth century b.c.e. date of this phase of the complex. Meanwhile, the architectural renovations (e.g., the ceramic tile surfaces and elevated podium) in both buildings and the artifacts associated with their terminal phase of use, most notably the cache of Late Assyrian

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cuneiform tablets found in Building XVI, indicate that both temples also formed part of an Assyrian religious complex during the late eighth–seventh centuries b.c.e., following Tiglath-pileser III’s conquest and annexation of Kunulua and the Kingdom of Patina/Unqi. As part of the royal Syro-Hittite citadel complex at Tayinat, the twin temples must have participated in the official state cult of the Kingdom of Patina/Unqi. Similar double temple complexes have been found elsewhere in northwest Syria, notably at Late Bronze Age (thirteenth-century) Emar (Margueron 1982: 29–31; Pitard 1996: 17–18; but see also the renewed excavations of Finkbeiner et al. 2002: 110–15), and most significantly, at neighboring Alalakh (Yener 2005: 110–12), which served as the capital of the North Orontes Valley region during the second millennium, before the principal settlement shifted to Tayinat in the Iron Age. The twin temples at Emar appear to have been dedicated to Baal (or the Storm-God Hadad) and Aštarte (or Ištar?), and there is good reason to believe that the same was true of the structures at Alalakh, as inferred by Idrimi, or alternatively to their Hittite counterparts, the StormGod Tešub and his female consort Hebat (Yener 2005: 109; see also van der Toorn 1996: 174–75). It thus seems reasonable to posit a similar syncretistic alignment for the twin temples at Tayinat, although this is certainly speculative at this point. In any event, there are intriguing hints that the rituals performed in the Tayi­­ nat temples and in the paved central courtyard shared similarities with the cultic activities that took place in the non-royal mortuary chapels, and that these rituals were couched in the familial language of kinship. The presence of inscribed stelae, in particular, suggests that this sacred precinct held an important commemorative, if not memorializing, function. Although heavily broken and incomplete, Tell Tayinat Inscription 2 appears to have been part of such a commemorative monument. The highly fragmentary text includes tantalizing references not only to various gods, but to the king, to (his?) children, and to grain (or bread?) and wine offerings (see Hawkins 2000: 370–71). Moreover, the cultic paraphernalia found in situ within the inner sanctum of Building XVI, while dating to the Neo-Assyrian use-phase of the temple, not only included a variety of serving vessels, including a pitcher for pouring liquids but also a cylindrical stone box, or pyxis, commonly attributed to the Syro-Hittite period (cf. Mazzoni 2001), and more importantly, frequently portrayed as part of the tableware on Syro-Hittite funerary stelae, including the Zincirli KTMW stele (see Struble and Herrmann 2009: 26–28). The Tayinat pyxis itself was decorated with an elaborate carving of the ancestral feasting scene (see fig. 1), leaving little doubt about the broader symbolic significance of the cultic activities that took place within this room. In light of the accompanying textual evidence, in particular the oath-tablet, which records the provincial governor’s covenanted loyalty to Ashurbanipal, Esarhaddon’s chosen successor (see further in Lauinger 2011: 8–10; 2012), it seems clear that the double temple complex or sacred precinct at Tayinat functioned as a stage for enacting the rituals (and theater) of divinely sanctioned authority, framed within the symbolic language of family, with the inscribed stele serving as both a verbal and a visual reminder of the royal ancestral paterfamilias. During the period of Assyrian hegemony, an additional tier was simply added to the nested hierarchy. The broader sacramental importance of the Tayinat sacred precinct, when considered within the context of the covenant language of the Esarhaddon oath-tablet, is also reminis-

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Fig. 1.  Ancestral feasting scene carved on a stone pyxis found in the inner sanctum of the Tayinat temple (Building XVI) (drawing by F. Haughey).

cent of the covenant renewal ceremony between Yahweh and the tribes of Israel at Shechem described in Joshua 24. We are told that Joshua recorded the covenant on “a great stone” (ʾeben gĕdôlâ), which was then erected in the “sanctuary (miqdāš) of Yahweh” ( Josh 24:26), a structure that has been convincingly identified with the socalled Fortress-Temple, or “Temple of El, Lord of the Covenant” (bêt ʾēl baʿal bĕrît; see Judg 9:4, 46), excavated at Tell Balatah by the Drew-McCormick Expedition (Stager 1999). The Tayinat sacred precinct might similarly have been the setting for ceremonies that sought to emphasize (or reaffirm) the community’s corporate identity and social unity.

Summary Observations Despite the limited evidence presently available, family religion was an undeniable presence in the everyday lives of the Bronze and Iron Age communities of the northern Levant. Its strong influence is reflected particularly in the wide distribution of small, portable cult objects, such as clay figurines, anthropomorphic and zoomorphic vessels, models, and incense burners, found at sites. The Syrian-Hittite Expedition’s excavations at Tell Tayinat, for example, recovered more than 120 figurines from its Iron Age levels, while their investigations at nearby Chatal Höyük produced 78, of which 33 came from secure Iron Age contexts, mostly evenly split between female and male representations (M. Pucci, e-mail communication 2009). Intriguingly, at Tayinat, 22 of the figurines were found in Building I, the principal bit ḫilani palace, while the adjacent temple, Building II, produced none (H. Snow, personal communication 2009). Although beyond the scope of the present paper, the spatial distribution of these objects, as well as their specific find contexts, will undoubtedly provide valuable insight into the religious dimensions of the everyday activities of these communities. As archaeological projects begin to focus more intentionally on the non-elite, residential areas of settlements, the physical evidence of family religious practice is sure to increase. This evidence will almost certainly demonstrate that religious activity was widely distributed throughout communities and was not simply confined to the “formal” institutions centered on the citadels of the ruling elite. Moreover, it is likely to be multi-dimensional in character and to display a diverse and syncretistic synergy of contrasting ethnic customs and ritual practices encompassing highland Anatolian and lowland Semitic cultural traditions. Unifying this heterogeneous expression, and giving it social coherence, was the powerful idiom of patrimonial kinship.

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Bonatz, D. 2000a Das syro-hethitische Grabdenkmal: Untersuchungen zur Entstehung einer neuen Bildgattung in der Eisenzeit im nordsyrisch-südostanatolischen Raum. Mainz: von Zabern. 2000b “Syro-Hittite Funerary Monuments: A Phenomenon of Tradition or Innovation?” Pp. 189–210 in Essays on Syria in the Iron Age, ed. G. Bunnens. Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement 7. Louvain: Peeters. Bordreuil, P., and D. Pardee 1991 “Les textes en cunéiformes alphabétiques.” Pp. 139–68 in Une bibliothèque au sud de la ville, ed. P. Bordreuil. Ras Shamra-Ougarit 7. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Busink, T. A. 1970 Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes. Eine archäologisch-historische Studie unter Berücksichtigung des westsemitischen Tempelbaus. Leiden: Brill. Dion, P.-E. 1997 Les Araméens à l’âge du fer: Histoire politique et structures sociales. Études bibliques N.S. 34. Paris: Gabalda. Finkbeiner, U.; Attoura, H.; Eixler, W.; and F. Sakal 2002 “Emar 2001: Bericht über die 4. Kampagne der syrisch-deutschen Ausgraben.” Baghdader Mitteilungen 33: 109–46. Frankfort, H. 1954 The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Haines, R. C. 1971 Excavations in the Plain of Antioch II: The Structural Remains of the Later Phases: Chatal Hoyuk, Tell al-Judaidah, and Tell Ta’yinat. Oriental Institute Publications 92. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Harrison, T. P. 2012 “West Syrian Megaron or Neo-Assyrian Langraum? The Shifting Form and Function of the Tayinat Temples.” Pp. 3–21 in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2nd–1st Millennium b.c.e.), ed. J. Kamlah. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Harrison, T. P., and J. Osborne 2012 “Building XVI and the Neo-Assyrian Sacred Precinct at Tell Tayinat.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 64: 125–43. Hawkins, J. D. 1980 “Late Hittite Funerary Monuments.” Pp. 213–25 in Death in Mesopotamia: Papers Read at the XXVI e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, ed. B. Alster. Mesopotamia 8. Copenhagen: Akademisk. 1989 “More Late Hittite Funerary Monuments.” Pp. 189–97 in Anatolia and the Ancient Near East: Studies in Honor of Tahsin Özgüç, ed. K. Emre, B. Hrouda, M. J. Mellink, and N. Özgüç. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu. 2000 Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions, Vol. 1: Inscriptions of the Iron Age. Berlin: de Gruyter. Langenegger, F. 1950 “Die Bauten und Schichten des Burghügels.” Pp. 3–324, in Tell Halaf, Vol. 2: Die Bauwerke, ed. R. Naumann. Berlin: de Gruyter. Lauinger, J. 2011 “Some Preliminary Thoughts on the Tablet Collection in Temple XVI from Tell Tayinat.” Journal of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 6:5–14. 2012 “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty at Tell Tayinat: Text and Commentary.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 64: 87–123.

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Lewis, T. 1989 Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit. Harvard Semitic Monographs 39. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Margueron, J.-C. 1982 “La ville.” Pp. 17–39 in Meskéné-Emar: Dix ans de Travaux 1972–1982, ed. D. Beyer. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Matthiae, P. 1992 “Ancora una Fabbrica Templare nel Paese di Unqi.” Contributi e Materiali di Archeologia Orientale 4: 123–40. Mazzoni, S. 2001 “Syro-Hittite Pyxides: Between Major and Minor Art.” Pp. 292–309, in Beiträge zur vorderasiatischen Archäologie: Winfried Orthmann gewidmet, ed. J.-W. Meyer, M. Novák, and A. Pruss. Frankfurt am Main: Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität. 2010 “Syro-Hittite Temples and the Traditional in antis Plan.” Pp. 359–76 in Kulturlandschaft Syrien: Zentrum und Peripherie; Festschrift für Jan-Waalke Meyer, ed. J. Becker, R. Hempelmann, and E. Rehm. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Müller, K. 1950 “Das Stadtgebiet.” Pp. 327–66 in Tell Halaf, Vol. 2: Die Bauwerke, ed. R. Naumann. Berlin: de Gruyter. Naumann, R. 1971 Architektur Kleinasiens von ihren Anfängen bis zum Ende der hethitischen Zeit. Tübingen: Ernst Wasmuth. Niehr, H. 1994 “Zum Totenkult der Könige von Sam’al im 9. und 8. Jh. v. Chr.” Studi epigrafici e linguistici 11: 57–73. 2006 “Bestattung und Ahnenkult in den Königshäusern von Sam’al (Zincirli) und Guzāna (Tell Halaf) in Nordsyrien. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 122: 111–39. Orthmann, W. 1971 Untersuchungen zur späthethitischen Kunst. Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 8. Bonn: Habelt. Pardee, D. 1996 “Marziḥu, Kispu, and the Ugaritic Funerary Cult: A Minimalist View.” Pp. 273–87 in Ugarit, Religion and Culture, ed. N. Wyatt, W. G. E. Watson, and J. B. Lloyd. UgaritischBiblische Literatur 12. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. 2009 “A New Aramaic Inscription from Zincirli.” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 356: 51–71. Pitard, W. 1994 “The ‘Libation Installations’ of the Tombs at Ugarit.” Biblical Archaeologist 57: 20–37. 1996 “The Archaeology of Emar.” Pp. 13–23 in Emar: The History, Religion, and Culture of a Syrian Town in the Late Bronze Age, ed. M. W. Chavalas. Bethesda, MD: CDL Press. Pope, M. 1981 “The Cult of the Dead at Ugarit.” Pp. 159–79 in Ugarit in Retrospect: Fifty Years of Ugarit and Ugaritic, ed. G. D. Young. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Schloen, D. 2001 The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East. Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 2. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Stager, L. E. 1999 “The Fortress-Temple at Shechem and the ‘House of El, Lord of the Covenant’.” Pp. 228–49 in Realia Dei: Essays in Archaeology and Biblical Interpretation in Honor of Edward F. Campbell, Jr., ed. P. H. Williams Jr. and T. Hiebert. Atlanta: Scholars Press.

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Struble, E. J., and V. Herrmann 2009 “An Eternal Feast at Sam’al: The New Iron Age Mortuary Stele from Zincirli in Context.” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 356: 15–49. Toorn, K. van der 1993 “Ilib and the ‘God of the Father’.” Ugarit-Forschungen 25: 379–87. 1996 Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel: Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life. Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 7. Leiden: Brill. 2008 “Family Religion in Second Millennium West Asia (Mesopotamia, Emar, Nuzi).” Pp. 20–36 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan. Oxford: Blackwell. Tropper, J. 1993 Die Inschriften von Zincirli: Neue Edition und vergleichende Grammatik des phönizischen, samalischen und aramäischen Textkorpus. Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-SyrienPalästinas 6. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Tsukimoto, A. 1985 Untersuchungen zur Totenpflege (kispum) im alten Mesopotamien. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 216. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Voos, J. 1986 Studien zur Rolle von Statuen und Reliefs im syrohethitischen Totenkult während der frühen Eisenzeit (ca. 10.-7. Jh. v.u.Z). Ph.D. dissertation, Zentralinstitut für Alte Geschichte und Archäologie, Akademie der Wissenschaften der DDR. 1988a “Bemerkungen zum Syrohethitischen Totenkult der Frühen Eisenzeit.” Pp. 349–60 in Šulmu: Papers on the Ancient Near East Presented at the International Conference of Socialist Countries, ed. P. Vavroušek and V. Souček. Prague: Charles University. 1988b “Studien zur Rolle von Statuen und Reliefs im syrohethitischen Totenkult während der frühen Eisenzeit (etwa 10.-7. Jh. v.u.Z).” Ethnographisch-Archäologische Zeitschrift 29: 347–62. Woolley, C. L., and R. D. Barnett 1952 Carchemish, Part 3: The Excavations in the Inner Town and the Hittite Inscriptions. London: British Museum. Wright, G. E. 1941 “Solomon’s Temple Resurrected.” Biblical Archaeologist 4/2: 17, 19–31. Yener, K. A. 2005 “Alalakh Spatial Organization.” Pp. 99–144 in The Amuq Valley Regional Projects, Vol. I: Surveys in the Plain of Antioch and Orontes Delta, Turkey, 1995–2002, ed. K. Aslıhan Yener. Oriental Institute Publications 131. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago.

Horses and Riders and Riders and Horses R. Kletter and K. Saarelainen University of Helsinki

“So long as a man rides his Hobby-Horse peaceably and quietly along the King’s highway, and neither compels you or me to get up behind him, -pray, Sir, what have either you or I to do with it?” (Sterne 1760: 9–10)

1.  Introduction: Judean Horse Riders Clay figurines of horses and riders (henceforward, HRs) are a well-known type within the coroplastic art of Iron Age II Palestine in general and Judah in particular (fig. 1). Typically in Judean art, Judean horse and rider figurines (hereafter, JHRs) are very schematic. They are solid, made of brown-red clay, typically with a gray core, and small white grits. The surface of JHRs is covered by white-wash, and the predominant decoration is simple bands of red and/or yellow paint. Applied and incised features are rare. The body of the horse is simple, exhibiting a short, stump-like tail or a tail that curves downward. The neck is thick and rounded. The head of the horse has a short, rounded muzzle and two small, usually rounded or slightly pointed ears. Details such as eyes, mouth, nostrils, and trapping are usually not represented. Because of their schematic nature, the figurines do not represent the precise species, so technically they should be called equids. However, based on the importance of the horse in contemporary written sources and on iconography, we can identify them as horses. The same schematic treatment is given to the riders as well. There are two variations of Judean riders, both positioned immediately behind the neck of the horse. The first has a pillar base: the lower body is made in the round. The second variation has a thin, crescent-shaped (in section) body, often ending with short, stump-like legs at bottom (fig. 2). Rider heads are pinched by hand and are very similar to hand-made heads of Judean pillar figurines ( JPFs); hence, it is sometimes difficult to classify a fragment based on the head (fig. 3; here, the upper body survived, proving it is not a JPF, because there are no breasts). Often, the only clue is size: heads of riders are usually smaller (13–21 mm tall, with an average of 18 mm) than heads of JPFs (15–32 mm tall, with an average of 26 mm). However, exceptions occur. Pillar bases, too, are not unique to HRs; they appear also in JPFs and in bird figurines. The same form of base

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Fig. 1.  Complete Judean horse and rider figurine (VFig 1999.5), courtesy Bibel und Orient Museum, Fribourg, Switzerland. Photo Primula Bosshard. ©Stiftung BIBEL+ORIENT.

comes in various sizes that do not always indicate clearly the specific type of figurine (Kletter 1995: 98–99, 203; 1999: 38–39). Who made these figurines? We have little direct evidence, but their large numbers and homogeneous nature, plus technical features (type of clay, shaping, finish) hint that the producers were the same “professional” potters, who made all the other pottery vessels. In other words, the figurines did not originate in a small-scale, household-mode of manufacture (usually assumed to relate to women) but were bought from “professional” pottery workshops (usually thought to be related to male potters). In the 1990s, one of us compiled a catalogue of 212 JHRs dating to the Iron Age II period, roughly the 8th–7th centuries b.c. They appear all over Judah, with a large concentration in the capital, Jerusalem. In the same period, HR figurines are common in the entire southern Levant—for example, in Transjordan, Phoenicia, Philistia, and Cyprus. Thus, like JPFs, the theme of horse riding is widespread in the figurines, and only specific traits differentiate HRs of each culture (Kletter 1995: 199–200; 1999: 38–40). In the last decade, more JHRs have been found. 1 The most intriguing issue is the meaning of Judean horse riders. Here we will review the many interpretations suggested so far and point to an unusual group of JHRs, unnoticed by most scholars, that may bear upon this issue.

2.  A Long History of Research When Mackenzie (1912: 88) found an HR figurine carrying a shield in a tomb at Beth Shemesh, he suggested that it represented a warrior or a god of war. In this, he laid a foundation for two major explanations of JHRs. However, during most of the 1.  Im (2006) included 82 unpublished items in her catalogue, but this number also includes horses without riders. Her catalogue also include sites from all over Palestine, not just from Judah. Many JHRs from Jerusalem, published by Gilbert-Peretz (1996), were already included in Kletter’s catalogue (1995), unlike what Stern (2003: 318) and Im (2006: 139) assumed.

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Fig. 2.  A rider with a thin crescent base, from Tel Beer Sheba, Courtesy Z. Herzog; front (a) and back (b). Probably remains of a shield on the back. Photos by R. Kletter.

Fig. 3.  Pinched head of a rider from Aharoni’s excavations at Ramat Rahel: side (a) and front (b). Photos by R. Kletter.

20th century a.d., it was not yet grasped that JHRs are different from HRs of other regions. HRs in general were often interpreted as children’s toys (Kelso and Thorley 1943: 142; Tufnell 1953: 374, 377) or as amulets (Albright 1943: 82). Other scholars interpreted HRs as magical figurines that either signify fertility or are apotropaic (e.g., McCown and Wampler 1947: 247).

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Fig. 4.  Rider’s body with thin crescent base and “stump” legs from Aharoni’s excavations at Ramat Rahel. Photo by R. Kletter.

Starting probably with May (1935: 28), figurines of horses and of HRs have been related to the cult of the sun. A famous verse in the Old Testament mentions “horses of the sun” (2 Kgs 23:11) in relation to the Jerusalem Temple. The identification of HR figurines and sun cult seemed stronger when a few horse-figurines with attached disks of clay between their ears were found, first in Samaria (Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957: 78) and then in Jerusalem (Kenyon 1974: 141–42). These disks were interpreted as representations of the sun. This convinced more scholars to accept this view (Pritchard 1961: 18; Shanks 1978: 8–9) and it still reverberates today. This theory was treated by Taylor in a monograph on cult of the sun in Israel. Though he rejected the view that 2 Kgs 23:11 relates to HRs with disks (Taylor 1993: 55–66), he accepted the idea that horse figurines are related to the sun cult and to Yahweh. Taylor derived this not from the figurines but from his interpretation of the Taʿanach cult stand found by Lapp. Taylor (following Glock) identifies the figure on the upper register of this cult stand as a horse representing Yahweh. This identification, however, is not generally accepted: on the one hand, the animal may be a calf/ bull; on the other hand, horses are related to several divinities, not just to Yahweh (Zevit 2001: 318–24; Frevel 2003: 190; Beck 2002: 395). Horse figurines with disks between the ears are also quite rare: Taylor (1993: 60–62) listed six examples. Disks may represent many things (Goodenough 1956: 62–64; Goff 1979: chap.  10). In Egypt, cows that represent Hathor carry disks representing the sun between their ears (Holloway 1992; Pinch 1993: 62, 93, 161–63).

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Fig. 5.  Body of horse with traces of a rider that had a crescentshaped lower body: top (a) and bottom (b); from Aharoni’s excavations at Ramat Rahel (Photo R. Kletter).

When one checks carefully the “disks” on HRs from Israel/Palestine, it appears that they represent manes. The edge of the mane, falling onto the head of the horse, was represented as a bulging, rounded feature, which was interpreted mistakenly as a sun-disk. Cypriote terracottas of horses (being more naturalistic and detailed than Judean ones) show stiff, crest-like manes, often ending in a prominent forelock (Crouwel and Tatton-Brown 1988: 78). Often, one finds vertical incised lines on the “disks” of horse figurines from Israel/Palestine, representing hair strands. Finally, the horses of the sun in 2 Kgs 23:11 are probably related to chariots, not to cavalry, if one follows the Septuagint reading (MacKay 1973; see also Stähli 1985). 2 Ciasca (1964) published an important study on a few JHRs from Ramat Rahel. She noticed (Ciasca 1964: 105) special types of HRs (more below) and Cypriote influence on horse figurines (without riders) from Ramat Rahel but did not discuss the meaning of HRs. Unfortunately, her study has remained unknown to many. Perhaps the uninviting title of her essay and the location (as part of a preliminary excavation report) did not ensure wide readership. Ciasca also noticed that when applied parts break away, the areas exposed also show traces of discoloration because they were covered by the (now missing) parts during firing. These variations of color can indicate applied parts, including riders, even if nothing survives at present. For example, the front lower body of a rider figurine from Ramat Rahel (fig. 4) shows a dark gray area, whereas the rest of its surface is brown. This area was originally “glued” to the neck of the horse (compare fig. 1). The body of a horse figurine from Ramat Rahel (fig. 5) shows remains of breakage behind the neck, and these remains have a crescent-like shape. These are traces from the bottom part of a rider with a 2.  The verb rkb in the OT may mean the act of mounting, not riding or driving, horses (Barrick 1982), and the term prš may mean either “cavalryman” or “chariot horse” (Klingbeil 2003: 263–64).

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crescent-shaped lower body. There seems to be lack of awareness of Ciasca’s study. For example, Cornelius (2007: 28) describes a figurine thus: “the horse is without a rider. The rider might be lost.” The horse’s body is described as “smooth”; but there is no discussion of the presence of traces of breakage or discoloration, and this could have settled the issue. The published photographs hint that it is only a horse, not a horse and rider figurine; but of course one cannot be completely certain without seeing the figurine. In an unpublished Ph.D. thesis from 1975, Holland included a large catalogue of Iron Age clay figurines from Israel/Palestine. Horses were the most common animal represented by 328 specimens (Holland 1975: 321, type D), of which about a hundred were HRs (Holland 1975: fig. 4; 38, chart 2). Holland thought that many animal figurines were toys and that there is no definite evidence to connect horse figurines with 2 Kgs 23:11. In recent decades, the view that HR figurines are toys has lost popularity. Most scholars after Holland see JHRs as religious objects. It is true that some place JHRs in the realm of magic, but because “your religion is my magic,” it is impossible to separate the two (Ritner 1992: 190; 1993; Wiggerman 1992; Schmitt 2004). There are many opinions about the nature of the divinities and the religion expressed by these figurines. Some scholars relate JHRs to official Yahwism; others stress the context as proof of private, family, or popular cults; still others think that JHRs represent forbidden, foreign, or even pagan cults. Some views cut across these divisions, and sometimes the same scholar holds several explanations as plausible or changes an opinion in the course of time. The idea that JHRs represent Yahweh appeared after the discovery of the Asherah inscriptions at Kuntillet ʿAjrud and Kh. el-Kom, which led many scholars to identify JPFs with this goddess (for discussion, see Kletter 1996). If female figurines represent a goddess, male figurines possibly represent a god. The first to think along these lines was Ahlström (1982: 82–83; 1984: 22–23). He did not discuss the JHRs specifically, but according to his logic, they must have represented Yahweh. Wenning (1991) developed this thought further. He suggested that standing (pillar-based) riders represent a sun-god. Wenning (1991: 96) suggested that the hand-pinched heads of HRs signify a conscious avoidance of full anthropomorphic representation. The pinched form of head appears also with JPFs, although other JPFs have molded heads and scholars assume that both forms have the same meaning. However, the pinched heads of JPFs do not make the figure less anthropomorphic; they seem to be simply a different (simpler) technique of manufacture, lacking any deep religious significance. Wenning also suggested that the pillar-based riders’ connection to the neck of the horse was a temporary support during firing, made in order to secure them in place. After firing, the supports were broken, and then the riders stood freely on the back of the horses, in a god-like fashion. Presumably, coroplasts forgot to break the supports in some cases (Wenning 1991: 94 n. 20). Since one complete HR was found together with one complete JPF in Beth Shemesh tomb 5, Wenning (1991: 96f.) identified them as a pair of gods: a male god (the horse rider) and a consort goddess (the pillar-figurine). Nonetheless, Wenning was cautious, only hinting that these figurines may be Yahweh and Asherah. Beth Shemesh tomb 5 was used for many burials, probably of several generations. There is no evidence that the two whole figurines formed a pair, deposited

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at the same time in the tomb. They could have belonged to separate burials from different times. If these were Yahweh and his Asherah, we would have expected to find more loci with such pairs together. So far, this is not the case. The numerical relations also do not support this interpretation, for JPFs far outnumber JHRs (a ratio of ca. 4:1). Based on conventions of ancient art, the figure of the god should have been larger, not smaller, than that of the female consort. However, though we do not agree with all of his conclusions, Wenning’s discussion of the two types of riders remains important (see more below). Eilat Mazar believes that all solid animal figurines are votives, but hollow ones are libation vessels. In her view, all horse figurines from Palestine belonged to a “foreign cult” and were broken on purpose during biblical reforms (E. Mazar 1979: 151–52). Yet, if this is true, there must have been “biblical reforms” in each and every kingdom in the southern Levant—Philistia, Transjordan, and northern Israel included. We also end up with foreign cults everywhere and indigenous cults nowhere. Helga Weippert (1988: 629–30), in a brief summary, left the matter open. Dever (1990: 156–57; cf. however Dever 2005: 155–57) has related all animal figurines to the pagan cult of the sun or to libations related to spirits of the dead; but perhaps a single explanation does not fit all of the types of animal-figurines. In the 1990s, scholars started to speak about HRs as evidence for private/popular/family religion, based on their contexts. A word of caution is in place: it is true that many HRs have been found in domestic contexts, but this is partly because many houses have been excavated in Iron Age II Judah but temples are extremely rare. A strong influence was exerted by Holladay (1987), who saw figurines in general as evidence for “nonconformist cult,” because they come mostly from private houses. Based on contexts, Barkay (1990: 154–56, 191–92) related HRs to a housecult in which “scenes” were composed from various types of figurines. Keel and Uehlinger (1992: 390–96) 3 suggested that Judean HRs are related to private religion, based on the figurines’ archaeological contexts. Keel and Uehlinger did not relate them to JPFs, and they did not connect horses with disks to the sun-cult or to 2 Kgs 23:11. Keel and Uehlinger dated the JHRs to the 7th century b.c., interpreting them as an indication of Assyrian influence. Nonetheless, they struggled with the meaning. First, they suggested that HRs are related to a high-god, such as El, Yahweh, or Baʿal Hammon in Zinçirli. Then, they compared HRs with one decorated tridacna (saltwater clam) shell from Sippar, interpreted as showing a creator-god above two riders. Based on this comparison, they interpreted JHRs as popular anthropomorphic representations related to a creator-god or a sky-god; in Judah, this must have been Yahweh. Still, they did not offer direct identification but explained the JHRs as toolbearers of Yahweh—the “host of heaven” mentioned in the OT or messengers or angels of Yahweh (Keel and Uehlinger 1992: 398; cf. Uehlinger 1999: 706; Uehlinger 2001: 40). The basis for identification with the biblical host of heaven is the belief that HRs appear in small groups, and this fits the idea of angels or messengers. In fact, there is no archaeological evidence that HRs were used in groups. So far, there is not even one locus where two complete figurines of this type have been found together. When 3.  In the English translation of this book, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), the JHRs are discussed on pp. 341–47.

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found as fragments, the place of finding is often not indicative of patterns of use but of patterns of disposal (Kletter 1995: 210–11; 1996: 57–64). The biblical host of heaven, as far as we can identify it with any certainty, relates to heavenly bodies: the sun, moon, and stars (Niehr 1995, with references). Nothing connects the biblical host of heaven with small clay figurines. Another difficulty is that Keel and Uehlinger use a series of associations involving objects from far away cultures and periods. What is the connection between JHRs and a Tridacna shell found at Sippar? This object is of different material and workmanship and even its origin lies in Syria; it does not have a specific relationship with objects found in Judea. Furthermore, JHRs, at the latest, already appear in the 8th century b.c. Worschech (1993: 389f.) accepted the conclusions of Keel and Uehlinger and assumed that HRs have religious significance. He suggested that a fragment from El-Baluʾ (Moab) shows a rider on a bull, representing the god Kemosh. Nonetheless, the fragment is very worn (the animal’s head is missing; only one leg of the rider survives). Gilbert-Peretz (1996) stressed that the vast majority of animal figurines from Iron II Jerusalem are horses (468 items). She understood these figurines as an expression of popular beliefs. Recently, Ephraim Stern has discussed the JHRs in a few articles, starting in 1999. He argued that “male figurines, even though they are found by dozens in all the sites of Judah . . . are not well represented in the reports and in the scientific literature” (Stern 1999: 251; 2001: 207; 2003: 318). Stern distinguishes two types of male figurines. The first type is a horseman, usually with a pinched nose, which he believes represents a warrior-god. The second type has heads crowned with turbans (Stern 1999: 251–52; 2001: 207–8; 2003: 318–19). No whole figurine of this type survives; Stern thinks that they belonged to standing male figurines. The turbans are similar, in his view, to headdresses worn by captives from Lachish shown in the Assyrian reliefs, to Atef-crowns on the heads of Ammonite stone sculptures, and to the heads of figurines from the Assyrian period (Level III) at Megiddo (Stern 1999: 252). Stern suggests that both types were “pagan representations of the national Judean god, Yahweh.” He reached the conclusion that “between the foreign pagan practices and the pure monotheism of the Judeans, there existed a cult which may be called Yahwistic Paganism” and that JHRs belonged to this cult (Stern 1999: 252; cf. 2001: 208–10). This cult was very common, based on the distribution of HR figurines; hence, the efforts of some Judean kings to reform religious practices clearly failed to stop “Yahwistic paganism.” It is impossible to treat here all of the conclusions that could be drawn from Stern’s articles, but it is difficult to accept his analysis of HRs. There is no proof that anthropomorphic heads with turbans represented males. Stern suggests that these heads belonged to male figurines “depicted with their hands beside the body or one hand raised in blessing” (1999: 252; cf. 2001: 208). This must be rejected, because we have hundreds of anthropomorphic body fragments (and some whole figurines) from Judah, all supporting their breasts ( JPFs) or having arms extended forward (HRs). Very few other bodies exist, and they are mostly too fragmented or worn to show the position of the arms. Therefore, it is extremely unlikely that there were dozens of standing male figurines with arms along the body or raised in blessing in

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Iron Age Judah. In size and shape, the heads with turbans are similar to hand-made heads of JPFs, and it is more likely that they belonged to JPFs. If so, they formed a regional feature or variant of JPFs (thus Kletter 1995: 85 n.75, 126–27, types A2–A3; 1999: 48). A second possibility is that such heads belonged to HRs. At Ramat Rahel, we recently reexamined a few such heads and concluded that they belonged to riders (Kletter and Saarelainen, forthcoming). If this is true, heads with turbans are indeed male—a few exhibit beards; however, they do not belong to a new type of standing male figurine but to the well-known type of JHRs. Nadelman (1989: 123–24, pl. 29:9), describing a bearded male head from Jerusalem, also suggested that it belonged to a rider figurine. We also note in passing that the so-called Atef crowns (see also Dabrowski 1995) are much more elaborate and not similar to the simple heads with turbans from Judah. Stern’s scheme of three cults (pagan, Yahwistic, and “Yahwistic paganism”) finds no support in small clay figurines. Indeed, Stern treats all figurines as representation of divinities, but figurines have many possible meanings (Voigt 1984; Ucko 1968; Fowler 1985). That figurines represent divinities is an assumption that must be proved, not taken for granted. The term “Yahwistic paganism” is unfortunate. What exactly is the term paganism, other than the result of a negative evaluation (“we are religious, you are pagan?”). It is likely that the Judeans who made and used JPFs and JHRs considered themselves good Yahwists, not “pagans.” The large quantity of figurines, as well as their wide distribution all over Judah in various contexts, indicates that they were not related to hidden/forbidden/pagan/foreign cults. If they represented Yahweh—and this is by no means certain—they must have represented Yahweh in the eyes of the “common person.” Calling them “Yawhistic paganism” fits, indeed, the deuteronomistic ideology, but surely we are 1450 years too late to join this school of thought. The identification of figurines as images of Yahweh is related also to the debate about iconic or aniconic cult in Iron Age Judah. In the context of this debate, scholars who believe that cult in Judah was iconic strive to find Yahweh’s images (Niehr 1997; Uehlinger 1997); their opponents claim that there is no proof for such images (Naʾaman 1999). The recent article by Mettinger (2006) is an excellent summary of this issue. An alternative view, held by a minority of scholars, is that HRs represent not divinities but mortal beings. Perhaps the first to voice this view was Dornemann (1983: 137–40) in reference to transjordanian HR figurines. He suggested that they represented mortal people, perhaps kings or nobles (in his wake, Amr 1980: 170–73). Eilat Mazar (1996: 100) briefly joined this view when discussing Phoenician HRs from tombs in Achzib, suggesting that they represented cavalry warriors. One of us (Kletter 1995: 193–208) suggested a similar explanation for JHRs. In the early 2000s, Moorey objected to the view that small figurines represented divinities. He (2003: 48) accuses scholars of a tendency to isolate JPFs from other types of terracottas when interpreting them as divine images. When considered together, PFs as well as HRs should be explained as “votive figurines in human form rather than as anthropomorphic images of deities. . . . If terracottas are to be seen as representing the deliverer not the receiver of prayers then the sex of the deity addressed is not necessarily evident” (Moorey 2003: 63). This conclusion is partly based

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on evidence from outside Israel and Judah; for example, in Cyprus, female and rider figurines are often found as votives in temples and favissae (for votive objects and repository pits, see Kletter, Ziffer, and Zwickel 2010: Chap. 12). However, there is no such evidence for JHRs/JPFs. Moorey (2003: 65) stresses the domestic contexts of HRs and JPFs in favor of his interpretation. This does not yet prove, however, that they were men’s “self-images as horsemen” (Moorey 2003: 62). Im’s (2006: 79) recent catalogue has 842 figurines of horses, including horses and riders. Unfortunately, the catalogue does not offer a detailed typology (Im 2006: 83). Horses, horses and riders, and hollow zoomorphic figurines are all treated together. Figurines are not presented in a clear order (e.g., by names of sites); they are often sorted by secondary features, such as degree of preservation or whether published with or without photos/drawings. Because the author personally checked many figurines, a more meaningful organization could be expected. Im identifies Judean, Northern, Coastal, and Phoenician types of HRs but gives no clear definition for these types. She writes that “since Strata data of many excavations have been updated, the dating of each figurine was taken according to the most recently published data” (Im 2006: 88). This is followed by a list of four sites presumably “updated.” But it is misleading: for example, Kletter (1996: 63) did not suggest a new date for Jerusalem cave I; while for Beth Shean, the recent work is by A. Mazar, not the scholars cited by Im. Citing “the most recently published data” is not a good method, because it might result in a mixture of the high and low chronologies. For Megiddo, Im follows the dates of the older American excavations (e.g., Im 2006: 93, no. 21); in fact, she does not acknowledge the existence of a low chronology. For Judah, she writes that only figurines from Tell Beit Mirsim can be clearly dated to the 8th century, because this site was not resettled after 701 b.c. (Im 2006: 211). Clear dates exist for quite a few other sites, where the stratigraphy is secure (e.g., Lachish III and II). A major criticism is that Im does not put her new catalogue into use: there is no detailed analysis of it; even general numbers of figurines from each region are not stated, not to speak of numbers for each type/period (an exception is the mention of 713 figurines from Judah, p. 342). The concluding discussion about the figurines (Im 2006: 209–14, 223–38) returns to a review of earlier scholars’ views; the function and the meaning are left open. Cornelius (2007: 31) favors the view that HRs are mortal figures because the riders lack divine attributes; therefore, they are “rather representations of ordinary people as cavalry, with the horse as elite symbol.” Yet, in his view, it is “not impossible that the horse figurines also functioned as toys” (Cornelius 2007: 32). In summary, two major interpretations of the JHRs are in circulation at present: mortal male figures (warriors, nobles, kings) and a divinity (Yahweh, Baʿal, etc). The difficulty in deciding which interpretation is preferable is where (if?) to draw the line between figurines interpreted as divinities and figurines interpreted otherwise. It can hardly be possible that all the figurines from Iron Age Judah represent divinities, since animal figurines include species that, at least according to written sources, were not venerated in ancient Israel/Judah: dogs, cats, camels, and ostriches, to name some. Yet, if some animal figurines are not divinities, what would prove that similar (small, schematic) anthropomorphic figurines are deities? HR figurines stand in the middle between these two groups, combining the anthropomorphic with the zoomorphic; therefore, their study is especially interesting.

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3.  Do Judean Riders Stand or Sit? In the most recent work on the JHRs, Im (2006: 83), after reviewing the studies of Wenning and Holland, writes: “in this study, we will not consider their [= riders’] position since our main purpose is the study of the horse . . . whether the riders are sitting or standing, one can, however, see that their location is very close to the withers of the animal. Due to this position, we can identify these animals as horses.” We think that understanding the position of the Judean riders is important for interpreting them. We return to the observations of Wenning, who distinguished standing riders with pillar bases (interpreted as divine figures) from riders with thin bodies and “legs” (not discussed in detail, but apparently sitting). Do we have an intentional distinction between standing and sitting riders? If so, does it separate divine riders from mortal riders? Understanding the positions appears to be simple but requires careful study. As Tatton-Brown and Crouwel (1992: 291; cf. Drews 2004: 34–35) showed, the position of a rider holding the horse’s neck is a coroplastic convention. In reality, riders held reins, which were made most likely of leather, fastened to the horses’ bits; such reigns do not survive. Evidence of applied, incised, and painted headpieces is found on some HRs, including JHRs (Im 2006: 255–59). That riders’ arms were frequently broken is a result of their fragility. When intact or nearly intact HRS are found, they retain the arms; one does not find that, as a rule, intact JHRs have their arms broken off. This speaks against Wenning’s suggestion that the arms of riders with pillar bases were meant to be temporary, technical supports. Hence, we conclude that both types of Judean riders (pillar-based and thin-bodied) were intended to be seen as holding reigns—that is, riding the horse. Riding is feasible in a standing position only with the help of reinforced saddles (treed) that support the feet. Perhaps an extremely able ancient acrobat could stand a second or two on the back of a galloping horse; such an exercise was good for impressing spectators but lacked military value. In the Iron Age, the only saddle that existed was a cloth saddle. Evidence for such saddles appears on the representation of horses and also on a few JHRs in paint (Littauer and Crouwel 1979: 134–35, 156; Szeliga 1983; Crouwel and Tatton-Brown 1988: 77–78; Drews 2004: 66, 81–82; Im 2006: 289; Stronach 2009: 225*, 228*). Solid-frame saddles (made of wood) appeared during the Roman period and metal saddles with stirrups much later: in China in the 4th century a.d. and in Europe in the 7th century a.d. (Hyland 2003: 50–54; Clutton-Brock 1992: 73–76; Sidnell 2006: 20–21; Drews 2004: 56, 81; this lack did not hinder ancient riders from mastering the art of shooting arrows from a horseback). Thus, Iron Age riding was always done in a sitting position. A variant, rare position was sitting sideway on the back of the horse. This position was often shown for females and dignitaries and was not used for fast riding. It is known from various regions and periods. In Cyprus, sideway riding appears already in the Late Bronze Age and continues much later (Crouwel and Tatton-Brown 1988: 84–85; Voyatzis 1992; Karageorghis 1993: 16–17, pl. 12:8; 13 [LB]; 45–46, fig. 37, pl. 23:5 [rython, LB]; 88–89, pl. 40:1; Karageorghis 1995: 94–95, pl. 49:1–6; Nunn 2004). It was also known in Israel/Palestine (Sellin 1904: 46, fig. 48, perhaps a camel; for a possible side rider from Jerusalem, see Im 2006: 84 n. 24). Sideway riders sometimes used rigid pack-saddles or chair-saddles (Crouwel and Tatton-Brown

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1988: 85); however, the sideway riding position is never shown with JHRs and need not be discussed further here. In the ancient southern Levant, only gods and goddesses could ride the horse in a standing position, because they did not have to worry about falling off. In the Late Bronze Age, we have representations of goddesses from Israel/Palestine standing on the backs of horses (Clamer 1980; 2005: fig. 37). Egyptian material with inscriptions identifies some figures on horses as divinities. The most-recent find of this sort found shows Astarte sitting in a chair on a horse from Late Bronze Age Tell el-Borg in Sinai (Hoffmeier and Kitchen 2007: fig. 1a–b). On the same stele, Reshef is titled “Lord of the Estate of the stable of horses.” Some representations show gods actually riding (in a sitting position). They certainly include Astarte and possibly Reshef (thus Cornelius 1994: 72–73, 81, 209; cf. Im 2006: 229; Ziffer 2010: 85, fig. 5.53, n. 38). Another Late Bronze rider shown on scarabs is identified by Cornelius as “Baal-Seth” (Cornelius 1994: 209, following Keel). With the JHRs, riders with thin, crescent-shaped bodies usually have minute, stump-like legs. The bottom of such riders is concave, fitting the rounded (convex) horse’s back, and this is plainly seen in riders that were broken off from their mounts (see fig. 2a). These riders have erect bodies and are not portrayed fully sitting. Some crescent-bodied riders have long legs applied to the sides of the horse’s body. Even such riders, though, hold their entire body (except the legs) upright. In other words, even when the Judean potters wanted to show sitting riders, they did not manage to create a fully naturalistic position. In our view, the difference between thin-bodied riders and pillar-based riders was not meant to show sitting as opposed to standing. The pillar base was a technical solution, enabling figurines made in the round to stand. It appears with other types of Judean figurines ( JPFs, birds), without implying lack of legs or reference to trees (assumed due to the notion that the biblical Asherah was formed from/as a tree; Kletter 1996: 77). Hence, we must not read deep meaning in the appearance of pillar-base figurines for JHRs. It is not appropriate to separate such riders from thinbodied riders. All Judean riders, whether with pillar bases or with thin bodies, were meant to be understood as sitting riders holding reigns. As a result, their portrayal is not fully realistic. Lack of realism is a well-known feature in ancient coroplastic art (cf. Tadmor 2006). The “erect position” of riding is not limited to Judah but appears earlier in other regions, especially in Syria since ca. 2000 b.c. (Drews 2004: 34–35). In short, it is a convention of ancient art. Since both types of JHRs have the same type of head, it also speaks in favor of the view that they have the same meaning.

4.  Double HR Figurines A unique group of JHRs, noticed by Ciasca (1964) but neglected by most scholars so far, is perhaps important for understanding the meaning of JHRs. This group includes double representations in a single figurine: a rider on a double-headed horse or two riders on one horse. One fragment portrays a double-headed rider. It is important to stress that these figurines are similar to the JHRs in all other respects, such as type of clay, technique, rarity of applied/incised features, and decoration. Like “regular” JHRs, they appear in Judean sites in the same strata and period and in the

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Fig. 6.  Ramat Rahel, double-headed horse 5877/3, currently in the IAA storage, Beth Shemesh, 1964–2621 (after Ciasca 1964: fig. 36:4).

Fig. 7.  Ramat Rahel, doubleheaded horse (?) 1739/6 (after Ciasca 1964: fig. 35:3).

same contexts. Hence, these figurines form an inseparable part of JHRs. Following is a list; unfortunately, most of the examples are very fragmentary. 1.  Ramat Rahel, double-headed horse (fig. 6) (Ciasca 1964: 96, reg. no. RR5-5877/3, fig. 36:4). This is one of two body parts of horses from Ramat Rahel, which Ciasca interpreted as double-headed horses. The published photographs and drawings do not do them justice, and the registration data was mixed in the report (one drawing was even published upside-down). Ciasca (1964: 96–97) wrote that on their upper part there are “remains of two similar and parallel elements projecting upward. . . . we have here fragments of equine statuettes with two heads, very probably ‘compendious’ representations of two horses.” The fragment (5877/3) shows part of the horse’s front legs and two stumps of “necks” above. There are traces of breakage or remains from a rider behind the necks, which probably had a crescent-shaped lower body. 2.  Ramat Rahel, double-headed horse (?) (fig. 7) (reg. no. 1739/6; Ciasca 1964: fig. 35:3). According to Ciasca, it had a rider with a pillar base, represented by the broken area on the back of the horse. The available drawing raises doubts about this interpretation. The presumed two necks of the horse seem to be too widely spaced; one of them seems to be finished at the top, in a rounded shape, showing no trace of a typical horse head (such as ears, or beginning of a muzzle, or traces of the rider’s hand on the side of the neck). Unfortunately, this figurine is apparently located in Rome, and we were unable to check it personally. 3.  Ramat Rahel, double-headed rider (fig. 8) (Ciasca 1964: 97, reg. no. RR5-5501/3). It was described as a human torso of the rider type, with two necks. The heads are missing. Ciasca suggested (1964: 97) that this is also a “compendious” representation,

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Fig. 8.  Ramat Rahel, body of a doubleheaded rider 5501/3 (after Ciasca 1964: fig. 36:5).

Fig. 9.  Tel Hadid, doubleheaded horse with traces of a rider (not yet published, courtesy Eti Brand).

and that such riders were situated on double-headed horses (such as nos. 1–2 above). One might be tempted to turn the fragment 180 degrees and explain it as a rider with one head and two legs. However, we have checked this fragment carefully and fully agree with Ciasca’s interpretation of it (Kletter and Saarelainen forthcoming). It has a red band on the body, whose location as well as the nature of the broken neck area indicate that the positioning (and hence the interpretation as a two-headed rider) is certain. 4.  Jerusalem, double-headed horse? (Gilbert-Peretz 1996: 67, type B3E; Kletter 1995: app. 6: no. 270); reg. no. G2081, Locus 710. Body of a horse with broken areas of two necks (not mentioned in the text of Gilbert-Peretz 1996). A broken area on the back is perhaps the base of a rider with a crescent-shaped body, but this is not certain. 5.  Tel Hadid, double-headed horse with traces of a rider (fig. 9) (excavations of E.  Brand, Kletter forthcoming A: no. 4); reg. no. 10065. Height: 38 mm; length: 97 mm. Brown-pink clay, dark gray core, few white grits. The legs of the horse, the necks, and the rider are broken, as well as the hindquarters and the tail. It was found during the clearing of an area on the natural rock, without clear stratigraphy. The body of the horse is massive and thick. The rider had a funnel-like base, probably indicating a thin body with two little “stump-legs” on the sides. This is deduced from the change in color (a blackened area) on the back of the horse. There are two broken remains of what must have been two rounded necks—thus, a double-headed horse. The rider stood close behind the two necks. 6.  Tel Beer Sheba, horse with traces of a pair of riders (fig. 10) (not yet published, Kletter 1995: app. 6: no. 225; Kletter forthcoming B: no. 72); reg. no. 3198/1, Locus 420, level III, 8th century b.c. Front part of a horse, its legs and neck missing. The horse’s body has two broken, rounded areas on the back, behind the neck of the horse, probably indicating two riders standing side by side. 7.  Tel Beer Sheba, horse with traces of a pair of riders (not yet published, Kletter 1995: app. 6: no. 226; Kletter forthcoming B: no. 68); reg. no. 3276/2, Locus 408,

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Fig. 11.  Beth Shemesh, body of horse with bases of riders, from Grant’s excavations, currently in the storage at the PAM, Jerusalem. Photo K. Saarelainen. Fig. 10.  Tel Beer Sheba, horse with traces of a pair of riders. Photo by R. Kletter.

level II of the 8th century b.c. Front part of a horse with traces of whitewash and red paint. The horse’s legs and neck are broken. The horse has two broken stumps behind the neck of the horse, probably indicating two riders standing side by side. 8.  Beth Shemesh, horse with traces of a pair of raiders (Kletter forthcoming C: no.  26). From the excavations headed by S. Bunimovitz; reg. no. 196.01, height: 58 mm, width: 40 mm. It was found in mixed fills in area A, Locus 42. It the front part of a horse, with necks and legs broken away. One leg of a rider survived. There are two broken areas on the back of the horse, indicating, most probably, a pair of riders. 9.  Beth Shemesh, double-headed horse with traces of a rider (not yet published; Kletter forthcoming: C: no. 28). From the excavations headed by S. Bunimovitz; reg. no. 1957.01, height: 41 mm, length: 75 mm. It was found in Area E, Locus 461, in a building dated to the 8th century b.c. It has two broken areas, indicating a horse with two necks—a double-headed horse. Of the rider, only marks of a crescentshaped base have survived. 10.  Beth Shemesh, body of horse with bases of riders (fig. 11). Almost certainly from the excavations of Elihu Grant in the 1920s–1930s, but we could not locate it in his reports. The figurine is currently located at the Rockefeller Museum (PAM), reg. no. P384. It is the body of a horse with two “stumps” on its back, glued to the neck of the horse, probably for two riders. The surface is very worn and encrusted. 11.  Unknown Site, a horse with two heads and two riders. This figurine is from the collections of the Hecht Museum, University of Haifa (reg. no. H-701, Kletter 1995: 191, app. 6b:10). It was allegedly found at a tomb at Beit ʿOula in Judah. The fragment is unique in having both a double-headed horse and a pair of riders. One rider is completely restored, as well as the head of the second rider. Height: 73 mm. 12.  Jerusalem, double-headed horse with base of rider. From the Kotel excavations in Jerusalem; reg. 61199, L.6157. Not yet published, courtesy of the excavator, Shlomit Wexler-Bdolah. Front part of horse with two broken necks on top. Behind them is a base of a crescent-bodied rider, now broken away. Height: 32 mm, length: 51 mm. One more clay figurine should be mentioned here ( Jeremias 1993: pls. 6–7, fig. 1; cf. Uehlinger 1997). Sadly, it was bought on the antiquities market in Jerusalem in

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1990 and its origin is unknown (allegedly from Tell Beit-Mirsim; Jeremias 1993: 41). It shows two human figures sitting or standing on a massive “body” with rounded legs below. It can represent a chariot with two soldiers or a throne with two divinities. Jeremias (1993: 58) suggested that the figures are a pair of divinities: one is a popular representation of a sky-god; the second is not a consort goddess but a servant-soldier. The “legs” of this figurine are shaped like the legs of horse figurines from Judah, and perhaps the two figures are shown riding/sitting, but the “body” is not a “normal” horse or chariot. Since the figurine is unique and lacks a secure origin, its meaning remains open.

5.  The Military Nature of HRs HR figurines in archaic-period Cyprus are more realistic in execution than in Judah. There, rider figurines often have a clear military appearance: they are male and they often wield weapons (usually swords) and carry round shields on the back or on the arm. Some figurines show chest armor for horses. Pointed headdresses perhaps denote helmets (Tatton-Brown and Crouwel 1992). The same can be seen also on some HR figurines from Phoenicia and Transjordan (E. Mazar 1990; 1996: 99–100; Paraire 1980; Kletter 1995: app. 6: 158, 203?, 213). The Cypriote figurines are common in tombs and sanctuaries (and are often explained as votive objects), but they appear also in settlement sites. Horse-and-rider figurines are much more abundant than horses alone in Cyprus (Karageorghis 1996: 23). Double-headed HRs also appear in Cyprus. They are not very common; stylistically, they resemble “normal” horses and HRs of the same period; only the double features set them apart (Crouwel and Tatton-Brown 1988: 78–84; Karageorghis 1993: 90; Karageorghis 1995: 69–70, nos. 49–52, pls. XXXIV:8–9, XXXV:1; Karageorghis 1996: 28, cat. no. 25, pl. XIII:7, 7th century b.c.). Karageorghis (1995: 70; 1996: 28) also explains double-headed horses as representation of two horses. A few HRs from Judah also carry shields (Kletter 1995: app. 6: 2, 5?, 32?, 35, 119, 123, 280?; Kletter 2004: 2059, fig. 28.36:6, pl. 28.41:3). Some horse- and HRsfigurines appear in tombs, indicating that they probably belonged to one of the deceased. One horse head from Samaria carries an inscribed name (“[?‫)”לעז]רא‬, perhaps the name of the owner of the figurine (Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957: 16 no. 3, pl. 1:3a–b; 81 no. 29). The military nature of HR figurines is by itself not decisive for determining their meaning, since both divinities and humans are often represented as warriors.

6.  Biblical Sources, Other Representations, and Osteological Remains In the Old Testament, the horse almost always enjoys a high status. Horses are used in war (Isa 5:28) and as strong animals of burden (Gen 45:19); they bring prestige to their owners. Their physical characteristics are seldom described, but they are swift, fierce, mighty, and beautiful (Hab 1:8, Job 39:19–25, Jer 8:16; 47:3; Song 1:9). Horses add height, movement, and noise to riders (McKay 2002; Klingbeil 2003: 264–65). The Kingdom of Israel excelled in chariotry, at least from the time of the reign of Ahab, but Judah also had horses (1 Kgs 22:4, 2 Kgs 3:7; Im 2006: 320, 333–

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36). Yahweh is explicitly described as riding a chariot (Ezek 1, 10) or has clouds as chariots (Ps 104:3) (Im 2006: 227, 320–22). However, we do not have reference to Yahweh riding directly on a horse. Gods such as Yahweh and Baʿal were predominantly weather-gods (van der Toorn et al. 1995: 1723), related to bulls/calves; their imagery was formed before the rise of cavalry. Other representations of horses in Iron Age Judah and Israel are few. Drawings from Kuntillet ʾAjrud seem to represent chariot horses (Im 2006: 295–96), which Zevit attributes to Bes (2001: 388). On seals and bullae with Hebrew script, horses are rare (Avigad and Sass 1997: 45, 87 no. 118; Im 2006: 303), though other animals (gazelles, fish, birds, locusts, lions) and griffins are shown. Riders are not shown on Hebrew seals. A few riders appear on scaraboids from sites in Palestine but not in Judah (Klingbeil 2003: 279–80; Im 2006: 303–6). 4 One item from Dan shows a horse and a chariot (Im 2006: 307). From Judah, we have seals of prancing horses—but without riders (Im 2006: 307–9, with references). One scaraboid from Beth Shean shows a rider with a star, or a rosette, behind it (Keel and Uehlinger 1992: 344, fig. 336). This single item is hardly evidence for the astral nature of horse riders. Osteological remains of horses from Iron Age Israel/Palestine are scarce. Klingbeil has collected data from 10 sites (including one in Transjordan), and although this is a limited and random sample, the picture suggests that sheep/goat bones are the majority, followed by cattle and a few wild species. Horse bones are insignificant in number (Klingbeil 2003: 268–75; Im 2006: 78). Klingbeil (2003: 276) assumes that this was due to the high cost of horses. However, it is more likely that horses are under-represented, because our data comes mainly from domestic refuse inside settlements. If horses were kept outside towns, and especially if they were not eaten on a regular basis, their bones would not be found in domestic refuse.

7.  The Development of Riding and the JHRs Riding horses, in past scholarship, has been traced to the early fourth millennium b.c. (Anthony and Brown 1991; Moorey 1970; Voyatzis 1992; Hanfmann 1961); but this was largely based on a mistaken date of a horse burial at Dereivka (Drews 2004: 98). The first representation of riding comes from a Mesopotamian cylinder seal dated around 2500 b.c. Figurines as evidence for riding appear around 2300 at Tell es-Sweyhat and slightly later at Tell Urkesh/Mozan (Hauser 1998; Drews 2004: 36–37). The ability of early riders has been much overestimated: it took a long time to develop effective riding. Before the second millennium b.c., riding was only athletic or “recreational” (Drews 2004: 31, 38–48; Hyland 2003: 79). Riders were used as messengers in the second millennium b.c. (cf. 2 Kgs 9:18–19), while chariots dominated warfare (Drews 2004: 48–54, Littauer and Crouwel 1979: chaps. IV–VII; for Iron Age I representations from Palestine/Israel, see Ornan 1986: 57, no. 22). Cavalry as a military art is first documented in 9th-century b.c. Assyria. At first, cavalry units fought in pairs (a warior and a driver, the latter managing the reigns of the pair of horses). Later, cavalrymen fought single-handedly, though pairs were also sometimes used. The change from messenger-on-horse to cavalryman is apparent in the appearance of a special term for messenger (kallapu), added to the term petḫallu (Littauer and Crouwel 1979: 134–43, figs. 76–78; Ap-Thomas 1983: 143–44; Dalley and 4.  The data is partial because it is based on the first volume of Keel’s catalogue (1995).

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Postgate 1984: 34 n. 41; Crouwel and Tatton-Brown 1988: 83; Clutton-Brock 1992: 73; Sidnell 2006: 14–17; Drews 2004: 57–59, 62, 65–66). The main weapon of cavalry was the bow, and its best use was for raiding. Early riders using spears, javelins, and similar weapons had a limited effectiveness. Riders also shot arrows backward in the technique called “Phartian shot” (Drews 2004: 56–57, 103–5). Drews (2004: 83–87) states that the appearance of cavalry as an effective fighting force was during the 9th century b.c. with the application of effective bronze bits: the riders were finally able to control the horses. The rise of cavalry is reflected in the increasing number of horses (as against chariots) in Assyrian booty lists (Dalley 1985: 37–38; Kletter 1995: 204–6; Moorey 2003; for metal bits from Israel/Palestine, see Im 2006: 242–46, 254–55). The great popularity of HR figurines in Judah and other neighboring cultures in the late Iron Age can be seen against this background. According to Dalley (1985: 38–39; cf. 2 Kgs 18:23), Palestinian kingdoms did not develop cavalry forces, though they had high-quality chariot forces. This is seen from the lack of cavalry horses from the Kingdom of Israel in Assyrian booty lists. Only larger kingdoms (such as Damascus and Hamat) and empires had cavalry forces in the Iron Age. If Dalley is right, JHRs did not depict an existing Judean cavalry force but only aspirations for it. Perhaps tellingly, dignitaries and royals in the OT ride in chariots in war situations and on asses or mules—not horses—for peaceful transportation (Im 2006: 323; Jer 17:25, 22:4 being perhaps an exception). The horse was a status symbol (see the biblical sources cited above); in Cyprus too, horse burials from the Late Bronze to the Archaic period and later indicate the role of horses as a status symbol (Karageorghis 1995: 61; Karageorghis 2006: 51–53; Antikas 2006; Crouwel and Tatton-Brown 1988: 78–84). In the Persian period, “Persian rider” figurines are common in Palestine/Israel, reflecting an even more dominant place of cavalry as well as the arming of the horses with breastplates (Hyland 2003: Chap.  10; Sidnell 2006: 21; Drews 2004: 123–25; Stronach 2009). It is possible that the figurines also portray development in clothing: the use of mantles or riding coats, draped over the shoulders with dangling (decorative) sleeves (Knauer 2004: 9), riding pants, and caps (Drews 2004: 131–32). Persian rider figurines carry arches and usually short swords for close battle; sometimes axes or spears (Drews 2004: 132–33; Stronach 2009: 217*–18*). Stern identified these figurines as nobles or rulers (1973: 166, photo 280; 2001: 493).

8. Conclusions Although the group of “double JHRs” remains small, it cannot be ignored. Theoretically, some of these fragments (the horses with two broken bases on the back) could belong to figurines of a rider with two legs. There is one anthropomorphic figurine from Judah with two short legs from Tel Beer-Sheba (fig. 12) (reg. no. 159060/1, L1357, late 8th century b.c.; Kletter 1995: no. 126; Kletter forthcoming B). The pinched head, the thin body lacking breasts, the position of the (broken) arms— all fit a rider. Yet, the one intact leg seems to be finished at the bottom; it bulges on the back side and is straight at the bottom. Thus, there is no certainty that this figure is a rider (if it was attached to a horse, we would expect a concave bottom). So far, other HRs from Judah do not show a rider with two round legs. Also, the broken parts on the bodies of horses (in the list above) seem too large and widely spaced

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Fig. 12.  Figurine from Tel Beer Sheba, B159060/1, L1357; courtesy Z. Herzog. Photo by R. Kletter.

to fit an interpretation as stumps of two legs. Thus, we think that these fragments depicted double riders. Can double HR figurines be explained as mythical creatures? Such creatures are known from both texts and archaeological objects, including figurines (e.g., in Mesopotamia: see Wiggerman 1992). However, we find no “abnormal” or exaggerated trait that suggests mythical elements. We are also unaware of double-headed horses in ancient Near Eastern mythology. It seems that JHRs portray “normal” horses and riders, only in doubled form. Ciasca (1964) suggested that the double-headed horses are a “shortened” form representing a pair of horses. If so, double-headed riders should, similarly, be understood as a pair of riders. In two dimensional art of the ancient Near East, shortening as a means of representing more than one figure of the same type is a common feature. Teams of chariot horses are often shown in a shortened way in Egyptian and Neo-Assyrian art by repetition of outlines (e.g., Curtis and Reade 1995: 45, 50, 52–53, 63, 73). Double HR figurines similar to the group from Judah appear in neighboring cultures, especially in Cyprus (section 5 above).

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“Double” figurines and other representations are known from various areas and periods. In the ancient Near East, they appear since the Neolithic period (Ziffer 2007). In the Greek world, double and triple figures appear, usually of goddesses but not only (Hadzisteliou-Price 1971; cf. Ehrlich and Kloner 2008: 43–45; in Mesopotamia, Jacobsen 1976: 166; Ariel 1996). JHRs with a pair of riders cannot represent a pair of gods, since two different (male) divinities would not share the same horse and they also hardly fit late Iron Age Judah, where Yahweh was the main god. Yahweh also did not come in pairs, though his figure could be expressed by plural terms in the Bible. Female deities were depicted standing on horses (see, e.g., Clamer 1980, and see above), yet never a pair of two female deities on the same horse. Could double JHRs be Yahweh and Asherah? It does not seem likely. First, the rider traces have the same size, while ancient Near Eastern artistic convention would show the male figure larger than his consort. Second, it is inconceivable that Judean potters would lump together Yahweh and Asherah into the same body (in the case of the double-headed rider). Third, if the riders were Yahweh and Asherah side by side, the potters would have distinguished them by, for example, giving feminine traits (such as breasts and a different coiffure) to the figure of Asherah. At the same time, an idea of one god (e.g., Yahweh) and a servant-driver does not hold ground. We would expect different sizes for the two figures. Coroplasts did portray divinities with human traits, because they conceived of them in human forms. Yet, coroplasts would not have taken the liberty of showing a driver of God in the same shape and size as God. Also, they would not lump a divinity and a servant into the same body. The existence of the group of pairs of horses/riders from Judah places doubt on the identification of JHRs as images of gods. Since we believe that this group portrays “shortened” pairs of horses/riders, it is best interpreted as representations of mortal teams of horses and men—that is, mortal beings riding mortal horses. According to this reasoning, most JHRs represent single cavalrymen; double JHRs represent pairs of cavalry. We add that in Near Eastern representations of divinities standing on horses, they stand at the middle of the back and do not hold reigns. Yet, all the riders on the JHRs are placed immediately behind the neck and holding reigns. At a period when cavalry became a significance fighting force, figurines of horses-and-riders became more common. If Judah lacked a large cavalry force, these representations were symbolic, an aspiration for power/status. The JHRs do not portray a particular hero; they were not used specifically by horsemen. We do not think that JHRs were votive objects, since their location (mainly domestic contexts) show that they were left in the property of mortal owners, not dedicated in temples (Kletter, Ziffer, and Zwickel 2010: Chap. 12). If Judah lacked significant cavalry forces, and if horses were expensive status symbols, the figurines were not “self images” of those who owned them but a symbolic representation. In our view, the JPFs represented Asherah, a goddess and a consort of Yahweh, but not as important as he was. However, HRs (and animal figurines) did not represent divine beings. Figurines of animals, JHRs, and JPFs were not part of “foreign,” “forbidden,” or “pagan” cult. They were mostly “good figures,” probably accepted by the population as a whole. So far, we have no clear data that the small figurines were a focus of cultic acts.

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Another interesting observation relates to the repertoire of solid zoomorphic figurines from Iron Age Judah. Economically important animals for Judean households were caprids (sheep/goat) and bovines (cow/bulls), with camels holding importance perhaps in the Negev area. However, the animals depicted in Judean Iron Age II figurines are mostly equids, probably all or almost all of them horses (probably not owned by many households). The figurines do not depict common household animals; they are not “fertility” figurines intended to increase herds. Rarely, one finds a figurine of a wild species, but this is an exception, not the norm. The solid animal figurines are a symbolic representation, not animals usually owned by households. Solid animal figurines from Judah do not depict (or very rarely depict) bulls/ calves. However, many bulls/calves seem to be represented in hollow zoomorphic vessels and kernoi. These hollow vessels were used for libation, most likely having a cultic function. Perhaps HRs and animal figurines were part of the entourage of Asherah (she is represented by JPFs). Together, the figurines recreated order by presenting a picture of life (not completely idealistic, because here wild or menacing animals also appear at times). Scholars often assume that the figurines belonged to family religion, related mainly to the veneration of Asherah by women. Yet, we have no evidence that women were responsible for making and using these figurines or that the figurines expressed family religion in the sense of something different from “official” religion. By “official” religion we mean religion as practiced, for example, in the Jerusalem temple, not as represented in various biblical interpretations such as, for example, by deuteronomistic editors. If Yahweh’s image was not to be represented iconically, his image would not be found among the figurines; this does not mean that his presence was lacking. The figurines portrayed Asherah and her entourage, but this was part of the world of Yahweh, not a separate realm. In other words, they were literally “down to earth” components in a world that always had Yahweh in mind. They were not created and used by women venerating Asherah alone but by the population as a whole, which also venerated Yahweh. We hope that this paper has presented the state of research on Judean horse-andrider figurines; the archaeological data at this stage permits several interpretations. We draw a line between the Judean pillar figurines, representing Asherah, and other small figurines from Judah. Based on the group of “double” figurines and on other considerations, we suggest that Judean horses and riders were not divine images. They also were not self-images representing specific mortal people but a symbol of power/status that was desired rather than achieved. These and the female figurines need not be viewed in terms of private, family, unofficial, nonconformist, foreign or pagan cult; rather, they were created and used by both women and men as part of the religion of Iron Age Judah.

Acknowledgments We thank all the excavators who enabled us to work on finds from their excavations and to include unpublished details about figurines in this article, namely E. Brand (Tel Hadid), Z. Herzog (Tel Beer Sheba); S. Bunimovitz (Beth Shemesh), and O.  Rimon (Hecht Mueum, University of Haifa); Yuval Gadot and Liora Freud and Oded Lipschits (Aharoni’s excavations at Ramat Rahel). A preliminary version of this

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paper was read at the conference held at Münster University in April 2009. We thank Rainer Albertz and Rüdiger Schmitt for their warm hospitality and all of the other participants for their comments. Any deficiencies remain our own.

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Kenyon, K. 1974 Digging Up Jerusalem. New York: Praeger. Kletter, R. 1995 Selected Material Remains of Late Iron Age Judah in Relation to its Political Borders. Ph.D. Dissertation, Tel-Aviv University (Hebrew). 1996 The Judean Pillar Figurines and the Archaeology of Asherah. BAR International Series 636. Oxford: Tempvs Reparatvm. 1999 Pots and Polities: Material Culture of Late Iron Age Judah in Relation to its Political Borders. BASOR 314: 19–54. 2004 Clay Figurines (Iron Age). Pp. 2058–83 in The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), Vol. IV, ed. D. Ussishkin. Monograph Series 22. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, Institute of Archaeology. Forthcoming a    Iron Age Clay Figurines from Tel Hadid (Excavations of E. Brand). Forthcoming b  Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Clay Figurines From Tel Beer Sheba. in Final Excavations Report, ed. Z. Herzog. Tel-Aviv: Tel-Aviv University. Forthcoming c  Tel Beth Shemesh – The Clay Figurines. in Beth Shemesh Excavations, ed. S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman. Tel-Aviv: Tel-Aviv University. Kletter, R., and Saarelaninen, K. Forthcoming  The Aharoni Figurines from Ramat Rahel. in Ramat Rahel. Final Report of the Aharoni Excavations, ed. Lipschits, O. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Kletter, R., Ziffer, I., and Zwickel, W. 2010 Yavneh I: The Excavation of the “Temple Hill” Repository Pit and the Cult Stands. OBO Archaeological Series 30. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag. Klingbeil, G. A. 2003 “Man’s Other Best Friend”: The Interaction of Equids and Man in Daily Life in Iron Age II Palestine as Seen in Texts, Articacts, and Images. Ugarit Forschungen 55: 259–89. Knauer, E. R. 2004 A Quest for the Origin of the Persian Riding Coats: Sleeved Garments with Underarm Openings. Pp. 7–28 in Riding Costumes in Egypt: Origin and Appearance, ed. C. Fluck and G. Vogelsang-Eastwood. Leiden: Brill. Littauer, M. A., and Crouwel, J. H. 1979 Wheeled Vehicles and ridden Animals in the Ancient Near East. Leiden: Brill. MacKay, J. 1973 Further Light on the Horses and Chariot of the Sun in the Jerusalem Temple (2 Kings 23:11). PEQ 105: 167–69. Mackenzie, D. 1912 Excavations at Ain Shems (Beth Shemesh). Palestine Exploration Fund Annual II. Mazar, E. 1979 Archaeological Evidence for “the Cows of the Bashan Who Are in the Mountains of Smaria.” Pp. 151–56 in Festschrift Reuben R. Hecht. Jerusalem: Koren (Hebrew). 1990 A Horseman’s Tomb at Achziv. Qadmoniot 91–92: 104–9 (Hebrew). 1996 The Achzib Burials: A Test Case for Phoenician-Punic Burial Customs. Ph.D. Dissertation, Hebrew University, Jerusalem (Hebrew). May, H. G. 1935 Material Remains of the Megiddo Cult. Oriental Institute Publications 26. Chicago: University of Chicago. McKay, H. A. 2002 Through the Eyes of Horses: Representation of the Horse Family in the Hebrew Bible. Pp. 127–41 in Sense and Sensibility: Essays in Reading the Bible in Memory of Robert Carrol, ed. A. G. Hunter and P. R. Davies. JSOT Supplement 348. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press.

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McCown, C., and Wampler, C., eds. 1947 Tell en-Nasbeh. 2 Vols. Berkeley and New Haven: Palestine Institute of Pacific School of Religion. Mettinger, T. 2006 A Conversation with My Critics: Cultic Image or Aniconism in the First Temple? Pp. 273–96 in Essays on Ancient Israel in its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Naʾaman, ed. Y. Amit, E. Ben-Zvi, I. Finkelstein, and O. Lipschits. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Moorey, P. R. S. 1970 Pictorial Evidence for the Study of Horse Riding in Iraq before the Kassite Period. Iraq 32: 36–50. 2003 Idols of the People: Miniature Images of Clay in the Ancient Near East. London: The Schweich Lectures of the British Academy 2001. Naʾaman, N. 1999 No Anthropomorphic Graven Image. Notes on the Assumed Anthropomorphic Cult Statues in the Temples of YHWH in the Pre-Exilic Period. Ugarit-Forschungen 31: 391–415. Nadelman, Y. 1989 Iron Age II Clay Fragments from the Excavations. Pp. 123–25 in Excavations in the South of the Temple, ed. E. Mazar and B. Mazar. Qedem 29: Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University. Niehr, H. 1995 Host of Heaven. Pp. 811–14 in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, ed. K. van der Toorn. Leiden: Brill. 1997 In Search of Yhwh’s cult Statues in the First Temple. Pp. 73–95 in The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. K. van der Toorn. Amsterdam: Peeters. Nunn, A. 2004 Image de déesses? Transeuphratène 28: 148–63. Ornan, T. 1986 Man and His Land: A Selection from the Collection of M. Dayan. Catalogue No. 270. Jerusalem: Israel Museum. Paraire, D. 1980 Les figurines. Pp. 331–52 in Tell Keisan (1971–1976): Une cité phénicienne en Galilée, ed. J. Briend and J. P. Humbert. Paris: Gabalda. Pinch, G. 1993 Vottive Offerings to Hathor. Oxford: Griffith Institute, The Ashmolean Museum. Pritchard, J. B. 1961 The Water System of Gibeon. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Museum. Ritner, R. K. 1992 Egyptian Magic: Questions of Legitimacy, Religious Orthodoxy and Social Deviance. Pp. 189–200 in Studies in Pharaonic Religion and Sociaty in Honour of J. G. Griffiths, ed. A. B. Lloyd. Swansea, Wales. 1993 The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice. Chicago: University of Chicago. Schmitt, R. 2004 Magie im Alten Testament. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 313. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Sellin, E. 1904 Tell Taʿannek: Bericht über eine mit Unterstützung der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften und des k.k. Ministeriums für Kultus und Unterricht unternommene Ausgrabung in Palästina. Vienna. Shanks, H., ed. (Author Unnamed) 1978 The Mystery of the Horses of the Sun at the Temple of Entrance. Biblical Archaeology Review 4/2: 8–9.

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Sidnell, P. 2006 Warhorse: Cavalry in Ancient Warfare. Hambledon: Continuum. Stähli, H-P. 1985 Solare Elemente im Jahweglauben des Alten Testaments. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Stern, E. 1973 The Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian Period, 538–332 bc. Jerusalem (Hebrew, English Translation 1982). 1999 Religion in Palestine in the Assyrian and Persian Periods. Pp. 245–55 in The Crisis of Israelite Religion, ed. B. Becking and M. C. A. Korpel. Leiden: Brill. 2001 Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II: The Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian Periods. 732–332 b.c.e. New York: Doubleday. 2003 The Phoenician Source of Palestinian Cults at the End of the Iron Age. Pp. 297–308 in Symbiosis, Symbolism and the Power of the Past: Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–31, 2000, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Sterne, L. 1760 Tristram Shandy: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentelman. Rep. by The Modern Library, New York. Stronach, D. 2009 Riding in Achaemenid Iran: New Perspectives. Eretz Israel 29 (E. Stern Volume): 216*– 37*. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Szeliga, G. 1983 A Representation of an Archaic Greek Saddle-Cloth from Sicily. American Journal of Archaeology 87/4: 545–47. Tadmor, M. 2006 Realism and Convenstion in the Depiction of Ancient Drummers. Pp. 321–37 in Essays on Ancient Israel in its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Naʾaman, ed. Y. Amit, E. Ben-Zvi, I. Finkelstein, and O. Lipschits. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Tatton-Brown, V., and Crouwel, J. 1992 A Terracotta Horse and Rider in Brussels. Pp. 291–96 in Studies in the Honour of Vassos Karageorghis, ed. G. C. Ioannides. Nicosia: Hetaireia Kypriakon Spoudon. Taylor, J. G. 1993 Yahweh and the Sun: Biblical and Archaeological Evidence for Sun-Worship in Ancient Israel. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Toorn, K. van der, Becking, B., and van der Horst, P. W., eds. 1995 Disctionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Leiden: Brill. Tufnell, O., ed. 1953 Lachish III: The Iron Age. London: Oxford University Press. Ucko, P. J. 1968 Anthropomorphic Figurines of Predynastic Egypt and Neolithic Crete, with compatible Material from the Predynastic Near East and Mainland Greece. London: A. Szmilda. Uehlinger, C. 1997 Anthropomorphic Cult Statuary in Iron Age Palestine and the Search for Yahweh’s cult Images. Pp. 97–155 in The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. K. van den Toorn. Amsterdam: Peeters. 1999 Riding Horsemen. Pp. 705–6 in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, ed. K. van den Toorn, P. van der Horst, and B. Becking. 2nd ed. Leiden: Brill / Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 2001 Judäische Reiterfigur. Pp. 39–40 in “Im Schatten deiner Flügel”: Tiere in der Biblel und im Alten Orient, ed. O. Keel and T. Staubli. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag.

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Voigt, M. M. 1984 Hajji Firuz Tepe, Iran: The Neolithic Settlement. Hasanlu Excavation Reports, Vol. I. Pennsylvania: The University Museum, University of Pennsylvania. Voyatzis, M. 1992 Votive Riders seated Side-Saddle at Early Greek Sanctuaries. ABSA 87: 259–79. Weippert, H. 1988 Palästina in vorhellenistischer Zeit. Munich: C. H. Beck. Wenning, R. 1991 Wer war der paredos der Aschera? Notizen zu Terrakottastatuetten in eizenzeitlichen Graben. BN 59: 89–97. Wiggerman, F. A. M. 1992 Mesopotamian Protective Spirits: The Ritual Texts. Groningen: Styx. Worschech, U. 1993 Pferd, Göttin und Stier. Funde zur Moabitischen Religion aus el-Bālu’ ( Jordanien). Ugarit-Forschungen 24: 385–91. Zevit, Z. 2001 The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. London: Continuum. Ziffer, I. 2007 The First Adam, Androgyny, and the Ain Ghazal Two-headed Busts in Context. IEJ 57: 129–52. 2010 The Iconography. Pp. 61–104. In: Kletter, R., Ziffer, I., and Zwickel, W., Yavneh I: Excavation of the ‘Temple Hill’ Repository Pit and the Cult Stands (OBO Archaeological Series 30). Fribourg: Universitätsverlag.

Feast Days and Food Ways Religious Dimensions of Household Life Carol Meyers Duke University

Food. The preparation and consumption of comestibles and potables are perhaps the most quotidian of human activities, with the transformation of raw food into edible daily meals engaging a considerable amount of human time and energy, especially in traditional cultures such as that of the Israelites. At the same time, food and drink are essential elements of ritual behaviors in the religious celebrations and ceremonies of peoples all over the world to this very day; and the ritual use of food and drink was prominent in the sacrificial cult of ancient Israel and its neighbors. These two arenas of food and beverage use—the mundane and profane versus the singular and sacred—are often conceptualized as discrete realms. This distinction may be valid in the modern industrialized world, with its heightened secularism; but we should not assume that ancient Israelites experienced a similar disconnect between the food rituals of their shrines and the food customs of their households. My aim in this paper is to explore the integral connection between ritual feasts and household sustenance, indicating the sacral nature of the latter as well as the former. Just as important, especially since the larger cultural role and significance of feast days and foodways are rarely examined, I consider the meanings and functions of both festal and daily food consumption. Bur first I will define the household and note the sources to be used in examining Israelite feasting and food customs.

1. Introduction 1.1. Household In keeping with many anthropological studies of the household in traditional societies, the term household is used here in an inclusive sense. 1 An Israelite household was more than a family unit or a domestic abode; rather, it was both, and more. It was a socioeconomic unit with three components: (1) persons: family members— 1. Cf. Bodel and Olyan (2008a: 2), who explain that “family” as well as “household” appear in the title (Household and Family Religion in Antiquity) of their recent edited volume (Bodel and Olyan 2008b) to accommodate the overlapping and varied ways in which scholars use these terms. For a fuller discussion of the household and the resources for understanding the Israelite household, see Meyers 2011.

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that is, people related to each other by biology or marriage—and also sometimes unrelated servants or sojourners; (2) material culture: the living quarters, or dwelling, and all its associated installations and artifacts, including its lands and animals and also the tomb or burial site for family members; and (3) the activities carried out by household members. 2 This integral association of the dwelling (and its land) with its inhabitants and their activities is probably the norm in traditional agrarian societies because the house is the physical context of daily life as well as the concrete representation of its occupants (cf. du Boulay 1974: 32–33). The presence of non-kin and animals as sabbath observers in the Decalogue (Exod 20:10; Deut 5:14) reflects this concept of the household as a unit comprising family and non-family residents and also material possessions, including animals. The third component of a household—its activities—encompasses the full range of economic activities necessary for survival, the social and political interactions of its members, and also its religious practices. This aspect is often overlooked. However, considering household activities as a component of household life is important in that some of these activities could take place in community spaces or structures as well as within the household domain. Thus, the participation of household members in community ceremonies at local or even national shrines can be considered a feature of household religious life. In relation to ancient Israel as a segmented society, the household can be identified with the third level (after tribe and clan [or village or region]) of society (see, e.g., Josh 7:14–18). The biblical terms for these three levels are not entirely consistent in what they designate; yet, they surely represent the basic organization of society in that they correspond to the structure of premodern agrarian societies as analyzed by social anthropologists. 3 In traditional societies, these kinship structures situate people in larger social structures, which in turn lend stability to social and political interactions. The biblical term approximating the household is probably bêt ʾāb, “house (household) of the father.” Usually—although not always—it denotes a compound or extended family, or even a lineage, rather than a nuclear family. 4 The “father” in this term reflects the patrilineality of Israelite society, whereby the material components of a household were transmitted across generations via the male line. Chief among themse material components was the household’s immoveable property, in biblical terms, its naḥălâ (inheritance or patrimonial allotment). 5 According to the Bible, this ancestral inheritance was God-given (Num 33:54; Josh 13–19; cf. Judg 21:24 and the story of Naboth’s vineyard in 1 Kgs 21). Preserving it and transmitting it to heirs was a major responsibility of the head of household (Westbrook 1991: 2.  Rapoport 1994: 461. 3. See McNutt (1999) for a general introduction to Israelite social structure, Gottwald (1979) for an extensive examination of premonarchic society, Bendor (1996) for an overall view, and Stager (1985) and van der Toorn (1996: 183–205) for useful summaries. 4.  The composition of households is a matter of some discussion. It probably was not uniform throughout society, with urban households perhaps being smaller and simpler than others (Faust 1999; but cf. Brody 2009). 5.  Sometimes used interchangeably with real estate in the United States, “immoveable property” denotes fixed items that cannot be moved and would include land, buildings, and associated equipment.

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12–18); for a household’s land, on which food was produced, was not only intrinsic to the identity of the lineage but was also the means for the survival of its members. Land in the ancient world meant food (MacDonald 2008b: 100). Although the household was the smallest unit of Israelite society, it was the most numerous one and thus the foundational component of Israelite society. People were surely aware of the larger structures in which the household was embedded, especially to the degree that patrimonialism was a symbolic as well as social reality for Israelite society (so Schloen 2001: 50–53 and passim). But their daily lives took place in this primary social unit. And it would not be an exaggeration to say that their daily lives were dominated by the production and consumption of food. That food might figure prominently in the religious lives of the Israelites would be expected, especially since the productivity of the land was attributed to transcendent powers (see below in section 4.2).

1.2. Sources The most important source for considering ancient Israel’s feast days and foodways is the Hebrew Bible. Even the basic outlines of the Israelite cultic calendar would be virtually inaccessible without the details mentioned in the biblical text. Yet, because of its priestly focus on the sacrificial cult of the national shrine, the Bible rarely provides direct information about household religious activities. The state cult was undoubtedly important, at least in some circles. But the Everest fallacy must be avoided in considering the religious lives of most Israelites. “Everest fallacy” is a term given to the tendency to see the exceptional as the norm (Hopkins 1983: 41). Just as Everest is the most visible mountain but hardly a typical one, the sacrificial program of the temple is the most visible aspect of Israelite cultic activity but is hardly representative of the daily religious life of most people. In other words, the dominance in the Pentateuch of priestly materials, emanating from state religion, does not mean the absence of a rich array of household practices. The central shrine may loom large in the Bible; but the most important locus of cultic activity for most people was the household, at least in terms of the frequency with which people engaged in foodrelated religious activities. Other textual sources are also relevant. Although texts produced by the largescale urban cultures of the ancient Near East must be used carefully in considering the much smaller and poorer Israelite settlements, documents from Israel’s neighbors often contain information that complements or supplements biblical texts. Archaeological data also figure in the recovery of Israelite feast days and foodways insofar as material correlates of food production and consumption can be identified in the archaeological record. The remains of many regional and even household shrines, or parts thereof, have been identified (Zevit 2001: 123–266). 6 However, there has been little systematic attention to the archaeological correlates of feasts at sites considered Israelite, despite advances made by anthropologists in identifying the archaeological signatures of feasting (e.g., Twiss 2008: 419–24 and Table 1). 7 One 6.  See R. Schmitt’s contribution (“A Typology of Ancient Israelite Cult Places”) to this volume for a summary and critique of the typologies suggested by Zevit and others. 7.  In contrast, archaeologists have begun to consider feasting and its dynamics for sites near ancient Israel or for pre-Israelite periods (e.g., Lev-Tov and McGeough 2006; Killebrew and Lev-Tov 2008); note, too, the work of Aegean archaeologists (e.g., Hitchcock, Laffineur, and Crowley 2008).

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reason may be that cultic items are not always easy to identify. 8 Vessels for food offerings, for example, are the same as those with “secular” functions. The state cult may have had expensive metal or highly decorated versions of these forms (e.g., Exod 25:29; 1 Kgs 7:45), but household examples would likely have been the same as those used for everyday preparation and consumption of food and thus are often overlooked as possible data for studying household feasting. To be sure, a number of items are usually considered inherently cultic: figurines, amulets, ceramic stands, model shrines, anthropomorphic and zoomorphic vessels, and probably chalices, various specialized forms, and miniature vessels. Household space in which one or more of these objects appear suggests that the space was used for ritual purposes— providing food offerings, pouring libations, burning incense, and lighting lamps—as indicated by the assemblage found at Tell Jawa (Daviau 2001: 221–23 and cf., inter alia, Albertz 2008: 97). But items of food preparation and consumption themselves can also be part of the cultic repertoire, in that household feasting accompanied the household religious activities indicated by explicitly cultic items. Moreover, as explained below, even mundane foodways fall within the realm of religious activities. R. Schmitt (in this volume) is right to consider food preparation items a discrete category of cultic paraphernalia. A third indispensable source is the information provided by ethnography. A general consideration is that ethnoarchaeological data are essential for the fundamentally interdisciplinary and comparative task of interpreting most archaeological materials. That is, learning how various artifacts and structures are used in observable premodern cultures enables us to understand how analogous materials would have functioned in antiquity. Ethnography is also important in several interpretive ways related specifically to feasting and foodways. Information about sacral food events in other traditional cultures suggests religious dimensions of Israelite household activities that may not be either represented in archaeological remains or mentioned in texts. Perhaps most important is that ethnography can suggest the meanings and functions of the ancient activity sets comprising feasting and foodways. Biblical scholarship has tended to focus on identifying household religious practices but not on assessing their larger societal roles; and the consumption of food as part of those practices is virtually never examined. 9 Only by turning to information from observable cultures can the various functions of eating and drinking practices in Israelite households be proposed. Two cautionary notes are necessary before proceeding. The first is a diachronic one. Many of the relevant biblical texts may date to or relate to a specific time period, and it is often uncertain whether the information they contain can be generalized for the entire range of Israelite history. For example, late priestly or Deuteronomic sources may sometimes encode practices that are centuries older and in other cases may prescribe new or narrowly practiced behaviors that subsequently became more widely observed. Nonetheless, I will use these sources as indicative of practices of at least some, if not all, periods of Israelite existence. The second cautionary note con8.  Holladay (1987: 251, 275) and Zevit (2001: 81, 267) discuss the problems of identifying cultic objects. 9. R. Schmitt (1994) draws on anthropological data in analyzing biblical texts mentioning food, but her work does not include analysis of cultic uses and features of food.

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cerns socioeconomic context. The religious practices of the hypothetical “typical” agrarian households considered here may have differed from those of their urban counterparts or from households without significant land holdings. However, because ancient Israel was largely agrarian, the practices of that typical agrarian household likely represent the practices of the majority.

2.  Feast Days 2.1.  Defining Feasts What is a feast? Social scientists offer various definitions; see, for example, the papers in Dietler and Hayden (2001b). Clarke (2001: 145) defines a feast simply as a ritualized meal, meaning that it is not simply for sustenance but rather is one facet of a greater event that has other features and functions. Hayden (2001: 28) proposes that a feast is “Any sharing between two or more people of special foods (i.e., foods not generally served as daily meals) in a meal for a special purpose or occasion.” Both definitions have merit, but it is also helpful to expand and qualify them by noting several specific characteristics of feasts: (1) food and drink are consumed— not exchanged, traded, or received as gifts; (2) the food and drink are usually more abundant and/or of better quality than at an ordinary meal; (3) the feast is longer than everyday meals, sometimes lasting a number of days and involving a sequence of meals; and (4) the number of participants usually, but not always, transcends the number of people in an individual household; that is, a feast may involve several households connected by kinship or proximity or even an entire community. Archaeological evidence indicates the presence of feasting in regional and local shrines and also individual households. In his contribution to this volume (pp.  265–86), R. Schmitt shows that the assemblages of finds at neighborhood shrines, village shrines, and regional sanctuaries include vessels used for the preparation and consumption of food and drink. The quantities of such vessels suggest that they are not simply for the offerings themselves but rather that they served the needs of the people bringing the offerings. That is, feasting accompanied sacrifices at local and regional cultic spaces. The data from households is less certain, because relatively few domestic structures were left with their contents intact at the time of destruction or abandonment; this means that the full complement of household vessels and artifacts cannot often be spatially located. However, recovery of pottery and cultic objects from at least some Iron II dwellings indicates that food consumption and ritual activity took place together and thus provides evidence of household feasting in relation to religious events. A good example is the eight-century b.c.e. pottery and artifact assemblage discovered in Room 2 of Dwelling F7 at Tell Halif (Hardin 2010: 133–43; cf. Jacobs 2001). The numerous ceramic vessels are mainly those used for the preparation— but not storage or cooking—of food and drink; and the analysis of micro-artifacts similarly points to serving and eating food. The other artifacts in this space include cultic objects: a fenestrated stand, the head of a pillar figurine, and two finely dressed (squared with beveled edges) stones that were perhaps maṣṣēbôt or offering tables. R.  Schmitt notes similar evidence from other sites, all pointing to the household as the primary place of ritual activity. He suggests that this activity involved daily

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offering to ancestors, but feasts relating to Israelite festivals can also be posited for these assemblages. What would have been the occasions for household feasting, whether in the dwelling itself or at community shrines? The feasts discussed here are those known from biblical texts; they were regularly occurring, were observed by households, and had some explicitly religious component, usually signified by sacrifices or offerings. 10 They are categorized according to when they occurred: seasonally, monthly, and weekly. 11 Other household feasts, such as marital and funerary ones, occurred sporadically according to life-cycle events. The sacral component of these ad hoc feasts, which were of no less functional importance than regular ones, is less obvious; and so these occasions are also excluded from the discussion. 12 Finally, still other occasional feasts not included here would be those initiated by community leaders to accomplish specific political or economic goals; some may have been inclusive of large parts of the population and many households, and others probably involved only select groups (see MacDonald 2008a: 134–65; Meyers forthcoming).

2.2.  Annual Seasonal Feasts According to the biblical sources, the most prominent Israelite feast days in the course of a year were the three seasonal ones. 13 Like most agricultural peoples, including their neighbors, the Israelites held feasts that were based on important seasons in the annual cycle of food production. 14 To be sure, biblical tradition historicizes these occasions. For example, the major spring festival (Passover)—perhaps a combination of two originally separate festal events, one involving grain (unleavened bread) and the other livestock (paschal lamb)—is connected to recollections of exodus from Egypt. 15 Yet, it is clear that basic agricultural processes underlie this festival and also Israel’s two other major festivals, the feasts of Weeks and Booths. The embeddedness of the three main festivals in the agricultural calendar persisted, despite the overlay of historical meaning, as evinced by the agrarian symbolism in features of these festi10.  This discussion is based on Meyers 2010: 123–30. 11. The seventh year Sabbatical (with farm lands lying fallow) and the fiftieth year Jubilee (with the restoration of any land a household may have sold) are not included here because it is not clear if they were accompanied by feasting, although they surely had socioeconomic functions that benefited household patrimonies; see Leviticus 25 and Milgrom (2001: ad loc.). The feasts of Rosh Hashanah (for which the biblical evidence is slight and confusing [Milgrom 2001: 2012–13]) and Purim (which is a late, non-agricultural celebration) are also not considered, nor are fast days. 12.  Circumcision would perhaps be considered sacral but does not seem to have been accompanied by feasting. 13.  They are mentioned in five biblical cultic calendars: Covenant Code (Exod 23:14–17 (E?); Yahwistic Decalogue (Exod 34:18, 22–23, 35); Holiness Code (Lev 23:4–13, 33–43); Priestly sacrificial code (Num 28:16–31); Deuteronomy (16:1–17); Ezekiel (45:21–25). The origins and dates of these lists are still debated, and the details—including even the names of the festivals—vary. They apparently represent different traditions that have at least some features in common. See the discussion in Wagenaar 2005. 14.  The agricultural component of the Israelite seasonal festivals is similar to that of major cultic events known from thirteenth-century b.c.e. ritual texts from Emar; see the summary in Fleming 1995: 144–45. 15.  The paschal (Passover) lamb may originate in the transfer of herd animals to their summer pastures, and the unleavened bread (matzo) in the sprouting of the first grains (Meyers 2005a: 95–104); Wagenaar 2005: 46–48. They former may also contains elements of the ancestral cult practices of the mišpāḥâ (Steinberg 2009).

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vals. 16 These three events appear as pilgrim festivals in the Pentateuch. In its general cultic instructions, Deuteronomy commands everyone (“you and your household”; Deut 12:7, 18; 14:26) to bring appropriate offerings to the central ( Jerusalem) shrine and cook and eat them there; and similar household inclusiveness is explicit for two of the three major festivals (Deut 16:11, 14) and thereby implied for the third. 17 Indeed, the term ḥag, used to designate each of these events, implies a journey to a cult site, whether local, regional, or (according to Deuteronomic stipulations) national (Kedar-Kopfstein and Botterweck 1980: 202, 205; cf. Levine (1980: 156). Thus, the major feast days were events in which some or all members of a household participated in community-wide celebrations. That the pilgrim festivals originated as family feasts in or near the domicile is suggested by the Passover stipulations in Exod 12. Another possibility is that Exod 12 is a late text, setting a custom that still dominates—a household Passover—in a time before the existence of a centralized temple cult. 18 This passage enjoins individual households to join together to celebrate if they are too small to consume the entire sacrificial lamb in one evening on their own (vv. 1–4), and it indicates that the festal meal takes place within a domicile (v.  46). Similarly, the Deuteronomic command (16:5) not to observe the Passover “in any of your settlements” implies that this festival was formerly (and continued to be) observed at local shrines or even within the household (Milgrom 2001: 1970, 1972; Vogt 2011). 19 The other two major feasts, because they too are keyed to the agricultural calendar, likely followed a similar pattern: they were originally household and regional festivals that later became centralized and historicized. Late Iron Age centralization of the cult probably did not eliminate the celebration of festivals in households in local communities for pragmatic reasons: it is improbable that all Israelites would have left their homes for a week or more and also questionable that one city, Jerusalem, could have accommodated that many visitors. Note, too, the report in Neh 8:13–19 that Booths was observed in households as well as in the temple precincts: “the people . . . made booths for themselves, each on their roofs of their houses and in their courts and in the courts of the house of God . . .” (v. 16). Also, the structure of Passover in early rabbinic times is that of a meal (the Seder) and likely reflects household Passover feasts of biblical times (Bokser 1984: 54). Clearly, these annual agricultural festivals were household feasts, whether celebrated in local domiciles, regional community shrines, or the Jerusalem temple. The foods consumed at these seasonal feasts, which lasted as long as seven days, are somewhat harder to identify. No doubt they were related to the prescribed festal 16.  For a similar instance of the tenacity of agricultural meaning in the main Christian feast days of traditional Greek culture, see Hart 1992: 247. 17. Wives—but not daughters, female servants, and widows—seem to be omitted from the deuteronomic directives; and Exod 23:17 (and 34:23) and Deut 16:16 require only males to participate in the pilgrimage festivals. Yet, women are not forbidden to attend; and the directives addressed to the senior male in a household probably include the wife as part of a conjugal pair (Meyers 2008). In Deut 31:10–12, all the people, including women, are enjoined to attend the Booths festival in the seventh year. Overall, it is significant that these festivals are depicted as celebrations by household groups, even if at a remove from their domiciles. The directives in the Holiness Code (Leviticus 23) are addressed to the entire “people of Israel.” 18.  Niditch 1994: 65. 19.  In the phrase bĕkol šăʿāreykā (“in any of your settlements”), šaʿar (literally, “gate”) means the entirety of a settlement by synecdoche; see Otto 2006: 368.

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offerings, which included bloody sacrifices according to priestly texts. Although at least some of these sacrifices were “burnt offerings” (ʿōlôt) according to priestly texts (e.g., Lev 23:12, 18, 37; cf. 2 Chr 12–13), which means that they were wholly consumed by fire, other sources indicate that parts of the slaughtered animal of Pesach provided a special meal for the offerants (Exod 12:8–11, 43–44; Deut 16:7–8). The consumption of meat was associated with prosperity and affluence (see, e.g., Deut 32:14; Isa 25:6; Amos 6:4; Prov 9:2) and surely contributed to its prominence among sacrificial foods (Claassens 2009). Meat-eating was probably not an everyday event for most households (except perhaps for elites), and thus its availability on the occasions that celebrated crop or animal yields would have heightened the emotional excitement provided by multiple features of feast days (see below). The components of the Mediterranean triad—grain, grapes/wine, and olives/oil (e.g., Lev 23:13; cf. Deut 14:23)—were also offerings at the seasonal feasts and were likely part of the festal meals, as were the often unnamed foods comprising the seasonal yield: the “produce of the land” at Booths (Lev 23:39), the “first fruits” (of the wheat harvest) or “harvest” of Weeks and Booths (e.g., Exod 23:16; Lev 23:10; Num 28:26). Indeed, these seasonal festivals often provided the opportunity to eat choice foods that had been unavailable since the yield of the previous harvest had been depleted, as indicated by the command to wait until the grain offerings had been made before eating certain foods (Lev 23:14). Other special foodstuffs and beverages were likely consumed, as befits feasting. Three texts about other feasts offer clues: (1) Deut 14:26 mentions meat, wine, strong drink (probably beer; so Homans 2004), and “anything you may desire” at the presentation of tithes; (2) the instructions for the New Year festival in Neh 8:10 refers to “choice foods and sweet drinks”; and (3) the special meal Abigail provides for David and his men according to 1 Samuel 25, though not technically a feast (because the food is gifted), includes raisins and fig cakes as well as meat, bread, and parched corn (v. 18). The seven species of Deut 8:8 are the bikkûrîm (first fruits) mentioned in rabbinic stipulations for Weeks (m. Bik. 1:3) and may reflect components of the feasting at that holiday in biblical times. The range of foodstuffs consumed in a feast was probably related to seasonal availability (for not all foods could be preserved for year-round use) and geographical location (for different ecosystems yielded different products). Whatever its components, a meal would not have been a feast if at least some foods not eaten on a daily basis were consumed. Special foods, usually consumed in larger quantities than in normal meals, contribute to the distinctiveness and emotional intensity of the occasion.

2.3.  Monthly Feasts Additional household feasts with similar patterns of sacrifice and consumption can be posited for the monthly new moon festival in the domicile and/or at a community setting. Celebrations at the new moon, marking the apparently miraculous reemergence of the moon after its gradual disappearance over the course of a month, are widely attested in Near Eastern societies (Hallo 1977: 4–9) and were apparently popular in ancient Israel, where they were announced by sounding the trumpet (Num 10:10; Ps 81:4). According to 2 Chr 8:12–13, sacrifices (burnt offerings) were offered at the temple on new moons as well as on the three annual festivals and also the sabbath. The eighth-century prophets Hosea (2:13) and Amos (8:5) likewise men-

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tion new moons together with festivals and sabbaths. The new moon celebration, no less than the three main festivals (and the sabbath; see below), was rooted in household observance. Note that, in prescribing the new moon celebration, the priestly sacrificial catalogue in Num 28:11–15 lacks the designation miqrāʾ qōdeš (“sanctuary convocation”), which is used elsewhere for events requiring people to gather at the central shrine (Levine 2000: 405). Thus, the new moon celebration at the temple likely reflected monthly new moon feasts held locally at gatherings of households linked by kinship or proximity, as indicated by 1 Sam 20:5–29, which equates the “meal” of v. 24 with the family feast/sacrifice of v. 29. In that passage, David and Jonathan anticipate a new moon feast in Saul’s household, although David begs off, celebrating instead with his own kin in Bethlehem, where “all members of the family or clan were expected to attend a feast” (Levine 2000: 405). The household setting of the new moon festival is also indicated by the likelihood that it not only celebrated the reemergence of the moon but also honored deceased ancestors. Using archaeological remains, Ugaritic texts, and biblical references, recent scholarship has advanced our understanding of relevant Israelite funerary practices and related beliefs. 20 Rapid interment in the family tomb was highly desirable (Olyan 2005), and rock-cut or cave tombs of the Iron Age were used for many generations (Bloch-Smith 1992: passim; 2009). Biblical language about being gathered to one’s kin (Gen 25:8; 35:29; 49:33) and also the narrative (Genesis 23) of Abraham obtaining land along with a tomb-cave signify the importance of the family tomb as part of a household’s land-holdings or inheritance (naḥălâ). Maintaining this patrimony meant connection with deceased ancestors, who were believed to exist in a shadowy state as in 1 Sam 28:3–25 (Brichto 1973; Stager 1985: 22; Stavrakopoulou 2010; van der Toorn 1996: 233–35). Where the new moon rituals connecting present and past members of a household took place is unclear. Using biblical passages and also texts from Ugarit, Samʾal, and Tell Fekherye, van der Toorn (1996: 218; cf. Olyan 2008: 119) suggests that these household rituals took place at the ancestral burial site, which is considered part of the household as described above. The vessels for food and drink that comprise most assemblages of tomb goods were thus used not only for burial rituals but also for provisioning the deceased and sharing meals with them at monthly new moon rituals (if not also at an annual event). Called ʾělōhîm in 1 Sam 28:13 and Isa 8:19, deceased ancestors were not actually deities but rather preternatural beings who could be of assistance to the living (Lewis 1989: 49–51, 115–16). Honoring them with food and drink was important for maintaining the integrity of the household with respect to both progeny and land-holdings (van der Toorn 1990). 21 Another possibility is that the local shrine was the locus of such events (Albertz 2008: 100). It is also possible that the monthly feast in which the ancestors shared food with their descendants was held at the domicile (rather than the tomb), as seems to have been the case in Mesopotamia and northern Syria (van der Toorn 2008: 26). Ethnographic evidence offers support for the last suggestion. Some Christians in nineteenth-century 20. See Bloch-Smith 1992, Lewis 1989 and 2002, and Olyan 2004 for references to the extensive literature on this subject and to relevant biblical texts. 21.  The enigmatic biblical term tĕrāpîm perhaps refers to statuettes of ancestors used in these rites (van der Toorn 1996: 218–25; van der Toorn and Lewis 2006).

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Anatolia held feasts in their homes, with their dead ancestors, at certain times of the year; when the festal meal was served, the deceased were addressed by name and invited to share in the special foods prepared in their honor (Garnett 1890–91: 17, 101). These meals for the deceased, found elsewhere in traditional Mediterranean Christianity, are a common way to maintain good relations with ancestors (Counihan 2000). Wherever they were held—in the domicile, the tomb, or a local cult center—monthly feasts involving ancestors were likely part of household religious life in ancient Israel.

2.4.  Weekly Feasts The Israelite weekly celebration—the sabbath—is not found elsewhere in the ancient Near East and is thus usually considered an Israelite innovation, emerging early in Israelite history (Levine 2008: 78). It is mentioned in several early prophetic texts (Hos 2:13; Amos 8:5; Isa 1:13); and the Decalogue historicizes the sabbath, linking it to the exodus in Deut 5:15 or theologizes it by relating it to God’s creation of the world in Exod 20:11 (see also Exod 31:13–17, inter alia). It apparently originated as a feature of Israel’s agrarian economy (Levine 2008: 82, 88), although the precise reasons for establishing a seventh day of rest remain speculative. 22 Whatever its origins, biblical texts indicate that the sabbath, like the monthly and annual festivals, was celebrated by the late biblical period if not before in the main shrine with bloody sacrifices along with offerings of grain, oil, and drink, probably wine (Num 28:10). But did households also observe the sabbath in their own domiciles? The pragmatic aspect—that not all households could go to the Jerusalem temple on a weekly basis—is surely relevant. Moreover, the Pentateuchal sabbath directives in the Decalogue (Exod 20:8–11; Deut 5:12–15) and elsewhere (e.g., Exod 23:12; Lev 23:3) presume household celebration. In commanding that the sabbath be held “throughout your settlements,” Leviticus emphasizes celebrations in the households of the wider community (Levine 1989: 155). And the Decalogue’s list of household members obliged to observe the sabbath likewise implies a household setting. The household sabbath meals corresponding to temple sacrifices should be considered feasts. They surely involved the consumption of special foods, as the concern with obtaining meat for the sabbath in the manna episode of Exodus 16 indicates. 23 Given the injunction in Exod 34:21 and elsewhere (e.g., Exod 35:3; Lev 23:3; cf. Num 15:32–36) that all manner of work cease, even in times of plowing and harvesting, more leisurely meals on the sabbath can be assumed. But did the members of more than one household gather for one or more sabbath meals? Given the propensity of kin to share celebrations, is likely that households used the opportunity of leisurely, special meals to join with other households, perhaps from the same kinship 22. Various theories about the sabbath’s origin are reviewed in Hasel 1990; see also Meyers 2005a: 132–33. The suggestion (as by Gruber 1969: 20–21) that it reflects humanitarian concern for people and animals involved in grueling agricultural work may be somewhat idealistic but is nonetheless worth considering. 23.  It is methodologically problematic to cite rabbinic texts, which concern post-Temple Jewish life, in this regard. Yet it is worth noting that talmudic sources mandating sabbath meals also mention sabbath delicacies: much garlic, a large fish, and cooked beets (b. Šabb. 118a–b).

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group. 24 Thus, although not observed on the same scale as the monthly festivals or certainly not as the triannual ones, which extended for as long as seven days and were explicitly communal, the sabbath meal can be considered a feast. How widely and in what periods it was observed is unclear. Yet the references to its celebration in pre-centralization prophecy (texts noted above) and the repeated call for its proper observance in later prophets (e.g., Isa 58:13–14; Jer 17:21–24; Ezek 44:24) and in Nehemiah (10:32; 13:15–22) suggests that at least some part of the population was committed to sabbath observance in the preexilic, exilic, and postexilic periods.

3. Foodways The basic diet in biblical days is fairly well known; and the relevant archaeological, biblical, and ethnographic data together have been collected recently by MacDonald (2008b). The constraints of the ecosystems in which Israelite settlements were located meant a rather limited array of foods beyond the Mediterranean triad. Meat, as already noted, was probably not a regular part of the diet for most people. 25 But what people eat is not only a matter of nutrition; food consumption is also embedded to some extent in ideas of the sacred. That is, the everyday eating patterns—the foodways—of ancient Israel had sacral features, perhaps related to the biblical concept of purity. Purity, which was basically a material condition and only by extension a characteristic of human thought or deeds, was “a pervasive aspect of biblical religion, as it is of ancient religions generally” (Levine 2008: 113); and dietary purity (along with cultic and sexual purity) was a major category of purity. 26 The notion that certain animals were impure and not to be consumed likely predates the literary form in which lists of those animals are found (Lev 11; Deut 14); but it is difficult to determine just how ancient and widespread those food prohibitions are. Thus it is uncertain whether and when members of the average Israelite household were aware of and attentive to the biblical food prohibitions. Yet, archaeologically retrieved faunal remains from throughout the Iron Age—that is, the presence of bones with butchering marks from animals permitted in the Bible and the general absence of forbidden ones—suggest a pattern of meat-eating consonant with biblical stipulations. At the very least, the biblical rules about meat consumption encode 24.  Again, although rabbinic materials may not be relevant, it is worth noting that the traditional grace includes this benediction: “May the Merciful One bless all who are gathered here and all their families, as well as all dear to us.” The blessings also included the option for the leader to bless those at whose house everyone was gathered, in the event it was not his own house, again indicating that families from different domiciles would join together for a sabbath meal. See also m. Ber. 7:5, which indicates a large group eating a sabbath meal together: “If two groups eat in the same room, as long as some of the one group can see some of the other group they combine [for zimmun ( grace)], but otherwise each group makes zimmun for itself. . . .” 25.  MacDonald (2008b: 68–72) suggests that meat-eating may have been slightly more common, especially in the Shephelah and to a certain extent in the highlands in the Iron II period (until the late eighth century); but he also cautions about drawing general conclusions from the relatively few sites for which adequate faunal analyses have been carried out, noting that sites very close to each other can produce very different profiles of animal exploitation. 26.  Dietary purity affected only meat consumption, for products of the soil were considered inherently pure, as were animal products (milk, cheese, and eggs) that did not require killing a living being (Levine 2008: 115).

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a pattern of animal husbandry and hunting that fit the environmental potential of the Iron Age highlands. 27 For at least some people, by the end of the Iron Age if not before, the idea of purity and sanctity was an element in their patterns of consumption. For them, non-meat foodstuffs were perceived as inherently pure; and animal flesh was considered pure only if chosen from a selected group and also if properly slaughtered and prepared. In short, Israelite foodways—what was eaten and what was not—became part of the realm of the sacred with activities surrounding the preparation and consumption of certain foods imbued with religious meaning. But even if specific aspects of sacrality, with respect to restricted and permitted foods, may not have been widely known or observed by the earliest Israelites, the religious nature of everyday food consumption can still be posited, given the presence of household religion going back to the beginnings of ancient Israel (see Albertz 1994; van der Toorn 1996; Meyers 2005b; and especially Albertz and Schmitt 2012). How might this happen, apart from feast days? Ordinary meals might somehow be marked as religious, in ways not visible or even familiar to us, by words or gestures in addition to food choices. In emphasizing the ubiquity of household religion (which he calls domestic religion), Jonathan Z. Smith (2003: 26) suggests that acknowledging the presence of deceased as well as living household members, as well as slight “elaborations of quotidian acts of eating, drinking, cooking, serving, pouring,” might mark any meal as “religious.” Note in this regard that in ancient West Asian households, a small portion of bread (kispu) was set aside for deceased ancestors, as their names were invoked, at household meals (van der Toorn 2008: 26). The presence of cult items along with vessels of food preparation and consumption in Israelite domiciles, noted above, can signify engagement with the sacred in daily foodways as well as on feast days. The Israelite dietary pattern itself indicates inherent religiosity. Whether in community shrines or ordinary domiciles, the components of sacrificial feasts—meat plus elements of the Mediterranean triad, considered a divine gift to Israel in the Bible (e.g., Hos 2:10)—were virtually the same as a household’s daily fare—except, of course, for the greater quantities, the addition of less-common items, and the presence (or larger amount) of meat at festivals. The sacrificial regime, in other words, replicated the household regimen. Indeed, well more than a century ago, Wellhausen (1885: 76) observed, in reference to pre-Josianic practices, “A sacrifice was a meal.” It was no accident that the household diet—especially the choicest aspects of it—became the staple foods and drinks of the sanctuary. Both are clearly related to the economic basis of society. Israelite foodways incorporated religious and economic dimensions of life. The food and drink of temple rituals can be considered household practices writ large; they originate in the household, not vice verse. As Mary Douglas (1972: 71) famously declares in one of her essays on culinary meanings, “a very strong analogy between table and altar stares us in the face.” Although there are clearly differences between feasts as special occasions and everyday meals, the two are not quite as fully oppositional as they might seem. Food is the medium 27.  This is not the place to examine the complicated issue of whether the avoidance of certain animals, notably pig, was an ethnic marker already in the Iron I period as claimed by Faust 2006: 34–40; Finkelstein 1997: 227–30. Zooarchaeologists (e.g., Wapnish and Hesse 1998; cf. Zeder 1998) are cautious about assigning ethnicity to pig-avoidance in that period.

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whereby opposites—quotidian consumption and festival repasts—meet (Hastorf and Weismantel 2007). Douglas has long argued that mundane meals and extraordinary eating are intertwined systems of meaning, metaphors of each other (cited in Sutton 2001: 20). Household practices do not mimic those of the state cult; instead, the opposite is the case: rites involving food and drink at supra-household cult centers are the development of the family meal (Stowers 2008: 12). In other words, the existence of a state cult with specified food and drink is testimony to the existence of household feasts of a similar nature and ultimately to daily repasts marked with some aspect of religiosity. Seasonal and monthly feasts, if not also the weekly sabbath meals, were elaborated versions—more copious and costly—of ordinary household foodways. All were imbued with wider cultural meaning and served overlapping functions in sustaining Israelite society.

4.  Meaning and Function 4.1.  Feast Days Feasting is found virtually everywhere; it is as much a part of human societies as are kinship and language. Recognizing its universality, anthropologists consider feasting a significant, and perhaps a central, social practice; studying feasts is thus an important way, although understudied and under-theorized until relatively recently, to understand many cultural processes of premodern societies (Dietler and Hayden 2001a: 1–2; 2001b passim). Because feasts entail a considerable expenditure of time and energy as well as resources, they typically provide some kind of practical benefits for the participants, for the wider culture, or both. Ethnographic research on the nature of feasting illuminates the psychological dynamics that enable it to provide various functions for households and the wider community. For one thing, the ability of feasting to serve these functions derives from its salient characteristics (noted above): larger quantities of food, special foods, longer duration, more people. These features generate an emotional dimension that augments the experience of the participants. The heightened expectation, enjoyment, and camaraderie—everything that takes feasting out of the realm of the ordinary and into the realm of the extraordinary—create an atmosphere that makes the festal events affective events. And for the Israelites, this affective quality would have been intensified, at least for the three seasonal festivals, by the fact that those feasts mark milestones in the agricultural calendar, the culmination of a tense process of planting and nurturing crops. In addition, as ethnographers have observed, feasts comprise more than the consumption of special foods and drinks; they are commonly augmented by music and dance. The same was true in the biblical world. Banquet scenes in ancient Near Eastern art depict musicians, and sometimes dancers, along with the presentation of foodstuffs (e.g., Amiet 1980: pl. 90:1183, 1186–87; Dayagi-Mendels 1999: 82–83; Schmandt-Besserat 2001: figs.14.1, 14.2; Ziffer 1987). Biblical texts provide similar evidence, especially with respect to music as a component of religious events. For example, Ps 68:25–26 mentions the “procession” (NRSV) of musicians and singers to the temple; Ps 81:2–4 refers to vocal and instrumental music in connection with the new moon festival; and Amos (5:21–23) links songs and harp-music to festivals

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and sacrifice. 28 Festivals are occasions for rejoicing. Music, along with food and drink, heighten the emotions. In enjoining those feasting at the central shrine to rejoice, Deuteronomy (e.g., 12:7; 16:11, 14) uses the verb śāmaḥ, which is frequently linked with the excitement aroused by music and dance, especially with respect to festivals (Vanoni 2004: 146–47). Finally, the celebratory, exciting, carnival atmosphere of festivals, not available in any other way in premodern societies like ancient Israel, was augmented by the very animal sacrifices prescribed for Israelite feast days. Killing an animal for a sacrifice is “a highly charged, even emotional event” and would have had a kind of theatricality of its own (Hamilakis 2008: 7). Thus, the ritualized procedures for slaughtering and butchering, along with the dramatic multi-sensory effects—sound, sight, and smell—of the process, would have added to the drama and the attendant heightened atmosphere of feast days. The specific functions feasts serve are varied, and some pertain to special events called by local or royal authorities but not to regular religious ones. 29 The ones most relevant to household religion are the specifically religious functions as well as the wider social and psychological ones. They will be discussed separately, although they are really interrelated features—each representing an aspect of the pervasive importance of food in society (Twiss 2007: 4). As noted above, feasts with explicitly political functions—sometimes called “commensal politics”—tend to be specially called festal meals in which power is asserted and economic resources are manipulated (Dietler 1996) and are not included in this examination of regularly occurring feast days. 30 However, even regular religious festivals could have political value; for example, the centralization of festivals in Jerusalem, to the extent that it reflects reality, surely served to amass resources in the capital and thereby strengthen the throne. The religious functions of feast days derive from their sacrificial component, which was the ostensible raison d’être for these events and can be understood in part as sharing a meal with god. 31 Those providing food for the deity and also partaking of it were thereby brought close to the deity. Sacrifices were also part of an exchange system with the deity, who both receives and bestows the products of agricultural life. 32 And they were a celebration of thanksgiving, expressing gratitude to the deity for whatever was harvested or reaped on the occasion of a particular seasonal feast. Underlying all of these features, of course, is the fundamental religious aspect whereby celebrating the festivals affirmed the identity of the participants as followers of the deity or deities to whom they were bringing offerings. As noted above, the seasonal feasts also commemorated formative aspects of Israel’s past, its Heilsgeschichte. The story of departure from Egypt, journey in the wil28.  Music was also present at the “secular” banquets of royalty and elites (e.g., 2 Sam 19:36) and the priestly anointing of Solomon is followed by music and feasting (1 Kgs 1:39–40). 29.  Hayden (2001: 29–30) lists nine feasting functions. 30.  MacDonald (2008a: 134–65) discusses commensal politics, linking the transition from tribal units to a monarchy with feasting. 31.  The origin and meaning of sacrifices in general and in ancient Israel in particular have been widely examined and theorized. A summary appears in Anderson 1990; see also Hendel 1989. 32.  This feature is related to the gift theory of E. B. Tylor (1871), which, much refined, still finds a useful place in considering the role of sacrifice.

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derness, and covenant at Sinai was mapped onto the three main agricultural festivals, which became the occasions for rehearsing the master narrative of escape to freedom and for affirming the values and traditions associated with that narrative. Feasts, as a break from daily routines, provided time for people to listen to story-tellers—priests perhaps, or elders, or sages—who regaled them with the dramatic narratives of their mnemohistory, that is, the substance of their collective cultural memory. 33 Feasts were thus modes of communication about community tradition in a world without the internet, telephone, newspapers, etc. The foods themselves—the special ones consumed at a feast, such as the meat and unleavened bread at Passover—provided direct sensory engagement with the mythic Ur-experience said to have produced the first instance of that festival. 34 Specific foods served as cultural mnemonics, attaching people to their remembered past. Food, memory, and religious ritual intersect, with “ritual as a key site where food and memory come together” (Sutton 2001: 19). Indeed, ritual as lived experience functioned as the crucial element of religion in ways that often escape us in our contemporary belief-oriented conceptions of religion. 35 There was a gender-specific religious role too. Aside from the priestly butchering of animals and perhaps the preparation of meal, oil, and drink offerings, 36 women prepared the foodstuffs consumed by their households at celebratory feasts, as they did for daily meals (Meyers 2007; 2013: 156–64). The extra effort to prepare special foods, as ethnography indicates (Sered 1988), would not have been experienced by women as added labor and more drudgery. Rather, it provided them with an additional way, not generally available to men, of participation in a religious festival. For women the preparation of food for feasts was doubly ritualized: (1) the preparation itself was not haphazard but followed prescribed techniques or rituals, and (2) the resulting victuals were essential components of the ritual event. In this way, Israelite women would have served as ritual experts no less than did the priests who performed the slaughtering procedures for animal sacrifices (cf. Sered 1988: 135). Closely related to the religious aspects of feasts are the social ones; in fact, festivals are occasions when a household’s social and religious worlds “fuse” (du Boulay 1974: 57). Festal events are powerful instruments for creating and maintaining social cohesion. The participants in a feast experience a common identity with each other and also with all those understood to have performed the same rituals and eaten the same foods in the community’s past (Connerton 1989: 66). Moreover, monthly feasts especially, insofar as they invoke the presence of a household’s deceased ancestors, connect the members of a household with their immediate kin who are no 33. See Meyers 2005a: 10–12 for an explanation of mnemohistory. 34.  See the detailed analysis, especially with respect to deuteronomic materials, in MacDonald (2008a: 70–99). 35.  In her provocative new book, Armstrong (2009) emphases that religion in antiquity was not “something that people thought but something they did” (p. xii), and that God was not a being to be defined or a proposition to be tested but an ultimate reality to be approached and experienced through myth and ritual (p. xviii). 36.  However, as far as I know, it has not been established whether the priests themselves prepared the food and drink offerings or whether female members of priestly families carried out these tasks. The many priestly instructions for these offerings do not indicate who does the actual preparation. For example, Lev 2:4–5 specifies that the priest is to bring cakes of flour mixed with oil, but it does not mention who makes the cakes and mixes in the oil. Dozens of other similar texts are found in Leviticus and Numbers.

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longer living and also assure them that their descendents in turn will provide similar commemoration for them. In addition to the festal meals and rituals, the reciting of mnemohistory would have instilled in the participants a sense of belonging to a common past, which in turn promulgated a sense of social solidarity and community in the present. Whether celebrated in local, regional, or national shrines, Israelite feasts would have contributed to the formation of social identity and helped bind the people into a communitas—that is, a people who share an intense sense of commonality (Turner 2004). Bringing kin-related people together, along with the larger communities in which they lived (village, region, or even sometimes state), helps legitimate and strengthen their real or constructed genealogical bonds. Especially at local levels, this powerful shared experience maintains the way households connected by kin or proximity serve as support or mutual aid systems, providing assistance for households facing the problems—illness, death, food shortages, labor shortages—that inevitably arose. In the ages preceding our modern forms of communication, regular interactions at feast days were a vital mechanism for connecting households and fostering a sense of mutual responsibility. The commensality of feasting thus helped to forge and sustain bonds that motivated people to contribute labor or food to kin or neighbors in need in the rather precarious ecosystem of the Israelite highlands. Moreover, because festal gatherings enhance the ability of senior household members to find mates for their offspring, they would have aided in the creation of new marital bonds, thereby further increasing the likelihood of mutual aid in difficult times. Just as feasts contributed to the identity of the participants in a religious sense, so too did they serve as sociopolitical identity markers. This was certainly true in the exilic and postexilic periods when Judeans (or Yehudites), lacking a national polity, were differentiating their cultural patterns from those of their rulers and of neighboring cultures. Perhaps it was also true in earlier periods, as the specific components of Israelite feast days developed into relatively fixed patterns. Cultural identity is powerfully replicated in the sensory materiality, especially the food, of community feasts (Seremetakis 1994: 3). Like all material practices used to create and continue social relationships, feasts both contribute to group membership while simultaneously setting groups apart, thus contributing to the formation of ethnicities (cf. Mintz and Du Bois 2002: 109). Intertwined with both the religious and social or sociopolitical functions of feast days was their psychological value (van der Toorn: 2008: 29–30). Whether in the domicile or at an extradomestic cult center, participation in feasts as part of a household unit provides individuals with a sense of belonging to that unit. This would have been especially important in enabling new members of the household, such as sojourners or servants and also women taken in marriage by a family member, to confirm their new identity in an historical sense and, for new wives, in a genealogical sense. Feasts as celebrated by a household incorporated its individual members into a cohesive group, relieving the isolation of individuality. Another psychological benefit derives from the future orientation involved. Ethnography shows festivals to be highly anticipated events. The expectation of food and excitement, abundance and entertainment—none available on a daily basis—and also the prospect of the temporary cessation of labor provide a relief from

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the sometimes meager meals and humdrum character of ordinary life. Festivals in traditional societies characteristically relieve the tedium of daily household responsibilities. 37 Knowing that periodic feast days lasting up to a week or more are in the offing would have helped Israelite farm families tolerate the difficulties of eking out a living in the often unforgiving ecosystems of the highlands. This future time orientation of feast days, called “prospective memory,” not only brightens everyday life but also contributes to the power of the memories ritualized by feast days (Sutton 2001: 28–30). In addition, because they were linked to the seasons of the agricultural year and cycles of the lunar and weekly calendar, feast days contribute to the overall integrity of a person’s life experience (Hart 1992: 256). Israelite feast days involved the reproduction of the rhythms of nature and time in socioreligious events. Thus, the patterns of people’s lives were bound up in sequences that constituted an organic whole.

4.2. Foodways The foods consumed by a particular people, in addition to being determined by environmental features, are cultural constructions (Meigs 1988). Food can be considered “a prism that absorbs a host of assorted cultural phenomena and unites them into one coherent domain while simultaneously speaking through that domain about everything that is important” (Counihan 2000: 1513). People eat some foods but not others, and the distinctiveness of a cuisine embodies a people’s beliefs and identity. Consumption of certain foods in fact can be considered the performance of identity. The existence of categories of permitted and forbidden foods (meat) in biblical texts meant excluding at least some available protein sources for reasons other than functional ones, and theories about the origin and function of those categories abound. 38 However they are to be understood, the biblical construction limiting consumption to the permitted animals involved the notion of the purity of certain protein sources and the impurity of all others. The household tables of those adhering to this scheme thereby became altars, as noted above. Preparing permitted animals for consumption involves another phenomenon of the Pentateuch’s food rules—blood avoidance (Deut 12:23–25 and other Pentateuchal sources). 39 Butchering animals—for at least some people in some periods— constituted an engagement with the idea that blood was the vitality taken from the slain animal and should not be consumed by humans. Foods were thus not inert matter but were part of a larger scheme originating in divine creativity. Moreover, the butchering of an animal for home consumption, apart from festivals, would have been imbued with the same emotional intensity as that surrounding slaughter in a 37.  This is especially true for women, as reported by villagers in rural Greece (Hart 1992: 6). 38.  Perhaps the most prominent proposal is that of Mary Douglas in her widely acclaimed book Purity and Danger (1966). Douglas later (1972) modified her views somewhat, and their validity has recently been criticized by Lemos (2009). 39. A third kind of rule related to meat-eating—the so-called meat–milk prohibition (Exod 23:19b; 34:26b; Deut 14:21b)—will not be considered here because recent scholarship (Sasson 2002) has challenged the traditional interpretation. The root ḥlb may actually denote fat; if so, this rule may actually be a meat–fat prohibition meant to prevent the slaughter of a valuable female.

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festal context. The foodways surrounding animal consumption were fraught with religious meaning. Was there a religious dimension to the preparation of other foodstuffs? Neither the Bible nor archaeology provides an adequate answer to this question. However, the practice mentioned in Num 15:17–21, which seems to involve the removal of a piece of bread dough before baking as a “donation” or “gift” (tĕrûmâ) to the deity, attests to a ritual practice taking place in the household and associated with making bread (see Levine 1993: 393–94). This practice was apparently meant to secure a blessing (rather than a curse) on the household, as suggested by Ezek 44:30b (Milgrom 1990: 121), and probably reflects ancient superstitions connected with the preparation of bread, which was the most important source of calories in the Israelite diet. Ethnographic observations from in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries of Middle Eastern peoples are suggestive in this regard. They take us into the realm of superstition and magic, which were important aspects of religion in the biblical world (Kuemmerlin-McLean 1992; Mirecki and Meyer 2002; Scurlock 1992); and they indicate that the preparation of bread was a process involving considerable ritual activity. The contamination of flour, a recurrent problem, was understood to be caused by evil spirits; and some Muslim and Christian peasant women allayed their fears of tainted flour by saying brief prayers when bringing flour to the mixing bowl and also by reciting certain phrases as they prepared bread dough (Blackman 1924: 229). The likelihood that these household rituals likely go back to antiquity, as suggested by Lesko (2008: 202), is supported by the fact that other practices reported for the Levant in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries show resonance with information gleaned from biblical texts or archaeological remains or both. 40 Traditional customs can persist for millennia. Beyond particular rituals, the very act of consuming within the household foodstuffs produced by household members on household land using household implements solidifies the connection of the human and material components of a household. Even the simplest meal embodies the relationship of the occupants of a household with their ancestors as well as with the patrimonial land that sustains them (cf. du Boulay 1974: 54–55). As such, it also engages religion in that the deity (or deities) is understood to be the ultimate source of the conditions necessary for the growth of both animal and vegetable products. Biblical texts (e.g., Lev 26:3–5; Deut 28:1–5; Ps 128) indicate that the Israelites linked livestock and crop fertility and the concomitant availability of sufficient nourishment with divine providence contingent upon human obedience. Acknowledgment of this was part of festal meals, as already noted; and all that was consumed at every daily meal was also understood to be the result of the divine bestowal of conditions necessary for the production of food.

5.  Summary and Comments This examination of the food events of Israelite life challenges the tendency to see a disconnect between the mundane acts of food preparation and consumption and the ritual behaviors of cult sites. Anthropological studies of food events emphasize that everyday and extraordinary patterns of eating are interrelated. Both are 40.  The reproductive rituals reported by Garnett (1890–91) and others are a case in point; see Meyers 2005b: 49–56.

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aspects of the same “systems of meaning” and thus are “metaphors of each other” (Sutton 2001: 20). They may be at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of size and scale; yet, rather than being cultural phenomena that are essentially different from each other, feast days and foodways entail practices and beliefs that are mutually reinforcing and that participate in the same conceptual world (Sutton 2001: 19). The realm of the sacred is thus intertwined with features of everyday household life. Recognizing this mode of religiosity alerts us to the way eating patterns encode deep forms of human culture, according to the views of anthropological modernism (Hendel 2008). The acts of preparing and consuming food, whether at special feasts or in quotidian routine, were part of the lived religion of the ancient Israelites, as for many, perhaps all, other peoples. Not only were these acts fraught with religious significance and symbolism; they also served a range of functions that contributed to the overall structure and fabric of society. And they provided pleasure as well as meaning for the members of every household. This discussion of feast days and foodways has implications for the view that the household was the primary location of religious life, notably in the premonarchic and postexilic periods as proposed by Albertz (e.g., 1994: 1.25–39, 94–103; 2.399– 411), among others. This perception of the primacy of household religion should include the monarchic period too, even with the advent of a state cult. Albertz and Schmitt (2012) now document many forms of household religious life—or, as they call it, “family religion”—much of it arguably from the monarchic period. This paper deals specifically with the feasting events in which households participated and also the daily engagement of households with foodways imbued with religious meaning; and the evidence for both forms of food consumption comes from the monarchic period as well as subsequent exilic or postexilic sources. The focus of the Bible on the state cult should not obscure the likely reality that the household was the primary place in which most Israelites experienced religious life throughout the biblical period, with feasting as well as daily meals comprising dynamic elements of household religious life. Finally, this discussion has implications for the so-called popular–official dichotomy often introduced into the analysis of Israelite religion. 41 If national and regional feasts originate in and mirror household meals, the theoretical distinction or discontinuity between popular (or family? or popular?) and official (or state?) religion can be contested or at least problematized. 42 National (or regional) feast days were household religious events, for they entailed the participation of household members whether in local, regional, or national settings. Wouldn’t that make the state cult a cult of/for the people in its seasonal, monthly, and weekly festivals, if not also in its daily routines? In other aspects of household life, the boundaries between the household and the larger social structures in which it is embedded are porous; and the dynamics of household life intersect with those of larger sociopolitical structures in ways no longer true in the modern world (see Meyers 2009: 33–34; 2013: 139–46). Perhaps we should rethink what differentiates popular religion from so-called official 41.  Albertz (2008: 91–92) suggests that there are three arenas, or levels, of religious life: family (personal piety), local (village or town), and official. 42. See Dever (2005: 5–8), who summarizes the various terminology employed by those suggesting antithetical categories of religious life. Olyan (2008: 117–19) provides a critique of the widely held distinction between popular and official religion, especially as espoused by Albertz. See also Zevit 2000.

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forms. To be sure, shrine-based feasts involved certain manipulations of sacrificed foodstuffs by priests and not by others. But were there other distinctions, given that both shrines as well as households at times directed their offerings to deities other than Yahweh? I have not named the deities involved in any of these religious events because the form of the celebrations and meals would probably have been more or less the same, whatever god was the recipient of the sacrificed substances or invoked through offerings and prayers. That is, the dynamics and features of feast days and foodways operate apart from theological concerns, transcend the distinctions between the cultic roles of priests and the eating practices of ordinary people, and constitute a fundamental aspect of the lives of all.

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Homans, Michael M. 2004 Barley and šekar in the Hebrew Bible. Pp. 26–38 in Le-David Maskil: A Birthday Tribute for David Noel Freedman, ed. Richard E. Friedman and William H. C. Propp: Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hopkins, Keith 1983 Death and Renewal. Sociological Studies in Roman History 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jacobs, Paul F. 2001 Reading Religious Artifacts: The Shrine Room at Judahite Tell Halif. Journal of Biblical Studies 1: 1–3. Available at: http://journalofbiblicalstudies.org/Issue2/Articles/Tell_Ha­ lif/multi.html [accessed October 10, 2010]. Kedar-Kopfstein, Benjamin, and Botterweck, G. Johannes 1980 chagh. Pp. 201–13 in Vol. 4 of The Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, ed. G. Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren, trans. David E. Green. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Killebrew, Ann E., and Lev-Tov, Justin J. 2008 Early Iron Age Feasting and Cuisine: An Indicator of Philistine and Aegean Connectivity? Pp. 339–48, pls. 66–67 in DAIS: The Aegean Feast, ed. Louise A. Hitchcock, Robert Laffineur, and Janice Crowley. Proceedings of the 12th International Aegean Conference University of Melbourne Centre for Classics and Archaeology, 25–29 March 2008. Aegaeum 29. Belgium: Université de Liège. Kuemmerlin-McLean, Joanne K. 1992 Magic: Old Testament. Pp. 469–71 in Vol. 4 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. David Noel Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday. Lemos, Tracy M. 2009 The Universal and the Particular: Mary Douglas and the Politics of Impurity. Journal of Religion 89: 236–51. Lesko, Barbara 2008 Household and Domestic Religion in Egypt. Pp. 197–202 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. John Bodel and Saul M. Olyan. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Lev-Tov, Justin, and McGeough, Kevin 2006 Examing [sic] Feasting in Late Bronze Age Syro-Palestine Through Ancient Texts and Bones. Pp. 85–11 in The Archaeology of Food and Identity, Southern Illinois University Visiting Scholars Conference Volume, ed. Katherine C. Twiss. Center for Archaeologi­ cal Investigations, Occasional Paper No. 34. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Levine, Baruch A. 1989 The JPS Torah Commentary: Leviticus. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. 1993 Numbers 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 4. New York: Doubleday. 2000 Comment 4: The New Moon. Pp. 405–7 in Baruch A. Levine, Numbers 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary Commentary. Anchor Bible 4A. New York: Doubleday. 2008 Scripture’s Account: Dietary Purity. Pp. 113–23 in Torah Revealed, Torah Fulfilled: Scriptural Laws in Formative Judaism and Christianity, by Jacob Neusner, Bruce D. Chilton, and Baruch A. Levine. New York: T. & T. Clark. 2008 Scripture’s Account: The Sabbath. Pp. 77–88 in Torah Revealed, Torah Fulfilled: Scriptural Laws in Formative Judaism and Christianity, by Jacob Neusner, Bruce D. Chilton, and Baruch A. Levine. New York: T. & T. Clark. Lewis, Theodore J. 1989 Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit. Harvard Semitic Monographs 39. Atlanta: Scholars Press. 2002 How Far Can Texts Take Us? Evaluating Textual Sources for Reconstructing Israelite Beliefs about the Dead. Pp. 169–217 in Sacred Time, Sacred Place: Archaeology and the Religion of Israel, ed. Barry M. Gittlen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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2008 Family Religion in Second Millennium West Asia (Mesopotamia, Emar, Nuzi). Pp. 20– 36 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. John Bodel and Saul M. Olyan. The Ancient World: Comparative Histories. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Toorn, Karel van der, and Lewis, Theodore M. 2006 t erāpîm. Pp. 777–89 in Vol. 15 of The Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, ed. G. Johannes Botterweck, Helmer Ringgren, and Heinz-Josef Fabry, trans. David E. Green, 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Twiss, Katheryn C. 2007 We Are What We Eat. Pp. 1–15 in The Archaeology of Food and Identity, ed. Katheryn C. Twiss. Occasional Papers 34. Carbondale: Center for Archaeological Investigation, Southern Illinois University. 2008 Transformations in an Early Agricultural Society: Feasting in the Southern Levantine Pre-Pottery Neolithic. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 27: 418–42. Tylor, Edward B. 1871 Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Language, Art, and Custom. 2 vols. London: Murray. Vanoni, Gottfried 2004 śāmaḥ; śāmēaḥ; śimḥāh. Pp. 142–57 in Vol. 14 of The Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, ed. G. Johannes Botterweck, Helmer Ringgren, and Heinz-Josef Fabry, trans. Douglas W. Stott. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Turner, Edith 2004 Communitas, Rites of. Pp. 97–101 in Encyclopedia of Religious Rites, Rituals, and Festivals, ed. Frank A. Salomone. Religions and Society 6. New York: Routledge. Vogt, P. T. 2011 The Passover in Exodus and Deuteronomy. Pp. 30–45 in A God of Faithfulness: Essays in Honour of J. Gordon McConville on His 60th Birthday, ed. Jamie A. Grant, Alison Lo, and Gordon J. Wenham. Library of Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament Studies 538. New York: T. & T. Clark. Wagenaar, Jan A. 2005 Origin and Transformation of the Ancient Israelite Festival Calendar. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte 6. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Wellhausen, Julius 1885 Prolegomena to the History of Israel, trans. J. Sutherland Black and A. Menzies. Edinburgh: Adam & Charles Black. Westbrook, Raymond 1991 Property and the Family in Biblical Law. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement 113. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Zevit, Ziony 2000 False Dichotomies in Descriptions of Israelite Religion: A Problem, Its Origin, and a Proposed Solution. Pp. 223–35 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. William G. Dever and Seymour Gitin; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2001 The Religions of Ancient Israel:  A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. London: Continuum. Zeder, Melinda A. 1998 Pigs and Emergent Complexity in the Ancient Near East. Pp. 109–22 in Ancestors for Pigs: Pigs in Prehistory, ed. Sarah M. Nelson. Museum Applied Science Center for Archaeology, Research Papers in Science and Archaeology. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Ziffer, Irit 1987 About the Waistline of Urartian Ladies: Female Belts from a Private Collection [museum exhibit brochure]. Tel Aviv: Eretz-Israel Museum.

The Roles of Kin and Fictive Kin in Biblical Representations of Death Ritual Saul M. Olyan Brown University

Though biblical representations of ancestor cult, burial, and mourning rites have been of interest to scholars for some time, little attention has been paid specifically to the familial dimensions of such rites and even less to the roles played by fictive kin in them. 1 It is my purpose to address this deficiency, and I shall do so in the following way. First, I endeavor to identify what we might know of the roles played by kin in the death ways of ancient Israelites as these are represented in biblical texts. 2 To what degree are family members involved in rites of burial, secondary burial, exhumation and reburial, protecting the integrity of the corpse, care and restoration of the tomb, mourning, and ancestral cult? Can we identify patterns of familial obligation with respect to such rites that might be compared to non-death-related familial duties, such as playing the role of redeemer or levir? 3 In the second part of this paper, I introduce fictive kinship as a concept and attempt to identify what can be known of the roles fictive kin play in biblical death ritual. Then I compare the range of roles 1.  Fictive kin are non-blood relations who assume at least some of the rights and obligations of kin and may be spoken of using the rhetoric of kinship (e.g., “brother,” “father”). Fictive kinship might be established through covenant-making, including oath-taking, or through rites of adoption. On this, see Cross (1998: 7–8), though I cannot accept Cross’s confident assertion that fictive kin share all of the obligations and rights incumbent upon blood kin. There is no evidence, for example, that a treaty partner addressed as “brother” can play the role of levir or redeemer for his ally. On fictive kinship in sociological and anthropological research, see the helpful synopsis of scholarship in Ebaugh and Curry (2000: 191–94), as well as the brief treatment of Shipton (1997: 186–88). 2.  The relationship between textual representations of rites and the actual practices of real persons in different social settings over time is, to say the least, complex. On the one hand, textual representations of rites are clearly not an unproblematic window into quotidian reality, given the possibly utopian, revisionist, or polemical motivations of their authors and given the fact that texts are ideologically charged and function to shape the thought of their audiences. On the other hand, textual portrayals of ritual must have resonated with some audiences in some way(s) in order to be effective, so they must have some relationship to someone’s practice at some point in time. In this study, I focus mainly on sorting out the textual representations of death rites, while at the same time assuming a relationship between text and historically-situated practice, even though the contours of this relationship are poorly understood by us. I mention relevant material evidence at several points, though I make no attempt to integrate the material and textual evidence fully here. 3.  On the role of redeemer ( gōʾēl), see, e.g., Lev 25:25, 48; Ruth 2:20, and Stamm (1997: 288– 96). On the role of levir (yābām), see Deut 25:5–10; Gen 38:8 (cf. Ruth 4:5–6?); and Kutsch (1986: 367–73).

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played by fictive kin to those played by blood relatives and consider biblical familial death rites as a context for the creation and perpetuation of fictive kinship bonds. I conclude by speculating about the benefits such bonds might be thought to generate for those who are portrayed as embracing them.

1.  The Roles of Kin The participation of family members in death ritual is, with only a few exceptions, fairly well represented in biblical texts. In descriptions of and references to the rites of burial, exhumation and reburial, and mourning, kin play a central role. Familial participation in ancestral cult, secondary burial, protecting the integrity of the corpse, and tomb care and restoration is less well attested, mainly because of a lack of extant literary evidence. (In the case of secondary burial, a phenomenon whose material dimensions are richly evidenced, there is no literary data to speak of.) Texts portray participation in death-related ritual such as burial, mourning rites, and ancestral observances as a familial obligation, part of a larger constellation of obligations owed to kin by kin (e.g., the male role of levir or that of redeemer), who should ideally seek the welfare ( ṭôbâ) of their relatives at all times (Cross 1998: 3–6). 4 On this obligation, see for example Job 19:13–14, which lists kin, including brothers, who keep their distance from Job, among the various social reversals Job claims to have experienced, including abandonment by friends and servants and alienation from his wife and children. The various extant examples of what we might call “the abandonment by kin” literary topos (e.g., Ps 38:12) suggest clearly what constitutes the ideal for biblical authors: loyal, reliable kin. 5 Unsurprisingly, the same ideal is attested in non-Israelite literature from elsewhere in ancient West Asia (e.g., Ahiqar 3.48–4.49 [Porten and Yardeni 1993: 30, 32] or Yarim-Lim of Aleppo to YashubYahad of Dîr [A 1314.6–9; Dossin 1956: 66]). 1.1. Burial.  A few texts portray discrete rites of interment, including a procession to the tomb led by those bearing the corpse on a bier, followed by primary mourners and others in attendance (e.g., 2 Sam 3:31). The recitation of a dirge might also be represented as a component of the proceedings (2 Sam 3:33–34). Material remains from Iron II Judah provide valuable evidence of historically situated, real life burial practice, suggesting that the dead were provided with personal items, utensils, lamps, and food at the time of burial, perhaps by kin (Bloch-Smith 1992: 105; Wenning 1997: 91; 2006). Many texts suggest that family members are obligated to inter dead kin. According to Lev 21:1–4, the priest, who under normal circumstances must avoid the impurity of death (v. 1), may nonetheless pollute himself in order to bury what the text defines as his immediate relatives: his mother, his father, his son, his daughter, his brothers, and his unmarried, virgin sister. 6 However, for his wife, and, 4.  Cross does not discuss the idiomatic use of ṭôbâ, however. 5.  Cross argues that the common covenant term ḥesed, “loyalty,” “originally was a term designating that loyal and loving behavior appropriate to a kinship relationship.” Though extended outside of the group, “its rootage in kinship obligations is primary. Strictly speaking, ḥesed is a kinship term” (1998: 5). 6.  Ezek 44:25 is similar, though it states simply that he may pollute himself for his unmarried sister; in contrast to Lev 21:3, it says nothing about her being a virgin.

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by implication, for his married (or non-virgin?) sister, he may not pollute himself through rites of interment. 7 Lev 21:11, concerning the high priest specifically, does not allow even for the burial of parents: “To any corpse he may not come; for his father or his mother he may not pollute himself.” 8 These texts not only represent the obligations of kin with respect to burial; they also suggest, both explicitly and implicitly, a hierarchy of familial obligation: first and foremost, to parents, as Lev 21:11 suggests; second, to others defined as immediate relatives (brothers, unmarried sisters, children); third, to female kin by marriage (the wife) and female blood kin who have effectively left the family circle through marriage into another lineage. Though the priest of Leviticus 21 is exempted from responsibility for the interment of category three relations such as the wife, non-priests may have been obligated to participate in their burial in at least some communities at some point in time, as Gen 49:31 suggests. (Here, Jacob states that he buried his wife Leah.) 9 Nothing is said in Leviticus 21 about priestly obligations to uncles, aunts, or cousins, though other texts bear witness to a notion of reciprocal interment duties shared by such relations who are non-priestly in background. For example, Amos 6:9–10 seems to see the paternal uncle (dôd) playing a role in non-priestly burial when more immediate relatives are otherwise unavailable. One might speculate that for this author, paternal cousins and more distant relatives would play a part in circumstances in which paternal uncles were not present. This hierarchical order of obligation is similar in its larger contours to the order of patrimonial inheritance detailed in Num 27:8–11, with paternal uncles and (presumably) cousins and other, more distant paternal kin following children and brothers: “When a man dies and he has no son, you shall assign his patrimony to his daughter. And if he has no daughter, you shall give his patrimony to his brothers. And if he has no brothers, you shall give his patrimony to his father’s brothers. And if his father has no brothers, you shall give his patrimony to his next closest kin from his clan (šĕʾērô haqqārōb ʾēlāyw mimmišpaḥtô), and he shall inherit it.” The obligations of redemption in Lev 25:48 are also not dissimilar, mentioning brothers, followed by paternal uncles, paternal cousins, and other male kinsmen from the clan. 1.2. Exhumation and Reburial.  Several texts speak of the exhumation and reburial of the bones of the dead by kinsmen. In such cases, the remains of persons who were initially buried away from the family tomb and the patrimony are returned to these loci. Such reburial is cast as desirable, even an obligation to descendants, perhaps because of advantages to be gained in the afterlife by the reburied dead, though this remains unclear. (Such advantages might include receiving regular food and drink 7. Cf. Lev 22:12, where the priest’s married daughter may not eat of his household’s holy foods, but his unmarried daughter, or his widowed or divorced daughter without progeny, may do so. 8.  For narratives of children burying parents, see, e.g., Gen 47:30; 49:29–32; 50:1–11, 12–14. 9.  In Gen 35:20, Jacob is said to erect a memorial pillar for Rachel at her tomb. Though the previous verse does not say explicitly that he buried her (“she was interred”), this seems to be the implication. 2 Sam 11:26–27, Bathsheba’s mourning for Uriah, may suggest that the author understands the wife to be obligated to participate in the burial of her husband, though compare Ezekiel’s expected mourning for his dead wife (24:16–17), which may contradict this supposition, given the priest’s exemption from the wife’s burial in related texts (Lev 21:4).

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offerings.) The narrative of Joseph’s re-interment illustrates such exhumation and reburial. In Gen 50:25–26, Joseph binds the children of Israel by oath to bring up his bones from Egypt to Canaan at the time that the Israelites return there. Exod 13:19 states that Moses took Joseph’s remains to Canaan on account of the oath, and Josh 24:33 describes the reburial of Joseph’s bones at Shechem, on territory acquired by Jacob that had become a patrimony for the descendants of Joseph. 1.3. Mourning Rites.  As with burial, mourning the dead is cast as an obligation of close kin. The mourning of children for parents is well attested in biblical narrative and poetic texts. In Gen 27:41, Esau speaks of the approach of the mourning of his father, Ps 35:14 alludes to the self-affliction of a son mourning his mother, and Jer 16:7 knows of ritual acts such as drinking from a “cup of consolation” for a departed father or mother and may attest to breaking bread with comforters (mĕnaḥămîm). 10 Likewise, parents are represented mourning their dead children, as David mourns Absalom (2 Sam 19:1–5) and Jacob mourns for Joseph (Gen 37:34–35), and brothers weep for their dead brother (2 Sam 13:36). Several texts portray mourning for an only son or a firstborn son as a paradigmatically bitter kind of mourning ( Jer 6:26; Amos 8:10; Zech 12:10). The mourning of wives for their husbands and husbands for their wives is also attested in narrative texts (2 Sam 11:26–27; Ezek 24:16–17). Though texts have little to say explicitly about those for whom mourning was thought to be obligatory, it seems very likely that kin required to participate in the interment of the dead were also obliged to mourn them. More than a few texts, however, portray a circle of mourners wider than immediate kin who are under obligation, including non-kin. An example of this is 2 Sam 13:36, where David’s courtiers weep “a great weeping” for the dead Amnon, along with David and his surviving sons. The courtiers mourn Amnon’s death on account of their covenant relationship to David, their lord, for mourning rites are a context in which formal social relationships might be established, perpetuated, or terminated, as I have argued elsewhere (Olyan 2004: 51–57). (Had they refused to weep with David, they would have been using the ritual context to terminate their ties to David.) The role of the comforter, a participant in mourning rites who joins the mourner in his ritual actions and is responsible for ending the mourning period according to some texts, might be played by kin or nonkin according to our texts, though most frequently it is non-kin who are portrayed as comforters, famously in the case of Job’s three friends in Job 2:11–13 (Olyan 2004: 46–49 on comforting). Though some texts describing comforters seem to distinguish them clearly from mourners (e.g., Jer 16:7), one text, Gen 37:35, casts Jacob’s children as comforters who attempt to end his mourning over Joseph: “All his sons and his daughters arose to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted, and said: ‘But I will descend to my son in mourning, to Sheol.’” Similarly, 1 Chr 7:22 states that Ephraim’s brothers came to comfort him after he had mourned his dead children many days. Presumably Jacob’s children and Ephraim’s brothers are understood by the writers to be mourners—given their status as close relations of the dead—who 10.  Comforters are portrayed joining the mourner during mourning. On comforting and comforters, see Olyan (2004: 46–49). For breaking bread, see Greenberg’s discussion of the textual issues (1997: 509). Ezek 24:17, 22 speaks of eating leḥem ʾănāšîm (“food of men”?) as a ritual norm during mourning; other texts assume fasting as the norm (e.g., 2 Sam 1:12; 3:35).

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also played one aspect of the comforter role (ending mourning) when the time was right. It is possible that kin playing the role of comforter is paradigmatic in the minds of at least some of our authors, with non-kin taking on the role in imitation of kin, though the relevant evidence is too meager to say with any confidence. 1.4. Ancestor Cult.  In contrast to their representations of the rites of interment, exhumation and reburial, and mourning, biblical texts allude infrequently to cultic observances for ancestors and only rarely speak of the roles of family members in such rites. Nonetheless, it is possible to make some observations regarding the familial dimensions of ancestor cult as it is represented in biblical texts. 2 Sam 18:18 is a potentially valuable passage in this regard: “As for Absalom, he had taken and erected for himself, during his lifetime, a pillar (maṣṣebet) which is in the Valley of the King, for he had said: ‘I have no son to invoke my name.’ He called the pillar by his name. It is called the Monument of Absalom ( yad ʾabšālōm) to this day.” This text raises a variety of possibilities, depending on that to which it refers. If it does not refer only to royal practice, it suggests that, for the writer, under normal circumstances, a son was expected to invoke his dead father’s name as an ancestral rite. The text may assume that this invocation was to take place at regular intervals. It may also presuppose that the mother and other immediate relations were to be memorialized similarly. The text may imply that the pillar is to function as a substitute for the son who invokes the dead father’s name. Alternatively, it can be read to suggest that normal ancestral cult practice according to this text included a pillar erected after the father’s death. 11 Gen 35:20, which states that Jacob set up a pillar at Rachel’s tomb, can be read to support the interpretation that the erection of a pillar by the survivor (husband, son) was the norm according to the author of 2 Sam 18:18. It also portrays such a pillar standing at the tomb. (In contrast, 2 Sam 18:18 does not seem to suggest that Absalom’s pillar was erected at the tomb, though this remains unclear.) Aside from the erection of a pillar and the invocation of the name of the dead, several texts speak of offerings as a component of ancestral cult, and a few additional passages may mention them as well. A number of passages mention or allude to food given to the dead, in one instance at the tomb (Deut 26:14; Tob 4:17; Sir 30:18). Though these texts do not speak explicitly of familial participation in such rites, it may be implied, as in the confession of Deut 26:14, where the one offering the tithe is to state that he has not given any of it to the dead. The text may assume that, were he to give some of the tithe to the dead, it would be to his own family members as an offering, though admittedly, I speculate here. The statement in Tob 4:17 that one should place food offerings on the tomb of the righteous may also be a reference to offerings given to family members, though again, this is hardly clear. Several other texts have been understood to relate to ancestral cultic observances, specifically, offerings to the dead. Karel van der Toorn has argued that the “sacrifice of the clan” or “yearly sacrifice” mentioned in 1 Sam 20:6, 29 is an ancestral rite (1996: 211–18). If he is correct, the text provides additional data regarding the familial (and particularly, the patrilineal) dimensions of biblical ancestor cult. First, 11.  The Aqhat epic from Ugarit, which famously lists the responsibilities of the son for his dead father, includes the erection of a stela (skn ʾilʾib) but says nothing about invocation of the father’s name (CAT 1.17 I 26 in Dietrich et al. 1995: 48).

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the offering to the dead is a meat sacrifice (zebaḥ) taking place at regular intervals (presumably once per year) and offered on behalf of the whole clan at its central town (in this case, Bethlehem). A brother (the eldest?) is in charge and can require the attendance of other male clansmen, including his brothers. As David tells Jonathan, “Let me slip away, that I might see my brothers” (v. 29). Nothing is said about the participation of women, or about any other ritual dimensions of the feast. 12 The fact that it is a meat sacrifice may mean that the author understands it to take place in a local sanctuary rather than in a domestic context or at the family tomb, given that sanctuaries may well have been the normal context for such sacrifices. 13 Finally, the command to “honor your father and your mother” (Exod 20:12; Deut 5:16) has been understood to require the provision of food and other offerings to dead parents (Brichto 1973: 30–31), though this directive is as easily interpreted to refer to the living as to the dead (on this, see Mal 1:6, where the son is clearly honoring a living father). Though extant biblical portrayals of ancestor cult are few, and data with a specifically familial dimension are rarer still, biblical representations of ancestral observances do cast family members such as the son or husband in central roles—for example, erecting a memorial pillar, invoking the name of the dead, and probably offering food to dead kin. Such food offerings include sacrificial meat at a yearly clan festival if we read 1 Sam 20:6, 29 with van der Toorn. How frequently texts assume that other food offerings are to be given, for example at the tomb, remains unclear, as does the frequency with which the name of the dead is expected to be invoked. 1.5.  Secondary Burial.  Though richly attested in excavated Judean tombs from Iron II, secondary burial, the movement of skeletal remains within the tomb after the body’s decomposition (Bloch-Smith 1992: 36–37, 42–43, 48–49; Meyers 1970: 10–17), is apparently unmentioned in biblical sources and therefore we can say nothing of its biblical representation. However, we can speculate about its ritual and familial dimensions from the perspective of the material evidence. Because Judean tombs are generally thought to have been controlled by family members of the larger clan—an inference based on biblical texts relating tomb and patrimony, for example, Josh 24:32 (Bloch-Smith 1992: 148; Stager 1985: 23)—it is often assumed that kin were responsible for the movement of remains within the tomb. It is likely that such movement had ritual dimensions that we cannot now recover. Perhaps the same primary ritual actors in burial—presumably, surviving children, brothers, parents or spouses, as texts suggest—were responsible for secondary disposition of remains as evidenced in Judean tombs of Iron II. 1.6.  Protecting the Integrity of the Corpse.  There is one text that represents a family member protecting the integrity of an exposed corpse. 2 Sam 21:1–14 describes 12.  Though the description of the festival in 1 Samuel 20 mentions the participation of male clansmen only and may therefore suggest an event restricted to the patrilineage, there is no reason to assume that other passages mentioning or alluding to ancestral rites (e.g., at the tomb or in the domicile) necessarily refer to participation by males alone. 13.  On the evidence for only non-meat offerings in the domicile, see, e.g., Albertz 2008: 97 and n. 64. This has become a common viewpoint, though I note textual evidence that might challenge it (e.g., Exod 12:1–13 on the Passover), as well as animal bones in domestic settings, which might or might not be evidence of domestic sacrificial rites (we do not know enough to say).

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the post-Gilboa execution and punitive exposure (that is, non-burial) of surviving Saulides by the Gibeonites, with David’s acquiescence. 14 After this, Rizpah, Saul’s former concubine and mother of two of those who had been executed and exposed, is portrayed investing a considerable amount of time and energy protecting the integrity of the corpses. As the text states in v. 10b, “she did not allow the fowl of the heavens to light upon them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.” It is unclear in the narrative whether Rizpah is protecting all of those who had been executed and exposed or only the corpses of her two sons. In any case, this narrative seems to assume that a family member (or at minimum, a parent) is obligated to protect the integrity of an exposed corpse. This is not surprising, given that consumption of the corpse by birds and animals is a paradigmatic covenant curse in biblical literary contexts, something greatly to be feared (see, e.g., Deut 28:26; 1 Kgs 14:11; 16:4; 21:24; Jer 15:3). 1.7.  Care and Restoration of the Tomb.  With the exception of Neh 2:3, 5, few if any textual representations of the care and restoration of tombs survive. Not surprisingly, however, Neh 2:3, 5 portray kin as responsible for the upkeep of the family tomb. In the narrative, Artaxerxes of Persia notices that his cupbearer Nehemiah is distraught and asks him why. His answer: “Why should my face not be sad, when the city of the house of the tombs of my ancestors is a ruin, and its gates consumed by fire?” The king then grants Nehemiah permission to go to rebuild the city (v. 8). Nehemiah’s emphasis on the presence of ancestral tombs in the city and the implication that the tombs are themselves a ruin, along with the rest of the settlement, is striking. Clearly, for Nehemiah, as he is portrayed in the Nehemiah memoir, a major motivation for rebuilding the city is concern for its tombs. (If this were not the case, why else should the author have had Nehemiah mention them?) 15 Why the concern? Ruined tombs and a depopulated city without family members to provide for the dead may well have been understood to affect how the dead fared in the afterlife (compare Gilgamesh 12.152–53, which suggests that the spirit of the dead person who lacks a custodian [ pāqidu] to provide for him suffers in the underworld [George 2003: 1: 734]). Furthermore, ruined tombs were very likely thought to be dishonoring for surviving family members. Thus, the portrayal of Nehemiah as concerned about the tombs of his ancestors comes as no surprise, given the possible and probable implications of their fall into ruin.

2.  The Roles of Fictive Kin I now turn to the roles played by fictive kin in biblical representations of deathrelated ritual. But before doing so, I shall briefly mention fictive kinship as it is manifest in the biblical context. It is no understatement to claim that fictive kinship is a central element in the construction of social relationships as they are represented in 14.  The form of execution described using derivatives of the root yqʿ (e.g., yōqîʿû, mûqāʿîm) remains obscure, though many understand it to be the result of treaty violation. On this, see further McCarter 1984: 442. Verse 2 notes that the Israelites had sworn a treaty oath to the Gibeonites but Saul had violated it by striking them down. 15.  Others have understood Nehemiah’s emphasis on restoring ancestral tombs to be a tactical maneuver in order to “arouse the sympathy and interest of the king” (Blenkinsopp 1988: 214).

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biblical texts, and nowhere is this more in evidence than in the context of covenant relations. 16 As is well known, human suzerain and vassal cast their relations in familial terms, the vassal referring to his suzerain as “father” and the suzerain speaking of his vassal as “son.” Similarly, partners in a parity treaty relationship call one another “brother” (Cross 1998: 10–11, with bibliography). The relationship of Yhwh and Israel, modeled on the suzerain-vassal treaty, is often characterized by the same kind of familial rhetoric: Yhwh is described as “father” and redeemer; Israel is said to be his (firstborn) son (e.g., Exod 4:22; Jer 31:9; Hos 11:1). 17 But the familial model for covenant relations is manifest in more ways than simply the presence of the rhetoric of kinship. Covenant partners owe one another loyalty of a sort expected from kin (Cross 1998: 7–8). The ideal party in a covenant relationship “loves” his partner, meaning that he fulfils his treaty obligations in a consistent way (Moran 1963: 77– 87). Like relatives, treaty partners are expected to seek one another’s welfare. 1 Sam 24:18, part of “David’s Apology,” illustrates the failure of this expectation well. Here, Saul, David’s lord and “father” (v.  11–12), condemns himself for seeking to harm David, his “son” (v. 17), while David sought only Saul’s welfare. The vocabulary of harm and welfare, literally “evil” (rāʿâ) and “good” ( ṭôbâ), is typical treaty rhetoric, as 2 Sam 2:6 shows. 18 On the positive side, one might mention the enduring covenant loyalty of David to Jonathan, his “brother” (2 Sam 1:26), mentioned in 2 Sam 9:1–13. The latter example helpfully illustrates that friendships between individuals might be cast as covenant relationships in the biblical context. Furthermore, the use of familial terminology (e.g., “brother”) in the context of such relationships suggests the potential fictive kinship dimensions of friendship. 19 A number of texts lacking the rhetoric of fictive kinship and other covenant idioms suggest nonetheless that friends could be cast as fictive kin who should seek the welfare of their friends as kin ideally seek the welfare of their relatives, though without kin-specific responsibilities such as the obligation to play the role of levir or redeemer. In these examples, fictive kinship is suggested implicitly, through comparison and a common classification. Ps 35:12–14 is a primary illustration. In this psalm of individual complaint, the petitioner speaks of disloyal friends who paid him back harm in contrast to his own actions seeking their welfare (literally, “they paid me back harm [rāʿâ] for good [ ṭôbâ],” the same rhetoric found in covenant contexts, e.g., 1 Sam 24:18). 20 As an example of his own, correct behavior, the petitioner claims that he adopted a petitionary stance characterized by mourning rites when the friends were sick, comparing his ritual behavior to what one would do when one mourns one’s mother. 21 Thus, the text suggests that friends are analogous 16.  Fictive kinship established through adoption is, in contrast, less well attested in biblical texts, though see, e.g., Gen 48:5–6; Exod 2:10; and Esth 2:7. Adoption rhetoric, including terminology of fictive kinship (father/[firstborn] son), is however used of the covenant between Yhwh and David (Ps 2:7; 2 Sam 7:14; Ps 89:27–28). For idioms of adoption, see Paul (1979–80: 173–85). 17.  Often, though not always. The marriage metaphor is perhaps even more common (e.g., Hos 2:4–25; Jer 2:2; Ezek 16:7–8). 18.  In 2 Sam 2:6, David commends the covenant loyalty (ḥesed ) of the men of Jabesh-Gilead, offering to do with them “this good thing” (haṭṭôbâ hazzōʾt). 19.  Cross (1998: 9) emphasizes that individuals might enter into such formal relationships and mentions Jonathan and David as his primary example. 20.  See also Ps 38:21, where relatives and friends (v. 12) are said not only to repay harm for good but also to act as adversaries (yiśṭĕnûnî ) instead of pursuing the welfare of the petitioner in question. 21.  On petitionary mourning behaviors generally, see Olyan 2004: 62–96.

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to kin in the sense that what friends owe one another is not unlike what one owes family members, even close relatives such as parents. A second example suggesting that friends could be understood as fictive kin is Job 19:13–14, in which Job’s abandonment by friends is compared implicitly to his abandonment by family members, both failing to meet the same obligation to seek Job’s welfare on account of the deity’s actions: “As for my brothers, he kept them far from me,” // “Those who know me (yōdĕʿay) are utterly alienated from me.” // “My relatives (qĕrôbay) are lacking,” // “My intimates (mĕyuddāʿay) have forgotten me.” Ps 38:12 is similar: “My ‘loyal’ friends remain away from my affliction,” // “My relatives stand at a distance.” 22 Exod 32:27 is one more illustration of the ways in which friends might be classified with kin in biblical texts, suggesting their status as fictive kin. Here, the Levites are ordered by Moses to kill all who worshiped the golden calf, including relatives and friends: “Pass and return from gate to gate in the camp and slay each man his brother, each his friend, each his relative.” In all of these examples, the rhetoric of fictive kinship is missing: the friend is not called by any kinship term (e.g., “brother”). Nonetheless, the status of friends as fictive kin is suggested by their consistent comparison to kin and their implicit classification with kin: they, like family members, share a number of common obligations. How are fictive kin represented as participants in death rites in biblical texts? Though the evidence is fairly limited, it seems clear that writers seek to portray fictive kin participating in death-related ritual along with family members or even substituting for relatives in such rites under certain circumstances. 23 I have argued elsewhere that rites create reality, and that ritual participation per se (or refusal to participate) might confer a new social status or confirm an established social relationship, depending on the context (Olyan 2000: 4 and 125 n. 8; 2004: 3–4 and 4 n. 7). Such an approach will be useful in the discussion of fictive kin, for death rites as they are represented in biblical texts are one context for the establishment of a fictive relationship of kinship, the confirmation of such, or even its termination. 2.1. Burial.  The participation of fictive kin in burial rites is attested in several texts. In 2 Sam 2:5–6, David is portrayed commending the men of Jabesh Gilead for rescuing and burying the corpse of Saul, their lord. Their action is described as an act of “covenant loyalty,” (ḥesed ) worthy of David’s favor ( ṭôbâ). The obligation to bury close kin, attested in a text such as Lev 21:1–4, is clearly shared by fictive kin bound formally in a treaty relationship to their suzerain according to 2 Sam 2:5. Their lord and “father” Saul is dead, and they fulfill their covenant obligations by burying him. 24 2 Sam 3:31 is a second text that suggests the participation of fictive kin in burial rites. In this narrative, a fictive relationship of kinship intended to serve political purposes is evidently created by such participation. Here David takes the lead role in Abner’s funeral, following the bier directly and, the text implies, burying Abner. Texts that speak of children burying parents and vice versa understand the 22.  See similarly Ps 88:19. I have interpreted ʾōhăbay wĕrēʿay in Ps 38:12 as a hendiadys construction, translating “my ‘loyal’ friends,” though this is not the typical rendering (see, e.g., NJPS, “my friends and companions”). 23.  It is noteworthy that participation and even substitution are conceivable at all, given the set of strictly circumscribed, kin-based roles that are non-death-related (e.g., levir, redeemer). 24.  On the suzerain, specifically Saul, as “father” of his vassal, described as his “son,” see 1 Sam 24:12, 17.

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role of lead mourner to belong to the closest of kin under normal circumstances. Yet in 2 Sam 3:31, David is portrayed playing the role. It is possible for David to play the leading role in Abner’s interment in 2 Sam 3:31 because the preceding narrative of Abner’s murder by Joab locates the event in Hebron in Judah, far from Abner’s kin and land-holding in Benjamin. By taking the leading role in the funeral of Abner, burying Abner, and requiring his followers to mourn Abner, David is portrayed creating a bond of affiliation that had not previously existed. (One buries and mourns one’s allies, not one’s enemies [Anderson 1991: 93–95].) In short, the story suits the needs of David’s apologists, who seek to distance David from Abner’s murder (McCarter 1984: 120–22) and present him as an ally behaving in the manner appropriate to allies: that of fictive kin. 2.2.  Exhumation and Reburial.  In 2 Sam 21:12–14, David has the bones of Saul and his sons exhumed and moves them to the Saulide family tomb in Benjamin, perhaps with the intention of improving the afterlife of Saul and his sons. At all events, the obligation to exhume and move the remains of kin buried in an alien place is known from a variety of texts already discussed (Gen 50:25–26), and in this text, it is David, a non-Saulide, who takes on this responsibility. By portraying him doing so, his apologists create a positive relationship of affiliation with dead and surviving Saulides that had not recently existed. (According to the narrative, David had once been son-in-law to Saul, but his former wife Michal had been given to another man.) In a word, David is portrayed fulfilling one of the death-related obligations incumbent on kin according to other texts, and in so doing, the text suggests that he embraces a relationship of fictive kinship with Saul and his sons, one based implicitly on the notion of covenant. Though no treaty rhetoric is present in the passage, it is attested in other apologetic passages that explore the relationship of David to dead and surviving Saulides (e.g., 1 Sam 24:18; 2 Sam 1:26a; 9:1). 2.3.  Mourning Rites.  The obligation of kin to mourn dead family members has been discussed. Not surprisingly, fictive kin are also portrayed mourning those with whom they are bound or seek to be bound in a formal relationship. David mourns Abner’s death and is even credited with composing and reciting a dirge over Abner (2 Sam 3:32–34). Similarly, he is credited with composing and reciting a dirge on the occasion of the deaths of Saul and of his “brother” Jonathan (2 Sam 1:17–27; see v. 26a on Jonathan as David’s “brother”). At the death of his ally the king of Ammon, David sends “comforters” to represent him in the Ammonite court during the mourning period (2 Sam 10:2). He refers to this act as an act of “covenant loyalty,” suggesting its obligatory character. Indeed, playing the role of “comforter” is portrayed by our texts as an obligation to friends and, sometimes, to near kin as well, as I have discussed. If kin playing the role of “comforter” is paradigmatic, then friends and allies who play the role are cast as fictive kin by so doing. 2.4.  Ancestor Cult.  No biblical evidence explicitly associates non-kin with familial ancestral rites, though this is unsurprising, considering the general paucity of textual evidence with respect to ancestor cult per se. Given that non-kin may, under certain circumstances, perform the role of “custodian” ( pāqidu) in cuneiform texts, a role with responsibilities that include invocation of the name of the dead, pouring

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out water, and providing kispu offerings (Bayliss 1973: 119, 123–24), it is certainly possible that at least some biblical texts might assume similar custodial roles for nonkin (e.g., invocation of the name), even though nothing is said explicitly about this.

Conclusion Extant biblical evidence portrays immediate family members playing a central and obligatory role in death rites. They are represented burying and mourning their dead kin, undertaking ancestral rites, exhuming and reburying dead relatives when circumstances require it, protecting the integrity of the corpse, and caring for and restoring family tombs (or at least expressing an intent to do so). It seems likely that our texts assume a pivotal role for close kin in secondary burial, though no surviving passage alludes to that practice, which scholars have observed from material evidence alone. Patterns of familial obligation evidenced in biblical death ritual are comparable to those described in texts concerning non-death-related familial duties such as playing the role of levir or redeemer (e.g., the obligations of children, parents and brothers are greater than those of paternal uncles, cousins and other more distant kin of the clan). Children bury their parents, parents bury their children, and brothers bury brothers (Lev 21:1–4). Mourning obligations are similar (e.g., sons mourn their parents: Ps 35:14). Our richest text with respect to ancestral cult posits the invocation of the name of the dead father by the surviving son as a ritual norm, at least in royal circles if not more generally (2 Sam 18:18). Texts portray kin-like roles played by fictive kin in burial (2 Sam 2:5; 3:31), in exhumation and reburial (2 Sam 21:12–14), and in mourning rites (2 Sam 1:17–27; 3:32–34; 10:2). Biblical death rites prove to be an opportunity to perpetuate fictive familial relations, most often in the context of assumed covenant bonds, or to create new relationships through the establishment of fictive kinship (e.g., through ritual participation). Those perpetuating already existing bonds through participation in death rites are not infrequently portrayed as fulfilling an obligation, as in the case of David’s sending of comforters to the Ammonite court in mourning (2 Sam 10:2) or the Jabesh-Gileadites’ burial of Saul their dead king (2 Sam 2:5). In both instances, ritual participation in mourning rites is described as an act of loyalty to covenant (ḥesed ). Why might biblical texts portray persons creating or perpetuating such fictive kinship bonds, and why specifically in the context of death rituals? Given the familial construction of biblical death rites and the conventionally familial cast of close, non-kin relationships according to our texts, it is no surprise that death rites are represented as a prime social locus for establishing or perpetuating kin-like ties. As for the relationships themselves, texts suggest strongly that they could further specific political aims (e.g., “David’s Apology”). Texts may also presuppose that bonds of fictive kinship serve as a source of social, cultural/symbolic and economic capital (e.g., sociopolitical connections, honor, or financial support) for those who enter into them, as recent, crosscultural research on fictive kinship suggests (Ebaugh and Curry 2000: 189–209 on social capital). 25 Biblical texts may assume that fictive kin of higher status and more wealth have an impact on both the social status and 25.  For the concepts of economic, cultural/symbolic, and social capital, see Bourdieu (1986: 241–58), originally brought to my attention by Ebaugh and Curry (2000: 190). Shipton also notes the potential economic and political dimensions of fictive kinship (1997: 187).

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economic resources of those with whom they establish fictive-familial relationships. Conversely, our authors may believe that the multiplication of fictive kin of lower status and less resources by a high status individual in itself confers additional honor to that individual. 26 Finally, texts may presuppose that persons of comparable wealth and status enter into fictive-familial relationships that offer both parties access to additional economic, social and cultural/symbolic resources. Unhappily, given the limits of the extant evidence, I can only speculate about our authors’ understandings of the social, cultural/symbolic, and economic ramifications of these relationships. 26.  On clientage generally, see my discussion, with bibliography, in Olyan 2000: 8–9.

Bibliography Albertz, R. 2008 Family Religion in Ancient Israel and its Surroundings. Pp. 89–112 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan. Oxford: Blackwell. Anderson, G. 1991 A Time to Mourn, A Time to Dance: The Expression of Grief and Joy in Israelite Religion. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Bayliss, M. 1973 The Cult of Dead Kin in Assyria and Babylonia. Iraq 35: 115–26. Blenkinsopp, J. 1988 Ezra–Nehemiah. Old Testament Library. Philadelphia: Westminster. Bloch-Smith, E. 1992 Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs about the Dead. JSOT Sup 123. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Bourdieu, P. 1986 The Forms of Capital. Pp. 241–58 in Handbook of Theory and Research in the Sociology of Education, ed. J. G. Richardson. New York: Greenwood. Brichto, H. C. 1973 Kin, Cult, Land and Afterlife: A Biblical Complex. HUCA 44: 1–54. Cross, F. M. 1998 Kinship and Covenant in Ancient Israel. Pp. 3–21 in From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Dietrich, M. et al. 1995 The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Dossin, G. 1956 Une lettre de Iarîm-Lim, roi d’Alep, à Iašûb-Iaḫad, roi de Dîr. Syria 33: 63–69. Ebaugh, H. R., and Curry, M. 2000 Fictive Kin as Social Capital in New Immigrant Communities. Sociological Perspectives 43: 189–209. George, A. R. 2003 Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Greenberg, M. 1997 Ezekiel 21–37. Anchor Bible 22A. New York: Doubleday. Kamlah, J. 2009 Grab und Begräbnis in Israel/ Juda: Materielle Befunde, Jenseitsvorstellungen und die Frage des Totenkultes. Pp. 257–97 in Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt, ed. A. Berlejung and B. Janowski. FAT 64. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

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Kutsch, E. 1986 ybm. Pp. 367–73 in vol. 5 of TDOT, ed. G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. McCarter, P. Kyle, Jr. 1984 II Samuel. Anchor Bible 9. Garden City: Doubleday. Meyers, E. 1970 Secondary Burials in Palestine. BA 33:2–29. Moran, W. L. 1963 The Ancient Near Eastern Background of the Love of God in Deuteronomy. CBQ 25: 77–87. Olyan, S. M. 2000 Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 2004 Biblical Mourning: Ritual and Social Dimensions. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Paul, S. M. 1979–80  Adoption Formulae: A Study of Cuneiform and Biblical Legal Clauses. MAARAV 2: 173–85. Porten, B., and Yardeni, A. 1993 Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, Volume 3: Literature, Accounts, Lists. Jerusalem: Hebrew University, Department of the History of the Jewish People. Shipton, P. 1997 Fictive Kinship. Pp. 186–88 in The Dictionary of Anthropology, ed. T. Barfield. Oxford: Blackwell. Stager, L. E. 1985 The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel. BASOR 260: 1–35. Stamm, J. J. 1997 gʾl to redeem. Pp. 288–96 in vol. 1 of TLOT, ed. E. Jenni and C. Westermann. 3 vols. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Toorn, K. van der 1996 Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria & Israel: Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life. Leiden: Brill. Wenning, R. 1997 Bestattungen im königszeitlichen Juda. Theologische Quartalschrift 177: 82–93. 2006 Bestattung (Altes Testament). In Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon im Internet. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft.

A Typology of Iron Age Cult Places Rüdiger Schmitt Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster

1. Introduction In the last two decades, several efforts have been undertaken to establish a typology of ancient Israelite cult places, based on both the textual and the archaeological evidence. Most previous reference works and applied studies directed to the archaeology of ancient Israel have made simple distinctions between enclosed temples and open-air places of cult practice, that is, the Hebrew bamōt (see, for instance Fritz 1977: 71–71; 1985: 156–57; Weippert 1988, 407–10; 447–49; 620–31; Mazar in Kempinski and Reich 1992: 161–87; Stern 2001: 201–3; King and Stager 2001: 320–38; Nakhai 2001). Local or provincial shrines have occasionally been discerned (Mazar 1990: 492–502), as have sites of domestic cults (Weippert 1988: 409–10; 447; 628), although little further differentiation or systematization has been offered. A study by Herr (2000) distinguished between primary official or state sanctuaries (as in Jerusalem), and smaller local sanctuaries that may have been official (as in Arad) or may have served a private group (as in Lachish Locus 49). However, this was based more upon formalistic arguments than on substantial consideration of the Iron Age evidence. Nevertheless, Herr did direct his attention toward the nature of actual cult practices performed within such sanctuaries. An elaborate typology of ancient Israelite cult places was developed by Holladay (1987), who differentiated between national or town sanctuaries on the one hand and neighborhood shrines and domestic areas of religious activities on the other. For him, national and town sanctuaries represented the “establishment cultus,” as characterized by architectural features such as direct ingress, ashlar masonry, and siting in significant locations within the overall town plan. Permanent and portable cultic apparatuses associated with these kinds of sanctuaries typically consisted of horned altars, stele-form stones, podiums, benches, stands, and a variety of uniquely formed lamps. Sanctuaries of the neighborhood level represent a cultic subset of these national or town sanctuaries but were constructed on a smaller scale (Megiddo Locus 2081, Lachish Building 49). Holladay further noted that the “establishment cultus” was essentially aniconic (1987: 280). In addition to this designation of an “establishment cultus,” Holladay discerned “nonconformist” places of worship, characterized by extramural locations (Samaria E207, Jerusalem Cave 1) and ritual contents typified by “foreign” material, human and animal figurines, models of birds and furniture,

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and vessels for the offering of food and drink. He also suggested that domestic cult assemblages revealed elements suggestive of a “distributed” or ”nonconformist” cult, such as anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figurines that could be considered “foreign material,” vessels, models of furniture and lamps, cups and saucers, and small cubical limestone altars. Zwickel (1994: 9) distinguished five types of cult structures, namely, (1) monumental temples as locations of official cults, incorporating differentiated areas and supporting buildings; (2) chapels (including gate sanctuaries) as places for public or private cult activities not intended to serve the larger community; (3) additional buildings or rooms that may have belonged to temples or other sacred precincts, but which were not used for ritual activities; (4) open-air cultic structures (bamôt); and, (5) domestic cult places typically defined by the presence of cultic items such as figurines or incense burners. Official or sanctioned cult personnel would have been associated with the first four of these five types of structures, while the setting for domestic cult practices would have been identified by families alone. Zevit (2001: 652–58) distinguished the six primary forms, including (1) temples and temple complexes exemplified by the Fortress Temple at Arad; (2) undefined cult sites such as Lachish Locus 81; (3) cult complexes such as the Bull Site; (4) cult caves like Jerusalem Cave I; (5) cult corners or cult rooms exemplified by Megiddo 2081, Megiddo 340, Lachish Room 49, and the ʿAi cultic structure; and, (6) places of domestic cult. These six categories were further divided into two classes, distinguished by their social contexts. Class I structures were integrated into a greater plan that could be attributed to centralized planning and control (as at Arad, Dan, Lachish Room 49, and Megiddo 340), while Class II structures lacked evidence for centralized planning and control (as at Megiddo Locus 2081, the ʿAi cultic structure, the Bull Site, and Jerusalem Cave I). Dever (2005: 110–75) distinguished local shrines, open-air cult places, larger communal sanctuaries, and monumental temples. He defined a local shrine as having been “a local holy place that served either a nuclear family, or at most a small group of related families” (2005: 111). These were characterized by the presence of standing stones, altars, stone tables and basins, offering stands and benches, jewelry, “exotic” vessels, animal bones and food remains, astragali, and female terracotta figurines. Holladay, Zwickel, Zevit, and Dever all presented plausible schema to differentiate among cult places according to their built features and to their social and societal contexts. These schema nevertheless do not propose ways to identify the social carriers of particular cult types and practices nor do they distinguish among the social carriers of the rituals that were associated with the different levels of cult activities. Through considering all aspects of location, evidence for centralized planning, architectural features, potential social carriers, cult participants, cult functionaries, and assemblages of cult paraphernalia, eight types of cult places, some with subdivisions, are proposed here. Type IA encompasses common domestic cult places, at which a nuclear or extended family was the carrier group. Type IB includes larger-scale domestic cult places or shrines at which a nuclear or extended family was the carrier group but some members were assigned to an inner circle that presided over ritual activities. Type II refers to cult places associated with work environments; within Type II, a

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distinction is made between two sizes of carrier groups. Type IIA refers to small-scale groups that incorporate an inner circle or nuclear family, while Type IIB refers to larger-scale groups that incorporate inner and middle circles—that is, nuclear and joint families and their wider kin. The Type III cult place comprises neighborhood installations or shrines for which the carrier was a medium circle ranging in size from a nuclear or extended family to a co-residential lineage or neighborhood. Type IV includes those places associated with cults of the dead, whose carriers belonged to this same medium-sized circle. Type V refers to village sanctuaries, further subdivided into (A) shrines; (B) open-air places; and, (C) gate sanctuaries. Social carriers for Type V sanctuaries belonged to an outer circle incorporating members of a co-residential lineage or of the local community. Type VI considers palace shrines to be a distinct group, an official variant of large-scale domestic practices, performed and carried out by local military or elite administrative personnel. Type VII encompasses regional sanctuaries, subdivided into (A) shrines or temples; and, (B) open-air places. Carriers for Type VII sanctuaries were regional tribes, inhabitants of regional communities, or, perhaps, official bodies. Finally, Type VIII includes the supraregional temples of the official cult, the social carriers of which were royal personages or associated officials. There is, of course, a degree of artificiality to these classifications, and there must have been some degree of flux among the different categories (for example, those of Type III [neighborhood shrines], Type VA [village shrines], and Type VIIB [regional sanctuaries]). This classificatory typology reflects evidence drawn across a wide period of time, ranging from Iron Age I to Iron Age IIC and is not intended as a hierarchy of contemporaneous cult places. Moreover, it is intended primarily for heuristic purposes, to determine those social bodies involved in the cult.

2.  The Domestic Cult 2.1.  Domestic Cult: The House as Space for Ritual Activities (Type IA) Ovens, tabuns, and cooking pits were the most important household installations; basins and cooking tools were similarly important. In most cases, cooking facilities were installed in central courtyards on the ground floor; 1 less often, they were found in rear rooms and in longitudinal rooms. Ritual objects were often set up near fireplaces or other facilities associated with the processing and consumption of food, 2 suggesting that ritual actions were generally performed on the ground floor near a cooking area. This pattern of association has been observed in excavations spanning the entire Iron Age, until the end of Judah in 586 b.c.e. Although there is little archaeological evidence for religious activities conducted in the second stories of houses, this may reflect the fact that older excavation reports did not sufficiently report detail material from these second stories. The Beersheba hoards, 3 as well as 1.  For the Iron I settlements, see Zwingenberger 2001: 338. 2.  On the archaeological evidence, see Schmitt (2008b) and Albertz and Schmitt (2012). This observation was also made in Willett’s unpublished Ph.D. dissertation (1999: 157–65). The evidence is, however, inconclusive with regard to her assumption that certain domestic installations such as the alcoves at Tell el-Farʿah (N) and the Locus 36 bench structure at Beersheba represent household shrines. These structures were in fact predominantly used for domestic activities. 3. See Aharoni 1973: pls. 22–26; 84.

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several finds from Tel Halif, provide evidence of ritual objects originally located in second stories, suggesting that second-storey rooms were occasionally used for ritual purposes. Permanent installations such as platforms and benches, which were dedicated solely to ritual actions, are rare. In only one case was a small domestic platform found within a niche (Tel Batash Locus 914). 4 A second platform-like installation found in Tell es-Saʿidiyeh House 64 5 was most likely a kitchen installation. Ritual objects used in domestic contexts were generally light and portable and may have been arranged in various ways to suit a variety of needs throughout the house. The same ritual objects often appear to have been used in different rooms, sometimes individually and sometimes in association with other objects, as illustrated by the assemblage from the Lachish Lower House. 6 The evidence suggests that cult objects, and even entire cult assemblages, were stored away when not in use, as in Tell elMazar Room 101 7 and Tel Halif Locus G8005. 8 The kind of standardized “holy corner” or domestic shrine found in Late Bronze Age Tall Bazi in Syria does not appear to have existed in Iron Age Israel or Judah. 9 Instead, Early Iron Age assemblages appear to closely reflect local traditions that were previously found in Late Bronze Age domestic cult assemblages. 10 Recent studies on gender-specific activities within Israelite households (Ackerman 2003; Meyers 2001, 2003; van der Toorn 2003: esp. 398–402) demonstrate the strong association between areas containing ritual vessels and objects and installations associated with the production of food, which were commonly located on the ground floor. They emphasize the important roles women played in the religious rituals of daily life. Detailed data on the nature of ritual apparatuses suggest that daily offerings and gifts were made to deities and ancestors; the latter were represented by human figurines. These ritual acts accompanied the preparation of food (van der Toorn 2003: 399). A family’s daily meal was accompanied by the presentation of a ritual portion to one or more deities or ancestors. Compelling evidence for the performance of ritual activities of this kind is provided by remnants of food offerings or libations presented in bowls resting on stands or placed next to specialized libation vessels; other offerings may have been poured out onto the ground. Evidence for the burning of aromatic compounds provides further support. These acts provided a means for deities or ancestors to participate in the daily lives of families, thereby ensuring the family’s continuance, whether in terms of health, wealth, or prosperity. Patterns typical of Iron Age IIC domestic cults suggest that female votive pillar figurines ( Judean pillar figures or JPFs), which conveyed the desire for female fecundity, played a prominent role (Meyers 1988: 162). Male votaries like horse-and-rider figurines may have been used to represent male interests. Figurines of sheep, goat, and cattle encapsulated powers of fertility and, more generally, elements relating to 4.  Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001: 4–5, pl. 56:1–2; Mazar 1997: Plan of Areas D and E, Str. II. 5.  Pritchard 1985: 8–9; figs. 5 and 177. 6.  Ussishkin 2004. 7. See Yassine 1984. 8. See Jacobs 2001. 9.  The regular occurrence of domestic shrines was also assumed by Albertz (1992: 150–52), following Weippert (1988: 409–10). 10.  For instance, the LBA assemblage from House 305 (Givon 1999: 173).

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the abundance of livestock. Miniature furniture and vessels also symbolized prosperity and wealth for a household (see Moorey 2003: 65), as did luxury items and certain rare and collectible objects. The function of such objects as generic symbols of prosperity may also explain their presence at burial sites. Figurines and related ritual objects, such as model furniture, served the continuance of families through the assurance that wealth, fecundity, and prosperity would be bestowed upon a household and therefore that the essential needs of the nuclear family would be met. Patterns discerned from the domestic assemblages of Israel and Judah that suggest religious practices performed by, or within, nuclear or extended families were essentially identical to those of Jordan, Philistia, Phoenicia, and Syria. Evidence from Philistine, Jordanian, and Syro-Phoenician sites supports the conclusion drawn from Israel and Judah, namely, that the same ritual objects were used within different rooms and in different domestic contexts and that a considerable number of those objects were associated with food-preparation activities. Thus, ritual activities performed within the domestic realm were similar across western Asia throughout the Iron Age. The house, the domain of the nuclear or extended family—that is, the inner circle—can therefore be considered the primary center of religious activity, meeting the fundamental religious needs of the family.

2.2.  Domestic Shrines (Type IB) Domestic shrines are permanent cult installations such as benches or platforms, located in domestic structures, perhaps in dedicated cult rooms. They typically contained a large number of specialized objects such as altars and stands, often accompanied by vessels for the consumption of food and drink. One example of a domestic shrine is Megiddo Locus 2081 (Iron IIA), 11 which included a corner that had no direct access and numerous specialized objects and vessels for food consumption. Room 307 of Tel Masos House 314 contained a platform associated with unique, collectible items, as well as an oven and vessels for the preparation and consumption of food. 12 In this case, the platform was directly accessible. These two structures served fundamentally different purposes, because Megiddo Locus 2081 was a true domestic shrine while Tel Masos Room 307 was a room used primarily for food preparation. Ritual actions conducted within domestic cult structures typically consisted of offering libations and food, burning aromatic compounds or incense, and consuming ritual meals. At Megiddo, playing games or casting lots for mantic purposes accompanied such activities. The Megiddo assemblage represents a subset of assemblages typical of neighborhood or village shrines, rather than a distinctive type of its own (contra Holladay 1987: 271), while the assemblage from Tel Masos House 314 displays a more domestic character. These domestic shrines were utilized by elites in extended nuclear or paternal joint families, either in urban (Megiddo Locus 2081) or rural (Tell Masos) contexts. These large and permanent cult installations found within domestic contexts seem to have been exceptional, and the evidence from Megiddo Locus 2081 and Tel Masos House 314 should not be considered definitive.

11.  Loud 1948: 45–46. 12.  Fritz and Kempinski 1983: 40–42.

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Rüdiger Schmitt 3.  Patterns of Cult Places above the Domestic Realm

The present survey has revealed ritual assemblages similar to those found in domestic settings but differing in terms of size, layout, patterns of use, content, and associated installations. These differences suggest the existence of ritual places that were explicitly directed at social purposes beyond the domestic realm, and it is these ritual places that will now be considered.

3.1.  Work-Related Cults (Type II) Cult remains from Iron Age Israelite and Judean industrial sites reveal patterns similar to those from domestic cult areas. Type IIA represents places within domestic settings that contained installations used for production but that had no dedicated cult installations. Type IIB represents larger-scale industrial areas, exemplified by the Ashdod and Tel Miqne–Ekron potters’ quarters, which contained permanent or semipermanent ritual installations such as benches and platforms, 13 or built-in altars, as in the industrial olive oil processing areas at Tel Miqne–Ekron. 14 Cult inventories from small-scale industrial areas were generally similar to those in domestic areas. Cult objects found within Iron Age I and IIA industrial areas include libation vessels such as kernoi and zoomorphic vessels, accompanied by vessels for the storage, transport, and consumption of liquids. Although few vessels related to the production of food have been found in Iron Age IIB–C industrial areas, cult items from these sites closely resemble those in domestic assemblages. They typically include anthropoid or zoomorphic votive figurines or zoomorphic vessels and, in one case (Tell Qiri Locus 1027), a censer cup. 15 With the exception of the Tel Miqne–Ekron altars and the larger shaft altars from Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine in Jordan, 16 cult objects associated with industry were typically small and light, readily carried and stored, and similar to those used in domestic spaces. The similarities among cult objects associated with small-scale industrial contexts and domestic contexts suggest that the social carriers of ritual traditions were the same—namely nuclear, extended, or joint families. Ritual acts performed within industrial structures included offerings made to deities or ancestors and ritualized requests expressed through votive objects, and they were intended to ensure the process of production. These acts also strengthened the social cohesion of groups of workers, binding together the people directly or indirectly involved with the ritual performances. Dedicated cult organizations (see Schmitt 1999: 639–41) likely directed rituals within sites of highly specialized or large-scale industrial production that featured Type IIB permanent ritual installations (the potters’ workshops in Ashdod and Tel Miqne–Ekron and the olive oil production facilities of Tel Miqne–Ekron). This may also have been the case at the textile production and dying installations at Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine, where relatively large altars were utilized upon the roofs. The altars in the olive oil production area of 13.  Dothan and Freedman 1967: 133–34; Schmitt 2008a; Gitin and Dothan 1987: 202–3; Dothan 1990: 27–28; Dothan and Dothan 1992: 241–42; Dothan and Gitin 1993: 1053; Dothan 2003: 209. 14. See Gitin 1989: 52–67; 1993: 248–58; MacKay 1995. 15. See Ben-Tor and Portugali 1987: 67; 71; fig. 14.1. 16. See Daviau 2007.

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Tel Miqne–Ekron were too large to be portable, offering compelling evidence for the regular performance of cult activities. Families (most likely joint families) engaged in production utilized the smaller Type IIA industrial cult installations, which were typically found in or near domestic units. The fact that these ritual assemblages form a clear subset of domestic assemblages indicates that nuclear or joint families were, in most cases, the groups responsible for work-related cult activities. Cult practices associated with small-scale industrial areas or workshops were therefore confined to the inner circle of nuclear and joint families, while practices associated with largerscale industrial areas were carried out by a medium-sized circle, expanded to include a wider kin group, most likely part of a co-residential lineage; included, as well, were servants, slaves, and clients.

3.2.  Neighborhood Shrines (Type III) Neighborhood shrines were generally small in size and integrated into domestic architecture (ʿAi Locus 69; 17 Tell Qiri Str. VIIIB, Area D cult building 18), lacked sacred areas such as courtyards, and were solely dedicated to cult purposes. They contained permanent installations such as benches and platforms, offering a physical focus for cult activities. Although access to these shrines may have been indirect, as at Tell Qiri, it was more often direct, as at ʿAi. At Tell Qiri, the cult focus was oriented to the north, while at ʿAi, it was directed to the west. Cult equipment from these sites consists of stands and other specialized objects, including a variety of libation vessels. Vessels for preparing and consuming food and drink often accompanied these ritual vessels (Tell Qiri). Ritual actions performed at neighborhood shrines included libations and the offering of food, as well as the ritual preparation and consumption of food and drink. Space constraints suggest that only small groups of people, usually less than ten in number, could have participated in ritual actions in these shrine rooms. Neighborhood shrines were typical of Iron Age I sites. 19 Neighborhood shrines were intended to unify and serve members of social levels above those of household and domestic-scale industrial cults. 20 These larger-scale social levels formed a medium-sized circle of cult activities, consisting of members of conjugal or joint families and possibly also larger kinship or co-residential lineages. The ritual apparatus used at these higher levels was an enlarged subset of contemporary domestic cult assemblages (contra Holladay 1987: 268–69). The restricted size of most neighborhood shrines rendered them unsuitable for the needs of the entire community. The data available makes it difficult to determine whether specialized personnel directed ritual actions at neighborhood shrines. Since the communities within which these shrines have been found show little social-level differentiation, it seems likely that the above-mentioned carrier groups were responsible for the maintenance of the cults.

17. See Marquet-Krause 1949: pl. XCVII; LXXIC; XL:2. 18.  Ben-Tor and Portugali 1987: figs. 15–17. 19.  Therefore, they should not be utilized as models of religious organizational patterning in the Iron Age II in the manner that Holladay did (1987: 268). 20.  This difference was not recognized by Weippert (1988: 409–10) and, following her, by Albertz (1992: 150–52).

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3.3.  Places for the Cult of the Dead (Type IV) It has been suggested that Jerusalem Caves I–III, Jerusalem Cave 6015 and Samaria Locus E207 21 are best understood as subterranean locations for the cult of the dead or, better, for the ritual care of the deceased (Keel and Uehlinger 1992: §201; Schmitt 2009; see also Zevit 2001: 206–9). The caves yielded no trace of burials and were unlikely to have been used as tombs, but they contained ritual objects and great amounts of utilitarian pottery. It is therefore plausible that Jerusalem Caves I–III and 6015 (located near a cemetery) and Samaria Locus E 207 were places for rituals for communication with the dead, especially through commemorative meals during which the living shared community with the dead (see Isa 65:3–5). As in domestic ritual assemblages, the presence of a deity was not represented by any permanent feature but rather was invoked through ritual acts. One can therefore conclude that these caves served the families of the deceased, who met to commemorate their ancestors with meals and gave portions of these meals to relatives abiding in the netherworld. Although Jerusalem Cave I could have accommodated quite a large group, it may have served only nuclear or joint families; the large number of vessels resulted from a gradual accumulation as the cave was used over an extended period of time.

3.4.  Local and Village Shrines, Local High Places, and    Gate Sanctuaries (Types VA–C) Although similar in size to neighborhood shrines, Type VA village shrines were independent or free-standing structures, as exemplified by the Iron Age IIA structures of Lachish Room 49 22 and Tel Michal Building 300, 23 and probably also the Iron Age I Hazor Room 3283. 24 Ingress to these structures was always direct, and there does not seem to have been any particular fixed orientation for the cult focus. The focus at Tel Michal 300 was oriented to the northwest, at Lachish Room 49 to the west, and at Hazor Room 3283 to the south. Adjacent courtyards that formed sacred areas were found at Hazor and, beyond Israel and Judah, at Tell Qasile Temple 319, 25 which represents an early phase in the development of such structures. Structures such as bamˆôt may also have been associated with this type of shrine (Lachish, Tel Michal). Interiors were characterized by installations such as platforms and benches. They often contained large numbers of specialized objects, such as stands and altars, suggestive of frequent libations and food offerings. They also contained vessels for the consumption of liquids (Hazor, Lachish, Tel Michal) and for the preparation and consumption of food (Hazor, Lachish). An oven in Lachish Room 49 was directly associated with the installations of the shrine room. In Hazor 3283, a maṣṣebāh was found in the shrine itself and another was found near the shrine at Lachish Locus 81 (although this may have been a cult installation in its own right, and thus Type IIB).

21.  Jerusalem Caves I–III: Kenyon 1974; Holland 1977; Franken and Steiner 1990; Eshel and Prag 1996. Jerusalem Cave 6015: E. Mazar and B. Mazar 1989: 50–53, plan 20, pls. 25–29. Samaria Locus E207: Crowfoot, Kenyon, and Sukenik 1942: 23–24, fig. 11; Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957: 76–82, 137–39 with figs. 13–33, fig. B, pl. XI–XII. 22. See Aharoni 1975: 26–32. 23. See Herzog et al., 1988: 69–70. 24. See Ben-Ami 2006. 25.  Mazar 1980: 13–20, fig. 4.

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In Moab, the Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine Temple 149 26 south of the gate was a village shrine, with typical features such as benches along its walls. Type VB denotes small, free-standing, intramural, open-air sanctuaries, as represented by the maṣṣebāh-installations from Tel Reḥov (Tell eṣ-Ṣārim) Area E, Hazor Locus 80019, the open-air cult place at Tel Michal, and Arad Stratum XII, which consisted of an altar and a structure that was likely a bamāh. 27 Although a cultic interpretation of the Iron I (Str. XII) structure from Arad remains tentative (see Fritz 1993: 186; Zwickel 1994: 243–44), the fact that the altar of the later Fortress Temple lay in precisely the same position as the Str. XII altar suggests a long cultic tradition. Animal slaughter and consumption at open-air cult places occurred at the Tel Michal bamāh-structure 28 and at Tel Reḥov. 29 Cult paraphernalia used in open-air sanctuaries included stands, human and animal votive figurines, chalices, and vessels for the preparation and consumption of food and drink (Tel Reḥov). 30 Tabuns were constructed in the immediate vicinity of the ritual installation (Tel Reḥov). This type of sanctuary appears only during the limited period between the Iron Age I (Arad) and early Iron Age IIB (Tel Reḥov). No structures of this kind have been found in Iron Age IIC Israel and Judah. The cult installations constructed at city gates, including those at Tel Dan, Tell el-Farʿah (N), Bethsaida, and Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine in Jordan (which forms its own typological group, Type VC) are also included among local and village sanctuaries. 31 Typical features are platforms (bamāh) and maṣṣebot. The gate sanctuary shows a clear pattern of cultic features, 32 represented by the maṣṣebāh as cult object/cult focus and by installations for offerings, including libations, and the burning of aromatic compounds. Similar to neighborhood shrines, those spaces formed by free-standing village shrines would rarely have accommodated larger communities, although these communities may have been involved in ritual performances within adjacent courtyards or other open areas. Village shrines are therefore understood to have been directed by, and to have served, an outer social circle consisting of families as public representatives, together with additional kin, especially co-residential lineages, friends, and neighbors. The highly specialized assemblages found at local and village shrines such as Hazor, Lachish, and Tell Qasile, and the variety of ritual actions that were conducted with these assemblages, suggests that specialized personnel were responsible for the maintenance of the cult. At village shrines, regular ritual actions were conducted by one or more priests on behalf of the community, as described in Judg

26.  Daviau and Steiner 2000; Daviau 2006: 19. 27.  Tel Reḥov Area E: Mazar 1999: 23–28; Hazor Locus 80019: Ben-Ami 2006; Tel Michal: Avigad 1993: 932–33; Arad Stratum XII: M. Aharoni 1993: 82; see also Zevit 2001: 157–58. 28.  Avigad 1993: 933. 29.  Mazar 1999: 26. 30.  Mazar 1999: figs. 14–16. 31. See Bernett and Keel 1998: 53–71 for a discussion of other possible remains of cult places in or near the city gates at Ḥorvat ʿUzza, Ḥorvat Radum, Kuntillet ʿAjrud, Beersheba, Megiddo, and Kinneret. Most of these, however, are considerably less certain in their interpretation, especially the finds from the gate at Kuntillet ʿAjrud, which contained no clear cultic items. For Tel Dan, see Biran 1994: 245; 1998. 32.  Which are not attested at the suggested gate sanctury at Kuntillet Ajrud.

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17:7–8 (Micah’s sanctuary), while gate sanctuaries were more likely sites of en passant ritual actions performed by community members themselves.

3.5.  Palace Shrines (Type VI) Only one more-or-less unambiguous example of a palace shrine has been found, in Megiddo Room 340 of Building 338 (Iron Age IIB). 33 It shared features such as platforms and altars with both neighborhood and village shrines and with largerscale, permanent domestic cult installations. Palace shrines reflect a high degree of differentiation among a society’s members and served the ritual purposes of a social, governmental, or military elite. Although the Arad Fortress Temple could be considered a palace shrine, it was a separate building within the fortress, while true palace shrines were integrated into palatial structures. In contrast to the structure at Arad, the palace shrine at Megiddo was not suitable for large-scale offerings. The predominant ritual actions enacted here were the offering of libations and the burning of grain, both performed facing the eastern cult focus. In addition, as indicated by a cooking pot and a basalt vessel, ritual meals were prepared and consumed. Once again, no votive figurines indicating individual ritual acts were found. Although this shrine was too small to serve audiences of appreciable size, excavated objects indicate that ritual actions, such as the burning of incense were performed in the adjacent Courtyard 313. Because all cult activities were closely aligned with those of domestic cults, palace shrines are understood to represent an expanded subset of installations and cult objects typically associated with domestic shrines but now incorporated into official realms. Although the predominantly domestic character of the cult objects and associated actions does not indicate a high degree of ritual specialization, suggesting that ritual specialists would not be necessary, it seems plausible that such specialists would have been present in these permanent ritual installations integrated into official buildings. Hierarchical social structures necessitated the presence and authority of a priest or military commander in the role of pater familias, attended by subordinates. Palace shrines are therefore seen as points of intersection between cult activities of families and of the official bureaucracy. However, as already stated, the Megiddo palace shrine is the only known example of this type, and thus these conclusions should be considered tentative.

3.6.  Regional Sanctuaries (Type VII) Sanctuaries serving social groups at the regional scale or larger were generally situated at some convenient central place beyond villages or cities, and they served communities from surrounding regions by providing places for offerings and worship. This is especially the case for the “Bull Site” in the Samarian hill country, which served the Dothan-Yibleam region. Similarly, the Hathor Temple served the copper mining and processing region of the Timnah Valley. 3.6.1. Open-Air Regional Sanctuaries (Type VIIA).  An example of an early regional sanctuary that had no temple building is the “Bull Site” (Daḥret eṭ-Ṭawīle; Mazar 1982). It was located on a hillock, where large stones were used to form an elliptical enclosure. Although details concerning the construction of the sanctuary 33.  Ussishkin 1989: 149–58; 1993: 67–85; cf. Schumacher 1908: 110–14.

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and the items found within it are unknown, it seems possible that it included a maṣṣebāh. Among the fragments of pottery was a piece that came from a square offering stand, 34 similar to those found at Taanach and Pella, suggesting that the “Bull Site” served cult purposes. The Hathor Temple at Timnah in the Arabah, which contained a row of iconic and aniconic maṣṣebōt, was an open-air regional sanctuary that slightly predated the “Bull Site” (LB IIB–Iron I). 35 The tumuli west of Jerusalem that were previously considered cultic heights (Amiran 1958) but that lack clear indicators of cult functions, such as installations or associated paraphernalia, are therefore not likely to have been sanctuaries (see Fritz 1993: 186; Zwickel 1994: 249–50). These open-air regional sanctuaries were located in isolated places, removed from other larger structures and not associated with permanent buildings that could accommodate the people responsible for the maintenance of the cult. They are therefore likely sites of occasional rather than regular ritual actions. Ritual performances in them were conducted by members of local communities or by their formal representatives. 3.6.2.  Regional Sanctuaries with Shrines or Temples (Type VIIB).  The Fortress Temple at Arad 36 was centrally located on the road to the Arabah and dominated the plain of the eastern Negev, suggesting that it functioned as a regional sanctuary. The temple was built inside the fortress, which protected it, making it an official sanctuary serving the military and administrative staff of the fortress, the inhabitants of the region and traders traveling along the road. The temple was used primarily between the ninth and eighth centuries b.c.e. (Herzog 2001) and included a number of maṣṣebōt (Bloch-Smith 2005: 32–33), two incense altars in a niche that marked the cultic focus (orientated to the west), and a sacrificial altar in the courtyard. Five JPF fragments and one horse-and-rider figurine were found in the temple, 37 and a bronze lion figurine lay near the Str. IX sacrificial altar. 38 Although the figurines were not concentrated in the temple itself, they nevertheless were used as votive objects in the temple cult. Str. X ritual objects included a small stand with a separately constructed bowl, found in the room adjacent to the altar, 39 and offering dishes with the incised letters qop-kap (for qōdeš kôhanîm, ‘set apart for the priests’) found at the steps of the sacrificial altar. 40 The Str. X pottery consisted of utilitarian bowls, cooking pots, jugs, juglets, storage jars, and lamps, 41 indicating the cooking and consumption of ritual meals. The pottery assemblages of Strata XI and IX–VII were similar in character. 42 Regional sanctuaries such as the Arad Fortress Temple served different forms of social organization, depending upon their geographical and economic contexts. The 34.  Mazar 1982: fig. 10. 35.  Rothenberg 1973: 134–92; 1993: 1482–85. 36.  Aharoni 1980; Kempinski et al. 1984; M. Aharoni 1993; and, for further discussion, Zwickel 1994: 266–75; Zevit 2001: 156–71. 37.  Kletter 1996: Cat. No. HR 80 (locus 380, entrance of the temple), JPF 442 (locus 783), JPF 446 (locus 350, small room near the altar) JPF 448 (locus 380, entrance of the temple), JPF 453 (locus 350), JPF 456 (locus 795, Hellenistic pit). 38.  Herzog et al. 1984: fig. 20. 39.  Herzog et al. 1984: 15. 40.  Herzog et al. 1984: 12 and fig. 14 a, b. 41.  Herzog et al. 1984: fig. 12–13. 42. See Aharoni 1981: fig. 6–10; Herzog et al. 1984: figs. 18–25.

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“Bull Site” was a regional sanctuary serving the early (or proto-) Israelite settlements in the Samarian hill country. The Ḥorvat Qitmit sanctuary, 43 maintained by a priest or priesthood, was a central sanctuary for the semi-nomadic tribes who lived in the wider vicinity. The Hathor Temple served miners in the Timnah Valley. The Arad Fortress Temple was an official structure serving military and administrative staff, the inhabitants of the Negev, and traders en route throughout the region. The existence of dedicatory inscriptions (qōdeš kôhanîm), along with strong evidence for differentiated cult actions, particularly with regard to the slaughter of animals, indicates that its cult was maintained by a priesthood.

3.7.  Supra-Regional and State Sanctuaries (Type VIII) The most important supraregional sanctuary in Iron Age Israel was the Temple in Jerusalem, which served as the main temple for the Judean state. Evidence for the function of this temple comes only from written sources, which have already been the subject of much consideration. 44 For the purposes of the present study, it is sufficient to note that the monumental Jerusalem Temple was not only an official temple of supraregional importance but also the primary sanctuary of the Kingdom of Judah, considered, according to official theology, to be located at the central point of the known world and the sole place blessed with Yhwh’s presence (see Albertz 1992: 190–212). In addition, subsequent to the Josianic reforms, it was the only official sanctuary in Judah. Its counterparts were the main sanctuaries of the Northern Kingdom, in Dan and Bethel, of which only the Dan temple has been excavated. Very few traces of the First Temple remain in Jerusalem, and thus the nature of Israelite supraregional or state temples can only be ascertained through the archaeological evidence from Tel Dan. Its sanctuary contained features typical of the monumental architecture of the Northern Kingdom, including the use of ashlar masonry. The sacred precinct was rectangular (45  ×  60  m), while the building complex of the sanctuary itself (7 × 28 m) consisted of bamōt A (Str. IV; 9 × 18.5 m) and B (Str. III; 18 × 18 m), oriented to the northwest, a large altar, and additional buildings. Among the items excavated in the Str. IV (10th-century) sacred precinct were two pithoi decorated with snakes, a pottery stand, bowls, jugs, and other vessels, including Phoenician imports from one of the storerooms north of the central complex. 45 A bar-handled bowl filled with animal bones, two tall cylindrical stands, and a 10-cm-long fragment of a male bearded head were found on a cobbled floor near the altar. 46 The presence of Egyptian type faience figurines 47 suggests votive practices. A stone-lined basin associated with a stand and a terracotta bathtub (65 × 82 × 141 cm) with an internal seat were interpreted by the excavators as an installation for cleansing rituals. 48 The objects and installations unearthed at Tel Dan indicate that rituals performed within the 43. See Beit-Arieh 1995. 44.  I mention here only some of the more recent studies. See Hurowitz 1992, 2005; Keel and Uehlinger 1998: §§103–8; Zwickel 1999; and Bloch-Smith 2002. 45.  Biran 1994: figs. 125, 126, 128, 129. 46.  Biran 1994: figs. 133–34. 47.  Biran 1994: figs. 139, 141, 142. 48.  Biran 1994: 174; figs. 135–36.

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temple consisted of animal slaughter, food and incense offerings, ritually consumed meals, ritual cleansing, and, perhaps, divination (through the casting of die). A Philistine example of a supraregional temple is the Stratum IC (Iron IIC) Temple 650 at Tel Miqne–Ekron. 49 Such supraregional and state sanctuaries, with their varied and highly differentiated cult activities and their specialized and dedicated installations, necessitated priesthoods for their maintenance. These priesthoods were sanctioned by local rulers (see 1 Kgs 12:31–32) and supported by temple income drawn from official and nonofficial cult participants.

4. Conclusions This analysis of cult assemblages and other features has revealed a variety of cult practices associated with a range of different contexts. Type IA domestic cultic assemblages were often associated with facilities for the preparation of food. They typically yielded only small numbers of specialized portable ritual objects. Ritual performances were occasional and included offerings of libations and food, incense burning, and votive practices. The ritual paraphernalia was stored away when not in use. Type IIA ritual activities conducted in small-scale industrial structures were similar. In both cases, the presence of the deity was invoked as rituals were performed. Within domestic structures, Type IB permanent installations with a clear cult focus and enlarged ritual assemblages were rare, serving only elite families. The Type VI palace shrine that served administrative and military elites had features similar to those of domestic shrines, although dedicated to the realm of official religion. Type IIB (installations in large-scale industrial areas), Type III (neighborhood shrines), and Type IV (places for the care of the dead) cult installations and assemblages of the medium-sized circle (above the nuclear family level) are distinguished by the presence of differentiated ritual assemblages and (for Type IIB and Type III) permanent ritual installations. Permanent installations, especially maṣṣebōt and dedicated altars, generally signify dedication to the outer circle, as represented by Type V (village or city shrines or temples and cult installations at gates). Maṣṣebōt were not a feature of domestic religion. Ritual assemblages of pottery within these outer circle sites were larger and more differentiated, with more specialized and luxury vessels. Animal slaughter was an important religious practice within these outer circle realms, as evinced at Type V local or city-level structures, Type VII regional structures, and Type VIII supraregional sanctuaries. Some kind of priesthood was responsible for the maintenance of cult practices and structures, from village shrines upward, employed either by local bodies (Type V) or centralized, official bodies (Type VII, Type VIII, and perhaps Type VI). Type VII official regional shrines (exemplified by the Arad Fortress Temple) contained buildings with differentiated installations such as maṣṣebōt, multiple altars, and courtyards and included specialized vessels. Ritual assemblages excavated at official, supraregional temples (the Type VIII Temples 350 and 650 at Tel Miqne–Ekron and the Dan sanctuary) contained considerably more specialized objects, especially those made from metal, than did local or regional level sanctuaries. Similarly, multiple

49.  Dothan and Gitin 2008: 1956–57.

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specialized installations were only found in official, supraregional sanctuaries, where they served special priestly ritual activities, such as ritual cleansing. Votive practices using anthropomorphic figurines were not commonly featured in ritual activities in Israelite and Judean cult structures; they are only attested at Arad. Votive objects of greater value, such as those of faience or metal, were restricted to official sanctuaries at the regional or supraregional level. No unambiguously divine images were found within Type VII or VIII public cult structures in Israel or Judah, although they were found in the Edomite sanctuary at Ḥorvat Qitmit. Assemblages of ritual objects and of utilitarian pottery, used across the various levels of cult structures throughout the Iron Age, suggest an ongoing interdependence and interaction among these levels. Assemblages of ritual paraphernalia from neighborhood and local shrines of the Early Iron Age seem to have been extensions of contemporary domestic materials. The use of tripod incense cups was typical for domestic cult activities of the Iron Age IIB, as evinced at the gate sanctuaries of Dan and Bethsaida. JPFs and other terracotta votive objects were used in the Iron Age IIC, both in the domestic realm and in official cult structures (such as the Arad Fortress Temple). Thus, domestic and public votive rituals practiced by individuals and families coexisted in Iron Age IIB–C Judah. The most important difference between cult activities as practiced at the private or domestic levels and those at the public level relates to ideas about the presence of the deity. In the domestic realm, the portability of ritual paraphernalia suggests that the presence of deities was evoked through ritual acts. Alternately, at structures from the level of neighborhood shrines and upward (Type III and Types V–VIII), the enduring presence of a deity was indicated by permanent installations that marked cult foci, particularly maṣṣebōt, but also platforms, benches, and other fixed features. Type IV cult places, which involved care for the dead, utilized elements typical to the domestic cult, particularly the use of portable ritual apparatuses. In line with Gitin’s comments on Tel Miqne–Ekron (2002), the interdependence and coexistence of these layers and realms of cultic activities are best understood by applying concepts of internal religious pluralism, which allowed for multiple intersections among the circles of domestic, local, and official religion to fulfill the full range of needs of the different levels of social organization involved in these many and diverse cult practices.

nuclear/ extended family

Group/ Body

workshop, storage building or within domestic building

workshop, separated industrial area

integrated building

nuclear/ extended/ joint family

joint family, wider kin and servants/ clients

joint family, co-residential lineage, neighborhood

II B Work related, large scale (medium circle) (Ashdod and Tel Miqne potter’s quarter; Tel Miqne olive oil industrial area)

III Neighbor-hood shrine (medium circle) (Ai Locus 69, Tel Qiri, Area D)

room or corner integrated in domestic architecture

room within house, mostly central hall

Architecture

II A Work related, small scale (inner circle) Taanach “Cultic Structure”, Tell Qiri Locus 1027

IB elite nuclear/ Domestic shrine extended/joint (inner circle) family (Megiddo 2081; Tel Masos R 307?)

IA Domestic (inner circle)

Cult Type

benches platform

industrial installations, ritual installations

industrial installations

benches platform

ovens

Permanent Installations

stands altars libation vessels votives

altars stands libation vessels votive figurines

stands libation vessels votive figurines

stands votive figurines altars censer vessels

stands votive figurines libation vessels censer cups or small altars

Ritual Objects and Vessels (Category A)

storage, food and drink preparation and consumption

storage, sometimes food and drink preparation and consumption

food and drink preparation and consumption

food and drink preparation and consumption storage

Utilitarian Vessels Category C

chalices food and drink goblets preparation and lamps consumption miniature vessels

sometimes chalices and luxury vessels

sometimes chalices and luxury vessels astragali

chalices goblets luxury items lamps collectibles astragali

chalices goblets lamps luxury items collectibles game pieces

Possible Ritual Objects and Vessels Category B

Typological Chart of Iron Age Cult Places

libation food and incense offerings votive cult ritual meals

libation food and incense offerings votive cult ritual meals

libation food and incense offerings votive cult ritual meals

libation food and incense offerings votive cult ritual meals

libation food and incense offerings votive cult ritual meals

Cultic Activities

A Typology of Iron Age Cult Places 279

caves ( Jerusalem) or extramural location (Samaria E 207)

(mostly) freestanding building, courtyard, annexes

freestanding

co-residential lineage, village/city community, maintained by priesthood

co-residential lineage, village/city community, perhaps maintained by priesthood

VA Village shrine/ or city temple (outer circle) (Lachish room 49, Tel Michal build. 300, Hazor Room 3283, Tell Qasile Temples; Temple 149 at œirbet el-Mudēyine)

VB Village or city high place (outer circle) (Lachish Locus 81, Hazor Locus 80019, Arad Str. XII, Tel Michal open air cult place; Tell Rehov, Area E)

Architecture

joint family, co-residential lineage, neighborhood

Group/ Body

IV Places for the care for the dead (medium circle) (Jerusalem Cave I-III, Locus 6015, Samaria E 207)

Cult Type

maṣṣebāh platform altar (Ashera-pile?) oven

benches platforms built altars maṣṣebāh

ovens

Permanent Installations

libation vessels stands votive figurines

stands altars model shrine libation vessels votive figurines

stands altars model furniture model shrines libation vessels tripod cups votive figurines

Ritual Objects and Vessels (Category A)

miniature bowls chalices

chalices goblets luxury items lamps collectibles

chalices goblets lamps rattles

Possible Ritual Objects and Vessels Category B

Typological Chart of Iron Age Cult Places

food & drink preparation and consumption

food and drink preparation and consumption

food and drink preparation and consumption

Utilitarian Vessels Category C

animal slaughter libations ritual meals

animal slaughter libation food and incense offerings ritual meals

libation food and incense offerings votive cult ritual meals

Cultic Activities

280 Rüdiger Schmitt

installations near the gate

room integrated into palatial structure

location on hill or other central location; temenos

shrine or temple building temenos fortification

monu-mental temple building additional buildings temenos

co-residential lineage, village community

adminis-trative elite perhaps maintained by priesthood

Regional tribe, inhabitants of villages in vicinity, economic community

Regional tribe, inhabitants of the region, administrative elite, traders, maintained by priesthood

Royalty, administra­tive, military and religious elites, citizens of city and state, maintained by priesthood

VC Gate sanctuary (outer circle) (Dan, Bethsaida, Tell el-Farʿah, œirbet elMudēyine, (Kuntillet Agrut?)

VI Palace shrine (official, administrative elites) (Megiddo 338)

VII A Regional Sanctuary, open air (regional circle) (bull site, Timnah sanctuaries, ‘En †azeva)

VII B Regional Sanctuary, shrine or temple (regional circle) (Arad temple, Horvat Qitmit shrines A and B)

VIII Supraregional Sanctuary: (supra-regional/ official circle) (Tel Miqne temples 350, 650, Tel Dan, [Jerusalem])

platform benches built altar hearth and other fixed cultic installations industrial installations (olive-oil presses)

platform benches built altar maṣṣebāh stone trough

platforms benches built altar maṣṣebāh hearth stone trough

benches platform stone trough

platform bench maṣṣebāh stone trough

chalices luxury items lamps collectibles

luxury vessels collectibles

lamp

miniature bowls

metal ritual chalices and objects and tools luxury vessels stands dice altars figurines silver and gold hoards

cult figurines altars tripod cups stands votive figurines libation vessels

cult figurine (bull) votive figurines stands libation vessels

stands altars model shrines

tripod incense cups

Typological Chart of Iron Age Cult Places

food and drink preparation and consumption

food and drink preparation and consumption

food and drink preparation and consumption

food and drink preparation and consumption

food and drink consumption

animal slaughter food and incense offerings ritual meals ritual cleansing divination

animal slaughter libation votive cult food and incense offerings ritual meals

animal slaughter libation votive cult food and incense offerings ritual meals

libation food and incense offerings ritual meals

libation incense burning, ritual meals (?)

A Typology of Iron Age Cult Places 281

282

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Ackerman, S. 2003 At Home with the Goddess. Pp. 455–68 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and their Neighbors from the Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Aharoni, Y. 1973 Beer-Sheba I: Excavations at Tell Beer-Sheba 1969–1971 Seasons. Publications of the Institute of Archaeology 2. Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology. 1975 Investigations at Lachish: The Sanctuary and the Residency (Lachish V). Publications of the Institute of Archaeology 4. Tel Aviv: Gateway. Aharoni, M. 1993 Arad: The Israelite Citadels. Pp. 82–87 in vol. 1 of NEAEHL. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society / Carta. Albertz, R. 1996 Religionsgeschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit. GAT 8.1. 2nd ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. 1997 Religionsgeschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit. GAT 8.2. 2nd ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Albertz, R., and Schmitt, R. 2012 Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel and the Levant. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Amiran, R. 1958 The Tumuli West of Jerusalem: Survey and Excavations. Israel Exploration Journal 8: 205–27. Avigad, N. 1993 Makmish. Pp. 932–33 in vol. 3 of NEAEHL. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society / Carta. Beit-Arieh, I., ed. 1995 Ḥorvat Qitmit: An Edomite Shrine in the Negev. Monograph Series of the Insitute of Archaeology Tel Aviv University 11. Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology. Ben-Ami, D. 2006 Early Iron Age Cult Places—New Evidence from Tel Hazor. Tel Aviv 33: 121–33. Ben-Tor, A., and Portugali, Y. 1987 Tell Qiri: A Village in the Jezreel Valley. Qedem 24. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Bernett, M., and Keel, O. 1998 Mond, Stierund Kult am Stadttor: Die Stele von Betsaida (et-Tell). OBO 161. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Rupprecht. Bloch-Smith, E. 2002 The Politics of Ritual Space. Pp. 83–94 in Sacred Time, Sacred Place: Archaeology and the Religion of Israel, ed. B. M. Gittlen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2005 Maṣṣebōt in the Israelite Cult. Pp. 28–39 in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, ed. J. Day. LHBOTS 422. London: T. & T. Clark. Biran, A. 1994 Biblical Dan. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 1998 Sacred Spaces of Standing Stones, High Places and Cult Objects at Tel Dan. Biblical Archaeology Review 24: 38–45, 70. Crowfoot, J. W.; Kenyon, K. M.; and Sukenik, E. L. 1942 Samaria-Sebaste I: The Buildings of Samaria. London: Palestine Exploration Fund. Crowfoot, J. W.; Crowfoot G. M.; and Kenyon, K. M. 1957 Samaria Sebaste III: The Objects from Samaria. London: Palestine Exploration Fund. Daviau, P. M. M. 2006 Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine in Its Landscape: Iron Age Towns, Forts, and Shrines. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 122: 14–30.

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2007 Stone altars large and small: The Iron Age altars from Ḫirbet el-Mudēyine ( Jordan). Pp. 125–49 in Bilder als Quellen / Images as Sources: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Artefacts and the Bible Inspired by the Work of Othmar Keel, ed. S. Bickel et al. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Special Volume. Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Daviau, P. M. M., and Steiner, M. 2000 A Moabite Sanctuary at Khirbat al-Mudayna. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 320: 1–21. Dever, W. G. 2005 Did God have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Dothan, M., and Freedman, D. N. 1967 Ashdod I: The First Season of Excavations. ʿAtiqot 7. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Dothan, T. 1982 The Philistines and their Material Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press. 1990 Ekron of the Philistines, Part I. Biblical Archaeology Review 16/1: 26–36. 2003 The Aegean and the Orient: Cultic Interactions. Pp. 189–211 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbours, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Dothan, T., and Gitin, S. 1993 Miqne, Tel (Ekron). Pp. 1051–59 in vol. 3 of NEAEHL. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 2008 Miqne, Tel (Ekron). Pp. 1952–58 in vol. 5 of NEAEHL. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society / Carta. Eshel, I., and Prag, K., eds. 1995 Excavations by K. M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961–1967, Vol. IV: The Iron Age Cave Deposits on the South-East Hill and Isolated Burials Elsewhere. BAMA 6. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Franken, H. J., and Steiner, M. L. 1990 Excavations in Jerusalem 1961–1967, Vol. II: The Iron Age Extramural Quarter on the South-East Hill. British Academy Monographs in Archaeology No. 2. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fritz, V. 1977 Tempel und Zelt: Studien zu Tempelbau in Israel und zu dem Zeltheiligtum der Priesterschrift. Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 47. Neukirchen: Neukirchner Verlag. Fritz, V., and Kempinski, A. 1983 Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen auf der Ḫirbet el-Mšāš (Tēl Māśōś). Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz. Gitin, S. 1989 Incense Altars from Ekron, Israel and Judah: Context and Typology. Eretz-Israel 20: 52–67. 1990 Ekron of the Philistines Part II: Olive-Oil Suppliers to the World. Biblical Archaeology Review 16/2: 33–42, 59. 1993 Seventh Century b.c.e. Cultic Elements at Ekron. Pp. 248–58 in Biblical Archaeology Today 1990. Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology Jerusalem. June-July 1990, ed. A. Biran and J. Aviram. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 2002 The Four Horned Altar and Sacred Space. Pp. 95–124 in Sacred Time, Sacred Place: Archaeology and the Religion of Israel, ed. B. M. Gittlen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2003 Israelite and Philistine Cult and the Archaeological Record in Iron Age II: The “Smoking Gun” Phenomenon. Pp. 279–95 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and their Neighbors. From the Bronze Age through Roman Palestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Gitin, S., and Cogan, M. 1999 A New Type of Dedicatory Inscription from Ekron. Israel Exploration Journal 49: 193–202. Gitin, S., and Dothan, T. 1987 The Rise and Fall of Ekron of the Philistines. Biblical Archaeologist 50: 197–222. Givon, S. 1999 The Three-roomed House from Tel Harassim, Israel. Levant 31: 173–77. Herr, B. 2000 “Deinem Haus gebührt Heiligkeit, Jhwh, alle Tage.” Typen und Funktionen von Sakralbauten im vorexilischen Israel. Bonner Biblische Beiträge 124. Berlin: Hain. Herzog, Z., et al. 1984 The Israelite Fortress at Arad. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 254: 1–34 Herzog, Z., Rapp, G., and Negbi, O. 1988 Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel. Publications of the Institute of Archaeology 8. Minneapolis and Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Institute of Archaeology. Herzog, Z. 2001 The Date of the Temple at Arad: Reassessment of the Stratigraphy and the Implications for the History of Religion in Judah.” Pp. 156–78 in Studies in the Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Jordan, ed. A. Mazar. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement 331. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Holladay, J. S. 1987 Religion in Israel and Judah under the Monarchy: An Explicitly Archaeological Approach. Pp. 249–300 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. P. D. Miller et al. Philadelphia: Fortress. Holland, T. A. 1977 A Study of Palestinian Iron Age Baked Clay Figurines, with Special Reference to Jerusalem Cave 1. Levant 9: 121–55. Hurowitz, V. A. 1992 I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement 115. ASOR Monograph Series 5. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 2005 YHWH’s Exalted Houese: Aspects of the Design and Symbolism of Salomon’s Temple, Pp. 63–110 in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, ed. J. Day. Library of Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament Studies 422. London: T. & T. Clark. Jacobs, P. 2001 Reading Religious Artifacts: The Shrine Room at Judahite Tell Halif. Journal of Biblical Studies Issue 2: http://journalofbiblicalstudies.org.Issue2./Articles/Tell_Halif/multi​ .html Keel, O., and Uehlinger, Chr. 1998 Göttinnen: Götter und Gottessymbole. Questiones Disputatae 134. 4th ed. Freiburg, Basel, Vienna: Herder. Kempinski, A., and Reich J., eds. 1992 The Architecture of Ancient Israel: From the Prehistoric to the Persian Periods. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Kenyon, K. M. 1974 Digging up Jerusalem. London: Ernest Benn. King, P. J., and Stager, L. E. 2001 Life in Biblical Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Kletter, R. 1996 The Judean Pillar-Figurines and the Archaeology of Ashera. BAR International Series 636. Oxford: BAR.

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Loud, G. 1948 Megiddo II: Seasons of 1935–39. OIP 62. Chicago: Oriental Institute. MacKay, D. 1995 Tel Miqne–Ekron. Report of the 1994 Spring Excavations in Field IISW: The Olive Oil Industrial Zone of the Late Iron Age II. Text. Data Base and Plates. Jerusalem. Marquet-Krause, J. 1949 Les Fouilles de ʿAi (et-Tell) 1933–1935. Bibliothèque Archéologique et Historique 45. Paris: Geuthner. Mazar, A. 1980 Excavations at Tell Qasile I. Qedem 12. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. 1982 The ‘Bull Site’: An Iron I Open Cult Place. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 247: 27–42. 1985 Excavations at Tell Qasile II. Qedem 20. Jerusalem Institute of Archaeology. Hebrew University of Jerusalem. 1990 Archaeology of the Land of the Bible: 10.000–586 b.c.e. Anchor Bible Reference Library. New York: Doubleday. 1992 Temples of the Middle and Late Bronze Ages and the Iron Age. Pp. 161–87 in The Architecture of Ancient Israel: From the Prehistoric to the Persian Periods, ed. A. Kempinski and R. Reich. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. 1997 Timnah (Tel Batash) I. Qedem 37. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. 1999 The 1997–1998 Excavations at Tel Reḥov: Preliminary Report. Israel Exploration Journal 49: 1–42. Mazar, A., and Kelm, G. L. 1993 Tel Batash. Pp. 152–57 in vol. 1 of NEAEHL. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Carta. Mazar, A., and Panitz-Cohen, N. 2001 Timnah (Tel Batash) II. Qedem 42. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Mazar, E., and Mazar, B. 1989 Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount: The Ophel of Biblical Jerusalem. Qedem 29. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Meyers, C. 1988 Discovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context. New York: Oxford University Press. 2001 From Household to House of Yahweh: Womens´s Religious Culture in Ancient Israel. Pp. 277–303 in Congress Volume: Basel 2001, ed. A. Lemaire. Leiden: Brill. 2003 Material Remains and Social Relations: Women’s Culture in Agrarian Households of the Iron Age. Pp. 425–44 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and their Neighbours. From the Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Moorey, P. R. S. 2003 Idols of the People: Miniature Images of Clay in the Ancient Near East. The Schweich Lectures of the British Academy 2001. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nakhai, B. A. 2001 Archaeology and the Religions of Canaan and Israel. ASOR Books 7. Atlanta: American Schools of Oriental Research. Rothenberg, B. 1973 Timna: Das Tal der byblischen Kupferminen. Neue Entdeckungen der Archäologie. Bergisch Gladbach: Lübbe. Schmitt, R. 1999 Philistäische Terrakottafigurinen. Ugarit-Forschungen 31: 576–676. 2004 Magie im Alten Testament. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 313. Münster: Ugarit.

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2007 Die nachexilische Religion Israels: Bekenntnisreligion oder kosmotheistische Religion? Pp.147–57 in Primäre und sekundäre Religion als Kategorie der Religionsgeschichte des Alten Testaments, ed. A. Wagner. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 364. Berlin: de Gruyter. 2008a Ashdod and the Material Remains of Domestic Cults in the Philistine Coastal Plain. Pp.159–70 in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan. Oxford: Blackwell. 2008b “Kultinventare aus Wohnhäusern als materielle Elemente familiärer Religion im alten Israel,” Pp 441–77 in Berührungspunkte: Studien zur Sozial- und Religionsgeschichte Israels und seiner Umwelt: Festschrift Rainer Albertz, ed. I. Kottsieper, R. Schmitt, and J. Wöhrle. AOAT 350. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Schumacher, G. 1908 Tell el-Mutesellim: Bericht über die 1903 bis 1905 mit Unterstützung Sr. Majestät des Deutschen Kaisers und der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft vom Deutschen Verein zur Erforschung Palästinas veranstalteten Ausgrabungen. Band I: Fundbericht. Leipzig: Haupt. Stern, E. 2001 Archaeology of the land of the Bible, Volume II: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods, 732–332 bce. Anchor Bible Reference Library. New York : Doubleday. Toorn, K. van der 1996 Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel: Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life. SHCANE 7. Leiden: Brill. 2003 Nine Months among the Peasants in the Palestinian Highlands: An Anthropological Perspective on Local Religion in the Early Iron Age. Pp. 393–410 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and their Neighbours. From the Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Ussishkin, D. 1989 Schumacher’s Shrine in Building 338 at Megiddo. Israel Exploration Journal 39: 148–172. 1993 Fresh Examination of Old Excavations: Sanctuaries in the first Temple Period. Pp. 67– 85 in Biblical Archaeology Today 1990: Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology Jerusalem, June–July 1990, ed. A. Biran and J. Aviram. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Ussishkin, D., ed. 2004 The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994). 4 vols. Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 22. Tel Aviv: Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology. Weippert, H. 1988 Palästina in vorhellenistischer Zeit. Handbuch der Archäologie. Vorderasien 2 and 1. Munich: Beck. Yassine, K. 1984 The Open Court Sanctuary from the Iron Age I at Tell el-Mazār Mound A. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 100: 108–18. Zevit, Z. 2001 The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. London: Continuum. Zwickel, W. 1994 Der Tempelkult in Kanaan und Israel. FAT 10. Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck). Zwingenberger, U. Dorfkultur der frühen Eisenzeit in Mittelpalästina. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 180. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht.

The Textual and Social Embeddedness of Israelite Family Religion Who Were the Players? Where Were the Stages? Ziony Zevit American Jewish University

1. Introduction Biblical texts contain two types of information bearing on family religion: prescriptions for present and future behavior and descriptions of past and present behavior. When historians recognize congruencies between prescriptions and descriptions in texts or their underlying traditions that stem from different sources, they deduce reasonably that the behavior or institution mentioned was present in ancient Israel. Extrabiblical evidence often helps to validate the deduction (as other studies in this volume indicate), but often such evidence is lacking. Most prescriptions considered below are embedded in texts composed retrospectively. Their Iron Age authors conventionally addressed issues of their own day by positing that prescriptions to remedy them had been provided in the past. From the standpoint of ancient readers, the audience of these authors, narratives in which prescriptions are embedded informed them that usually Yhwh, speaking through Moses, or sometimes Moses himself had anticipated Israel’s concerns and questions, and had already provided guidance. Even though many cultic practices were part of an ancient Near Eastern koiné and thus culturally normed even before Israel emerged as a people, the tradition of ex post facto formulation and retrospective authorization anchored them in narratives about Israel’s past (Weinfeld 2004: 34–63). This Israelite cultural convention amounted to a claim for their authority and authenticity even as it determined the semantic of such practices within the cultic life of Israel. 1 This convention indicates overtly that the ancient writers sensed the pastness of their (real or imagined) past as well as the relevance of this past to their own time. Their deployment of historical narratives as a major rhetorical device reveals two 1.  Deligitimizing claims could be phrased “other gods that you did not know, you and your ancestors” (Deut 13:7) while an attempt to legitimize a new cult was advanced on historical ground: “we will . . . offer incense to the Queen of Heavens . . . as we did, we and our fathers, our kings . . .” ( Jer 44:15–19). Jeremiah denied the claim of those practicing a cult involving the tophet on the grounds that God had not commanded such rituals ( Jer 7:31).

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assumptions of those who historicized the origins of Israel’s cultic and other practices. (1) Those for whom they wrote shared a sense of obligation to conform their behavior to ancient decrees considered authoritative. (2) Their audiences considered themselves members of consanguineously connected social groups descended from the people mentioned in the narratives to whom prescriptions were first given. This second assumption is crucial for understanding what an ancient Israelite of my imagining might have identified as family. Descriptions of how people behaved in the past were intended mainly to inform and to educate, more often than not through the presentation of negative examples illustrating misbehavior and its consequences. Read with historical-critical eyes, descriptions assist in comprehending part of what was considered common knowledge by at least some in ancient Israel. The objective of this study, focused mainly on biblical texts, is to clarify the terms family and religion within the social context of ancient Israel from the tenth through the 6th centuries b.c.e. It helps distinguish between what might have been the ancient equivalent of family religion and what the phrase evokes in twenty-first century Western European and North American (mainly Protestant) contexts. This distinction is required to avoid the anachronistic fallacy in thinking historically about the topic. It also undertakes to describe who practiced what and where they did so. I undertake this project in full knowledge that it can provide only an incomplete historical description owing to the limitations inherent in biblical literature itself. This study approaches religion as a matter of competent public performance, attempting to avoid issues of belief or confessional ideology and matters of inner convictions wherever possible. It gains purchase on selected aspects of Israelite religion through data from the documents underlying biblical books and, sometimes, through discernible traditions underlying the documents. When read along with the other chapters in this volume that focus on archaeological, epigraphic, and anthropological data, introducing them into the discourse about family and household religion, this study intends to contribute a dash of controlled realism to far-reaching conclusions and thereby spoil some good arguments. My working hypothesis concerning Pentateuchal sources is that J, E, and JE are to be dated between the end of the tenth and the end of the eighth centuries b.c.e.; pre-D and pre-P between the ninth and 7th century; D and P (including H) between the eighth and the end of the Neo-Babylonian period, ca. 539 b.c.e. The Deuteronomistic writers are to be dated between the last quarter of the 7th century and the early part of the Neo-Babylonian period, but most of the material in the Deuteronomistic histories, edited finally after 586 b.c.e., was based on texts composed between the end of the tenth and the beginning of the 6th century.

2.  Defining Religion in “Israelite Family Religion” In 2001, I presented the following definition of religion: Israelite religions are the varied, symbolic expressions of, and appropriate responses to the deities and powers that groups or communities deliberately affirmed as being of unrestricted value to them within their worldview. (Zevit 2001: 5)

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Although adequate for the work in which it appeared, this definition can be improved for a discourse honing in on Israelite family religion. The phrase “deliberately affirmed as being of unrestricted value to them” is inappropriate. It smacks too much of creedalism, of scholasticism and theological certitude, too much of the High Middle Ages, and not enough of the Iron Age. It ascribes too much theological acuteness to people not given to thinking in abstract categories. Accordingly, I propose that the definition should read “appropriate responses to the deities and powers known to be of major and minor practical relevance to them.” This is appropriate because, when the deities and powers were no longer considered to be of major or minor importance—that is, when they were known to be ineffective—they were no longer addressed. One clear example is found in the statement of Judahite refugees in Egypt to Jeremiah. They argued that, whereas Yhwh had not provided for their welfare, they would resume worshiping the Queen of Heaven whom they and their ancestors had once worshiped, a goddess who in the past had indeed addressed their wants and needs ( Jer 44:15–19): We will do everything that we said—to offer incense to the Queen of Heaven and to pour libations to her, as we used to do, we and our fathers, our kings and our officials, in the towns of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem. For then we had plenty of food, we were well-off, and saw no misfortune. ( Jer 44:17)

In effect, they indicated their belief in the irrelevance of Yhwh through the worship of the goddess that they legitimized on both pragmatic grounds and by an appeal to the historical precedent of ancestral practices. I also propose a second, subtler change, not in vocabulary but in the meaning of a crucial word. The term religion should be understood as having an exceeding strong social dimension. This insight I owe to Augustine of Hippo (354–430 c.e.). In City of God, Augustine objected to the use of Latin religio as an adequate descriptor of what he considered Christianity to be: The term religio seems to signify more particularly the cult offered to God, rather than cult in general; and that is why our translators have used it to render the Greek word thréskeia (which refers to normed cultural practices and behaviors— zz). However, in Latin usage—and by that I do not mean in the speech of the illiterate, but even in the language of the highly educated—religio is something observed in human relationships, affinities, and ties of every sort. And so, the term does not avoid ambiguity when the worship of God is in question. We cannot say confidently that religio means only the worship of God, since it seems that this word has been detached from its normal meaning in which it refers to the proper observance of duties in human relationships. (City of God, book X, ch. 1) 2

The imprecise sense of religio in Latin observed by Augustine before medieval theologians redefined it for Christianity should be maintained for discussions of Israelite religion. 3 The following analyses will indicate that it is most appropriate. 2.  This translation is a hybrid formed from two translations on the basis of my own reading of the Latin. See Augustine 1984: 373; 1997: 253. 3. In The Western Construction of Religion: Myths, Knowledge and Ideology, D. Dubuisson traces the evolution of Latin religio from its common, imprecise usage in Latin through its common imprecise

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Somewhere, my definition should indicate that Israelite religions involved relationships giving rise to acceptable and appropriate practices and behaviors within and between the following groups: (1) living, physical humans organized in social and power hierarchies; (2) living non-physical powers and deities arranged in (social and) power hierarchies; and (3) dead, non-physical yet motile and cognizant humans in Sheol. Social ties and duties extended from all groups to all groups. All was religion because physical and metaphysical beings constituted a single polity in the single cosmos (Zevit 2009: 465–69). Israel’s religio also included ties within and between the social units constituting the ʿam—understood on etymological and pragmatic grounds as the related people, Yhwh, and other powers. 4 Social and cultic niceties and rituals maintained these ties. To be an Israelite meant to share the Israelite way of life, to consider the world through its worldview, to be woven into the fabric of its coherent socio-religio-cultic world, to bear the obligations that this world imposed as a natural part of life, and to enjoy the rewards of security provided by belonging. It meant being, doing, seeing, and thinking Israelite. This description is intended purposely to blur distinctions between our Western categories of civilization, (secular) law, religion, and ethnicity (Faust 2006: 15–19, 92–107). Israelite religion was an ethno-religion, common to people who considered themselves to be of common descent and therefore, in some way, kin. 5 Accordingly, I propose the following definition as appropriate for the current discussion of Israelite family religion: Israelite religion consists of the varied, symbolic expressions and appropriate responses, by families, unrelated groups, and individuals, to each other and to the deities and powers known to be of major and minor practical relevance to them within their worldview.

The advantage of this definition lies in its acknowledging that religion is culturally embedded, an idea at odds with most common-sense understandings of religion in the West that are modeled on Christianity. In the course of its own history, Christianity disembedded itself from other ethnic, identity-forming cultural practices, developing as a sociological fact what Paul had proposed as a theological description: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female: for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3:28). Israelite religion—a historical phenomenon within pre-Hellenistic, ancient Near Eastern culture— was an Israelite identity-forming cultural practice (Zevit 2003: 226–27).

usages today and analyzes the advantages and disadvantages of using categories derived from Western, Christian traditions in the study of “other” religious cultures (2003: 53–76). 4.  The etymological cognates of Hebrew ʿam in Nabatean Aramaic and Safaitic Arabic indicate that the lexeme marks a social unit whose members are bound by a close degree of kinship (BarAsher 2004–7: 3–9). I regularly translate ʿam by “related people” in this study. 5. This broad understanding is hardly new. It was widely accepted at the beginning of the twentieth century by biblicists aware of Max Weber’s multifaceted sociological approach to the study of religious civilizations. Biblicists, however, have never been particularly fond of Weber and rarely consider his work.

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3.  Finding the Israelite Family in “ Israelite Family Religion” Contemporary discussions of family and derivative expressions such as family values and family religion would have been incomprehensible to Israelites. They tend to be based on an image of a so-called “traditional” family consisting of two heterosexual, married parents and their children living in their own house. This modernist comprehension builds on ideas developed after the Enlightenment reconceived medieval ideas about the nature of individuals and their autonomous minds and after the Industrial Revolution redefined families socially and economically. Our notions are quintessentially Western and urban. Social practices in the West since the 1960s have redrawn the image of what constitutes a family. Nowadays, the term is applied to diverse groups and used in expressions that indicate different types of social arrangements: blended families (whether or not the parents are married) that may include different ethnicities and religions, single-parent families, expanded families, same-sex couples with or without children, and so on. The key concept underlying these images appears to be based on the legal and/or consensual relationships between adults and legally defined relationships between the children and at least one of the adults. The sine qua non of groups to which family is commonly applied appears to be residence in a common domicile. In other words, an equation of sorts is made between household and family based on the intentions of the economically responsible adults in residence. Given the variety of families in contemporary Western society, the legal bases by which congeries of people are recognized as families, and some sensitivity toward differences in social structures that anthropologists describe around the world, nothing remotely similar should be assumed automatically about family in ancient Israel (Meyers 1997: 13). In searching for the Israelite family, I am actually attempting to discern the functional equivalent of the contemporary Western, nuclear family in what is knowable today about ancient Israel. To make this point from a different perspective: were I to invite an ancient Israelite to bring his most significant and closest blood relatives to my family picnic, I should be prepared to be surprised by the people that he would bring and by their number. Consequently, it is necessary to discover the Israelite family, whatever it was, and its religious practices through an analysis of literary texts. Such a study may then be complemented and fleshed out with studies of relevant material artifacts.

*   *   * The social structure of ancient Israel is best described as consisting of nested social hierarchies. The Achan story in Joshua describes Israel’s social structure as perceived by a sixth century b.c.e. writer. In searching for the individual Israelite who stole proscribed booty, ḥērem, at Jericho and who was deemed responsible for Israel’s military disaster at the Ai, Israelites are commanded to prepare themselves for a ritual whose objective is to identify the culprit. The descending social order for winnowing out the culprit is first by tribe, šēbeṭ, then by clan, mišpāḥāh, extended family or sub-clan, bêt ʾāb, and finally, by nuclear

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groups headed by a male, geber ( Josh 7:14–18). This demarcates a four-tiered system. All Israelites knew their place in every tier of this system. From the end of the story, in Josh 7:25–26, where Achan is stoned while his sons, daughters, livestock and animals are burned and then stoned, we learn that Achan, his nuclear group, along with his livestock, comprised an organic, cultic unit. To contemporary sensibilities, there is a moral problem in that persons unaware of Achan’s misappropriation and his animals incapable of ethical comprehension were executed. But within ancient Israel’s comprehension of the story, all were infected by ḥērem. Those dependent on Achan for their social identity were treated as extensions of his self, liable for punishment with him. Those at the same social level as Achan, brothers or sisters or cousins, were not. In the Deuteronomistic social terminology of Joshua 7, culpability only flowed down from the contaminated node of the geber ; it did not extend upward to the bêt ʾāb. Israelite conventions about social hierarchy determined and delimited the minimal, relevant cultic unit. 6 The viral miasma of ḥērem infected a corporate entity that was a basic building block of the Israelite families but not its quintessential expression. 7 The death of Achan and those infected by him had no impact on the larger bêt ʾāb consisting of all brothers and their families, uncles from the father’s side, and male cousins and their families. It might also include sisters and aunts and their descendents if they were married into the same tribe at some level. A similar notion of miasmic contamination, though ḥērem was not involved, underlies the miraculous punishments of Dathan, Abiram, and Korah along with their wives, children, infants, and personal possessions (Num 16:25–35). It is significant that both a JE text of the ninth–eighth century b.c.e., the Korah story, and a Deuteronomistic text of the sixth century, the Achan story, treat what we consider the nuclear group as a dispensable corporate unit under extreme circumstances. 8 It suggests the sociological reality of their audiences, who could readily comprehend why uninvolved people, animals, and property were executed without requiring additional explanation. It also indicates that, in cultic contexts, the individuality of the geber enveloped his nuclear group. 6.  Regarding the terminology: the terms for tribe and clan could interchange, depending on perspective. For instance, in the Achan story, Judah is referred to first as a šēbeṭ and then as a mišpāḥāh ( Josh 7:16–17). The second reference apparently refers to Judah as a subset of Israel. What was most likely self-apparent to the Deuteronomistic writer remains confusing to contemporary readers. 7.  For details, see the classical study of Robinson 1964: 1–5. Though known to biblicists, Robinson’s coinage “corporate personality” and the idea of intimate communitarianism in a tribal society that it represents have come to be considered quaintly outdated and irrelevant; it is neither. As events in Afghanistan, Iran, and Iraq and adjacent Middle Eastern countries have instructed Europeans and Americans at the beginning of the twenty-first century, tribalism conjoined with religious idealism can exercise great control over the lives of individuals and be a major political force as well. Robinson’s term remains a useful descriptor. R. de Vaux’s reconstruction of Israelite tribal structure and inner relationships and his understanding of them as nomads or semi-nomads is based on his personal knowledge of Arab Bedouin and his understanding of nomadism in the 1950s (1961: 3–14). Despite the many similarities between his conclusions and mine, the differences are explained as due to my assumption about the date of the literature and to the fact that I assume that biblical texts describe tribalism in a mainly settled, sedentary community. 8.  In the concocted story of the Tekoite woman that involved fratricide, her deceased husband’s clan was willing to execute the last remaining male of his nuclear family unit, thus terminating the line. David, who halted the act of vengeance, may have viewed it as constituting the elimination of a bêt ʾāb (2 Sam 14:5–7).

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On the basis of these texts, I conclude that the most important, self-perpetuating sociological unit in ancient Israel to which family may be applied is not the dispensable nuclear group that may have comprised an individual household but the bêt ʾāb. It is there that the Israelite family is to be sought because it provided the network of overlapping relationships attached to rights and obligations that protected individuals and determined their status. The fictional Israelite whom I invited to my family picnic would show up with his bêt ʾāb, grandparents, uncles, cousins, and all. The number of people might increase significantly were he to have read Lev 25:48b–49. These verses, discussing the redemption of an Israelite who indentured himself to a non-Israelite resident alien, describes who is obligated to redeem him: “One of his brethren shall redeem him: either his uncle or his uncle’s son shall redeem him, or any of his flesh, of his clan, will redeem him. . . .” My Israelite could show up with his complete clan in tow (Meyers 1997: 17, 21). 9 The bêt ʾāb, as a constituent part of the clan, defined individuals and nuclear groups, providing them with a socio-religio-economic identity. Its leaders bore responsibility for conserving order in all these spheres. 10

4.  Tribal Responsibility for Social Stability and Cultic Solidarity Deut 1:9–18 is a 7th-century b.c.e. recasting of two older E narratives from the ninth–eighth century b.c.e.—Exod 18:13–27, in which Jethro suggested a system of decentralized adjudication to Moses, and Num 11:14–17 + 25–29, in which Yhwh initiated the system. The descriptive narrative of Deut 1:9–18 contains a prescriptive section providing for an informal court system to be set up by individual tribes for themselves that would address “troubles, burdens, disputes” (Deut 1:12). Viewing tribes from the vantage point of a loose organization set up to address conflict resolution, the prescription deploys a different set of terms to refer to their sociological groupings: Bring for yourselves wise, understanding, and discerning men for your tribes and I will appoint them as your heads. . . . And I took the heads of your tribes, wise and discerning men, and appointed them heads over you: chiefs of thousands, chiefs of hundreds, chiefs of fifties, and chiefs of tens, and officials for your tribes. And I commanded your judges at that time saying: ‘Listen between your 9. Carol Meyers points to archaeological data indicating that women of nuclear groups shared household tasks or did them together in one place, more or less living in each others’ domiciles (1997: 35–37). For example, she interprets the discovery of many grindstones in a single household, more than would be necessary for that particular household, as an indication that local women gathered together in that place to prepare bread (2007: 75–76). 10.  This conclusion has implications for the study of Israelite domestic architecture. Most studies of the use of space in Israelite houses assume that each of the four major areas into which they were divided was for a single type of use. This, I suspect is because the Israelite home is imagined to be like the home in the contemporary West, essentially private space. If however, the home was designed to accommodate a regular flow of extended family members who came and went often and freely, might we not expect at least one large dual use area, wherein people sat to eat and then slept on pallets or mats that were usually piled out of the way until needed? The miṭṭāh was something on which people could either sit or recline (1 Sam 28:23; Ps 6:7). Larger houses may have had a particular storage niche for them, as did the temple (2 Kings 11:2; 2 Chr 22:11).

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brethren and you will judge rightly between a man and between his fellow or between his alien-sojourner.’ (Deut 1:13–16)

The groups described as “thousands, hundreds, fifties, and tens” points to an administrative break-down of Israelite society into a four-tiered system. The semantics of the title, ŝār, rendered ‘chief’, indicates, perhaps, that chiefs were endowed with commanding authority to decide matters when participants in a dispute could not be prodded to reach an agreement on their own. This is supported by the reference to them as judges. 11 The sociological problem presented by the prescription is how its set of terms based on numbers is to be mapped onto the more common set. 12 In attempting to work this out, my starting point is the observation that the institution of these ŝārîm, chiefs, was designed so that clans nucleated into nominal tribes could function peacefully by settling disputes and arguments without physical coercion that might disrupt the social order (Deut 1:12). 13 That is why wisdom was deemed a necessary quality in an adjudicator. I speculate that a “chief of thousands” may have dealt with disputes between the highest organized sub-tribal groups, clans, mišpāḥōt. In larger tribes, clans might have included thousands of people. This is why Gideon refers to his clan or subgroup of clans as ʾlpy, my thousand, when he asking his divine visitor, “With what will I save Israel? My clan subgroup is the poorest in Manasseh, and I am the youngest in my bêt ʾāb” ( Judg 6:15). 14 The final words uttered by Gideon may be paraphrased, “and I head the smallest nuclear group of my extended family.” If so, a chief of tens would have resolved disputes at the lowest definable level of the social hierarchy, between members of an individual household headed by a geber. Some heterogeneous data support part of this contention. In his 2001 palaeo-demographic study of Israel based on the sophisticated combination of Syro-Palestinian archaeology with social anthropology, David Schloen concludes that the average nuclear family consisted of 7 people, except for a few years when grandparents may still have been living. Then a nuclear group could consist of up to 10 individuals (Schloen 2001: 150). This is supported by the Lot story, which distinguishes between a household and a nuclear group. Lot’s household in Sodom theoretically could have consisted of the husband, wife, sons, daughters, and sons-in law (Gen 19:12–14). In the case of Lot, a person with no roots or network of blood relatives in Sodom, his nuclear group headed by himself, a geber, consisted 11.  In addition to these, a group called šōṭĕrîm, individuals charged with enforcing decisions was also appointed. Šōṭĕrîm are mentioned as part of the judiciary next to judges (Deut 16:18), as part of tribal structure next to the zĕqēnîm (Deut 1:15; 29:9), in the military (Deut 20:9), and in Chronicles as part of the royal administration (2 Chr 26:11). 12.  The social hierarchy reflected in the titles using terms for “thousands, hundreds” and so on is interesting, particularly since similar titles occur also in military contexts (1 Sam 8:12; 17:18; 18:13; 2 Kings 1:9). The overlap between the “civilian” and “military” terminology may be due, in part, to the fact that the military organization that evolved under the monarchy included tribal militias alongside a standing army (Yadin 1973: 356–57, 359–60). 13.  The instruction to judges in Deut 16:18–20 that they not accept šōḥād refers to a payment for the act of judging, not to an under-the-table bribe made as the price for a particular verdict. 14.  Evidence for the geographic distribution of Manassite clans by name is found in the Samaria ostraca from the beginning of the eighth century b.c.e. These indicate that clans functioned as administrative units of some sort in the northern kingdom.

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of Mr. and Mrs. Lot, four daughters and two sons-in-law, a total of eight people, even though his personal household excluded the two married daughters and their husbands. The chief of hundreds would have resolved issues between ill-defined sub-clans, while the chief of fifties would have addressed problems between extended families, bātê ʾāb, within the same clan or between sub-clans. Such a system of compulsory, binding mediation could have worked well in the Iron Age so long as the adjudicator was selected or assigned from a neutral family or clan uninvolved in the dispute and not bound by any familial obligations to be loyal and supportive of a contending party. Prestigious men from lineage A would have been available to adjudicate issues between individuals and groups from lineages B, C, and D. I suspect that most arbitration would have involved what Western legal traditions designate “civil” law: disputed matters involving the land-holdings and livestock of individuals and clans ( Josh 13:15, 24; Num 27:6–11; 36:6–9; Deut 25:5–10; 2 Sam 5–10; Ruth 4:1–13) and claims for indemnification arising from disputes over damage, misappropriation, theft, and wages. 15 (Outright crimes calling for punishment in order to preserve the public order may have been handled at an appropriate sociological level recognized as having the right to execute punishment as in the story of the Tekoite woman’s sons in 2 Sam 14:7.) This could have been managed easily because, as Larry Stager and Karel van der Toorn have suggested on the basis of biblical, archaeological, and ethnographic evidence, Israelite settlements and towns were most likely clan-based, with individual bātê ʾāb dwelling in insula characterized by clusters of dwellings (Stager 1985: 17–23; van der Toorn 1996: 190–92; Stager and King 2001: 13–14, 18, 209). Thus, the manifest expression of kin groups in towns of the preexilic period defined sociological units for whom adjudicators from other kin groups living in different insula or towns would have to be found. The Deuteronomic reformulation and interpretation of the earlier Elohistic stories does not so much contradict as blend them into a story emphasizing the autonomous role of the tribes themselves in selecting their judges. Though Yhwh may have instructed and Jethro may have suggested, in the Deuteronomist’s retelling, it was Moses actually who had the tribes initiate a decentralized system of external mediators that he ratified. These etiologies provided a useful institution with a historical pedigree. Adjudicators were selected by tribesmen from their own extended kinship groups—no matter how such kinship was constructed—to defuse inner-group tensions that could rend the social fabric of Israelite society. The complex self-regulating tribalism projected in these related texts is a preexilic social phenomenon. Nothing like it can be reconstructed from exilic or postexilic texts. 16 15.  What I have in mind here is akin to B. S. Jackson’s proposal about how the laws of Exod 21:1–22:16 were used. According to Jackson, these laws, addressing topics such as slavery, various forms and degrees of physical aggression and assault, bailment, theft, and the like, are best interpreted as guides for negotiation based on an intuition of what constitutes justice, custom, and precedent. Jackson explicitly rejects the notion that they were rules that judges had to apply. I question only his strong claim that no third-party adjudicators had to be involved. I argue that those helping disputants sort out their conflict in its social and situational context would have been best able to consider, interpret, and apply them. See Jackson 2006: 1–10, 23–31, 35–39. 16.  The fact of the deportations led to the breakdown of clans and thus of tribalism owing primarily to the major dislocation of traditional leaders who comprised social elites and even of whole

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Two descriptive narratives support this hypothesis. The description of Samuel riding a judicial circuit comprising the south Ephraim town of Bethel and Benjaminite towns Gilgal, Mizpeh, and Ramah—a place at which he is credited with having constructed an altar for Yhwh—suggests that he was functioning as a high level adjudicator, as a chief of thousands and perhaps of hundreds, dealing with disputes between clans and within sub-clans in Ephraimite and Benjaminite territory (1 Sam 7:15, 18). 17 His father came from Mt. Ephraim, but he himself dwelt at Ramah, in Benjaminite territory. Deborah is described as adjudicating from a fixed place between Ramah and Bethel in the southern part of Mt. Ephraim ( Judg 4:4). The editorial comment in Judg 4:5 that Israelites came to her so that their cases could be adjudicated is intended to indicate that her prestige extended far beyond her locale. This enables readers of the Deborah-Barak story to understand why her authority extended to the northernmost tribes of Israel. Other casual references to judges suggest that the kinbased system of adjudicators continued until the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 (Isa 1:26; Hos 7:7; 13:10; Ps 2:10; 148:11–12; 2 Chr 1:2). Adjudicators whose authority derived from royal appointment may have been deployed in fortified cities (Deut 17:9, 12), including Jerusalem (2 Chr 19:5–6, 8). 18 In the former case, residents in royal service had no local roots, so their cases had to be addressed by bureaucrats, while in the case of Jerusalem the concerns of levites and priests had to be addressed also. One example of the existence of the system prescribed and described in biblical texts is attested in the fourteen-line judicial petition on the Hashavyahu ostracon dated to the seventh century b.c.e. Addressed to an adjudicator mentioned only by his title, śr, ‘chief’, the petitioner requests that the chief order Hashavyahu to return his garment. Hashavyahu had confiscated it on the grounds that the petitioner had not completed a work assignment involving harvesting. The petitioner, however,

communities from their holdings, to the abandonment of holdings, and to the commoditization of extra-urban land. No longer grounded in spatial reality, the broad, socio-juridical-cultic functions of clans collapsed. Mesopotamian conventions allowed for squatting and taking over abandoned land, with the result that many traditional holdings were lost to the preexilic clans by the end of the NeoBabylonian period (2009: 98–99). Although local nuclear groups and bātê ʾāb continued to function and be led by prestigious zĕqēnîm, practical organization at the level of sub-clan, clan, and land-based tribes ceased to exist except in nostalgic memory. 17.  Samuel’s sons are described as having held positions in Beersheba for some time (1 Sam 8:2). This notice makes no sense, given what appears to have been the role of such adjudicators within tribes unless we assume that extended families or sub-clans from Benajamin had migrated south and settled near Beersheba. If, however, Samuel is viewed as a Judahite somehow—see the “Efrati” designation in his name—it may make sense. The so-called minor judges with their numerous circuit-riding progeny ( Judg 10:1–5; 12:8–15) appear to belong to this picture, but the notices about them, as with Samuel’s sons, are too laconic to support speculative conclusions that might be drawn from them. 18.  The prescription of Deut 17:8–13 creating a supreme court for difficult cases (and not for appeals) reflects an attempt to improve the traditional system by introducing distant neutral parties into the procedure: levitical priests and a judge. It appears to reinterpret Jethro’s prescription of Exod 18:22. (It is unclear how such a tribunal was intended to operate.) The socio-political reality of Deut 17 was the one-tribe kingdom of Judah whose ruler attempted to control power through the centralization of cultic authority in Jerusalem. These changes reflect politics and policies in Judah during Josiah’s short-lived reform (Levinson 2008: 71–76).

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contended not only that he had completed harvesting but also that witnesses would support his testimony (Ahituv 2005: 143–49; 2008: 156–63). 19 The system of adjudication in the context of Israelite social structure may be viewed as the outward expression of an implicit political philosophy, to wit: all people, as individuals or as members of recognized groups, were entitled to a fair hearing and justice (Berman 2008: 51–80, 167–75). 20 This insight has implications for comprehending Israelite family religion, because such religion was both an expression and outgrowth of the experiences of Israelites in their society. As the British historian E. P. Thompson observed, Experience arises spontaneously within social being, but it does not arise without thought. . . . For we cannot conceive of any form of social being independently of its organising concepts and expectations, nor could social being reproduce itself for a day without thought. (Thompson 1978: 8)

The implicit political philosophy of ancient Israelites—Thompson’s “thought” and “organizing concepts and expectations”—characterized their understanding of how both their society and the cosmos should function in a reasonable, comprehensible, organized, and fair manner. Problematic Levirite cases were to be resolved before zĕqēnîm according to Deuteronomic prescription (Deut 25:7), whereas Naomi’s complex property issues, according to the (fictional) narrative description, were sorted out before zĕqēnîm in Bethlehem (Ruth 4:2; Zevit 2005: 582–92). The Tekoite dispute over inheritance complicated by fratricide was between related extended families (2 Sam 14:4–7). It was presented for adjudication to David, the most prestigious clan head of his tribe. Problematic situations bearing on inheritance and levirate issues would most likely have been taken up initially within the extended family, the bêt ʾāb; that of the anonymous kinsman and Boaz, within the clan, mišpāḥāh. In such cases, from the perspective of late monarchic Judah, when mentioned, zĕqēnîm are those who officiated in the roles of chiefs of fifties and chiefs of hundreds (Reviv: 1989: 63–70). Tribal power flowed up from the bêt ʾāb. The heads of extended family were referred to as zĕqēnîm, as were clan leaders (Num 7:2; Josh 22:14). The most powerful zāqēn among the clan leaders was referred to as a nāŝʾīʾ who officially or unofficially led/represented his tribe (Num 1:16, 44; 2:3, 5, 7). Adjudicators at all levels were drawn from among these men. An archaeological datum supports a conclusion that men bearing the honorific zāqēn were clearly a prestigeous group. In 1997, Robert Deutsch and Michael Heltzer published a two-line inscription allegedly cut out from the wall of a funeral cave near Kh. El-Qom (1997: 27–30): (1) brk. ḥṣbk (2) yškb, bzh. zqnm, ‘(1) Blessed are your hewers. (2) Zĕqēnîm lie in this [cave—understood-ZZ]’. This inscription suggests that 19.  See also the address to a sar on a petition for the restoration of land (Bordreuil et al. 1998: 7). The authenticity of the unprovenanced ostracon, however, has been challenged (Bordreuil et al. 1998: 8–9; Ephal and Naveh 1998: 270–73; Shanks 2003: 42–43). Part of the difficulty with the ostracon is that it was purchased from an antiquities dealer indicted in Israel for forging antiquities and inscriptions. Even if found not guilty, the ostracon itself is tainted. See Ahituv 2008: 9–11. 20.  Berman develops this idea within the terminological framework of contemporary political theory. The essentially democratic nature of Israel’s society has long been traced to its tribal structure and Bedouin-like origin. H. Wheeler Robinson assumes as much in his essays from the 1930s (Robinson 1964: 18, 23).

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it was more prestigious to be buried with fellow zĕqēnîm than with ancestors who may not have achieved the title. Those granted the sobriquet zāqēn as an honorific and title were active on behalf of their blood kin not only in what contemporary discourse considers civil matters but also in religious ones.

5.  Zĕqēnîm and Their Cultic Responsibilities Zĕqēnîm also bore cultic obligations that could affect all below them in the social order. Their responsibilities were not restricted to human interactions alone. For example, a Deuteronomized version of a pre-Deuteronomic ritual prescribes roles for two distinct groups of zĕqēnîm in the event that an anonymous corpse is found in an open field between settlements: And your zĕqēnîm, that is your judges, will go out and measure to the settlements that are around the corpse. Concerning the settlement closest to the corpse, the zĕqēnîm of that settlement will take a heifer . . . and break its neck. . . . And the priests, sons of Levi, will approach . . . and every suit and case of skin affliction is subject to their ruling. And all the zĕqēnîm of that settlement closest to the corpse will wash their hands . . . and say, ‘Our hands did not spill this blood and our eyes did not see. Absolve your people, Yhwh, . . . and do not assign culpability for innocent blood in the midst of your people Israel. (Deut 21:2–8)

The first group designated specifically as judges determined which settlement was required to bear the undesired expense for providing the heifer. Since multiple settlements and possibly clans from more than one tribe were involved, the zĕqēnîm may have been chiefs of thousands. After the responsible settlement had been determined, a second group, zĕqēnîm from that settlement, performed an apotropaic cleansing ritual under the supervison of non-participating priests. These zĕqēnîm, heads of extended families, represented the settlement as a whole for the purpose of the ritual. Were this not so, the judges could have been assigned to determine only the nuclear or extended group whose holdings were closest to the corpse. Consequently, this case illustrates that under certain circumstances settlements, accidental not necessarily consanguineous communities, were conceived as corporate entities for cultic purposes. The ritual was most likely intended to ward off dire consequences precipitated by the unrequited blood of the anonymous corpse. What these consequences may have been is suggested by the Ugaritic story of Aqhat. In this story, Danil curses the three towns closest to the corpse of his murdered son, Aqhat. Holding them responsible either for his death, of which they were completely innocent, or for not attending to his body, he calls down a list of calamities: a long drought, sterility, blindness, and exile. Since the prescription in Deuteronomy reflects the same topos as the Ugaritic story, I infer that the ritual in Deuteronomy was geared to warding off similar calamities. This background, in addition to suggesting the antiquity and even the pre-Israelite origin of the ritual, illustrates the intervention of adjudicating zĕqēnîm in a local matter as well as the cultic role of urban zĕqēnîm under atypical circumstances (Zevit 1976: 377–90). 21 21. J. Tigay summarizes relevant Hittite evidence bearing on this prescription (1996: Excursus 19, 472–76).

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Zĕqēnîm also figure prominently in formal cultic settings. This is illustrated by the list of prescriptions in Lev 4, ca. seventh–sixth centuries b.c.e., governing actions committed without awareness or unconsciously that resulted in ritual impurity that affected the actor as well as others. Jacob Milgrom has shown that all eventualities addressed in Lev 4 involve contaminating ritual impurity conceived as a metaphysical miasma thought to penetrate the tabernacle (1991: 253–61). What may be inferred from Lev 4 exactly parallels the notion of trickle-down miasmic contamination and cultic culpability illustrated in the story of Achan discussed above. Judging by the animals prescribed for immolation and by the treatment of their blood, the list in Lev 4 is presented in a descending order of severity based on the socio-cultic position of individuals involved as well as the number of people affected adversely by the inadvertent act. 22 The first case involves the anointed priest whose act brought guilt upon the related people. Blood from his bull offering is sprinkled seven times before the curtain, daubed on the horns of the inner altar, and spilled on the foundation of the outer altar (Lev 4:5–7). The second case involves an ʿēdāh, a sodality—that is, a gathering conceived as a single cultic group engaging in a ritual. Should it somehow incur guilt in the course of a (or as a result of a botched) ritual, the zĕqēnîm present are charged to bring a single bull on behalf of all the gathered folk. Its blood is also sprinkled seven times before the curtain, daubed on the horns of the inner altar, and spilled on the foundation of the outer altar (Lev 4:16–17). The third case involves a nāśîʾ, the most influential zāqēn of his tribe. His offering must be an unblemished male goat whose blood is daubed on the outside altar and spilled on its foundation (Lev 4:23–25). Regular Israelites were instructed to bring female goats whose blood was also daubed on the outside altar and spilled on its foundation, but they were also permitted to present ewes (Lev 4:27–34). From the prescriptions for animals and blood disposal in the case of the ʿēdāh, it is clear that in certain situations, zĕqēnîm functioned collectively as cultic representatives of all those whom they led and on behalf of whom they adjudicated. It is also clear that the culpability of the nāśîʾ affected those beneath him in the sociological hierarchy adversely because, were it a private matter or something of concern to his nuclear group alone, he would bring the offering of an individual. Every person of the ʿām, the related people of Israel, belonged to at least four formally recognized sociological groups by virtue of birth. All Israelites were obligated by all the religious observances of their groups, beginning at the level of their bêt ʾāb. By virtue of their authority as bearers of cultic obligations on behalf of the sociological units that they represented, as adjudicators, and on account of their authoritative role in tribal politics at all levels, zĕqēnîm bound (what contemporary scholars consider) public, private, and cultic spheres into a cohesive, rational, conceptually homogeneous unity. 23 22.  Since nothing like the social order described in P existed after the exile of 597 b.c.e. and the destruction of the temple and second exile of 586 b.c.e., the social structure of Israel described in these laws is that of the monarchy that continued that of the pre-monarchic period. See Vanderhooft 2009: 485–96. 23. This helps account for what from a modern perspective appears to be the illogical or un­natural intermixing of cultic and forensic judicial procedures in legal texts. The intermixing, however, is not only attested in biblical literature reflecting Israelite culture but also in texts fom Mesopotamia (Wells 2008: 215–32). It also aids in understanding that the source of their “power,”

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All sociological data inferred from the texts discussed above reveal a selfconsciously conservative society, with traditional cultic patterns. Other prescriptive and descriptive texts provide insight into the presence of more individualistic types of religion developed by cultic virtuosi. The law cluster of Deut 13:2–19, from the covenantal core of Deuteronomy, prescribes reactions to three social constellations engaged in ritual activities directed to outlawed gods. 24 Participants in these activities, unlike those in P texts considered above, are not referred to by conventional terms reflecting a real or constructed consanguineous social hierarchy. The prescription describes (1) a heterogeneous group gathered around a charismatic prophet or diviner who presents convincing signs and portents and subsequently leads the group to worship other gods (vv. 2–3); (2) a coven within a nuclear group centered around a brother, sister, wife, son, daughter, or close friend who suggests the worship of other gods; and (3) a complete settlement enticed by some residents to serve other gods (vv. 13–14). (The second case appears to refer to household religion, albeit of a type considered undesirable by the Deuteronomist.) In the first case, only the prophet or diviner is to be executed; in the second, only the ringleader; in the third, however, everybody dwelling in the settlement. The prescription does not provide reasons for the different treatment of miscreants in the third case. It is possible that followers were held to have been duped by the inciter in the first two cases. In the case of a whole settlement, however, the decision to engage in what the Deuteronomic legislator referred to as “this abomination” (v. 15) was so broad-based and public that nobody could receive the benefit of a doubt and there was no basis for singling out an individual to be treated as an example (Zevit 2007: 31–32). These prescriptions differ from those discussed above in Leviticus. Leviticus focused on natural groups; Deuteronomy addressed optional groups or, in the case of the town, an optional community. Logically, it is likely that people could be involved in cults with their natural group as well as with their optional one at the same time. 25 A number of biblical narratives describe exactly such sets of circumstances. References to “the Baal altar that is your father’s and the Asherah that is by it” in the story of Gideon refer to the cult of a nuclear group ( Judg 6:25). In describing how this Baal cult was championed by the townsmen of Ophrah, the narrative indicates that the practices of a small group spread within a community ( Judg 6:25–32). The story about how Danites kidnapped a priest and hijacked his cult is an etiological tale about how a settlement-based, optional cult originated in a natural community ( Judg 18:1–20).

from the persective of political science, lay in a social consensus designating them as performers of such varied, necessary tasks. This observation complements those of Walzer (2008: 231–38). 24.  For this terminology, see van der Toorn 2007: 152–55. 25.  Deuteronomy also considers the possibility of natural groups at the clan and tribal level acting in violation of its prescriptions but does not prescribe extirpation; the groups are too large. Rather, it posits divine punishment (Deut 29:17–28).

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Deuteronomists recognized the theoretical potential of Israelite optional groups to subvert their comprehension of exclusive Yahwism. 26 Were such groups to grow unexamined and unchecked within what was essentially a homogeneous society with egalitarian tendencies, they could rupture traditional social structures and undermine what Deuteronomists considered the divinely sanctioned cult as well. But, such groups did not have to be subversive. Descriptive stories are found about optional groups that did not attract Deuteronomistic ire. The disciples gathered around Elijah (2 Kgs 2:3–7) and Elisha (2 Kgs 4:1–7, 8–37) attest to optional cultic communities composed of individuals gathered around charismatic Yhwh prophets, as do the stories of the group around Samuel (1 Sam 9:22–25, 19:20). These celebrated certain occasions with their prophetic master, not with their nuclear group, extended family, or with their clan. A different type of optional cultic group focused on life-cycle events such as marriages and burial rites was the marzēaḥ ( Jer 16:5– 9; Amos 6:3–7, 9–10; see Zevit 2001: 548–49, 576–77). Moreover, I have proposed recently that the Deuteronomic movement itself evolved out of such an optional group, as did the synagogue of Late Antiquity (Zevit 2008: 179–80). These conventicles provided for more personal experiences shared with like-minded people, not necessarily kin. Although some may have been organized hierarchically around a charismatic figure or a person from a particularly distinguished lineage, others, such as the marzēaḥ, may have been run by members who determined matters through consensus or by majority vote. Data studied above support the following conclusion: all Israelites participated in varied cultic activities that involved many nested natural groups. Additionally, some individuals participated in optional cultic activities (many of which, not considered in this study, included the worship of other deities). 27 Considered a single complex, cultic activities were part of the socialization mechanisms that integrated individuals within the family layers of preexilic Israel and with all relevant metaphysical forces in the cosmos.

7.  Where Did Israelites Engage in Cultic Activities? According to the prescription of Exod 20:24–26, embedded in a JE narrative, wholly-burnt and freewill offerings were sanctioned at raised altars of heaped earth or unhewn stones that could be constructed in every place. 28 On such occasions, Yhwh would bless the presenter. Although the Hebrew phrase bĕkōl hammāqôm (v. 24) in the prescription appears odd because of the definite article, its distributive meaning, “every place/all places,” is assured by its recurrences in Gen 20:13 and Deut 11:24. Moreover, although the following expression where I cause my name to be mentioned, seems to restrict altars only to places marking a theophany, such is not 26.  The Deuteronomist was also aware that what he considered illicit could remain secret and undiscovered. Under such circumstances, he could only curse the perpetrator (Deut 26:15). Isaiah refers to those who engage in various cultic activities in natural and man-made subterranean places (Isa 2:21). 27. I present an onomasticon of non-Yahwisitc deities that were part of Israelite religion (broadly conceived) in Zevit 2001: 604–9 and of cults disapproved by many Yahwisitic prophets in 2001: 511–85. 28.  For the terminology and the cultic significance of the wholly-burnt offering, see Milgrom 1991: 172–77.

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the case. The prescriptive legislation informed Israelites that Yhwh had declared “I will come to you and bless you” wherever they invoked his name over a legitimate offering on a prescribed altar. 29 The hiphil form, ʾazkîr, “I (will) cause mention to be made,” explained that the offerer’s act of invoking Yhwh by name in and of itself was an expression of divine intention: the offerer called but it was Yhwh who had caused this to happen. This is the only problematic word in the prescription and the convoluted theological argument required to justify it is unsatisfactory. Slight emendation, changing the person of ʾzkyr from first to second, yields a lectio facilior : “In every place/all places where you cause my name to be mentioned, tzkyr, I will come to you and will bless you.” 30 Although it is common in scholarly literature to refer to the types of altars described in the Exodus prescription as “field altars,” “temporary altars” is more accurate. Earthen altars would eventually wash away after a few rainy seasons. Even though they might last longer, loose, stone-pile altars could lose their shape owing to the vagaries of natural elements, vegetation growth, and scrambling goats, or their stones could be robbed for other purposes. Such altars were not considered sacred objects. A description of this prescription as practice in 1 Kgs 18:30–37 portrays Elijah reconstructing a fallen stone-pile altar and invoking Yhwh’s name. Because the story describes Baal priests constructing a similar altar and offering a similar sacrifice, it informs modern readers that what distinguished the two rituals was only the name of the deity invoked by the offerers. The altar of Joash, Gideon’s father, is described as a massive stone-pile altar requiring one ox and eleven men to first disassemble the stones and then to rebuild them into a Yhwh altar in the space of a single night ( Judg 6:25–25). It is difficult to imagine how such an altar might be identified archaeologically unless a large stonepile with a ramp to its top surface were to be found, matching the prescription of Exod 20:23. 31 Although the Mt. Ebal altar is large and has ramps to its top surface, it was constructed from tightly fitted, hewn stones that formed a shell whose core was filled with layers of earth and ash. This building technique indicates that it was designed to be a permanent, not a temporary, installation and that it was a lithic version of what is prescribed to be built from wood in Exod 27:1–7 and 38:1–7. The prominence of the altar constructed within a walled enclosure that could accommodate a few hundred people indicates that it was intended to last (Zevit 2001: 196–201, 228–29). 32 29.  This is not contradicted by Deut 12, discussed below, nor by Deuteronomistic temple theology as reflected in the prayer of Solomon (1 Kgs 8). Dtr maintained that prayers addressed to Yhwh at the temple would be heard by him wherever he was. See the discussion in Sommer 2009: 62–64 and accompanying notes. 30.  The error is easily conceivable only in palaeo-Hebrew. An overwritten horizontal stroke of a taw might produce a grapheme that could be read as an aleph. 31.  The ramp is inferred from the prohibition against using steps to ascend the altar. This implies that altars could be constructed to whatever height builders desired, but they had to provide some way to reach the surface that did not use steps: hence, a ramp. 32.  What makes the juxtaposition of the Ebal altar and the biblical legislation interesting is that the Ebal altar was put out of commission and buried beneath a large heap of stones ca. 1150–1100 b.c.e. while the legislation in Exodus was composed no earlier than one, if not two centuries, later (Zevit 2001: 198; Hess 2007: 216–21).

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Descriptive texts indicate that rituals were performed in structures set up by people in their own houses, as in the case of the bêt ʾêlōhîm set up by Micah where his sons officiated ( Judg 17:4–5). This seems to have been a small structure. It is difficult to imagine how it could be identified archaeologically, barring the presence of tell-tale artifacts or installations such as those found in the cult rooms at Ai and Lachish (Zevit 2001: 153–56, 213–17). Rituals could also occur adjacent to city gates (1 Kgs 22:10; 2 Kgs 23:8; 2 Chr 32:6). The multiple sets of standing stones excavated adjacent to gate structures at Dan illustrate this well (Zevit 2001: 191–96; Hess 2007: 302). Celebrations could take place at an individual’s home, in rooms or in the courtyard, as in the new moon and sabbath celebrations at Elisha’s home (2 Kgs 4:23). However, barring discovery of very large, not easily portable artifacts or of cultic installations such as benches, there is no way to determine that a room or courtyard had been used for cultic observances. Prophetic condemnations of Israelite practices extend the list of places. They refer to rituals and cultic activities in gardens (Isa 1:29; 17:10–11; Ezek 8:17), in caves, underground chambers, and tombs (Isa 2:8–11, 19–21; Jer 7:11; Ezek 8:7–12); and on roofs (Zeph 1:4–7; Jer 19:12–13). These places were not necessarily dedicated or designed for ritual purposes; instead, they were appropriated temporarily, each for its own reason, for ritual use. Temporary altars according with the altar legislation of Exodus could have been built at any of these places, in courtyards, near buildings, even on roofs, and then dismantled. Spontaneous prayers, of course, could be composed and uttered anywhere (Greenberg 1983; Zevit 2008: 178–83). Two other types of cult places must be discussed: temples—that is, relatively large dedicated buildings constructed for the specific purpose of cult; and tent-shrines— elaborately ornate, transportable pavilions set up within courtyards. The most famous of the temples is the house for Yhwh constructed by Solomon prescribed and described in 1 Kgs 6:1–7:1; 7:13–51. A second temple, a “house of Baal,” in Jerusalem, is mentioned in conjunction with the revolt against Athaliah (2 Kgs 11:18–28), and yet a third, another Baal temple in Samaria, is mentioned in the story of Jehu’s revolt against the Ahab dynasty (2 Kgs 10:15–28). Combining information about the two Baal temples—a procedure that may not be valid—indicates that each was located within a circumvallated area, a large part of which comprised a public courtyard with multiple altars. The temple proper housed images and included rooms where special vestments used by all participants in rituals were kept. Although the Baal temples had their own priests, non-priests such as Jehu could also officiate at the altar. M. Haran infers the presence of other temples through biblical descriptions of individuals engaged in cultic acts lipnê Yhwh, ‘before Yhwh’, at different places: Shiloh (1 Sam 1:9; 3:3); Gilgal (1 Sam 15:12–21, 33; Amos 4:4; 5:5); Mizpah ( Judg 20:1–3, 8–10); Hebron (2 Sam 5:3; 15:7); Bethlehem ( Judg 19:18); and Nob (1 Sam 21:1–10) (Haran 1978: 26–37). Archaeologists have not (yet) discovered any of the temples mentioned in the Bible or inferred from its contents, but they have excavated temples at Arad, Dan, and Hazor (Zevit 2001: 160, 169–71, 180–91, 202–5; Hess 2007: 301–5). The most famous of the tent-shrines is the desert tabernacle both prescribed and described in Exodus–Numbers (Exod 25:1–31:17); in the historiographic tradition, it

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continued to be used at Shiloh ( Josh 18:1; 1 Sam 1:3; 2:22). 33 A different tent-shrine was constructed by David near Jerusalem as a temporary housing for the ark (2 Sam 6:17–19). Such tent-shrines cannot be written off automatically as fictional, because they have ancient Near Eastern parallels. Tents are mentioned as significant shrines in Hittite cultic and mythic texts, and a Luwian festival text describes an assembly within a multiroomed tent. Another Luwian text refers to a tent erected in front of a temple, and yet one more text refers to a cult tent set up within a house. Ugaritic mythic texts describe El’s abode as an elaborate tent (Weinfeld 2004: 41) Read casually, biblical texts present both the Mosaic tent-shrine and the Solomonic temple as unique structures, the only legitimate places to which Israelites might bring their sacrificial offerings. By implication, all other temples discovered or inferred and all temporary altars that may have been constructed were illegitimate from the point of view of both the Priestly and Deuteronomic writers. When read critically, however, some relevant texts considered below reveal a more complicated situation that bears directly on Israelite family religion.

8.  Do Pentateuchal Documents Prescribe Only a Single Tent Shrine and a Single Temple? In the Priestly source of the Pentateuch, a source with a literary prehistory, one objective for having all slaughtered animals presented at the tent-shrine is to control what was done with blood. According to Lev 17:3–6, (3) Any Israelite who slaughters an ox or a sheep or a goat in the camp, or who slaughters outside the camp, (4) and does not bring it to the entrance of ʾōhel môʿēd to present it as an offering for Yhwh before the dwelling of Yhwh, bloodguilt, dām, will imputed to that man. (5) . . . (6) And the priest will dash the blood on the altar of Yhwh at the entrance of ʾōhel môʿēd and turn the fat into smoke, a pleasing odor for Yhwh. 34

These verses indicate that the place of slaughter was unimportant—only the place of presentation and the intended recipient of the offering, Yhwh. Practical consideration, however, suggest that slaughtering occurred as close to the place of offering as possible so as to guarantee that blood to be manipulated at the altar and parts to be burned on the altar would not contact anything or anybody that might render them ritually impure. The actual motivation for this requirement is indicated in v. 10: Concerning any man from the house of Israel . . . who eats any blood, ʾăšer yōʾkal kol dām—I will set my face against the person eating blood and will cut him off from the midst of his related people. 33.  A second tent is mentioned in the Wandering tradition, a tent set up outside of the Israelite camp that served primarily as a place where Yhwh would reveal himself to Moses (Exod 22:7–11; Num 11:16–30, 12:4–13). Since this was not a cult site per se, the tent was empty and no rituals are associated with it, it is not discussed here. For the nonce, see J. Milgrom 2004: 386–87; Tigay 2004: 187. 34.  The actual prescription of Lev 4:2–9 is found in vv. 3–4, 6, 7b–9, while v. 5, omitted in the translation, and v. 7a provide explanations for what motivated the legislation. For a complete analysis, see Zevit 2001: 280–86.

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This is repeated in v. 12, “Therefore, I said to the children of Israel, every person of you will not eat blood and the stranger in your midst will not eat blood.” The same concern is expressed in Deut 12:16, 24, which caution Israelites not to consume blood. When Lev 17 is read as part of the extensive narrative of the Wandering tradition within which all of Leviticus is deeply embedded—observe that Num 7:1 is a resumptive repetition, referring back to the notice in Exod 40:33 that the tabernacle had been set up—the prescription can only be understood as referring to the single tent-shrine that became the sacrificial cult center of Israel after it was constructed at the foot of Mt. Sinai.  35 This explains why the expression ʾōhel môʿēd is logically definite in most Pentateuchal references. It functions as a proper noun in a literary context that assumes its singularity in time and place. Other factors must be considered when analyzing the prescription of Lev 17, the beginning of the Holiness Code that was not embedded originally in any obvious narrative framework. The core prescription of Lev 17:3–4, 6 (translated above) and its paraphrase in vv. 8–9 was directed specifically to Aaron, his sons, and all Israelites. It does not refer to a singular desert Tabernacle at all. The Hebrew phrase petaḥ ʾōhel môʿēd, usually translated into English with definite articles as ‘the entrance of the Tent of Meeting’, lacks formal definition in Hebrew. Nothing in this phrase, which recurs in vv. 4, 5, 6, and 9 of the prescription, indicates definiteness. Although formally a bound construction, nothing is bound to a proper noun or to a noun made definite by the article or to a pronoun referring to a definite or proper noun. Consequently, the Hebrew ʾel petaḥ ʾōhel môʿēd lōʾ hêbīʾô is indefinite in Lev 17:4 and (with a slightly different form of the verb) in v. 9 also (as well as in vv. 5–6). To provide clear definition, the author could have used the definite article and written: wĕʾel petaḥ ʾōhel hammôʿēd lōʾ hêbīʾô—see the expressions, miškan hāʿēdūt (Exod 38:21) and ʾōhel hāʿēdūt (Num 9:15)—or, more simply, wĕʾel petaḥ hāʾōhel lōʾ hêbīʾô. Moreover, each occurrence of the phrase in the prescription is unnecessary linguistically as well as being redundant literarily if the prescription was intended for the wilderness shrine alone, for the specific tent that was unique in time and place. A chronological notation in v. 7b indicates that the prescription was directed at all generations after the settlement in the land, including the time of the author of the prescription: “This shall be an eternal law, ḥuqqat ʿôlām, for them, for their generations.” Ḥuqqat ʿôlām and the similar expression, ḥōq ʿôlām, are characteristic of P (Exod 30:21; Lev 6:11, 15; 7:34; 16:34). 36 Given P’s statement that the prescription was to be authoritative for all time, while considering that it was composed by someone living in the land among his fellow Israelites who knew full well that there was 35.  In fact, since the singular Tabernacle is set up only in Num 7:1, which resumes Exod 40:33, narratives in Leviticus about the consecration of Aaron and the death of his sons in the Tabernacle (Lev 8:1–10:20) are out of place chronologically. If arranged in a chronological sequence, the consecration of Aaron narrated in Levitcus must have occurred after the dedication of the tabernacle, narrated in Num 7. There was most likely no narrative at all in the original Levitical legislation. However, insofar as this matter has no direct bearing on family religion, I forgo discussing it here. 36.  Additional examples of ḥuqqat ʿôlām: Exod 12:14, 17; 27:21; 28:43; Lev 3:17; 7:36; 10:9; 16:29, 31, 34; 17:7; 23:14, 21, 31, 41; 24:3; Num 9:12; 10:8; 16:15; 18:23; 19:10, 21; ḥōq ʿôlām Lev 10:15; 24:9; Num 18:8, 11, 19.

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no unique tent-shrine around, the indefinite understanding makes sense grammatically, semantically, and logically in the context of the Iron Age in the seventh–sixth centuries b.c.e. For the Priestly legislator, the wilderness tabernacle could be thought of only as the prototype for similar shrines of his own day. Were tent shrines along the lines of the desert tabernacle used in ancient Israel, we would not expect them to leave a footprint in the archaeological record, and no archaeologist has claimed to have discovered traces of such a shrine. This is one of many reasons why Yehezkel Kaufmann argued that P represents a pre-Deuteronomic point of view. It allowed for a multiplicity of tent-shrines so long as they were under the supervision of Aaronite priests. Deuteronomy, Kaufmann argued, should be understood as prescribing rules directed against the position for which P advocated (1960: 178–80, 183). 37 P—or pre-P as I prefer to designate it—is not the only source advocating a multiplicity of monitored cult-places. Existence of a pre-Deuteronomic point of view promoting a similar agenda is attested within Deuteronomy itself. Ostensibly, Deut 12 supports Kaufmann’s contention. In prescribing for the future—that is, in addressing issues in the here and now of D and proposing solutions— it projects a singular, central place, understood both by traditional exegetes and scholars as a fixed temple, intended to replace the single portable tent-shrine. Kaufmann interprets it as directed against a multiplicity of P-type shrines. His evaluation of Deut 12 is likely correct but only for the prescriptions of Deut 12:4–12. Verse 4 prescribes that sacrifices be brought to a single place selected, mikkol šibṭêkem, ‘from all of your tribes’. The legislation in Deut 12:13–25, however, does not. The textual history of the centralization legislation is complicated, consisting of two parallel prescriptions each of which reinterprets one of two still earlier prescriptions. 38

Topic

A1

B1

1a.  prohibition against worshiping in an    inappropriate manner     (Deuteronomic paranetic material) 2a.  worship at the single place selected by Yhwh 3.   all offering and festive rejoicing is to occur     at the single site

v. 4

v. 8

—— vv. 9–10 v. 5 v. 11a 39 vv. 6–7 vv. 11b–12

37.  Kaufmann suggests that the lack of clarity in P is due to P’s piggy-backing his material on JE’s narratives about the single ark, altar, and tent used in the wilderness. For full references, it is necessary to consult Kaufmann’s Hebrew work published between 1935–55. The view itself, however, is older than Kaufmann. See Driver 1895: 138. Moshe Greenberg, who abridged and translated Kaufmann into the English edition that I cite, presents the best of his arguments and articulates them intelligibly, avoiding the redundancies in the original. 38.  The following arrangement of relevant material is informed by the arrangements of Smith 1918: 159–69; Levinson 1997: 24–28 and van der Toorn 2007: 139. My discussion below touches on but does not actually address the redactional history of the centralization prescriptions. Such a discussion would have to include Deut 14:22–29. It differs from other treatments in that I discern two prescriptions underlying Deut 12:13–24 where others tend to see one characterized by repetitions. 39. G. Seitz (1971: 212–18) and Y. Zakovitch (1972: 338–40) observed that v. 5 uses the expression lśwm šmw šm, ‘to place his name there’, whereas v. 11a uses lškn šmw šm, ‘to make his name dwell there’, and considered the redactional implications of this terminology.

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A2

B2

1b.  warning against worshiping at every place that    you see 1c.  warning against tithing, presenting first fruits     and firstlings, and making non-obligatory offerings     in local settlements (see 3) 2b.  sacrifices and offerings at a place that Yhwh chooses 4.   secular slaughter in every settlement 5.   Blood Prohibition

v. 13

——

——

v. 17

v. 14 v. 15 v. 16

v. 18 40 v. 20–22 v. 23–24 41

Whereas Deut 12:4–12 emphasizes clearly ʾel hammāqôm ʾăšer yibḥar Yhwh ʾĕlōhêkem mikkol šibṭêkem, to the place that Yhwh your god will select from all your tribes, Deut 12:13–18, states something quite different. Read according to the Masoretic tradition, Deut 12:13–14, is usually rendered as follows: Guard yourself lest you raise up your ʿōlôt-offerings in any place that you see, but only in the place that Yhwh will chose, bĕʾaḥad šĕbāṭêkā, in one of your tribes there you will raise up your ʿōlôt offerings and there you will do all that I command you.

This translation is problematic. The phrase bĕʾaḥad šĕbāṭêkā, ‘in one of your tribes’, is similar to bĕʾaḥad šĕʿārêkā in Deut 23:17. There, the phrase occurs in a prescription instructing Israelites not to return a runaway slave to his master but to allow that “he dwell with you in your midst in the place that he chooses in any one of your gates where it is good for him. . . .” The same distributive sense of ʾaḥad/ʾaḥat in construct with and without the preposition min occurs more than 15 times in Biblical Hebrew, nine of them in Deuteronomy (excluding Deut 12). 42 So, too, in Deut 12:14 the expression bĕʾaḥad šĕbāṭêkā, indicates ‘in any one of your tribes’. Consequently, for obvious grammatical reasons, the consonants bmqm in Deut 12:14 cannot be vocalized bammāqōm as if the definite article had been elided. They are to be read as bĕmāqōm, ‘in a place’. The extant Masoretic vocalization reflects an interpretive harmonization influenced by the definite articles in vv. 5 and 11a. Deut 12:13–14 is to be understood as follows: “Guard yourself lest you raise up your ʿōlōtofferings in any place that you see, but only in a place that Yhwh will chose in any one of your tribes. . . .” The language is sufficiently ambiguous so that it might mean that he could chose a place in one tribal territory now and a different place in a another tribal territory later. It leaves the number of such places indefinite. The consonants bmqm in v. 18 are best translated with the same sense (Fenton 1979: 21–35). 43 40.  I have no explanation for the insertion of v. 19 (not represented in the chart) in its present context, “Take care lest you ignore the Levite all your days on your land.” Seitz observes that hšmr lk in v. 19 echoes the same words in v. 13 and argues that the verses bracket a tightly structured unit composed as an elaborate chiasm at whose center lies v. 15b, concerned with secular slaughter (1971: 11). The pattern he describes is real but accidental, the result of editing two similarly worded laws together. 41.  Compare Lev 17:12–13 and the immediately preceding verses there. 42. With min, Deut 4:42, 18:6, 25:5; without min in Deut 13:13, 15:7, 16:5, 17:2; 19:5, 11; 23:17. See also Gen 22:2, 21:15; 2 Sam 2:18. 43.  The definite article in hmqm (v. 21) is appropriate since it refers to a specific place that was chosen, even though the place could be any one of a number of places. See Amos 5:19 where “the

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According to this analysis, the extant final redaction of Deuteronomy’s centralization prescription contains A1, a secondary reframing of an earlier prescription, A2. Whereas A2 allowed for a single place where blood offerings could be presented within the territory of each tribe, A1 recast the prescription so that it could refer only to a single shrine in the combined territories of all tribes. 44 A1 reflects the prescription used to justify Josiah’s adventure in centralization in 622 b.c.e., while A2 may have been drafted by nascent Deuteronomists a decade or more earlier. Unlike A1, A2 cannot be linked to any particular historical event. In the Deuteronomic conception of A1, the chosen place was the Jerusalem temple, the cultic center of the tribe of Judah. A2, however, when free-standing, could have referred to many shrines claiming to be (or understood by the author of A2 to be) located in a chosen place. A similar explanation clarifies the B law: originally, B2 conceived of many chosen places, but later, B1, using precise, unambiguous vocabulary, confined it to a single site. In a short time, the pre-Deuteronomic prescriptions, preserved in new legal-literary contexts, came to be understood and interpreted in light of the later, more stringent interpretation of the Deuteronomists.  45 A2 and B2 are appropriately composed with second-person singular verbs, since they direct individual Israelites to select from among local, authorized places for their ritual presentations. A1 and B1 use plural verb forms because they address collective Israelites at a single place. Neither the earlier prescriptions nor their later interpretive introductions referred specifically to a house, bāyit, or a sanctuary, miqdāš, but ambiguously only to a place, māqōm. Although such a place must have been envisioned as including an altar for sacrificial rituals, fixed structures may not have been deemed essential (see Deut 12:2). Deuteronomy did not consider the temple Yhwh’s pied a terre; rather, it referred to it as the place where Yhwh’s šēm, ‘name’, was present (Deut 12:5, 11), an elusive way of describing some real but not concrete divine presence (Hundley 2009: 552–55). For all practical purposes, however, the temple was treated as if Yhwh was present in some manner whenever needed. For example, Dtr’s prayer of Solomon refers to it as a house for Yhwh’s eternal dwelling (1 Kgs 8:13) and Hezekiah is described as coming to the temple and spreading Sennacherib’s letter before Yhwh there (2 Kgs 19:14) (de Vaux 1961: 326). The pre-Deuteronomic texts, A2 and B2, are similar to the older pre-P prescription of Lev 17 with regard to their concern about blood, differing from it only with regard to the numbers of cult places envisioned: one per tribe in the pre-D texts versus many in pre-P. 46 It is not difficult to imagine that the pre-P texts may have lion and the bear,” both with definite articles, refer to any lion or any bear that might chase a man, but once chasing a man, the animal is well defined logically. 44.  For the literary and thematic connection between the Deuteronomic legislation and the earlier prescription governing temporary altars in Exod 20:24, see Carmichael 1974: 28–33; Levinson 1997: 30–38. Bear in mind, however, that both Carmichael and Levinson understand the history of the Deuteronomic prescriptions as of one piece, an understanding that differs from what is presented here. The historical dynamics that I perceive underlying the formation of the extant text are close to those proposed by Alexander Rofé, though my distinctions between literary strata in Deut 12 differ considerably from his (2002: 97–101). 45.  This conclusion is in sympathy with the spirit and many ideas, but not all of the details, of a significant polemical article by M. Gruber (2008: 228–42). 46.  Levinson discusses the problem of assuming that what I call the B laws are exilic or postexilic (1997: 26–28).

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been thinking of the Levitical cities located throughout Cisjordan and Transjordan ( Josh 21:4–40; 1 Chr 6:39–66; Zevit 2001: 610 [map 2]). Since, however, this feat of imagination cannot be substantiated, it should be taken cum grano salis. Both pre-P and pre-D texts dealt with similar concerns. Their solutions differed only slightly. This may be explained by hypothesizing that although both reflect priestly interests, each was composed by stakeholders in different kinds of institutions (van der Toorn 2009: 9, 167–68). The pre-D prescriptions, in their recovered or in some other formulation, may have legitimated temples—among which excavated temples and those whose existence has been inferred may be counted—and altar sites claiming authenticity by virtue of having been chosen by Yhwh. The legitimacy of pre-P sites might have been determined by the prestige of the priestly lineage of the individual or family overseeing rituals at the site.

*   *   * It is useful to draw some preliminary conclusions from the preceding sections: (1) Prior to Hezekiah’s short-lived removal of Yhwh-bāmôt and altars from outside of Jerusalem to the city (2 Kgs 18:22) at the beginning of the seventh century b.c.e. and well before Josiah’s later attempt at total centralization and the elimination of non-Yahwistic cults (2 Kgs 22–23), extended families and clans could have had cult places, including temporary altars, in rooms and courtyards of their houses and in open places of their towns. (2) Philological forays into key D and P prescriptive texts pay important dividends when discussing cultic staging places. Critically examined, texts in Lev 17 and Deut 12 support inferring the existence of tent shrines manned by priests throughout the land, as well as of other types of sacrificial centers located in different tribal territories. Verily, a plethora of places whose existence was authorized in early, ex post facto, prescriptive, written legislation. (3) It is uncertain what archaeological expectations should be raised concerning the pre-P and pre-D types of establishments. Evidence for wood-framed, earthfloored tents would most likely not have lasted, and the Deuteronomic māqôm is too nondescript to posit any particular type of structure. 47 Reasonably, we might expect an altar within a large enclosure that might accommodate a structure, something along the lines of the Ebal and Bull sites (Zevit 2001: 176–80; Hess 2007: 236). (4) The answer to the question in the title of this section “Do Pentateuchal documents prescribe only a single tent-shrine and a single temple?” is “both no and yes.” It depends on which documents are examined and whether they are read casually or critically. If the latter, philological analysis indicates that the earliest documents prescribe multiple sites. These are the types of sites mentioned casually in narratives that portray the practices of Israelite family religion.

9.  Players at the Stages Nuclear groups headed by a male head of household traveled to a bêt Yhwh to offer sacrifices and consume them by the sanctuary. The Deuteronomistic narrative 47. See Rüdiger Schmitt’s typological analysis of archaeologically attested cult sites in this volume.

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describing Elkanah’s seasonal visits to the Shiloh tent-shrine with his wives, Hannah and Peninnah, and children portrays this clearly (1 Sam 1–3). The fact that Hannah was unknown to Eli suggests that many people came there and that she was just an anonymous face in the crowd (1 Sam 1:12). Although set in the eleventh century b.c.e., the Deuteronomistic story most likely reflects the realities of the sixth century, when it was recorded. Such seasonal gatherings, when freewill offerings were presented at the altar and meat consumed, were popular occasions, attracting many (1 Sam 2:12–16; 3:29). This is supported by eighth-century b.c.e. condemnations of crowds frequenting the Bethel temple. Among the people coming for a few days to offer sacrifice and present tithes, some men would become rowdy and engage in what Amos considered immoral behavior (Amos 2:7–8 and 4:4–5, and 1 Sam 2:22). This warrants the inference that nuclear groups, even with mature children, frequented some cult centers regularly, where there was much feasting and frolicking. Public piety was a popular social activity that was not all solemnity and psalm singing. Israelite clans, however, celebrated at either private temporary altars or at public local sanctuaries. This is illustrated through the excuse David concocted to explain his absence from Saul’s table (1 Sam 20:24–29). Ostensibly, he was off attending a zebaḥ mišpāḥāh, ‘a clan offering’, in Bethlehem, which coincided with a New Moon celebration. Saul’s ignorance of the date but awareness of the custom that required David’s presence in Bethlehem indicates that it was well known and that each clan determined the date of its own celebration. 48 These compulsory celebrations in which bātê ʾāb joined together as clans or sub-clans is where Israelites found their equivalent of contemporary notions of family religion. Because of the numbers of people involved, I assume that these types of gatherings were scheduled annually. As dwellers in settlements composed of people from more than one clan or subclan, they may also have been involved in some special observances focusing on the town, not only in times of peril, but also in times of rejoicing. An example of this is found in the narrative about Saul’s search for his father’s asses. It refers to “a zebaḥ offering for the ʿām.” In context, the ʿām refers to thirty qĕruʾîm, the “called/summoned” males of the settlement, presumably its zĕqēnîm heads of the constituent sociological groups(1 Sam 9:11–21). The ritual meal described here, under the aegis of an adjudicator, may be likened to an optional group comprised of people from different clans and even tribes whose common interest was the welfare of their town. I consider it reasonable to assume that most Israelites generally participated in some ritualized activities, be they formal or perfunctory, on Sabbaths, New Moons, and pilgrimage feasts, though details are unknown. The reference to the Shunamite woman leaving her husband and child to go off and spend Sabbaths and New Moons with Elisha (2 Kgs 4:23) indicates that these occasions were not formally observed by kin-based groups, though they were clearly observed by many who did frequent sanctuaries (Hos 2:13; Isa 1:13–14; Lam 2:6).

48.  I speculate that perhaps different clans associated with particular cult places may have divided up the New Moon sacrifices between themselves so that a sanctuary was guaranteed sacrificial animals for the rituals.

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10.  Players Offstage In addition to all that has been considered above, there were occasions for traditionally choreographed activities and celebrations that were significant but not thought to involve “deities and powers known to be of major and minor practical relevance.” Among these, the following may be listed: betrothal and marriage, birth, circumcision, weaning, healings by natural remedies, burying, and mourning. All of these would have been family based, possibly in or around the household of a nuclear group. Circumcision may have been perfunctory (Gen 21:4); but weaning (the first male child) may have been an occasion for a celebration (Gen 21:9) involving guests from the extended family and friends. Although socially conditioned and culturally normed, as well as ritualistic in the sense that one knew what to expect when attending such somber or joyous occasions, descriptive texts do not indicate that these involved deities or powers. Differentiating heuristically between cultic and not-cultic public performances within Israelite culture is not to distinguish between what an Israelite might have experienced as obligatory or optional; rather, it is to distinguish between those events at which a deity was believed present or at which his presence was invoked and those where such was not necessarily the case. Conforming one’s behavior to divine prescriptions in attending to matters such as circumcision, inheritance, marriage, or divorce may have been experienced as obligatory acts but not necessarily as religious, cultic occasions. They may have been the equivalent of contemporary “family” occasions but were not part of “Israelite family religion.”

11.  Concluding Thoughts The abstract objective of this study is to sketch the sociological frameworks of the related people within which public cultic acts were performed by different sociological groups. These frameworks, discernible through prescriptive and descriptive texts composed and edited by various Israelite sources, suggest what the rituals accomplished as well as how and why cultic acts were meaningful to ancient Israelites. Literary evidence alone, however, can help achieve only part of this task because part of the argument based on it is self-referential and hence circular. Consequently, archaeological data presented in other papers in this volume are indispensable for correcting misapprehensions about the realia addressed in texts as well as for producing new data that have to be accommodated to descriptions based on literary and philological evidence. These data serve theoretical discourse by keeping it grounded in material and historical reality, by stopping it from drifting into theological speculation, and they help it maintain an intellectually invigorating dynamic quality. (Completed 12/27/2009)

312

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Hundley, M. 2009 To Be or Not to Be: A Reexaminiation of Name Language in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History. VT 59: 533–55. Jackson, B. S. 2006 Wisdom-Laws: A Study of the Mishpatim of Exodus 21:1–22:6. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kaufmann, Y. 1960 The Religion of Israel. Translated and abridged by Moshe Greenberg. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Levinson, B. M. 1997 Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation. London: Oxford University Press. 2008 “The Right Chorale”: Studies in Biblical Law and Interpretation. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 54. Tübingen: Mohr Seibeck. Meyers, C. 1997 The Family in Early Israel. Pp. 1–47 in Families in Ancient Israel, ed. L. G. Purdue et al. Louisville, KY: Westminister John Knox. 2007 From Field Crop to Food: Attribution of Gender and Meaning to Bread Production in Iron Age Israel. Pp. 67–84 in The Archaeology of Difference: Gender, Ethnicity, Class and the ‘Other’ in Antiquity: Studies in Honor of Eric M. Meyers, ed. D. R. Edwards and C. T. McCullough. Boston, MA: American Schools of Oriental Research. Milgrom, J. 1990 Numbers. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. 1991 Leviticus 1–16. Anchor Bible 3A. New York: Doubleday. Reviv, H. 1989 The Elders in Ancient Israel: A Study of a Biblical Institution. Jerusalem: Magnes. Rofé, A. 2002 Deuteronomy: Issues and Interpretation. London: T. & T. Clark. Robinson, H. Wheeler 1964 Corporate Personality in Ancient Israel. Philadelphia, Fortress. Schloen, D. 2001 The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East. Winona Lake, IN.: Eisenbrauns. Seitz, G. 1971 Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Deuteronomium. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer. Shanks, H. 2003 Real or Fake? BAR 29.3: 41–44. Smith, G. A. 1918 The Book of Deuteronomy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sommer, B. D. 2009 The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel. New York: Cambridge University Press. Stager, L. E. 1985 The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel. BASOR 260: 1–35. Stager, L. E., and King, P. J. 2001 Life in Biblical Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Thompson, E. P. 1978 The Poverty of Theory and Other Essays. New York/London: Monthly Review Press. Tigay, J. H. 2004 Exodus. Pp 102–202 in The Jewish Study Bible, ed. A. Berlin and M. Brettler. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1996 Deuteronomy. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society.

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Toorn, K. van der 1996 Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel. Leiden: Brill. 2007 Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Vanderhooft, D. S. 2009 The Israelite Mišpāḥā, the Priestly Writers, and Changing Valences in Israel’s Kinship Typology. Pp. 485–96 in Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, ed. J. D. Schloen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Vaux, R. de 1961 Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions. New York: McGraw-Hill. Walzer, M. 2008 Biblical Politics: Where Were the Elders? Hebraic Political Studies 3.3: 225–38. Weinfeld, M. 2004 The Place of the Law in the Religion of Ancient Israel. Leiden: Brill. Wells, B. 2008 The Cultic Versus the Forensic: Judahite and Mesopotamian Judicial Procedures in the First Millennium b.c.e. JAOS 128: 205–32. Yadin, Y. 1973 The Army Reserves of David and Solomon. Pp. 350–61 in The Military History of the Land of Israel in Biblical Times, ed. J. Liver. Tel Aviv: IDF Publishing House. (Hebrew) Zakovitch, Y. 1972 To Cause His Name to Dwell There—To Put His Name There. Tarbiz 41: 338–40. (Hebrew) Zevit, Z. 1976 The ʿEglah Ritual of Deut 21:1–9. JBL 95: 377–90. 1982 Converging Lines of Evidence Bearing on the Date of P. ZAW 94: 481–511. 2001 The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. London: Continuum. 2003 False Dichotomies in Descriptions of Israelite Religion: A Problem, Its Origin, and A Proposed Solution. Pp. 223–35 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestinae, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2005 Dating Ruth: Legal, Linguistic and Historical Observations. ZAW 117: 574–600. 2007 The Search for Violence in Israelite Culture and in the Bible. Pp. 16–37 in Religion and Violence: The Biblical Heritage, D. A. Bernat and J. Klawans. Sheffield: Sheffield-Phoenix. 2008 From Judaism to Biblical Religion and Back Again. Pp. 164–90 in The Hebrew Bible: New Insights and Scholarship, ed. F. E. Greenspahn. New York: New York University Press. 2009 The Two-Bodied People, Their Cosmos, and the Origin of the Soul. Pp. 465–75 in Maven in Blue Jeans: A Festschrift in Honor of Zev Garber, ed. S. L. Jacobs. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press.

Index of Authors Abou Assaf, A.  117 Abravanel, I.  8 Ackerman, S.  1, 12, 13, 19, 53, 54, 55, 57, 64, 129, 130, 136, 137, 138, 268 Adelman, C. M.  78 Aharoni, M.  273, 275 Aharoni, Y.  267, 272 Ahituv, S.  297 Ahlström, G. W.  145, 157, 202 Albertz, R.  33, 36, 41, 42, 45, 47, 49, 50, 53, 54, 56, 107, 138, 177, 228, 233, 236, 243, 256, 267, 268, 271, 276 Albright, W. F.  105, 132, 146, 149, 199 Alter, R.  18 Amiet, Y.  237 Amiry, S.  54 Amr, A. J.  205 Anderson, G. A.  238, 260 Angel, J. L.  6, 7 Anthony, D. W.  93, 213 Antikas, T.  214 Ap-Thomas, D. R.  213 Archer, L. J.  4, 7, 10 Ariel, D. T.  216 Armstrong, K.  239 Ashby, G. W.  11, 12 Attridge, H. W.  13 Augustine  289 Avalos, H.  55, 172 Avigad, N.  33, 42, 213, 273 Bal, M.  13, 14, 15, 16 Bar-Asher, E. A.  290 Barkay, G.  146, 151, 203 Barnett, R. D.  94, 95, 188 Barrick, W. B.  201 Barry, R.  19 Bayliss, M.  261 Becking, B.  129, 138 Beckman, G.  8 Beck, P.  132, 133, 134, 200

Begg, P.  90 Beit Arieh, I.  156 Beit-Arieh, I.  276 Bell, C.  175 Bell, R. M.  5 Beltz, W.  12 Ben-Ami, D.  272, 273 Bendor, S.  226 Benjamin, D. C.  7, 62 Ben-Shlomo, D.  73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 91, 93, 94 Ben-Tor, A.  270, 271 Benz, F. L.  40, 42, 43 Berlinerbrau, J.  138 Berman, J. A.  152, 297 Bernett, M.  273 Berry, J. W.  93 Bikai, P. M.  122 Binger, T.  129 Biran, A.  63, 90, 273, 276 Bird, P. A.  4, 6, 65, 138 Blackman, W. S.  242 Blakely, J. A.  156 Blanton, R. E.  150, 152 Blau, Y.  12 Blenkinsopp, J.  4, 257 Bloch-Smith, E.  17, 21, 64, 145, 233, 252, 256, 275, 276 Block, D. I.  12 Blum, E.  12 Blum, R.  12 Bodel, J.  53, 225 Bokser, B. M.  231 Bonatz, D.  186, 188, 189 Bordreuil, P.  185, 297 Botterweck, G. J.  231 Boulay, J. du  226, 239, 242 Bourdieu, P.  151, 261 Boyd, M.  93 Brand, E.  210 Branigan, K.  149 Braulik, G.  63, 64 Braun, J.  130

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Bremmer, J. N.  6, 10, 12 Brichto, H. C.  21, 233, 256 Brody, A. J.  60, 61, 226 Broshi, M.  147 Brown, B. M.  147 Brown, D. R.  213 Brown, J. P.  173 Brown, M. L.  167 Brug, J. F.  78, 95 Bunimovitz, S.  10, 54, 56, 93, 143, 146, 147, 151, 211 Burgh, T.  130 Burmeister, S.  79, 93 Burnette-Bletsch, R.  7, 8, 9 Busink, T. A.  191 Bynum, C. W.  2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, 11, 16, 22 Byrne, R.  133 Callaway, J. A.  148 Camino, L. A.  3 Camp, C. V.  63 Canaan, T.  54 Carmichael, C. M.  308 Chadwick, R.  118 Chambon, A.  58, 59, 63, 150 Childs, B. S.  12 Churchill, W.  143 Ciasca, A.  201, 202, 208, 209, 210, 215 Claassens, L. J.  232 Clamer, C.  208, 216 Clark, D. R.  58, 146, 158 Clarke, M. J.  229 Clines, D. J. A.  153 Clutton-Brock, J.  207, 214 Cohen, S. J. D.  11, 12 Cohn, R. L.  15 Collins, B. J.  8 Connelly, J. B.  133, 134 Connerton, P.  239 Coogan, M. D.  96 Cooper, A.  21 Cornelius, I.  129, 131, 135, 202, 206, 208 Counihan, C. M.  234, 241

316 Courtois, J-C.  76 Cox, B. D.  19, 22 Cross, F. M.  136, 251, 252, 258 Crouwel, J.  201, 207, 212, 213, 214 Crowfoot, G. M.  272 Crowfoot, J. M.  200, 212 Crowfoot, J. W.  200, 212, 272 Crowley, J.  227 Cryer, F. H.  168 Currid, J. D.  156 Curry, M.  251, 261 Curtis, J. E.  215 Dabrowski, B.  205 D’Agata, A. L.  80 Dalley, S.  18, 213, 214 Dalman, G.  105 Dar, S.  147 Daviau, P. M. M.  57, 58, 65, 90, 103, 105, 106, 107, 108, 111, 113, 115, 116, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123, 138, 158, 228, 270, 273 Dayagi-Mendels, M.  237 Day, J.  129 Day, P. L.  14, 15, 16 Deflem, M.  22 Demas, M.  78, 80 Demsky, A.  96 Deutsch, R.  33, 35, 36, 38, 40, 41, 42, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 297 Dever, W. G.  57, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, 203, 243, 266 Dietler, M.  229, 237, 238 Dietrich, M.  255 Dietrich, W.  129 Dijk-Hemmes, F. van  14 Dijkstra, M.  12, 129, 138 Dikaios, P.  78, 80 Dillmann, A.  8 Dion, P.-E.  111, 120, 122, 187 Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W.  33 Dornemann, R. H.  117, 205 Dossin, G.  252 Dothan, M.  75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 94, 270

Index of Authors Dothan, T.  73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 79, 82, 83, 84, 86, 88, 89, 91, 94, 95, 270, 277 Douglas, M.  2, 8, 153, 236, 237, 241 Drews, R.  207, 208, 213, 214 Driver, S. R.  11, 306 Drower, E. S.  56 Du Bois, C. M.  240 Dubuisson, D.  289 Duncan, C. J.  7 Ebaugh, H. R.  251, 261 Ebeling, E.  170, 172 Edelman, D.  145 Ehrlich, A.  216 Ehrlich, C. S.  73 Eicher, J. B.  20 Eilberg-Schwartz, H.  7, 12 Elgavish, Y.  150 Eliade, M.  173 Elliott, C.  105 Ephal, I.  297 Erekosima, T. V.  20 Eshel, L.  272 Eusebius  13 Exum, J. C.  3, 4 Falkner, M.  94, 95 Faris, J. C.  176 Faust, A.  10, 54, 56, 60, 65, 143, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 154, 155, 156, 158, 226, 236, 290 Feig, N.  146 Fenton, T. L.  307 Fichtner, J.  41 Fink, A. S.  59 Finkbeiner, U.  192 Finkelstein, I.  144, 145, 236 Fleishman, J.  63 Fleming, D. E.  230 Flusser, D.  7, 12 Force, R.  108 Fortune, R. F.  165, 167 Fowler, J.  34, 36, 43 Fowler, M.  205 Fox, M. V.  7, 11, 12 Franken, H. J.  135, 272 Frankfort, H.  191 Frechette, C.  170 Freedman, D. N.  84, 85, 88, 89, 270 French, E. B.  76, 78, 80 Frevel, C.  129, 200

Frey-Anthes, H.  167, 175 Friedl, E.  54, 65, 66 Friedman, R. E.  153 Fritz, V.  55, 156, 265, 269, 273, 275 Frolov, S.  12 Frymer-Kensky, T.  6 Furumark, A.  76, 78 Gallaway, P.  153 Garnett, L. M. J.  234, 242 Gelernter, D.  12 Gennep, A. van  2, 13, 22 George, A. R.  257 Gerleman, G.  20 Gerlitz, P.  175 Gerstenberger, E. S.  9, 36, 41, 138, 166, 167, 168, 171, 173, 174, 176, 177 Geva, S.  149, 150 Giddens, A.  151, 153 Gilbert-Peretz, D.  198, 204, 210 Gilboa, E.  157, 257 Gitin, S.  73, 74, 75, 84, 85, 88, 89, 90, 91, 96, 105, 120, 121, 270, 277, 278 Givon, S.  268 Goff, B. L.  200 Gohm, C. J.  108 Goldstein, B. F.  21 Goodenough, E. R.  200 Gophna, R.  147 Gordis, R.  152 Gottwald, N. K.  152, 226 Graham-Brown, S.  55, 56 Grant, E.  211 Greenberg, M.  12, 254, 303, 306 Greenfield, S. M.  149 Gross, R. M.  54, 56, 57 Gruber, M. I.  8, 63, 234, 308 Gursky, M. D.  7 Habel, N. C.  20 Hachlili, R.  89 Hadley, J. M.  85, 129 Hadzisteliou-Price, T.  216 Haines, R. C.  189, 190, 191 Haldar, A.  15 Hallo, W.  232 Halpern, B.  54, 55, 62 Hamilakis, Y.  238 Hanfmann, G. M. A.  213 Hanson, J.  151 Hanson, P. D.  20

317

Index of Authors Haran, M.  303 Harding, G. L.  113 Hardin, J. W.  61, 62 Harmon, G. E.  148 Harrison, T. P.  190, 191 Hartley, J. E.  8, 9 Hart, L. K.  231, 241 Hastorf, C. A.  237 Haughey, F.  193 Hauser, R.  213 Hawkins, J. D.  186, 187, 191, 192 Hayden, B.  64, 65, 229, 237, 238 Heeßel, N. P.  168, 169 Heltzer, M.  33, 35, 36, 40, 42, 48, 49, 297 Hendel, R. S.  15, 238, 243 Hendon, J. A.  54 Herr, B.  265 Herr, L. G.  58, 146, 158 Herrmann, V.  117, 186, 187, 188, 189, 192 Herzog, Z.  156, 199, 215, 272, 275 Hesse, B.  236 Hess, R. S.  8, 302, 303, 309 Hillier, B.  151 Hitchcock, L. A.  227 Hodder, I.  133, 151 Hoffman, L. A.  4 Hoffmann, D. Z.  7 Hoffmeier, J. K.  208 Hoffner, H. A.  6 Holladay, J. S., Jr.  53, 55, 57, 143, 144, 146, 147, 156, 203, 228, 265, 266, 269, 271 Holland, T. A.  130, 132, 202, 207, 272 Holloway, S. W.  6, 200 Homans, M. M.  232 Hopkins, D. C.  6, 147, 151 Hopkins, K.  227 Hornung, E.  89 Houtman, C.  11, 12 Hübner, U.  42 Huehnergard, J.  18 Huffmon, H. B.  35 Humbert, J-B.  157 Hundley, M.  308 Huntington, R.  19 Hurowitz, V. A.  276 Hyland, A.  207, 213, 214 Ibrahim, M. M.  157

Im, M.  198, 206, 207, 208, 212, 213, 214 Immerwahr, S. A.  83 Isaac, E.  7, 12

Kuemmerlin-McLean, J. K.  242 Kunin, S. D.  12, 15 Kutsch, E.  251

Jackson, B. S.  295 Jacobsen, T.  216 Jacobs, P. F.  229, 268 Jay, N.  22 Jeffers, A.  168 Jenkins, I.  22 Jeremias, J.  211, 212 Ji, C. H. C.  143, 158 Johnson, G.  108 Jones, R. N.  8

Labat, R.  168 Laffineur, R.  227 Langenegger, F.  188 Lauinger, J.  190, 192 Leach, E.  13 Lehmann, G.  146 Leighton, D.  176 Lemaire, A.  33, 35, 38, 40, 42 Lemos, T. M.  241 Lesko, B.  242 Leuchter, M.  62 Levine, B.  7, 8, 9, 54, 231, 233, 234, 235, 242 Levinson, B. M.  55, 62, 65, 296, 306, 308 Lévi-Strauss, C.  165 Lev-Tov, J.  58, 64, 227 Levy, T. E.  103 Lewis, T. J.  20, 21, 185, 233 Lewis, T. M.  233 Limmer, A. S.  57 Lissovsky, N.  137 Littauer, M. A.  207, 213 London, G.  145 Lonsdale, S. H.  22 Loretz, O.  129, 170 Loud, G.  269

Kaplan, L.  12 Karageorghis, V.  78, 80, 122, 207, 212, 214 Kaufmann, Y.  306 Kedar-Kopfstein, B.  231 Keel, O.  85, 91, 108, 129, 138, 203, 204, 208, 213, 272, 273, 276 Kelso, J. L.  199 Kempe, M.  5 Kempinski, A.  55, 265, 269, 275 Kenyon, K. M.  132, 200, 212, 272 KIetter, R.  135 Kilian, K.  80 Killebrew, A.  146 Killebrew, A. E.  227 Kim, T.-K.  41, 46 King, P. J.  7, 11, 123, 265, 295 Kirby, E.  108 Kitchen, K. A.  208 Klawans, J.  9 Kletter, R.  74, 85, 87, 89, 90, 91, 95, 96, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 204, 205, 206, 208, 210, 211, 212, 214, 215, 216, 275 Klingbeil, G. A.  201, 212, 213 Kloner, A.  216 Kluckhohn, C.  176 Knauer, E. R.  214 Kochavi, M.  156 Kosmala, H.  12 Kramer, C.  54

MacDonald, B.  104 MacDonald, N.  56, 227, 230, 235, 238, 239 Macht, D. I.  8 MacKay, J.  201, 270 Mackenzie, D.  198 Maeir, A. M.  73, 74, 83, 84, 85 Magonet, J.  8, 9 Malul, M.  10 Maraqten, M.  40, 43, 47 Margueron, J.-C.  192 Marquet-Krause, J.  271 Matthews, V. H.  7, 62 Matthiae, P.  188 Maul, S. M.  170, 171, 172 Mayer, W. R.  170 May, H. G.  200 Mazar, A.  59, 60, 73, 76, 83, 84, 89, 95, 135, 144, 146, 151, 158, 206, 265, 268, 272, 273, 274, 275

318 Mazar, B.  156, 272 Mazar, E.  156, 203, 205, 212, 272 Mazow, L. B.  76 Mazzoni, S.  187, 191, 192 McCarter, P. K.  11, 134, 257, 260 McCown, C.  199 McGeough, K.  58, 64, 227 McGuire, R. H.  93, 95 McKay, H. A.  212 McNutt, P.  226 Meehl, M. W.  75 Meigs, A.  241 Meinhold, A.  41 Metcalf, P.  19 Mettinger, T.  205 Meyer, M.  242 Meyers, C.  1, 7, 54, 56, 57, 64, 130, 136, 137, 138, 225, 230, 231, 234, 236, 239, 242, 243, 268, 291, 293 Meyers, E.  256 Milgrom, J.  7, 8, 10, 153, 230, 231, 242, 299, 301, 304 Mintz, S. W.  240 Mirecki, P.  242 Moorey, P. R. S.  85, 131, 132, 134, 205, 206, 213, 214, 269 Moran, W. L.  258 Morgenstern, J.  12 Moyle, N. K.  22 Müller, K.  188 Müller, U.  167 Murray, A.  19 Myerhoff, B. G.  3 Nadelman, Y.  205 Nahshoni, P.  74, 83, 84 Nakhai, B. A.  7, 8, 53, 54, 55, 57, 63, 64, 129, 138, 265 Naroll, R.  147 Naumann, R.  187 Naveh, J.  40, 297 Naʾaman, N.  137, 205 Negbi, O.  57, 84 Netzer, E.  143, 144, 153 Niditch, S.  14, 231 Niehr, H.  21, 187, 188, 204, 205 Nilsson, M. P.  95 Noth, M.  8, 36, 42, 43, 45, 47

Index of Authors Nunn, A.  207 Oden, R. A., Jr.  13 Oliver, P.  143 Olyan, S. M.  9, 10, 18, 53, 54, 64, 85, 129, 137, 225, 233, 243, 254, 258, 259, 262 Ornan, T.  213 Orthmann, W.  186, 187 Ostergren, R. C.  93 Otto, E.  231 Panitz-Cohen, N.  268 Paraire, D.  212 Pardee, D.  12, 185, 187 Parker-Pearson, M.  154 Patai, R.  12, 129 Paul, S. M.  258 Paz, S.  85, 89, 130, 131 Pearson, M. P.  19 Peckham, B. B.  18 Pienaar, D. N.  117 Pinch, G.  200 Pitard, W.  185, 192 Plaskow, J.  63 Plöger, O.  41 Pope, M.  185 Porath, Y.  75, 78, 79, 84, 85, 86 Porten, B.  252 Portugali, Y.  270, 271 Postgate, J. N.  214 Prag, K.  123, 272 Press, M. D.  74, 76, 77, 78, 79, 85, 87, 88, 91 Preuß, H. D.  41 Pringle, J.  8 Pritchard, J. B.  85, 200, 268 Propp, W. H. C.  7, 11, 12, 13, 15 Rad, G. von  41 Ramsoomair, C.  111 Rapoport, A.  155, 226 Ray, B. C.  3 Reade, J. E.  215 Rechenmacher, H.  36 Redfield, J.  22 Rehak, P.  95 Reichard, G. A.  176 Reich, J.  265 Reis, P. T.  12 Renfrew, C.  74, 103 Renger, J.  172

Renz, J.  33, 35, 36, 38, 40, 41, 42, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49 Reviv, H.  62, 149, 297 Ribeiro, D.  165 Richards, C.  154 Richter, H. F.  12 Ritner, R. K.  12, 202 Ritter, E. F.  168 Roberts, J. J. M.  33 Robins, G.  7 Robinson, B. P.  12, 106 Robinson, H. W.  292, 297 Rofé, A.  308 Röllig, W.  33, 35, 36, 38, 40, 41, 42, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49 Rollin, S.  57 Römer, T.  12 Rössler, D.  175 Rothenberg, B.  90, 275 Routledge, B.  54, 104 Ryssel, V.  8 Saarelainen, K.  205, 210, 211 Sader, H.  40 Safrai, S.  7, 12 Sass, B.  33, 42, 213 Sasson, J.  241 Schäfer-Lichtenberger, C.  96 Schaub, M. M.  147 Schliemann, H.  105 Schloen, D.  184, 185, 294 Schloen, J. D.  64, 143, 147, 148, 227 Schmandt-Besserat, D.  82, 237 Schmitt, R.  33, 45, 74, 76, 78, 95, 168, 169, 175, 202, 227, 228, 229, 236, 243, 267, 270, 272, 309 Schroer, S.  130, 167 Schumacher, G.  274 Schwally, F.  21 Schwemer, D.  170 Scott, S.  7 Scurlock, J. A.  6, 56, 57, 242 Seaford, R.  22 Seitz, G.  306, 307 Sellin, E.  207 Selvidge, M. J.  8 Seow, C. L.  33 Sered, S. S.  53, 55, 56, 59, 65, 66, 239 Seybold, K.  167

Index of Authors Seyfried, F.  116 Shai, I.  73 Shanks, H.  200, 297 Sherratt, E. S.  95 Shiloh, Y.  123, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 157 Shipton, P.  251, 261 Shostak, M.  165 Sidnell, P.  207, 214 Simak, E.  56 Simmons, L. W.  165 Singer, I.  95, 96 Smith, G. A.  306 Smith, J. Z.  236 Smith, M. S.  12, 129 Soden, W. von  168 Sommer, B. D.  302 Sourvinou-Inwood, C.  22 Spence, K.  116 Spencer, K.  176 Spicer, E. H.  95 Sprinkle, J. M.  9 Stager, L. E.  54, 75, 76, 85, 94, 123, 144, 145, 147, 148, 193, 226, 233, 256, 265, 295 Stähli, H-P.  201 Stamm, J. J.  36, 42, 251 Staubli, T.  167 Stavrakopoulou, F.  233 Steinberg, N.  230 Steiner, M. L.  118, 120, 135, 272, 273 Stern, E.  73, 96, 198, 204, 205, 214, 265 Sterne, L.  197 Stol, M.  6, 7, 8, 10 Stolz, F.  34 Stowers, S.  237 Stronach, D.  207, 214 Struble, E. J.  186, 187, 188, 189, 192 Sukenik, E. L.  272 Sutton, D. E.  237, 239, 241, 243 Tadmor, M.  85, 131, 208 Talmon, S.  15 Tamari, V.  54 Tatton-Brown, V.  201, 207, 212, 214 Taylor, J. G.  131, 200 Thompson, E. P.  297 Thorley, J. P.  199

Tigay, J. H.  45, 298, 304 Toellner, R.  175 Toorn, K. van der  6, 9, 11, 12, 21, 54, 62, 129, 138, 165, 176, 183, 184, 185, 187, 192, 213, 226, 233, 236, 240, 255, 256, 268, 295, 300, 306, 309 Tropper, J.  187 Tsukimoto, A.  185 Tufnell, O.  199 Turner, E.  3, 240 Turner, V.  2, 3, 4, 10, 13, 22 Twiss, K. C.  227, 238 Tylor, E. B.  238 Ucko, P. J.  136, 137, 205 Uehlinger, C.  85, 91, 95, 96, 129, 138, 203, 204, 205, 211, 213, 272, 276 Ussishkin, D.  156, 268, 274 Vanderhooft, D. S.  299 Vanoni, G.  238 Vaux, R. de  11, 12, 54, 62, 149, 150, 292, 308 Virchow, R.  105 Vogt, E.  17 Voigt, M. M.  205 Voos, J.  186 Voyatzis, M.  207, 213 Vriezen, K. J. H.  129, 138 Wagenaar, J. A.  230 Walzer, M.  300 Wampler, C.  199 Wapnish, P.  236 Waterson, R.  143, 154 Watson, P. J.  106 Weber-Hiden, I.  78 Weber, M.  290 Weinfeld, M.  62, 152, 156, 287, 304 Weinstein, D.  5 Weippert, H.  203, 265, 268, 271 Weismantel, M.  237 Wellhausen, J.  236 Wells, B.  299 Welmers, W. E.  20 Wenham, G. J.  8, 9, 17, 153 Wenning, R.  202, 203, 207, 252

319 Westbrook, R.  226 Wexler-Bdolah, S.  211 Whitaker, R. E.  33 Whitekettle, R.  8, 10, 11 Wiggerman, F. A. M.  202, 215 Wiggins, S. A.  129 Willett, E. A.  7, 55, 56, 57, 59, 267 Winter, U.  135, 136 Wirth, L.  149 Woolley, C. L.  188 Worschech, U.  204 Wright, D. P.  8 Wright, G. E.  143, 144, 191 Wyatt, N.  12 Wyman, L. C.  176 Yadin, Y.  116, 146, 149, 150, 156, 294 Yahalom-Mack, N.  59, 60 Yardeni, A.  33, 35, 38, 40, 42, 252 Yassine, K.  268 Yasur-Landau, A.  73, 78, 85, 91, 93, 94, 95, 96 Yeivin, S.  147 Yener, K. A.  192 Yohai, S. ben  7 Yorburg, B.  148, 149, 151 Zadok, R.  36, 42, 43, 47 Zakovitch, Y.  306 Zayadine, F.  117 Zeder, M. A.  236 Zevit, Z.  55, 57, 63, 103, 129, 136, 138, 200, 213, 227, 228, 243, 266, 272, 273, 275, 288, 290, 297, 298, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 309 Zgoll, A.  170, 178 Ziffer, I.  74, 89, 90, 91, 95, 96, 206, 208, 216, 237 Zimhoni, O.  156 Zimmerer, K. S.  93 Zimmerli, W.  41 Zorn, J. R.  60 Zuckerman, S.  64 Zukerman, A.  75 Zwickel, W.  116, 206, 216, 266, 273, 275, 276 Zwingenberger, U.  267

Index of Scripture Genesis 4:2  34 4:25  34 4:26  34 5:3  34 5:29  34 15:6  41 16:11  34, 35 16:15  34 17:11–12  11 17:19  34 17:25  11 18:1–15  63 19:12–14  294 19:37–38  34 20:12  4 20:13  301 21:4  11, 311 21:9  311 21:15  307 22  13, 15 22:1–19  13, 15 22:2  307 22:7  13 22:11–12  15 23  233 24:1–9  13 24:28  54 25:8  233 25:25–26  34, 35 27:36  35 27:41  254 29:32–35  34 30:6  34 30:8  34 30:11  34 30:13  34 30:14–16  167 30:18  34 30:20–21  34 30:23  40 31:5  47 31:19  64 31:29  47 31:42  47

Genesis (cont.) 32:10  47 34:13–17  11 35:8  18 35:16  18 35:16–20  17 35:18  34, 35 35:19  17, 18 35:20  253, 255 35:29  233 37:34–35  254 37:35  254 38:3  34 38:4–5  34 38:8  251 41:45  34 43:23  47 45:19  212 46:1  47 46:3  47 47:30  253 48:5–6  258 48:7  17, 18 49:29  17 49:29–32  253 49:30–31  17 49:30–32  16, 17 49:31  253 49:33  233 50:1–14  253 50:17  47 50:25–26  254, 260 Exodus 1–18  30 2:10  34, 258 2:22  34 3:8  42 4:22  258 4:24  12 4:24–26  11, 12 4:25  13 6:6  42 12  13, 231, 249 12:1–13  256

Exodus (cont.) 12:8–11  232 12:14  305 12:17  305 12:33–39  63 12:43–44  232 12:48  13 13:1–2  6 13:1–8  65 13:6–7  63 13:11–16  6 13:19  18, 254 16  234 18:8–10  42 18:12  62 18:13–27  293 18:22  296 20  63 20:8–11  234 20:10  156, 226 20:11  234 20:12  63, 256 20:23  302 20:24  308 20:24–26  301 21:1–22:16  295 21:6  21 22:7–11  304 22:29  6 23:12  234 23:14–17  230 23:16  232 23:17  231 23:19  241 25:1–31:17  303 25:29  228 27:1–7  302 27:21  305 28:43  305 29:35  11 30:21  305 30:25–35  167 31:13–17  234 32:27  259 34:18  230

320

Exodus (cont.) 34:20  6 34:21  234 34:22–23  230 34:23  231 34:26  241 34:35  230 35:3  234 37:29  167 38:1–7  302 38:21  305 40:33  305 Leviticus 2:4–5  239 3:17  305 4  299 4:2–9  304 4:5–7  299 4:16–17  299 4:23–25  299 4:27–34  299 6:11  305 6:15  305 7:18  41 7:34  305 7:36  305 8:1–10:20  305 8:33  11 10:9  305 10:15  305 11  235 12  8, 11, 166 12:1–8  7 12:2  7 12:3  11, 35 12:5  7, 35 12:6  10 13–14  166 15  166 15:19  9 16:29  305 16:31  305 16:34  305 17  305, 308, 309

Index of Scripture Leviticus (cont.) 17:3–4  305 17:3–6  304 17:4  41, 305 17:6  305 17:7  305 17:12–13  307 21  253 21:1–4  252, 259, 261 21:3  252 21:4  253 21:11  253 22:12  253 23  231 23:3  234 23:4–13  230 23:10  232 23:12  232 23:13  232 23:14  232, 305 23:18  232 23:21  305 23–27  248 23:31  305 23:33–43  230 23:34  11 23:37  232 23:39  232 23:41  305 23:42–43  11 24:3  305 24:9  305 25  230 25:25  251 25:48  251, 253 25:48–49  293 26:3–5  242 27:2–7  8 Numbers 1:16  297 1:44  297 2:3  297 2:5  297 2:7  297 3:11–12  6 3:40  6 3:40–50  6 5:11–31  174 7  305 7:1  305 7:2  297 8:16–18  6 9:12  305 9:15  305

Numbers (cont.) 10:8  305 10:10  232 11:14–17  293 11:16–30  304 11:25–29  293 12:1–15  166 12:4–13  304 15:17–21  242 15:32–36  234 16:15  305 16:25–35  292 18:8  305 18:11  305 18:15–16  6 18:16  6 18:19  305 18:23  305 18:27  41 19:10  305 19:11  11 19:14  11 19:16  11 19:21  305 23:22  42 24:8  42 25:2  21 27:6–11  295 27:8–11  253 28:10  234 28:11–15  233 28:16–31  230 28:26  232 31:19  11 33:54  226 36:6–9  295 Deuteronomy 1:9–18  293 1:12  293, 294 1:13–16  294 1:15  294 4:42  307 5  63 5:12–15  234 5:14  226 5:15  234 5:16  63, 256 5:17–20  62 8:8  232 11:24  301 12  302, 306, 307, 308, 309 12:2  308 12:4–12  306, 307 12:5  308

Deuteronomy (cont.) 12:7  231, 238 12:11  308 12:12  63 12:13–14  307 12:13–18  307 12:13–24  306 12:13–25  306 12:14  307 12:15  62, 64 12:16  305 12:18  231 12:23–25  241 12:24  305 13:2–19  300 13:7  287 13:13  307 14  235 14:21  156, 241 14:22–29  306 14:23  232 14:26  231, 232 14:28–29  156 15:7  156, 307 16:1–8  63 16:1–17  230 16:5  231, 307 16:7–8  232 16:11  231, 238 16:14  231, 238 16:16  231 16:18  294 16:18–20  294 17  296 17:2  63, 307 17:8–13  296 17:9  296 17:12  296 18:6  307 18:9–13  176 18:9–22  175 19:5  307 19:11  307 19:11–13  62 20:9  294 21:1–9  62 21:2–8  298 21:18–21  63 22:13–21  63 23:15–16  156 23:17  307 23:22  40 24:8  166 25:5  307 25:5–10  63, 251, 295

321 Deuteronomy (cont.) 25:7  297 26:14  255 26:15  301 28:1–5  242 28:26  257 29:9  294 29:17  63 29:17–28  300 31:9–13  64 31:10–12  231 31:10–13  63 31:12  156 32:14  232 Joshua 7  292 7:14–18  226, 292 7:16–17  292 7:25–26  292 8:35  64 13:15  295 13–19  226 13:24  295 18:1  304 18:28  20 20:4  62 21:4–40  309 22:14  297 24  193 24:10  42 24:26  193 24:30  20 24:32  18, 20, 256 24:33  20, 254 Judges 2:9  20 4:4  296 4:5  296 5:3  50 5:5  50 5:11  14 6:15  294 6:25  300 6:25–25  302 6:25–32  300 8:32  21 9:4  193 10:1–5  296 11:29  14 11:29–40  14, 15 11:37  14 11:39  15 12:7  21 12:8–15  296

322 Judges (cont.) 13:24  34 16:23  96 16:30  20 16:31  18 17:4–5  303 17:7–8  274 17–18  64 18:1–20  300 19:18  303 19:29  16 20:1–3  303 20:8–10  303 21:24  226 Ruth 1:2  17 1:8  54 2:20  251 4:1–12  63 4:1–13  295 4:2  297 4:5–6  251 4:11  17 4:17  34 1 Samuel 1–3  310 1:3  304 1:4–5  185 1:9  303 1:12  310 1:20  34 1:23–25  63 2:12–16  310 2:22  304, 310 3:3  303 3:29  310 5  96 7:15  296 7:18  296 8:2  296 8:12  294 8:13  167 9:7  166 9:11–21  310 9:22–25  301 10  89 10:2  17, 18 14:41  50 15:12–21  303 15:33  303 17:12  17 17:18  294 18:13  294 18:25–27  11

Index of Scripture 1 Samuel (cont.) 19:13–16  64 19:14  167 19:20  301 20  256 20:5–29  233 20:6  255, 256 20:24–29  310 20:29  255, 256 21:1–10  303 24:12  259 24:17  259 24:18  258, 260 25  232 25:1  21 28  175, 176 28:3–25  23, 233 28:13  21, 233 28:23  293 30:26  62 31:4  20 31:12  18 2 Samuel 1:12  254 1:17–27  260, 261 1:26  258, 260 2:5  259, 261 2:5–6  259 2:6  258 2:18  307 2:32  18, 21 3:31  252, 259, 260, 261 3:32–34  260, 261 3:33–34  252 3:35  254 5:3  303 5–10  295 6:17–19  304 7:14  258 9:1  260 9:1–13  258 10:2  260, 261 11:26–27  253, 254 12:24  34 13:36  254 14  63 14:4–7  297 14:5–7  292 14:7  295 14:16  21 15:7  303 17:23  20 18:18  255, 261 19:1–5  254

2 Samuel (cont.) 19:36  238 19:38  17 20:14–22  63 21:1–14  256 21:12–14  18, 20, 260, 261 21:14  20 24:16–17  253 1 Kings 1:30  50 1:39–40  238 2:34  21 6  191 6:1–7:1  303 7:13–51  303 7:45  228 8  302 8:13  308 11:43  21 12:28  42 12:31–32  277 13  175 14:1–3  166 14:1–18  174 14:11  257 16:4  257 17:7–24  166 17:17–24  173 17:19  167 18:30–37  302 21  226 21:3  21 21:8  62 21:24  257 22:4  212 22:10  303 2 Kings 1:1–8  174 1:2–3  96, 166 1:9  294 2:1–12  174 2:3–7  301 3:7  212 4:1–7  301 4:8–37  173, 301 4:18–37  166 4:20  167 4:23  303, 310 5  173, 174 5:1–19  166 5:10  167 5:19–27  166 5:26–27  174

2 Kings (cont.) 9:18–19  213 9:28  18 9:35–36  16 10:1–7  62 10:15–28  303 11:2  293 11:18–28  303 15:5  166 18:22  309 18:23  214 19:14  308 22–23  309 23  62 23:8  62, 63, 303 23:11  200, 201, 202, 203 23:30  18 1 Chronicles 3:21  42 4:4  17 4:9  34 6:39–66  309 7:10  46 7:16  34 7:22  254 7:23  34 13:8  89 15:16  89 15:19  89 25:1  89 25:6  89 2 Chronicles 1:2  296 5:12–13  89 8:12–13  232 9:31  21 12–13  232 19:5–6  296 19:8  296 22:11  293 25:34  18 26:11  294 26:19–21  166 32:6  303 Ezra 8:3  42 8:5  42 10:2  42 Nehemiah 2:3  257 2:5  257

323

Index of Scripture Nehemiah (cont.) 3:8  167 3:29  42 6:18  42 8:10  232 8:13–19  231 10:32  235 12:3  42 13:15–22  235 Esther 2:7  258 Job 2:11–13  166, 254 5:4  156 19:13–14  252, 259 33:14–30  174 33:19  167 33:19–30  166 39:19–25  212 42:14  34 Psalms 2:7  258 2:10  296 3:8  38, 46 4:2  46 5:3  46, 47 6:7  293 7:2  46 7:4  46 11:1  166 13:4  46 16:2  46 22  48, 49 22:2  46 22:3  46 22:4–6  41 22:10  48 22:10–11  41 22:11  46, 48 22:24  41 23:1  46 25:2  46 25:5  46 27:1  38 27:9  46 28:1  47 30:11  38 31:5  47 31:15  46 32:2  41 35:12–14  258 35:14  254, 261 35:23–24  46

Psalms (cont.) 38:12  252, 259 38:16  46 38:21  258 38:22  46 40:18  46 41:6–10  166 41:8–9  166 42:7  46 42:12  46 43:2  46 43:4  46 43:5  46 44:2–4  49 51:16  46 54:6  47 59:2  46 59:18  46 63:2  46 68:25–26  237 69:4  46 69:13  63 71  49 71:4  46 71:5  38, 49 71:6  46, 49 71:7  49 71:12  46 71:18  49 71:22  46 74:2  49 77  41 77:6  41 77:12  41 77:14–21  41 80:9–12  49 81:2–4  237 81:4  232 86:2  46 86:12  46 88:2  46 88:9  166 88:19  259 89:20–38  49 89:27–28  258 99:2  38 102:25  46 104:3  213 106:26  21 106:28  21 109:1  46 109:26  46 113:5  38 128  242 140:7  46 143:5  41

Psalms (cont.) 143:10  46 148:11–12  296 Proverbs 1:20–21  63 1:21  63 8:3  63 9:1–6  65 9:2  232 10–29  41, 46 22:22  156 31:10–31  63 31:31  63 Qoheleth 10:1  167 Song of Songs 1:9  212 3:4  54 8:2  54 Isaiah 1:6  167 1:13  234 1:13–14  310 1:26  296 1:29  303 2:8–11  303 2:19–21  303 2:21  301 3:1–3  175 3:18–21  175 5:28  212 7:14  34 8:3  34 8:19  21, 233 8:19–20  23 17:10–11  303 25:6  232 38  174 38:1–8  166 38:21  174 47:8–15  175 58:13–14  235 65:3–5  272 Jeremiah 2:2  258 6:26  254 7:11  303 7:18  64, 130 7:31  287 8:16  212 8:22  167

Jeremiah (cont.) 15:3  257 16:5–9  301 16:7  254 17:21–24  235 17:25  214 19:12–13  303 22:4  214 30:13  167 31:9  258 31:15  17, 18, 22 44:15–19  63, 287, 289 44:17  289 44:18  178 44:19  64 46:11  167 47:3  212 51:8  167 Lamentations 2:6  310 5:14  63 Ezekiel 1  212 8:7–12  303 8:17  303 10  212 13:18–21  175 16:7–8  258 17:12  167 24:16–17  254 24:17  254 24:22  254 30:21  167 34:4  167 40:4  154 40–48  154 43:1–4  154 44:2  154 44:24  235 44:25  252 44:30  242 45:21–25  230 Daniel 8:27  167 Hosea 1:4  34 1:6  34 1:9  34 2:4–25  258 2:10  236 2:13  232, 234, 310

324 Hosea (cont.) 7:7  296 11:1  258 13:10  296 Amos 2:7–8  310 4:4  303 4:4–5  310

Index of Scripture Amos (cont.) 5:5  303 5:12  156 5:19  307 5:21–23  237 6:3–7  301 6:4  232 6:9–10  253, 301 8:5  232, 234

Amos (cont.) 8:10  254

Zephaniah 1:4–7  303

Micah 5:1  17 5:9–14  175

Zechariah 12:10  254

Habakkuk 1:8  212

Malachi 1:6  256

New Testament Luke 1:59  11

Luke (cont.) 2:21  11

Galatians 3:28  290

Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha Sirach 30:18  255

Tobit 4:17  255

Wisdom of Solomon 16:12  167

Philippians 3:5  11