History, Archaeology and The Bible Forty Years After Historicity: Changing Perspectives 6 (Copenhagen International Seminar) [1 ed.] 9781138889514, 9781315690780, 1138889512

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HISTORY, ARCHAEOLOGY AND THE BIBLE FORTY YEARS AFTER “HISTORICITY”

In History, Archaeology and the Bible Forty Years after “Historicity”, Hjelm and Thompson argue that a ‘crisis’ broke in the 1970s, when several new studies of biblical history and archaeology were published, questioning the historical-critical method of biblical scholarship. The crisis formed the discourse of the Copenhagen School’s challenge of standing positions, which—together with new achievements in archaeological research— demand that the regional history of ancient Israel, Judaea and Palestine be reconsidered in all its detail. This volume examines the major changes that have taken place within the field of Old Testament studies since the groundbreaking works of Thomas Thompson and John van Seters in 1974 and 1975 (both republished in 2014). The book is divided in three sections: changing perspectives in biblical studies, history and cult, and ideology and history, presenting new articles from some of the field’s best scholars with comprehensive discussion of historical, archaeological, anthropological, cultural and literary approaches to the Hebrew Bible and Palestine’s history. The chapters question: “How does biblical history relate to the archaeological history of Israel and Palestine?” and “Can we view the history of the region independently of a biblical perspective?” by looking at the problem from alternative angles and questioning long-held interpretations. Unafraid to break new ground, History, Archaeology and the Bible Forty Years after “Historicity” is a vital resource to students in the field of Biblical and East Mediterranean Studies, and anyone with an interest in the archaeology, history and religious development in Palestine and the ancient Near East. Ingrid Hjelm is Associate Professor at the University of Copenhagen and Director of the Palestine History and Heritage Project. She is the author of The Samaritans and Early Judaism (2000) and Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty (2004) in addition to a considerable number of articles within the field of Samaritan studies, the history of ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible. Her latest book, co-edited with Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme is Myths of Exile (2015). Thomas L. Thompson is Professor Emeritus at the University of Copenhagen and author of some 130 articles and ca. 20 books, including The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives (1974), The Early History of the Israelite People (1992), The Bible in History: How Writers Create a Past (1999) and Biblical Narrative and Palestine’s History (2013), currently working as Project Developer on the Palestine History and Heritage Project.

COPENHAGEN INTERNATIONAL SEMINAR General Editors: Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson both at the University of Copenhagen Editors: Niels Peter Lemche and Mogens Müller, both at the University of Copenhagen Language Revision Editor: James West at the Quartz Hill School of Theology Available: JAPHETH BEN ALI’S BOOK OF JEREMIAH Joshua A. Sabih THE EMERGENCE OF ISRAEL IN ANCIENT PALESTINE Emanuel Pfoh ORIGIN MYTHS AND HOLY PLACES IN THE OLD TESTAMENT Lukasz Niesiolowski-Spanò CHANGING PERSPECTIVES I John Van Seters ARGONAUTS OF THE DESERT Philippe Wajdenbaum THE EXPRESSION ‘SON OF MAN’ AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF CHRISTOLOGY Mogens Müller BIBLICAL STUDIES AND THE FAILURE OF HISTORY Niels Peter Lemche BIBLICAL NARRATIVE AND PALESTINE’S HISTORY Thomas L. Thompson

‘IS THIS NOT THE CARPENTER?’ Edited by Thomas L. Thompson and Thomas S. Verenna THE BIBLE AND HELLENISM Edited by Thomas L. Thompson and Philippe Wajdenbaum RETHINKING BIBLICAL SCHOLARSHIP Philip R. Davies REPRESENTING ZION Frederik Poulsen MYTHS OF EXILE Edited by Anne Katrine De Hemmer Gudme and Ingrid Hjelm REWRITING PETER AS AN INTERTEXTUAL CHARACTER IN THE CANONICAL GOSPELS Finn Damgaard HISTORY, ARCHAEOLOGY AND THE BIBLE FORTY YEARS AFTER “HISTORICITY” Edited by Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION BEYOND HISTORICITY Edited by Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson

Forthcoming: SYRIA-PALESTINE IN THE LATE BRONZE AGE Emanuel Pfoh THE JUDAEO-KARAITE RECEPTION OF THE HEBREW BIBLE Joshua A. Sabih PLATO AND THE CREATION OF THE HEBREW BIBLE Russel E. Gmirkin

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HISTORY, ARCHAEOLOGY AND THE BIBLE FORTY YEARS AFTER “HISTORICITY” Changing Perspectives 6

Edited by Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson

First published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2016 Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Hjelm, Ingrid, editor. Title: History, archaeology and the Bible forty years after historicity / edited by Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson. Description: New York, NY : Routledge, 2016. | Series: Changing perspectives ; 6 | Series: Copenhagen international seminar | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015028476| ISBN 9781138889514 (hardback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781315690780 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Bible—Criticism, interpretation, etc. | Bible. Old Testament— History of Biblical events. | Bible. Old Testament—Antiquities. | Palestine— History—To 70 A.D. Classification: LCC BS511.3 .H57 2016 | DDC 220.609/04—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015028476 ISBN: 978-1-138-88951-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-69078-0 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Swales & Willis Ltd, Exeter, Devon, UK

In memory of a colleague and friend Frederick H. Cryer 1947–2002

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CONTENTS

List of figures xi Notes on contributors xii Acknowledgements xv List of abbreviations xvi Introduction 1 INGRID HJELM AND THOMAS L. THOMPSON

PART I

Changing perspectives in biblical studies

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 1 Old and new in Scandinavian interpretation of the Hebrew Bible 17 DOUGLAS A. KNIGHT

 2 Myth and history: reflections on the relationship between biblical history and the history of Israel 35 REINHARD G. KRATZ

 3 Out of the wilderness? Some suggestions for the future of Pentateuchal research 47 THOMAS M. BOLIN

 4 The contemporary debate over linguistic dating of biblical texts 60 MARTIN EHRENSVÄRD

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C ontents

PART II

Archaeology, cult and history

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 5 From Jerusalem with love 71 MARGREET L. STEINER

 6 Gender marking, overlapping and the identity of the Bes-like figures at Kuntillet Ajrud 85 BRIAN B. SCHMIDT

 7 Lost and found? A non-Jewish Israel from the Merneptah stele to the Byzantine period 112 INGRID HJELM

 8 Antiochus IV Epiphanes and the Jews: a reassessment 130 ŁUKASZ NIESIOŁOWSKI-SPANÒ

PART III

Ideology and history 141  9 From the search for ancient Israel to the history of ancient Palestine 143 EMANUEL PFOH

10 Ethnicity and a regional history of Palestine 159 THOMAS L. THOMPSON

11 “The destruction that can be studied”: Israeli archaeology and the deserted Palestinian villages 174 RAZ KLETTER AND GIDEON SULIMANI

12 The Bible in the service of Zionism: “we do not believe in God, but he nonetheless promised us Palestine” 205 ILAN PAPPE

13 Arab scholars’ contribution to biblical studies 218 ZIAD MUNA

Index of sources 223 Index of authors 225 x

FIGURES

 6.1 Pithos A: YHWH-Asherah as Bes-Beset scene with overlapping graffito 86  6.2 Pithos A: tree-ibexes-lion scene 89  6.3 Pithos B: worshipper scene and overhead caption 91  6.4 Pithos B: complete projection drawing 93  6.5 Pithos A: complete projection drawings 96 11.1 Khartiyah, c. November 1948, photo Y. Ory. IAA archive i143 175 11.2 Kunayissah/Kh. Neches (near Modi‘in), 2012, photo R. Kletter 176 11.3 Traditional architecture and ancient stones at Selbit/Sha‘alabim 1949; unknown photographer. IAA archive i320 178 11.4 Letter by Yadin, 26.5.1964 182 11.5 Yalu 2014, photo R. Kletter 188 11.6 Sataf, 2005, photo R. Kletter 193 11.7 The opening page of Eitan’s research proposal 203 11.8 The last page of Eitan’s research proposal 204

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CONTRIBUTORS

Thomas M. Bolin is Professor of Theology and Religious Studies at St. Norbert College in De Pere, Wisconsin (USA). Author of Freedom Beyond Forgiveness: The Book of Jonah Re-Examined (1997). His latest book, Ecclesiastes and the Riddle of Authorship, will be published in 2016. Martin Ehrensvärd is Associate Professor at the University of Copenhagen, Faculty of Theology, where he teaches a number of different Semitic languages. He has published mainly on the syntax and on the linguistic dating of biblical Hebrew. Ingrid Hjelm, is Associate Professor at the University of Copenhagen and Director of the Palestine History and Heritage Project. She is the author of The Samaritans and Early Judaism (2000) and Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty (2004) in addition to a considerable number of articles within the field of Samaritan studies, the history of ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible. Her latest book, co-edited with Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme is Myths of Exile (2015). Raz Kletter is an archaeologist (PhD) who worked in various positions (including Head of SPR Unit) at the Israel Antiquities Authority (1990–2007), conducting and participating in many excavations. He has taught in several universities and is currently Docent at the University of Helsinki. His main fields of study are economy, figurines, and history of archaeology. Among his many publications is a monograph on the history of Israeli archaeology, Just Past? The Making of Israeli Archaeology (2006). Douglas A. Knight is Drucilla Moore Buffington Professor of Hebrew Bible Emeritus and Professor of Jewish Studies at Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tennessee. He is the author of Rediscovering the Traditions of Israel (3rd ed., 2006) and Law, Power, and Justice in Ancient Israel (2011), and co-author of The Meaning of the Bible (2011). He serves as general editor of the series Library of Ancient Israel. Reinhard G. Kratz is Professor of the Old Testament at the Theological Faculty of Georg-August-University Göttingen. He is the author of The Composition

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (2005; German original 2000); Die Propheten Israels (2003; English version The Prophets of Israel, 2015); Historisches und biblisches Israel (2013, English version forthcoming 2015 with Oxford University Press). Ziad Muna, born in 1950 in Palestine, obtained his PhD in Philosophy at the Karl Marx University in ex GDR. He began writing his Dissertation B on Kamal Salibi’s thesis of a western-Arabian origin of the Bible, at the department of Theology of Humboldt University. He is the author of Egypt and the Israelites in South-western Arabia (1994, in Arabic), and since 2000 editor and director of Qadmus Press, Beirut and Damascus. Łukasz Niesiołowski-Spanò, Dr. Hab., works at the Institute of History, University of Warsaw, where he specialises in the history of ancient Palestine. Recently he has focused his work on the history of the Philistines and their influence on the Hebrews. Author of Origin Myths and Holy Places in the Old Testament (2011); Goliath’s Legacy (2015). Ilan Pappe is Director of the European Centre for Palestine Studies and a senior fellow in the Institute of Arab and Islamic Studies, both at the University of Exeter. He is the author of fifteen books and many articles on the history of the Middle East in general and the Israel/Palestine conflict in particular: The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (2007), The Modern Middle East (third edition 2010), The Idea of Israel (2014), The Husaynis: The Rise and Fall of a Palestinian Dynasty (2010). His latest book is On Palestine (2015) written jointly with Noam Chomsky. Emanuel Pfoh is a researcher at the National Research Council (CONICET) and teaches in the Department of History of the National University of La Plata, Argentina. His publications include The Emergence of Israel in Ancient Palestine: Historical and Anthropological Perspectives (2009), Anthropology and the Bible: Critical Perspectives (2010) and The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation Building (co-edited with K.W. Whitelam, 2013). Brian B. Schmidt (D.Phil., Oxon.), Associate Professor, Near Eastern Studies, University of Michigan, is author of Israel’s Beneficent Dead (1994) and The Materiality of Power (forthcoming 2015, Mohr-Siebeck). Editor of The Quest for Historical Israel, Contextualizing Israel’s Sacred Writings and Kuntillet ’Ajrud (2015), and he has published numerous articles on various aspects of ancient Levantine cultures. Margreet L. Steiner is an independent researcher, specialised in the archaeology of the Levant. She has published a large part of Kenyon’s excavations in Jerusalem and has recently edited (with Ann Killebrew), The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Levant (ca. 8000–332 bce).

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Gideon Sulimani is an archaeologist (BA, Tel-Aviv University, 1984) who participated in excavations of Tel Lachish, Tel Rumeiydah, Yoqneam, and Hazor. In 1990–2008 he worked in the Jerusalem District of the Israel Antiquities Authority, also directing salvage excavations (Mamila, Ramat Rahel), and surveys (Nes Harim Map). Since 2008 he is a member and employee of the “Emek Shaveh” association, which deals with the place of archaeology in Israeli society and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Thomas L. Thompson is Professor Emeritus at the University of Copenhagen and author of some 130 articles and ca. 20 books, including The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives (1974), The Early History of the Israelite People (1992), The Bible in History: How Writers Create a Past (1999) and Biblical Narrative and Palestine’s History (2013), currently working as Project Developer on the Palestine History and Heritage Project.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme and Jesper Høgenhaven, both from the University of Copenhagen, are to be thanked for joining us in organizing the conference on Changing Perspectives, which was held on October 9–12, 2013 at the Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen. Also to be thanked are the dean of the faculty, Professor Kirsten Busch Nielsen and the faculty for housing the conference and for their support. Gratitude is also due to the H.P. Hjerl Hansen Memorial Fund for Danish Research on Palestine and The Carlsberg Foundation for funding the conference. Thanks to authors and participants of the conference. We are also grateful to Philippe Wajdenbaum for his generous help in proofreading the manuscript.

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ABBREVIATIONS

ABRL ANET ARAB BZAW CIS ESHM FBE HSM HTR hist.-filos. Kl. IAA IDAM IOSOT JSOTS KKL LHB/OTS LCB MAPAI NTOA OBO OBO.SA. Orientalia NS PEF SHANE SJOT TANZ VTSup UNSCOP

Anchor Bible Reference Library Ancient Near Eastern Texts Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Copenhagen International Seminar European Seminar on Historical Methodology Forum for bibelsk eksegese Harvard Semitic Studies Harvard Theological Review historisch-filologische Klasse Israel Antiquities Authority Israel Department of Antiquities and Museum International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplements Keren Kayemet le-Yisrael (The Jewish National Fund) Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies The Loeb Classical Library Mifleget po’alim eretz yisraelit (The Socialist Party) Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus Orbis biblicus et orientalis Orbis biblicus et orientalis. Series archaeologica Orientalia Nove Series Palestine Exploration Fund Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter Vetus Testamentum Supplements United Nations’ special commission on Palestine

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INTRODUCTION Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson

Volumes 6 and 7 of the Changing Perspectives series examine some of the major changes that have taken place within the field of Old Testament Studies since the publication of the groundbreaking works by Thomas L. Thompson and John van Seters in 1974 and 1975 (both of which have been republished in 2014). Their works severely challenged the validity of the historical critical approach that, since the Enlightenment, had guided biblical interpretation in an unholy alliance with biblical archaeology’s search for confirmation of the historical reliability of the Bible’s narratives. Rather than truly serving its own ends and supplementing each other, the alliance, in fact, fractured both disciplines. This became increasingly clear in subsequent years with the consequence that Niels Peter Lemche, in a public lecture in the mid-nineties, declared the historical-critical method neither historical, nor critical. With Thomas L. Thompson’s appointment as Professor in Copenhagen in 1992, the Copenhagen School was born. Its founders Thomas L. Thompson, Philip R. Davies, Niels Peter Lemche, and Frederick H. Cryer together with other colleagues worldwide, raised a number of critical issues, which significantly changed the perspectives of Old Testament scholarship and have influenced the outlook and methods of biblical studies and related disciplines in the course of the last 50 years. With Thompson’s retirement in 2009 and Lemche’s then-pending retirement, we, their colleagues in Copenhagen, Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme, Jesper Høgenhaven and Ingrid Hjelm, with Thomas L. Thompson, decided to arrange an international conference that would center on the Copenhagen School’s manifold contributions to biblical studies and discuss future prospects for the discipline. The conference was held in October 2013, with contributions from scholars, who either for years had contributed to said changes or, being younger, had been challenged by these new perspectives to open up new avenues for his or her core area of research. The articles published in volumes 6 and 7 of Changing Perspectives represent heavily reworked and updated papers from this conference, supplemented in volume 7 by an article published by the late Frederick H. Cryer, who died untimely in 2002. The volumes are divided between a historically oriented volume 6 (see further below) and a literary oriented volume 7 that they might focus on two distinct aspects of biblical studies. The volumes can be read independently or together. 1

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Volume 6 of the Changing Perspectives series presents a broad discussion, which both evokes and evaluates a number of the different changes in perspective that have come about in the past half-century as a consequence of the collapse of the historical-critical assumptions, which traditionally had engaged biblical studies in questions of ancient history and archaeological interpretation. Until the mid-1970s, these quite different fields had been understood as so closely related as to be inseparable. Not only had archaeologists come to accept an Israeli perspective that identified the Bronze Age as “Canaanite” and the Iron Age as “Israelite”, they also increasingly associated this ethnocentric construct, drawn from biblical narrative, as a secure assumption of their research. The highpoint of such a “biblical archaeology” was marked by three important studies. The earliest was Manfred Weippert’s Die Landnahme der israelitischen Stämme. This study supported Alt and Noth’s historicizing of the origin story in Judges as the result of a tribal migration against both Albright’s history of an Israelite conquest and George Mendenhall and Norman Gottwald’s anthropological model of Israel’s origins in a peasant revolt against “Canaanite city-states” (Weippert 1967). In contrast to Weippert’s study, Roland de Vaux’s L’Histoire ancienne d’Israël attempted to construct an alternative middle ground between the perspectives of these German and American scholars by concentrating on methods rather than conclusions. For de Vaux, the points of convergence between a biblically oriented tradition-history and a critical understanding of historical inscriptions and related questions, guiding archaeological fieldwork, offered a methodological key to writing a history of Israel from its earliest origins until Jerusalem’s destruction at the beginning of the sixth century, bce. Unfortunately, de Vaux died in 1971 and this comprehensive history was never completed (de Vaux 1971). Finally, Frank Moore Cross’s Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic of 1973 – in its conception, a classical study in comparative religion – sought an alternative in the ideological continuity between “Canaanite” and Israelite myth and culture. He supported this with tradition-historical arguments for a near contemporary setting of the composition of foundation stories with the events of biblical narrative. All three of these studies sought a common, middle ground, which might unite the historical criticism of biblical literature and Palestinian archaeology. The focus of their historical work was firmly caught between two very troublesome questions, governed by the seductive themes of the origin stories of the people(s) and religion(s) of “Israel” and their emergence in history within Eretz Israel. While questions of origin dominated the structure of biblical archaeological histories, the perspective, which was thought to give warrant to such queries, was ever that of historicity. Already in the mid-1960s, the Canadian scholar, John Van Seters, began his project of re-examining the historicity of traditional narratives in an effort to challenge their early dating. Beginning with a radical lowering of the date of the Admonitions of Ipuwer, Van Seters related its social and interpretive context to the Second rather than the First Intermediate Period, when Asiatics were assimilated with Egyptians in the Nile Delta and when they occasionally rose to positions of 2

I ntroduction

power (Van Seters 1964). This change in perspective on Ipuwer established the strategy of Van Seters’ groundbreaking dissertation on the Hyksos, which interpreted Manetho’s narrative about the establishment of the Second Intermediate Period as representing the overthrow of the state as a joint effort of both Egyptians and Asiatics living in the Delta (Van Seters 1966). By changing so radically our perspective on both the early dating and the historicity of traditional narratives, Van Seters laid the ground for a radical reassessment of the historicity of similarly traditional, biblical literature, in particular, of the Pentateuch and its relationship to the history of Palestine’s Bronze Age. Just at the time that Weippert’s 1967 comparison of the historical constructs about Israel’s origins offered its support to the settlement theory of Alt and Noth, the central arguments supporting this historical critical method suffered overwhelming criticism. Especially in regard to his understanding of Israel “at the time of the Judges” in an historicized form of a tribal amphictyony, drawn from Greek literature and his early dating of the narratives of Judges and Samuel (Orlinsky 1962; Fohrer 1969 [1968]; Lemche 1972 [1968]; Friis 1986 [1968]; for further bibliography, see Thompson 1992a: 42–43 n. 42). In the late 1960s, there was also considerable – though yet inadequately defined – dissatisfaction with the growing biblical orientation of Palestine’s history and archaeology (Smith 1969; Mazar 1969). The crisis broke with the publication of three major works in the early to mid1970s, which brought about a decisive rejection of biblical archaeology’s simple search for affirmation of the historicity of biblical origin stories. (a) The critique of “historicity” began, first of all, with the falsification of biblical archaeology’s established theory of an historical patriarchal period in the Middle or early Late Bronze Age, which had supported, for more than a halfcentury, claims of the patriarchal narratives as essentially historical and reflecting a real past in the Bronze Age. The 1972 dissertation of Thomas L. Thompson demonstrated that the biblical narratives of Genesis did not reflect any known context of the Bronze Age. The biblical-archaeological construct of a nomadic migration of “Amorites” across the fertile crescent and eventually destroying Palestine’s Early Bronze civilization and creating a Bronze Age Intermediate period of de-sedentarization, had no historical warrant from either an archaeological or a biblical perspective. The family contracts from Nuzi, moreover, did not reflect unique social customs of the Late Bronze Age, as claimed; nor were they in any unique way related to the biblical, patriarchal narrative’s folkloric plot motifs (Thompson 1974). (b) The following year, in a radical revision of our understanding of the composition of the traditional narratives of Abraham, John Van Seters independently confirmed Thompson’s conclusions. He argued that the patriarchal narratives had their most likely context in the Iron Age, rather than the Bronze Age. Moreover, he demonstrated that the social and family customs reflected in Genesis, which biblical archaeology had associated with the Late Bronze Nuzi contracts, were best associated with the sixth century bce. In the second part of this book, Van Seters 3

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went on to show that traditional historiographies, such as one finds in Genesis, are not only fictive, but historical criticism’s traditional understanding of the Yahwist as the Pentateuch’s earliest source was, in fact, later than the Deuteronomist and to be dated no earlier than the sixth century bce (Van Seters 1975). The collapse of nearly every argument, which had been raised to support an ‘essential’ historicity of the origin stories of Genesis, radically changed our perspective on the stories of the Pentateuch. In 1977, John Hayes and J. Maxwell Miller published a comprehensive summary of the changing perspectives on the “History of Israel” at the time. Even their title, Israelite and Judean History, evoked a program which was open to distinct histories of Judah and Israel, and, indeed, to a plurality of histories for Palestine’s many different regions (Hayes and Miller 1977). Such a perspective had already begun to spread rapidly and widely among archaeologists and historians in the early and mid-1970s, as a shift from “biblical” to “Palestinian” or “Syro-Palestinian” archaeology was ready at hand. The changes in this discipline also opened to a history of Palestine, independent of the ideology and mythic past of biblical narrative (Thompson 1974: 315–324; 144–171). Hayes and Miller’s arrangement of their critically deconstructive volume followed biblical archaeology’s stereotypical periodization of biblical figures. Chapters were successively ordered on the patriarchs, the Moses and Joseph narratives, Joshua, Judges, etc. This strategy centered the perspective of each author, in turn, on the question of the historicity of successive origin stories and on their relationship to archaeological or contemporary, textual evidence. The conclusions of all of the early chapters of the book, down to and including the period of the judges, unequivocally rejected the historicity supported by biblical archaeology. Even the stories about the kings of the United Monarchy: Saul, David, and Solomon, were understood as origin stories and questions concerning their historicity were raised, though hardly resolved. Indeed, Miller, in his chapter on Israelite origins and the settlement in Cana’an, was much in favor of using biblical narratives for his history, but only in a very qualified manner, as can be seen in five, tentative, concluding observations: Israel was first associated with the hill country. The motif of tribal organization is later than the origins of the United Monarchy. We are unable to date Israel’s earliest occupation of the land at the Late Bronze-Iron Age transition. It is far better to consider the entire Iron I period as a period of transition. Finally, Saul’s monarchy was to be restricted to the Northern Kingdom. Miller’s assumptions helped form the dominant perspective of historical and archaeological research through the following decade (Miller 1977). Reflective of such considerations are titles and composition of histories of ancient Israel from Soggin (1984) to Grabbe (1997), which increasingly doubt that a history of Israel can be written1 (Hjelm forthcoming). Soggin’s A History of Israel from the Beginning to the Bar Kochva Revolt, from 1984, has the United Monarchy under David and Solomon as its starting point, and he subsumes both Israelite and Judaean history under the traditional terminology “History of Israel”. Questioning the historicity of the David traditions, the United Monarchy and an “all Israel” ideology (Soggin 1984: 40f.), one is not surprised to find that the 4

I ntroduction

second and third revised editions of Soggin’s book from 1993 and 1999 bear the title An Introduction to the History of Israel and Judah. Introduction, rather than history is what one can write, when the basic sources for the two kingdoms “are not historical texts in the modern sense of the word, but testimonies of faith” (Soggin 1999: xiii). Although Miller, in Hayes and Miller (1977), was skeptical about the historicity of the period of the Judges, Miller and Hayes, A History of Ancient Israel and Judah, from 1986, begins with the period of the Judges as the Bible’s earliest historical kernel reflecting an “authentic tradition” about Israel’s origins. Doubting “the historiographical value of the biblical story about the United Monarchy” (Miller and Hayes 1986: 200; cf. Thompson 1992a: 109), which they nevertheless present in about 100 pages, the book follows up the focus on the traditions and history of the independent Israelite and Judaean monarchies from their 1977 book. At their publication, both books were seen as quite radical, but today one would rather find that they represent mainstream positions. In the second revised edition of their 1986 volume the authors state that “given the nature of the debate in the last twenty years, their work has come to seem less radical and more moderately cautious” (Whitelam 2012: 488 n. 5; cf. Miller and Hayes 2006: xviii). The search for an Early Israel in Lemche’s 1985 monograph turned out negatively in regard to finding pre-monarchic structures, which can be interpreted as belonging to a defined political entity called “Israel” (Lemche 1985: 406). Consequently, his Ancient Israel from 1988 set the reign of David as the earliest possible “terminus a quo for a pan-Israelite ideology”, which, however, might not have been effective before centuries later and represent “the late Israelite construction of the early history of Israel” (Lemche 1988: 108). In spite of the critical stance taken by Lemche in his 1988 book, the Old Testament is his main source of information on Israelite history and religion in the first millennium bce. Coote and Whitelam, The Emergence of Early Israel in Historical Perspective, from 1987 solidifies the existence of the united Davidic kingdom in its claim of Early Israel’s emergence from literary activity in Davidic courts (Coote and Whitelam 1987: 147–148). Searching for an early Israel, however, the book’s conclusion, that the formation of the Davidic state was a result of changed environmental and political circumstances, is directed entirely by biblical narrative’s composition and periodization. The Israel found by Coote and Whitelam was not the origin of the historical Israelite kingdom, known also as Bit Humria in extra-biblical sources from the ninth to eighth century, but a united kingdom, which is as much part of a mythic past as is its invention of an early Israel (Whitelam 1996: 156). The move towards a more regionally oriented history took a large step forward in Gösta Ahlström’s The History of Ancient Palestine from the Paleolithic Period to Alexander’s Conquest (1993). Ahlström’s attempts at balancing sources and archaeology nevertheless pay undue respect to the biblical material, which ends up directing his composition of the Iron Age into the formation of an Ancient Israel rather than a history of Ancient Palestine. Thomas Thompson’s Early History of the Israelite People: From the Written and Archaeological Sources, from 1992, takes a somewhat different perspective in its search for “an understanding of the 5

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history of ‘Israel’ within the context of a comprehensive regional and historical geography of Palestine” (Thompson 1992a: 401). In this search Thompson rather deconstructs any history told and attempts to open up avenues to the literary and intellectual matrices of biblical tradition.2 However, the book does not escape some of the pitfalls mentioned by Whitelam (1996: 71): The search for ancient Israel has been of such primary concern within the discipline because the historical critical assumption has been that it is these periods [the “emergence” of Israel in Palestine and the development of the Davidic-Solomonic state] which provide the loci for understanding and defining much of the biblical material. The irony is, however, that current reassessments by Ahlström, Lemche, Coote, Whitelam, and Thompson are likely to lead to the view that it is the period of the Late Bronze-Iron Age transition, which will come to be seen as the defining moment in the emergence of Palestinian history as a subject in its own right.

Surface surveys and the end of biblical archaeology Although Whitelam’s critique of the implicit danger in focusing on the Late Bronze-Iron Age transition hit right on the mark, successive discussions rather did the opposite of what Whitelam feared. The focus moved in many different directions and periods and biblical archaeology lost its heyday to other disciplines related to historical research, as one can find in the Changing Perspectives Series. In spite of attempts at recent assessments of Israel’s biblical past by Ferdinand Deist (2000), Kenneth Kitchen (2003), Iain Provan, Philips Long and Tremper Longman III (2003), William Dever (2001, 2003), and Avraham Faust (2006), the tide has moved towards a more inclusive history of Palestine’s past beyond an Israeli perspective. This move had, in fact, begun long before Whitelam’s critique, when the publication of Niels Peter Lemche’s, Early Israel, marked the end of biblical archaeology’s legitimacy. The book was centered on a detailed critique of Norman Gottwald’s use of anthropological models for reconstructing Israel’s early origins as a unified people in the period of the Judges (Gottwald 1979; Lemche 1985: 326–385). Lemche argued that anthropology provided spectra of possibilities for historical reconstruction, rather than analogies drawn from models of society. History could be written only on the basis of available evidence. Biblical archaeology stood without historical warrant. Lemche drew out the implications of this argument: “On no account were the basic preconditions present for the emergence of the concept of Israel as a unity before the period of the monarchy”. With comparable conclusiveness, he also added, “On no account could the concept of a united Israel have resulted in pan-Israelite historical writing before the time of the exile” (Lemche 1985: 384; cf., Thompson 1992a: 127–141). Consequently, for many scholars, the biblical texts became literary products from the Persian, Hellenistic and even Roman periods, with little value for history writing of earlier periods. 6

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As biblical scholarship and historical writing moved yet further away from a biblical perspective of Israel’s past, archaeology moved towards a history of Palestine, independent of a biblical perspective. Following the Israeli occupation of the West Bank and the Golan in 1967, Moshe Kochavi undertook an “emergency survey”, which mapped the early archaeological settlements of these regions. The publication of Kochavi’s survey laid the foundation for a comparative analysis of the different regions of Palestine and their historical landscapes. It also opened the possibility for a broad, archaeologically based settlement history. One of the most immediately striking historical observations made possible by this survey was of the remarkable reduction of especially village settlements in the central highlands to about 25 percent of what had prevailed in the Middle Bronze period. This suggested a movement away from the small highland villages to the towns in the Late Bronze Age. It also suggested a movement away from agriculture, towards pastoralism (Lemche 1985: 392–393; cf. Kochavi 1972; Thompson 1979; 1992a; 1992b). A fuller historical potential of the new surface surveys was the theme of Israel Finkelstein’s 1986 PhD dissertation: The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement. Finkelstein’s dissertation argued well for an historical understanding of Israel’s origins, within the context of the whole of Palestine and largely independently of any biblical perspectives of either the conquest or immigration stories (Finkelstein 1988). With this, archaeology decisively turned away from a biblical perspective of a history of Israel and moved towards an archaeological and historical perspective of Palestine’s history.

The articles in this volume The articles in History, Archaeology and the Bible Forty Years after “Historicity” are divided into three parts focusing on changing perspectives in biblical studies, history and cult, and ideology and history. In Part I, Douglas A. Knight, “Old and new in Scandinavian interpretation of the Hebrew Bible”, takes the reader through an enjoyable tour de force of about 100 years of biblical research in Scandinavia. Introducing a number of leading scholars in the field, such as Olrik, Grønbech, Pedersen, Mowinckel, Nyberg, and Engnell, it becomes evident that the Copenhagen School is rooted in a long tradition of making approaches and hypotheses that were often at variance with commonly accepted opinions and positions. These scholars were also at variance with each other and disputes could be fierce and unforgiving. Central points of the debate regarded the validity of source and tradition criticism as well as oral tradition’s role in the creation of biblical literature. That minimalism is not quite as new as is often assumed is also argued by Reinhard Kratz, who in his article “Myth and history: reflections on the relationship between biblical history and history of Israel”, draws a line back to the minimalist approach by one of the giants in German scholarship, Wilhelm Martin Leberecht De Wette, who more than any one changed perspectives in biblical studies. Taking De Wette’s idea of biblical history as myth as his starting point, Kratz’s article discusses some older and newer alternatives concerning how the 7

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relationship between myth and history in biblical tradition is determined. De Wette’s division of the Bible into earlier and later books with Deuteronomy as the watershed laid the foundation for both Julius Wellhausen’s refinement of the source critical approach and Martin Noth’s Deuteronomistic History. After De Wette’s distinction between myth and history and Wellhausen’s discovery of a development from history to myth, Noth integrated both approaches by considering the history of tradition to be the history of myth and identifying this with the history of Israel. The crucial question and future task however, is, to examine to what extent the history of biblical tradition (Julius Wellhausen) and the history of the biblical myth (Martin Noth) can be correlated or even identified with the history of Israel and Judah. Thomas M. Bolin’s article, “Out of the wilderness? Some suggestions for the future of Pentateuchal research”, continues the discussion about historicalcriticism’s failed source critical approach, and suggests three new approaches to the study of the Pentateuch. The first is a re-evaluation of the nexus between oral and written traditions and seeing variants or doublets as part of an oral milieu, rather than parts of different written sources. Instead of seeing “priestly” language throughout the text as evidence of a later scribe going through and supplementing the text, these “glosses” may be better understood as evidence of the authors’ own efforts to cross-reference parts of the sprawling text in a cluster of thematic or verbal associations. Second is the question of the genre of the Pentateuch, building on earlier works that connected it, perhaps too easily, with Greek historiography. Rather than trying to answer the large genre question for the Pentateuch, Bolin suggests to look at how the book was read and at its cultic status as Torat Moshe. However, as shown by Philippe Wajdenbaum and Russel Gmirkin in Changing Perspectives 7, the Greek connections are quite substantial and cannot be easily dismissed. Bolin’s third suggestion for future studies, comparing the formation of the Pentateuch with the growth of the Vedas, regards the possibility that the cultic material in the Pentateuch can be seen as the entire collection’s raison d’être. Martin Ehrensvärd, “The contemporary debate over linguistic dating of biblical texts”, rounds this part off with a discussion of whether or not linguistic dating of biblical Hebrew texts is possible. Prior to the early ‘90s all Hebrew linguists regarded linguistic dating of biblical texts as natural and feasible. Using his own experience, Ehrensvärd leads the reader through important aspects of a discussion that severely undermined the traditional diachronic distinction between so-called Early Hebrew and Late Hebrew language. Not least, the works and positions of Avi Hurwitz versus Robert Rezetko, Ian Young and Ehrensvärd have formed the battlefield. Contrary to opinio communis, Rezetko, Young and Ehrensvärd found that surprisingly many late biblical Hebrew forms could be found in pre-exilic inscriptions and that all the biblical texts had at least some late biblical Hebrew elements. What set the late biblical Hebrew books apart was not their linguistic elements per se, but simply the accumulation of these elements. Noticing that Ben Sira and the Dead Sea Scrolls were not written in late biblical Hebrew, it was concluded that late biblical Hebrew was just a beautiful parenthesis. 8

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Part II of our volume deals with archaeology, cult and history related to Jerusalem, Kuntillet ’Ajrud and Mt. Gerizim by Steiner, Schmidt and Hjelm respectively and rounds off with Niesiołowski-Spanò’s discourse analytical discussion of Antiochus IV’s treatment of the Jews. The first article by Margreet L. Steiner, “From Jerusalem with love” discusses the history of the excavation of Jerusalem since Louis de Saulcy cleared the so-called Tomb of the Kings some 150 years ago. The long history of archaeological excavations in the city is not only closely related to and entangled with contemporary religious, social and political circumstances, but also offers tantalizing glimpses into the direction the discipline is taking. Drawing on her long experience with digging in the city and her close work with Kathleen Kenyon’s excavations, Steiner regrets that the scientific and ethical standards of the 1980s and 1990s excavations that had prevailed in defining the historical background of the city have collapsed. A return to nineteenth-century colonialist perspectives can now be perceived in that “digging with Bible and spade” seems to have made a glorious comeback and lip service is paid to the problematic nature of combining written texts and archaeological evidence. Steiner’s article adds wonderfully well to our volume’s “Introduction” and to Raz Kletter and Sulymani’s as well as Ilan Pappe’s articles below. Archaeology and interpretation is also the theme of Brian B. Schmidt’s article, “Gender marking, overlapping and the identity of the Bes-like figures at Kuntillet Ajrud”. Examining forms and composition of the findings from Kuntillet Ajrud, Schmidt demonstrates that the scribal-artisans of Kuntillet Ajrud consciously used techniques of gender marking and overlapping in their production of several integrated scenes in the religiously themed epigraphs and images recovered there. Those scenes, including the two famous Bes-like figures, were drafted on pithoi surfaces, and transferred to the building walls where they publicly conveyed, by their very design, the presence of Yahweh and Asherah’s apotropaic power pervading the entire site. The decorated pithoi, “magically” imbued with the numinous, were erected at various ritual loci on site in order to convey the deity’s apotropaic power on its visitors. In such capacity, they amassed libations and accrued responsive graffiti. In one case, a literate graffito was written over one of the Bes-like figures, ostensibly affirming Yahweh and Asherah’s convergence with Bes and Beset. It may come as a surprise to many readers, that (1) the repeated mention of Yahweh and Asherah in the inscriptions on the pithoi and on the walls at Kuntillet Ajrud makes them the only viable, gendered candidates for identification with the purported images of Bes and Beset; (2) Yahweh and Asherah are the most frequently mentioned deities in the inscriptions; and (3) Asherah, the only goddess mentioned, is coupled exclusively with Yahweh. Ingrid Hjelm, “Lost and found? A non-Jewish Israel from the Merneptah stele to the Byzantine period”, discusses one of the most important changes in our understanding of Palestine’s past as related to the history of the historical Israel (Bit Humri), its transformation into provincial status and its continuous development of political, religious and “ethnographic” structures independent of an asserted Jerusalemite hegemony. Rather than being a sister kingdom of a 9

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literary construed biblical Israel, the non-Jewish kingdom, called Israel in ancient sources, developed in its own right a religious and cultic Yahwism that since Magen’s recent excavation on Mt. Gerizim has given us the earliest and fullest evidence of what one might term a “Biblical or Pentateuchal Yahwist cult” in Palestine ever. The population became known as Samarians, later thought to have developed into what was termed the “Samaritan sect”, who on Mt. Gerizim practiced a form of Judaism at variance with that in Jerusalem. Their origin, however, was not rooted in a schismatic rejection of Jerusalem’s temple and cult, but in a continuous Yahwism in the region of Samaria since the Iron Age. Competition between Jerusalem and Gerizim belongs to Jerusalem’s fight for supremacy in the Hellenistic and Roman rather than the Persian period. Łukasz Niesiołowski-Spanò’s article, “Antiochus IV Epiphanes and the Jews – a reassessment”, analyzes King Antiochus IV Epiphanes’ actions in Jerusalem and his supposed involvement in the Jewish State. The widespread opinion that the king’s actions were irrational and based on an inexplicable anti-Jewish bias is questioned. Placing the events as described in 1 and 2 Maccabees in a broad historical context, Niesiołowski-Spanò reconsiders the political situation in Jerusalem and draws the conclusion that it was not bias, but anger that caused Antiochus’ severe actions. Building his case on 2 rather than 1 Maccabees, the author’s interpretation emphasizes the revolutionary aspect of the acts committed by the Jews, namely that just behind Antiochus’ front-line, when he was fighting in Egypt, they had rebelled against the king. Such action forced the king to react spectacularly in order to guarantee peace and loyalty of the Jews. Seen in this light, the actions of Antiochus were fully rational, albeit the literature that describes them employs a religious form with a high degree of irrational overtones. In Part III, the first two articles by Emanuel Pfoh and Thomas L. Thompson deal with the need for a changed perspective in history writing as in Pfoh’s theoretical discussion of “From the search for ancient Israel to the history of ancient Palestine”, which one can find exemplified in Thompson’s article “Ethnicity and a regional history of Palestine”. Both articles are based on the remarkable shift of research paradigms that have taken place within biblical and historical studies of Israel. In Pfoh’s listing of some of the main changes, we note that they comprise: (1) a progressive deconstruction of biblical stories as referring to ancient history and their placement instead in theological and ideological realms or interpretive contexts; (2) a shift in the dating of the production of biblical stories from the Iron Age to the Persian, Hellenistic, or Greco-Roman periods; (3) a shift from a main concern with the history of “ancient Israel” in pre-classical times to a broader and more regionally oriented history of ancient Palestine. Pfoh explores and analyzes these issues and offers prospects for a critical history of ancient Palestine into which we can include the history of Israel and the production of biblical stories. Thompson’s essay takes up some of the same themes as dealt with by Pfoh, reconsidering the relevance of traditional histories for Bronze and Iron Age Palestine after half a century’s deconstructive criticism of these. Moving to a 10

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landscape oriented approach, he then discusses some of the historically, economically and ethnically sensitive characteristics of Palestine’s many culturally and geographically distinct regions and explores how they might be used to sketch the potential of a history that is independent of the ethnocentric anachronisms of traditional histories and more reflective of Palestine’s geographic complexity. Three brief examples dealing with Megiddo, the Coastal Plain and Samaria illustrate the potential gains of such an alternative history. The last three articles in Part III regard the present, and illustrate the controversial impact of ideology in contemporary interpretations of the past. Raz Kletter and Gideon Sulimany, “‘The destruction that can be studied’: Israeli archaeology and the deserted Palestinian villages”, discuss archaeological, professional and ethical aspects of the destruction of hundreds of Arab villages in Israel/Palestine. Some were emptied and many gradually fell into ruins by natural processes. However, operations of destruction were also commonly made by the state in the 1950s without informing archaeologists about the operations. The Israel Department of Antiquities tried to save ancient remains in deserted villages, often without success. In 1964, a young student, Avraham Eitan (later Director of the Israel Department of Antiquities) handed in an exceptional research proposal. He suggested studying the destruction of the Arab villages as means of comparison with destruction of ancient sites. This was a rare document, since archaeologists in Israel had avoided public discourse on the matter. The proposal was “shelved” and the then-new Association for Survey of Israel participated in a survey, whose purpose was a large-scale destruction of more than a hundred villages in 1965–68. The destruction was facilitated by defining the villages as “late” (post 1700 ce), hence, not as antiquities protected by law, although many were (and still are) listed as antiquities sites. The separation between ancient and recent became a means of separating “our” past, to be studied and protected, from “their” past, which was neglected or destroyed. In recent years, as memories fade and the villages resemble less and less known, habitable places, they are treated again as “antique” sites and/or romantic ruins. Some serve as national gardens, others as demonstration of “biblical” rural life. Ilan Pappe, “The Bible in the service of Zionism: ‘we do not believe in God, but he nonetheless promised us Palestine’”, examines the role of the Bible in Zionist thought and practice and ponders how a secular movement was utilizing a sacred text for political purposes. It began with reframing the Bible as a historical and national text, while ignoring its moral and spiritual aspects. Although the book had no cartographic content it was used also as an imaginary map of colonization and even more importantly a tract of justification for the settler colonial movement. There was a similar manipulation and usage after the 1967 war with regard to the occupied territories. The distinct change was the revision of the religious establishment and hierarchy to the notions of biblical interpretation. Where in the past, there was an insistence on the religious and spiritual sacredness of the Book, it was now studied in a Zionist form also in national religious contexts, 11

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dangerously fusing romantic nationalism and religious fanaticism in Israel. These forces, which used to be marginal, are now mainstream in Israel. Ziad Muna, who in 2000 established Cadmus Press in Damascus and Beirut with the purpose of publishing scholarly works from the western world in Arabic, relates in his article, “Arab scholars’ contribution to biblical studies”, his personal experience with biblical studies and how he came to understand its “secrets and hidden messages” amid the great difficulties one faces in the Arab world whenever one searches for understanding in this rather sensitive area of religion. Works by Thomas L. Thompson, Keith Whitelam, Philip Davies, and others have caused a wave of interest in the Arab Middle East, which is both very diverse and directly involved in the struggle against Israel. The interest, however, rather than being academically scientific, was either political or religious, supporting or rejecting their writings for the same reasons. Especially Kamal Salibi’s and Muna’s own discussion of Israel’s origin in south-western Arabia have led to a growing interest in the field of biblical studies with valuable impact also on western scholarship.

Notes 1 The question was raised in the first volume of EABS’ seminar on historical methodology: Can a History of Israel Be Written? (Grabbe 1997). 2 This theme has been thoroughly examined in Thompson 1999.

References Ahlström, G. W. 1993. The History of Ancient Palestine from the Paleolithic Period to Alexander’s Conquest, in D.V. Edelman (ed.). JSOTS, 146. Sheffield: Journal of the Society of Old Testament Press. Coote, R. B. and Whitelam, K. W. 1987. The Emergence of Early Israel in Historical Perspective. Sheffield: Almond Press. Cross, F. M. 1973. Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Deist, F. E. 2000. The Material Culture of the Bible: An Introduction. The Biblical Semi­ nar, 70. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. de Vaux, R. 1971. L’Histoire de l’ancienne d’Israël I: Des Origines à l’installation en Canaan. Paris: Gabalda (Eng. trans. The Early History of Israel. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster, 1978). Dever, W. 2001. What Did the Biblical Writers Know and When Did They Know It? What Archaeology Can Tell Us about the Reality of Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. __________. 2003. Who Were the Israelites and Where Did They Come from? Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Faust, A. 2006. Israel’s Ethnogenesis. Settlement, Interaction, Expansion and Resistance. London: Equinox. Finkelstein, I. 1988, The Archeology of the Israelite Settlement. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society.

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Fohrer G. 1969 [1968]. “‘Amphiktyonie’ und ‘Bund’” in G. Fohrer, Studien zur alttestamentlichen Theologie und Geschichte 1949–1966, Beihefte zum Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 115. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. Friis, H. 1986 [1968]. Die Bedingungen für die Errichtung des davidischen Reiches in Israel und seiner Umwelt. Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testaments Beiheft, 6. Heidelberg: B.J. Diebner & Nauerth. Gottwald, N. K. 1979. The Tribes of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of Liberated Israel 1250–1050 bce. New York: Maryknoll. Grabbe L. L. (ed.). 1997. Can a History of Israel Be Written? European Seminar in Historical Methodology, 1. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Hayes, J. and Miller, J. M. 1977. Israelite and Judean History. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster. Hjelm, I. forthcoming. “Maximalist and/or Minimalist Approaches in Recent Representa­ tions of Ancient Israelite and Judaean History”, in J. Crossley and J. West (eds.) Silent No Longer. Sheffield: Phoenix Press. Kitchen, K. A. 2003. On the Reliability of the Old Testament. Grand Rapids, MI/ Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans. Kochavi, M. 1972. Judaea, Samaria and the Golan: Archaeological Survey 1967–1968. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Lemche, N. P. 1972 [1968]. Israel i Dommertiden. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. __________. 1985. Early Israel: Anthropological and Historical Studies on the Israelite Society before the Monarchy. Leiden: Brill. __________. 1988. Ancient Israel: A New History of Israelite Society. Sheffield: Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Press. Mazar, B. 1969. “The Historical Background of the Book of Genesis”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 28: 73–83. Miller, J. M. 1977. “The Israelite Occupation of Cana’an”, in Hayes and Miller 1977: 279–284. Miller, J. M. and Hayes, J. H. 1986. A History of Ancient Israel and Judah. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster; 2nd rev. ed. 2006. Orlinsky, H. M. 1962. “The Tribal System of Israel and Related Groups in the Period of the Judges”, Oriens Antiquus 1: 11–20. Provan, I. W., Long, V. P and Longman, T. 2003. A Biblical History of Israel. Louisville, KY: John Knox. Soggin, J. A. 1984. A History of Israel: From the Beginning to the Bar Kochba Revolt, AD 135. London: SCM Press (Eng. trans.: John Bowden of Soggin. 1984. Storia d’Israele, dalle origini alla rivolta di Bar-Kochba, 135 d.C. Brescia: Paideia, 1984); 2nd rev. ed. An introduction to the History of Israel and Judah. London: SCM Press, 1993 (Eng. trans.: John Bowden of Soggin, Introduzione alla Storia d’Israele e di Guida. Brescia: Paideia: 1993); 3rd rev. ed. An Introduction to the History of Israel and Judah. Brescia: Paideia, 1998; Eng. trans., John Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1999. Smith, M. 1969. “The Present State of Old Testament Studies”, Journal of Biblical Literature 88: 19–35. Thompson, T. L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives: The Quest for the Historical Abraham. Beihefte zum Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 133. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. __________. 1979. The Settlement of Palestine in the Bronze Age, Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients. Wiesbaden: Dr Reichert Verlag.

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__________. 1992a. Early History of the Israelite People: From the Written and Archaeological Sources. Leiden: Brill. __________. 1992b. “Palestinian Pastoralism and Israel’s Origins”, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 6/1: 1–13. __________. 1999. The Bible in History: How Writers Create a Past. London: Jonathan Cape (idem. 1999. The Mythic Past: Biblical Archaeology and the Myth of Israel. New York: Basic Books). Van Seters, J. 2011 [1964]. “A Date for the ‘Admonitions’ in the Second Intermediate Period” in J. Van Seters Changing Perspectives I: Studies in the History, Literature and Religion of Biblical Israel. Copenhagen International Seminar, London: Equinox, 17–30. __________. 1966. The Hyksos: A New Interpretation. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. __________. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Weippert, M. 1967. Die Landnahme der israelitischen Stämme in der neueren wissenschaftlichen Discussion, Göttingen. (Eng. trans. The Settlement of the Israelite Tribes in Palestine, Studies in Biblical Theology, 21, London: SCM Press, 1971). Whitelam, K. W. 1996. The Invention of Ancient Israel. The Silencing of Palestinian History. London: Routledge. __________. 2012. “The Death of Biblical History”, in D. Burns and J. W. Rogerson (eds) Far from Minimal: Celebrating the Work and Influence of Philip R. Davies. London and New York: T&T Clark, 485–504.

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Part I CHANGING PERSPECTIVES IN BIBLICAL STUDIES

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1 OLD AND NEW IN SCANDINAVIAN INTERPRETATION OF THE HEBREW BIBLE1 Douglas A. Knight

In the coastal district of Puri, located some 500 km southwest of the city of Kolkata, one can witness every June or July the Hindu festival of Ratha-Yatra, the Chariot Festival. The three gods celebrated are Jagannatha (an avatar of Vishnu), his brother Balabhadra, and his sister Subhadra. A distinctive feature of the festival is its three wooden, wheeled carts, ponderous and enormous at nearly 15 m high and 11 m square, which workers spend two months every year to construct anew. These chariots transport the three gods over a distance of 3 km from one temple to a second temple, where they can enjoy a seven-day holiday from their “job” as gods before returning again to their home temple. Thousands of devotees converge in Puri to attend this festival, when possible gaining honor and blessing from pulling the carts. Observing the festivals, early British colonialists thought that religious enthusiasts sometimes threw themselves under the wheels as an act of devotion to earn liberation. The massive carts are unwieldy, top-heavy, cumbersome, and laborious to move in the heat, and occasionally a devotee is crushed under the wheels due to the sheer force or unstoppable momentum of the moving chariot. The festival has left its linguistic mark in the West: the name of the god Jagannatha, “Lord of the Universe”, is the etymological root for our word “juggernaut”, meaning a seemingly unstoppable force.2 This ritual festival serves as an effective metaphor to illustrate the weight that scholarly tradition, for all its admirable and necessary features, can have in overpowering new ideas and confining its practitioners to traditional ways, especially in certain groups and regions. In the world of biblical research, Continental scholarship, in particular its German tradition, has enjoyed a leading role in developing methods, questions, issues, hypotheses, and conclusions that together have influenced generations of scholars in those countries and elsewhere. Yet this growth 17

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of knowledge has at times become a juggernaut, leading to frustration if not disenchantment, which some of its own advocates have at times expressed. Note, for instance, four examples from one ten-year period alone: Gerhard von Rad, in his landmark study of 1938, Das formgeschichtliche Problem des Hexateuch, stated on the first page: No one will ever be able to say that in our time there has been any crisis in the theological study of the Hexateuch. On the contrary, it might be held that we have reached a position of stalemate which many view with considerable anxiety. What is to be done about it? (Von Rad 1966 [1938]: 1)3 In his 1941 presidential address to the Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis (in 1962 the name was shortened to the Society of Biblical Literature), Julius Morgenstern criticized the Society for having “mired itself in a steadily deepening rut, from which, but a little longer, it may never extricate itself”. Its meetings, he observed, “fail to stimulate as they should and to not a few of our members seem even empty and boring”, and he urged the Society to “arouse itself from its long lethargy and become once again alert and progressive”. He attributed the ennui to the circumstance that the “techniques of documentary analysis of the OT are being increasingly outmoded”; they as well as form criticism were “becoming more and more subject to question” (Morgenstern 1942: 7–9, 1–2). A few years later, in 1947 in Scandinavia, Ivan Engnell referred dismissively to the received scholarly tradition as the interpretatio europeica moderna (Engnell 1947: 114; see also his larger discussion in 1945: 168–209). Shortly thereafter, in the preface to his 1948 book Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch, Martin Noth advocated introducing new questions in biblical studies: I was especially concerned here to raise questions which must be asked and whose answers must be attempted, even though the answers may sometimes appear purely hypothetical. The concern of this work would be realized in large measure if the manner of raising the questions proved itself to be proper. (Noth 1972: xxxv) Beginning two decades later, the period from 1968 until the present has similarly witnessed many other scholars who have been dissatisfied with the status quo, and they have introduced radically new approaches—feminist criticism, new literary criticism, critical race theory, deconstruction, postmodernism, queer theory, ecological criticism, and much more—a density of new inquiry that has shaken the foundations of past ways. This engagement with new issues and questions, specifically within the Scandinavian countries, is the topic of this chapter. While orienting much of their work toward the historical-critical study they inherited regarding the Hebrew Bible, Scandinavian scholars throughout the twentieth and into the twenty-first centuries have repeatedly introduced new ideas and approaches distinctive in 18

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the discipline. Even when they did not gain many followers from inside or outside this region, they have been successful in triggering debates and presenting perspectives that have advanced our understanding of antiquity in the region of ancient Southwest Asia.4 They often opposed the ruling methods and assumptions directly—more so in Scandinavia during this period than in most other regions of scholarly activity. In North America the source-critical hypothesis was still taught into the 1960s as an assured result of scholarship. From 1968 onwards the situation began to change there and elsewhere. Changing perspectives occur, it would appear, either at the instigation of certain individuals or groups or as a part of the shift in values and outlooks in the culture at large. My goal here is not to offer an extensive history of Scandinavian research; an overview has recently been presented in the series Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, edited by Magne Sæbø (1996–2015) who, himself a Norwegian, has conducted a much needed service for the biblical disciplines with his nearly 5,000 page history of international scholarship from Qumran to the present day. In it are two chapters surveying Northern European research on the Bible: one on the nineteenth century by Jesper Høgenhaven (2013) and the other on the twentieth century by Antti Laato (2015). Rather than duplicating their efforts, I aim instead to draw attention to a selection of key instances, mainly from the first half of the twentieth century, when scholars in Scandinavia stepped apart from the conventional work of others—the juggernaut—and offered distinctive proposals or approaches that stimulated, if not always won over, biblical scholars elsewhere. Let me first say a word about the accessibility of Scandinavian publications to those native to other lands. James Barr once mentioned to me that he learned to read Norwegian so he could make direct use of Sigmund Mowinckel’s 1951 book, Offersang og sangoffer, which was not translated into English until 1962. Not all scholars have been as willing to go to such an effort, nor perhaps as linguistically adept as was Barr. Nordic authors face a dilemma similar to others from small countries or from language-fields outside the perimeters of the so-called international research languages—English, German, and French. Even Latin, once the lingua franca of scholarship, has receded in importance on the modern academic scene. Scandinavian scholars, like those from similar lands, must not only learn other languages but even become proficient enough in writing them that they can express the nuances necessary in technical discourse. In addition, virtually all scholars in this region, as elsewhere, write also for their own compatriots in their native languages, which others from the outside rarely see and appreciate. For example, Mowinckel together with four other Norwegian scholars (varying from volume to volume: Simon Michelet, Nils Messel, Arvid S. Kapelrud, and Ragnar Leivestad) collaborated in producing in their own language a 5 volume, 2,600 page translation and commentary of the Hebrew Bible over the period from 1929 to 1963 (Mowinckel et al. 1929–1963), and of it Mowinckel wrote nearly 80 percent, a major part of his total output for which he gets little or no credit outside Scandinavia, in fact scarcely outside Norway alone. It is quite common for Nordic scholars to write their studies first in their own languages and only later, if possible, see them translated, 19

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or translate them themselves, into English, German, or French. So the languages can be a barrier, but not an insurmountable one. On a personal note, I learned Norwegian while studying at the University of Oslo and also spent time in Sweden and Denmark. My first book, based on my dissertation, deals with the history and methods of traditio-historical research, half of it on Scandinavia and the other half on other European, British, and North American work (Knight 2006). The response in the reviews was perhaps predictable: those from outside Scandinavia typically commented on the importance of the Scandinavian half, and reviews from Nordic countries either focused on the non-Scandinavian half or noted that it was good for non-Nordic researchers to get better acquainted with what was happening among their colleagues to the North. Comparable perspectives and reactions about other types of scholarship can be observed in most countries.

Axel Olrik (1864–1917) Early Scandinavian work on folklore and the history of religion encompassed a variety of cultural areas and historical periods but also influenced biblical studies. In 1908 Axel Olrik published in Danish an article that was revised and translated into German in the following year and later also into English, entitled “Epic Laws of Folk Narrative” (Olrik 1908). As simple and straightforward as it now seems, this brief listing of “epic laws” has had a substantial influence on later folklore studies, and no less a specialist than Alan Dundes has called it a “classic in international folkloristics” (Dundes 1999: 85). Coinciding with Hermann Gunkel’s interest in the folk tales of ancient Israel, it draws on various folk traditions, of which the old Nordic and Germanic folktales were the closest at hand. Olrik had studied in Copenhagen with Svend Grundtvig, generally regarded as the founder of Danish folkloristics and the initiator of the series Danmarks gamle Folkeviser [Denmark’s Old Folksongs], the first volume of which appeared in 1853. Olrik also studied with Moltke Moe in Oslo (then Kristiania), from whom he heard the idea of “epic laws”. There was, though, a clear difference between these two. Moe, whose own study of such laws appeared posthumously (Moe 1914–1917), thought of these epic laws as keys to the development of folk materials (Dundes 1999: 85). Olrik, on the other hand, took more of a synchronic view and regarded his “laws” as formal elements (see also the introduction to Olrik 1992: xxi–xxii). Thus he spoke of, for example, the Law of Repetition, the Law of Three, the Law of Two to a Scene, the Law of Contrast, the Importance of Initial and Final Position, the Unity of Plot, and the Concentration on a Leading Character. He found these principles at work not only in European lore but also in a wide variety of other narratives. After reading the 1909 German translation of the article, Gunkel corresponded with Olrik concerning his own Genesis commentary, noting the “almost uncanny affinity between your research and mine” (cited in Olrik 1992: 156; see also xxiii) and referring to it explicitly in his third edition of Genesis (1910: xxxvi ff). For his part, Olrik subsequently consulted Gunkel’s commentary and published his own folkloristic observations about the ancestral 20

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stories in Genesis (Olrik 1992: 116–33; see also 180–82). Other biblical scholars, both inside and outside of Scandinavia, have also drawn on Olrik’s seminal proposals articulated in this seemingly slight article of 1908.

Vilhelm Grønbech (1873–1948) Another early Scandinavian scholar from outside the biblical disciplines is the Dane Vilhelm Grønbech, a philologist and historian of religion with exceptional range and creativity. Grønbech’s scholarly output was extraordinary—over thirty volumes altogether on such subjects as Teutonic culture, India, Jesus, Paul, William Blake, Goethe, nineteenth-century religious currents, Hellenism, ancient Hellas, collections of Germanic myths, literature, humor and tragedy, and more, including essays on psychological research, the soul or mana, and even the atomic bomb. His writings exhibit a sympathetic, nuanced understanding of whichever culture he was studying. All forms of religious phenomena captured his attention—literary expressions, religious leaders, cultic rituals, religious forms and beliefs among the general populace as well as those in organized religion. Even though he used the term, he opposed the pejorative evolutionary notion of “primitive” because of his high regard for these cultures; he found them to be harmonious and argued that they should be called “classic” rather than “primitive” (Grønbech 1955, vol. 2: 220). For him it was essential to understand a society as a whole, not to break it into supposedly separate parts as is still frequently done. His work influenced subsequent biblical scholars in Scandinavia in especially two ways. First, his approach in the first volume of Vor folkeæt i oldtiden [Our Kinfolk in Antiquity] (1909–1912) involved clarifying fundamental concepts such as peace, honor, well-being, world, birth, and death, and for him the conceptions of life and soul were particularly central. He countered the modern inclination to think dualistically about body and soul; instead, he argued, the ancient Teutons and Norse saw them as a continuum, with no boundary between the two—whether the object in question was a human, an animal, or a stone. For those peoples, in his view, all entities, whether animate or inanimate, have a soul in the sense that the soul denotes the distinctive essence and energy of the given entity, without which the entity would not exist and which it derives from the primal foundation of existence. In this sense, life is will, desire, purpose—particularized and distinct for each being (Grønbech 1955, vol. 1: 193–245). Through these means Grønbech sought entry into the worldview of the individual as well as the clan and tribe. His second volume extends his inquiry to social interactions such as gift exchange, commerce, eating and drinking, play, holiness, blood, prayer, and offerings. It may seem an indirect approach for those who think primarily in historical or social terms, but he wrote with such a richness of detail and nuance as to convey a sense of its grounding in reality. Second, Grønbech also focused on the cult in his effort to clarify the intersection of religion and culture (Grønbech 1955, vol. 2: 220–81). He regarded the essence of classical cultures to be activity or energy. The ancients saw their own 21

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past not as dry history but as an energizing force that continued to work its effect in concrete ways in their present. Thus it follows that their cultic expressions would be similarly concrete and active, incorporating everyday processes— “eating, drinking, working, hunting, plowing, fighting” (222). Significantly, they acted out their cultic rituals and festivals in the form of drama. In his words, “the religion of primitive people is essentially dramatic; it does not express itself in piety and devotion, in submission and reception, but in energy, in action. Life must be won; death, sin, evil must be subdued” (ibid.). Or again: Religious festivals can assume various forms according to the character and customs of the people. Among hunters it will be scenes of the hunt; among farmers it will be images of plowing, sowing, and harvesting; among pastoralists it will be the sacrifice of animals; among warriors it will be battle enactments. In a word, the ritual reproduces the people’s history and everyday life, elevated to a holy dimension. (Grønbech 1955, vol. 2: 223) For Grønbech, the origins of myths pale in significance in comparison to the ways in which they are embodied in the cult through dramatic reenactments.

Johannes Pedersen (1883–1977) These notions, advanced and illustrated by Grønbech from Nordic and Germanic traditions, became influential in Scandinavian biblical scholarship, especially due to the work of Pedersen and Mowinckel. The Dane Johannes Pedersen expressed his distinct dissatisfaction with the then regnant source-critical hypothesis—the juggernaut for him—in these words: This source-critical method undoubtedly has significance for antiquity when one is interested in determining events and external facts. But it must be greatly restricted when one aims to describe the culture of a people. If we are aware of this, we will also be able to see that neat division of diverse strata of the Pentateuchal sources and their distribution among specific points of time are problematic with respect to history. (Pedersen 1931: 175) One of the new directions Pedersen chose was traditio-historical research; Eduard Nielsen even considered him “the ‘father’ or founder of the Scandinavian branch of the ‘traditio-historical school’” (Nielsen 1968: 3). The other direction he took was the approach laid out by Grønbech, specifically the study of broad conceptual expressions of the culture. His magnum opus, Israel: Its Life and Culture, appeared in two volumes, first in Danish in 1920 and 1934 and then in English translation in 1926 and 1940, respectively. Nothing quite like it had been published previously. Deviating from the usual 22

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path of dissecting texts into sources, he perceived in pericopes not only theological meaning but also an underlying structure that could be found in widely disparate literatures of that region. He opted not to undertake the typical historical approach of following the dominant narrative of the kings and their wars. Instead, Pedersen sought the inner psyche of the people and their culture. The Danish subtitles of the two volumes indicate his direction as well as his debt to Grønbech better than does the English title: Sjæleliv og samfundsliv [The Life of the Soul and the Life of Society] and Hellighed og Guddommelighed [Holiness and Divinity], rather than the broader and vaguer title Israel: Its Life and Culture. The volumes seem almost to be a forerunner of cultural psychology, or at least a psychology of ancient Israel. However, Pedersen’s work became dated relatively quickly since his method was based on a psychological approach that stemmed from the nineteenth century and soon became replaced by other psychological and anthropological models. At the time of his writing, though, he was above all intent on avoiding the “evolutionary” approach to antiquity prevailing then in biblical studies, at least as he understood it. Today, I doubt that many of us would replicate some of Pedersen’s key ideas. For example, regarding the “soul” (‫[ נפש‬nepeš]): The soul is at the same time something visible and invisible. . . . The ideas of the soul are thus the outcome of a pronounced sense of reality. Primitive peoples will not be content with the single, isolated impression, but demand to have it in its proper context. (Pedersen 1926: 101–2) Or again: the man forms a complete unity with the whole of his family, his “house” and his property. Psychic community means, above all, a common will and so a common responsibility. The man is the centre of this common will. He does not act for himself alone, but for the whole of his house. Whatever he has done, the house, the family has likewise done, for together they form an organism so closely knit that no single part thereof can be separated as something independent. (Pedersen 1926: 271) Or at another point: The close relation between the country and the life of the people is only possible because earth itself is alive. We know that the Israelites do not acknowledge the distinction between the psychic and the corporeal. Earth and stones are alive, imbued with a soul, and therefore able to receive mental subject-matter and bear the impress of it. The relation between the earth and its owner is not that the earth, like a dead mass, makes part of this psychic whole—an impossible thought. It is a covenant-relation, a 23

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psychic community, and the owner does not solely prevail in the relation. The earth has its nature, which makes itself felt, and demands respect. The important thing is to deal with it accordingly and not to ill-treat it. (Pedersen 1926: 479) Although such pronouncements about ancient Israelite culture are rarely heard today, many if not most scholars until the 1960s considered them to be realistic interpretations of the Israelite worldview and sense of reality. But in 1961 James Barr, drawing on linguistics theory, repudiated the notion that verbal concepts carry full philosophical theories and that a difference between the Greek way of thinking and that of the Hebrews could be adduced from their respective languages. He thus helped the discipline to move beyond the perspectives that had held sway for more than four decades. Yet we can still appreciate the significance of someone who is able to influence the discussion and the basic perspectives of several generations, and Pedersen as well as his predecessor Grønbech did indeed have this very impact.

Sigmund Mowinckel (1884–1965) We turn now to the Norwegian Sigmund Mowinckel, whose scholarship has remained pertinent to an extent not reached by the work of most others from his period. His reputation became widely established: he was especially proud to have been greeted at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem with these words: “Here comes the man who knows our country better than we know it ourselves” (cited in Hygen 1988: 5). Mowinckel was perhaps the most prolific biblical scholar from the Scandinavian area. His period of scholarly output extended as long as any of his colleagues in the North—56 years altogether, from his first article “Om nebiisme og profeti” [Concerning Nebiism and Prophecy] in 1909 at the age of 25 to his three volumes on the book of Ezra-Nehemiah (1964–1965) and his two volumes on Israel’s earliest history, one of which, Palestina før Israel [Palestine before Israel], appeared in 1965, the last year of his life, while the other was published posthumously in 1967, Israels opphav og eldest historie [Israel’s Origin and Earliest History]. However, it is not the quantity of his publications but their distinctive character and quality that have made his work so noteworthy. Unlike many other Nordic scholars, he was largely untroubled by the weight and direction of the dominant biblical scholarship he inherited. One reason may lie in the fact that he had more contact with Continental colleagues than did many. In addition to his time spent in Copenhagen, he studied in Marburg and Giessen and was especially influenced by Gustav Hölscher and Hermann Gunkel. He utilized the source-critical method in his studies of the Pentateuch as well as Ezra and Nehemiah, and he found the results of this method to be essential for a historical reconstruction of Israel. Much of his work was text-based, ranging across the entire Hebrew Bible and into ancient Southwest Asian and post-biblical texts. But he also focused heavily 24

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on concepts and institutions, such as the cult, tradition, royal ideology, and messianism. One article distinctive at the time in subject, for example, was “‘Moder jord’ i Det gamle testamentet” [“Mother Earth” in the Old Testament], a topic scarcely pursued by others until more recent feminist scholars; Terje Stordalen (2000), also writing in Norwegian, is one of the few to have devoted a study to the same topic. Mowinckel is most known for his Psalms research, one of his key contributions to the field. His six volume Psalmenstudien appeared in 1921–1924, beginning one year after Pedersen’s first volume of Israel. Like him, Mowinckel had studied with Grønbech, whose influence he acknowledges in his preface. The very first page bears some of the same markings found in Pedersen. Regarding the Hebrew word ‫’( און‬āwen), he begins by criticizing the “Ohnmacht” of a purely “philological” approach to words, rather than an approach of immersing oneself in the culture and mentality of so-called “primitive” people, as he attempts to do (Mowinckel 1921: 1). But the most distinctive part of the Psalmenstudien is connected to the second feature mentioned above in Grønbech’s work, namely that cultic rituals are drama. For Mowinckel, the cult is of absolute importance, and he insists that we must break free of the tendency found among Protestant theologians to downplay the cult and elevate instead the ethical, personal aspects of religion. Even Gunkel did not go far enough in his appreciation for the cult, in his view: “Man muß Gunkel gegen Gunkel ausspielen” (“One must play Gunkel against Gunkel”; Mowinckel, 1921: v). As Mowinckel had already proposed a few years earlier (1916a; 1917), he argues that the royal psalms celebrate the actual enthronement of YHWH, analogous to the enthronement of the earthly kings of Israel and Judah. According to him, the declaration ‫( יהוה ָמלָ ך‬yhwh mālāk, for example in Psa. 96:10; 97:1; 99:1) does not denote “Yahweh rules” but “Yahweh has become king”, parallel to the acclamation shouted when the earthly king is crowned (Mowinckel 1922: 6). He speculated that beginning with the early monarchy there was an annual New Year’s festival, as in Babylon, when the king was again proclaimed to be king. In the cultic version of the festival God was affirmed lord over all the earth. Creation language involving the battle against chaos became historicized in Israel by associating it with the exodus tradition. The dramatic form of YHWH’s ascension to the throne each year was intended to guarantee fertility and world renewal. The Ras Shamra tablets had not yet been discovered when Mowinckel first developed his thesis, and in his later book Offersang og sangoffer (Mowinckel 1962 [1951], for example vol. 1: 130–40) he credited the Canaanites with much more influence over this festival, and the Babylonians with less. Mowinckel made a bold and innovative proposal with his hypothesized enthronement festival and the dramatized cultic ritual of YHWH’s enthronement. Drawing on the methodological approaches of the day, he argued and textually grounded his thesis in meticulous detail. However, it has not survived the test of time, and other methods have surpassed those he utilized. His notion was also too speculative for many. The late Einar Molland, church historian and colleague of Mowinckel at the University of Oslo, observed5 that the thesis was suggestive of 25

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building a pyramid upside down, with its pinnacle (the enthronement festival) supporting the entire weight of the structure, all of which would collapse if the tip failed. The analogy is perhaps overly dramatic, and in studies of divine or sacral kingship Mowinckel is still cited, although not followed as closely as he might have hoped. We should also remember that Mowinckel’s corpus of work extends widely beyond this one proposal about the enthronement festival, even though it remains for many his signature contribution. One other notable and distinctive subject from the first half of the twentieth century in Scandinavia deserves attention: the study of tradition. Mowinckel seems to have been the first biblical scholar in this region to emphasize oral transmission, which he initially applied to the prophetic literature. In 1916 he wrote that oral improvisation is the essence of prophecy. . . . The prophetic books in their present form are compilations according to an oral tradition, just as the Gospels are. The various, individual, mostly very short oracles first circulated in oral tradition for a long time and then gradually became recorded and collected and ascribed to the various prophets whose names had held fast in the memory of posterity. (Mowinckel 1916b: 116–17) In other early writings Mowinckel described the worship settings as centers where cultic prophets and others gave expression to their beliefs and experiences, and he credited the prophets’ disciples with being the ones who generally preserved their master’s proclamations (see Knight 2006: 169–71 for further discussion and references).

Henrik Nyberg (1889–1974) In time, Uppsala became the pivot-point for much of the discussion of traditions. Henrik Nyberg, in his 1935 book Studien zum Hoseabuch, included a section in which he threw down the gauntlet that was picked up later by several of his compatriots. His position was unequivocal: “whoever does not pay due attention to the ancient, firmly rooted Oriental custom of preferring oral speech to the written word blocks one’s own passage to understanding every Oriental body of literature”. The same applies to the production of the Hebrew Bible: “The written Old Testament is a creation of the Jewish community after the Exile; what preceded it was surely only in smaller part fixed in writing” (Nyberg 1935: 8). While this proposal approximates the dating being advocated by many scholars at present, it is a far cry from the ruling position in Nyberg’s own time, which attributed the development of the written sources of much of the Hebrew Bible to the monarchic period. But the important point for him was that the creativity and revisions occurred mainly at the oral stage: “It is self-evident that with this method of transmission the material did not remain unchanged; however, we are dealing here with living modifications, not written corruptions” (Nyberg 1935: 8). Accordingly, the 26

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goal of textual criticism should be clear: “to recover the oldest written tradition of the Jewish community” (Nyberg 1935: 9). Unlike most textual critics preceding and following him, Nyberg did not consider it possible to use text-critical methods to recover earlier stages in the development of the written tradition; only exegesis if anything—and even this is questionable—should attempt to penetrate back into the prehistory of the text, while text criticism should focus on the biblical books in their final form.

Ivan Engnell (1906–1964) From Nyberg it is only a small step to reach Ivan Engnell, first his student and later his colleague at Uppsala. In him we find the position on tradition the most radicalized of any; perhaps “radicalized” is not as proper a term as “doggedly advocated”, in the sense that he developed a distinctive position that he argued repeatedly and persistently. He became identified as the founder of the Uppsala School or Uppsala Circle, but his influence was felt primarily within Scandinavia because most of his writings on the subject of tradition were in Swedish and were not translated into another research language. Both Mowinckel and Geo Widengren found significant problems in Engnell’s work, a sign that not all Nordic scholars were equally enthralled with his proposals. Engnell’s most detailed statement on tradition came in his book, Gamla Testamentet: En traditionshistorisk inledning [The Old Testament: A Traditiohistorical Introduction], volume 1 of which appeared in 1945. Volume 2 never followed, although a few scholars have had the proofs of 107 pages of it and have occasionally referred to it in their own publications. Helmer Ringgren kindly gave me a copy, which I have also read. It contains little more than brief exegetical, religio-historical, and bibliographical notes on Genesis through Isaiah 55. The first volume, however, presents his primary thoughts on tradition history. Like Pedersen, Nyberg, and others before him, Engnell had little positive to say about the source criticism of Wellhausen and others: their work is characterized by “logicism and rationalism together with its often naïve historicism, marked by an evolutionistic orientation in the writing of history and the history of religion” (Engnell 1945: 10). This opposition to source criticism and the historical perspectives underlying it was sharp and thoroughgoing, becoming the methodological and substantive basis for his traditio-historical method, which for him encompassed the whole period of the growth of biblical literature from its earliest forms to its final canonical state. Thus the ultimate form of the text is the last stage of a long process: “What we have before us are living, oral traditions, committed indeed to writing, but firmly formed and fixed already in the oral stage so that even the written form signifies in itself nothing absolutely new and revolutionary” (Engnell 1945: 29). He did not apply his approach to many texts; the section on the Pentateuch is the longest, but at that still rather cursory and argumentative. Aage Bentzen’s comment on Engnell’s Gamla Testamentet is fitting: 27

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Engnell’s joy of discovery often leads him to elevate his new perceptions resplendent against the background of the dark age of his predecessors’ ignorance . . . Moreover, the book is designated by the author himself as something preliminary. What one can thereby criticize is that a work, which is characterized by the author in this manner, should be intended as a textbook for beginners. (Bentzen 1948/49: 321–22; my translation) Of the responses to Engnell’s book, one in particular stands out. Mowinckel wrote a critique in English in his monograph Prophecy and Tradition (1946), to which Engnell then replied in Swedish in an article “Profetia och tradition” (1947). This controversy between the two seems, at first blush, to fit the saying of “a distinction without a difference”. One could think of many, perhaps most, biblical scholars who would be more likely opponents of each. Mowinckel presented a measured, programmatic argument, which had the effect of eliciting from Engnell a less extreme view of tradition history than he had proposed in Gamla Testamentet. Mowinckel dismissed Engnell’s full rejection of source criticism and similar historical methods associated with Wellhausen, and he argued instead for a balanced use of all available methods. In his words, “the method of O.T. research can neither be a purely literary criticism nor an exclusive stressing of the fact of oral tradition; it must be a working together of literary criticism and traditio-historical analysis and research” (Mowinckel 1946: 34). Mowinckel also disputed the notion that the history of tradition cannot be retraced. Previously, the Norwegian scholar Harris Birkeland had used the metaphor of a “Schmelzofen der Gemeinschaft” [“smelting furnace of the community”] to characterize the fusion of elements in tradition (Birkeland 1938: 23), and Engnell followed this viewpoint. Mowinckel thought otherwise: it is important to grasp the interests and the historical forces that have carried on the tradition, and the influences that have had a formative—and transformative—effect on it during the transmission . . . A tradition history which does not want to distinguish between “strata” in the tradition is no tradition history, still less a “consistently traditio-historical discussion”. (Mowinckel 1946: 67) Engnell’s response came quickly, and in several details represented a modification of his earlier positions. To Mowinckel’s claim that Engnell regarded the vast majority of the Hebrew Bible as having stemmed from oral tradition, Engnell countered by charging that Mowinckel had in another publication been even more extreme in attributing all the prophetic literature to an original oral tradition (Engnell 1947: 127–28). Engnell also offered categories for distinguishing between types of prophetic literature based on whether they were created at the oral or written stage. Regarding Mowinckel’s criticism that he eschewed critical

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analysis in his traditio-historical method, Engnell modified his earlier pronouncements, affirming the importance of the analytical task so long as it does not try to distinguish “secondary” from “primary”, nor that it overlooks the work of “synthesis” (Engnell 1947: 135–37). He did not relent, however, on his key point that one should respect the final text as a product of tradition without trying to stratify it into stages. Engnell’s influence continued to be felt through several of his students—among them Alfred Haldar, Arvid Kapelrud, R. A. Carlson, and Gösta Ahlström—all of whom carried forward Engnell’s interest in tradition history, but generally not his polemical position against certain types of analytical work in biblical studies.

Thomas L. Thompson (1939–) We now conclude this selective overview of Scandinavian biblical research by moving from the first half of the twentieth century to the 1970s and 1980s and the contributions of two scholars at the University of Copenhagen. Both faced their own juggernauts—not the source criticism and historicism confronted by Grønbech, Pedersen, Mowinckel, Nyberg, and Engnell, but other regnant notions in other times. The first is Thomas L. Thompson, who in 1974 probably had no idea he might one day become a leading member of the “Copenhagen School” of biblical scholarship. That year he published a volume based on his dissertation, The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives: The Quest for the Historical Abraham (1974). It was one of those seldom tours de force that turn disciplines away from some severely flawed course to other more promising and necessary directions. Thompson’s juggernaut was biblical archaeology and with it the socalled biblical theology movement, the roots of which reached at least as far back as the 1920s and 1930s with the work of William Foxwell Albright and later his many students and their students. In meticulous detail and with wide-ranging research Thompson dismantled the very foundations of those who sought to establish the historicity of the patriarchs by using their names to place them in the first half of the second millennium bce, connecting these legendary figures with West Semites in the Ur III and Old Babylonian periods, associating Abraham’s supposed migration with the migrations of other peoples, interpreting Abraham as a merchant caravaneer, or seeing the family customs at Nuzi as support for customs described in the ancestral narratives. Above all, he took aim at the “faulty historical presuppositions” (Thompson 1974: 146) that affected the work and conclusions of Albright and others. He soon found unanticipated support in another book that appeared the following year, John Van Seters’s Abraham in History and Tradition (1975). Yet Thompson is realistic: he knows that biblical archaeology is a Hydra monster, and cutting off several heads will not ensure that it will not come back with a vengeance, as it has in recent years. Nonetheless, historians and biblical scholars have in Thompson’s work the cogent arguments needed to refute it whenever the movement raises its head again.

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Niels Peter Lemche (1945–) The second colleague to mention from the modern period is a native Dane, Niels Peter Lemche. With his first book, Early Israel (1985), he confronted a juggernaut quite different from Thompson’s—the type of sociological and anthropological work that took hold in biblical studies during the 1960s and 1970s, in particular the work first of George E. Mendenhall (1962) and then especially that of Norman K. Gottwald (1979). Sociological study of ancient Israel had largely languished since Max Weber’s Ancient Judaism in 1921, but Gottwald and several others revived it in the 1970s. His massive study in 1979, The Tribes of Yahweh, argued that the Israelite tribal society formed out of a revolutionary uprising of peasants against their Canaanite overlords, as a result of which these peasants settled in the highland regions, forming a village-based social system founded primarily on an egalitarian structure. According to Gottwald, this tribal society, with its segmentary, exogamous clan structure, survived for most of the Iron I period before it was replaced by a centralized monarchic system. Lemche drew heavily on the substantial anthropological work done since World War II on Middle Eastern social conditions and concluded that quite different circumstances must surely have prevailed in the premonarchic period: (1) a gradual period of social evolution rather than a revolutionary origin of the ancient Israelites as described by Gottwald or an infiltration of peoples from the outside as described by either Albrecht Alt or William F. Albright; (2) a socioeconomic continuum from the nomad to the city-dweller, rather than Gottwald’s division of the populace into three spheres, nomads, peasants, and city-dwellers; (3) a complex society rather than a segmentary society based on a lineage model; (4) endogamy rather than exogamy; and (5) the absence of any pan-Israelite historical or literary tradition rather than the existence of a centralized cult and a set of shared traditions. Lemche’s painstaking study of this early period in Israel’s history was followed soon thereafter by another book describing the social history of the ancient Israelites (Lemche 1988), one of the first in a burgeoning field of study now flourishing due in large part to archaeological findings of material aspects of social life. With both books Lemche has done more than merely satisfy Gottwald’s longing for increased sociological work; he has put it on a much firmer foundation and added to it valuable anthropological perspectives. From this overview of key moments in twentieth-century biblical scholarship in Scandinavia it is obvious that Nordic scholars have made remarkable contributions to the study of the Hebrew Bible, and they have repeatedly done so in the face of pre-existing methods and conceptions that might overwhelm other scholars and press them into largely replicating the communis opinio. The phenomenon referred to here as a juggernaut may in some instances provide a positive starting-point for further explorations, yet it can also in other ways stultify by virtue of its weight and seeming authority. But enough Scandinavian

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scholars have managed to resist its negative aspects as to give the rest of us hope for the future of our field.

Notes 1 Revision of the paper delivered at the conference Changing Perspectives in Old Testament Studies: Past, Present, and Future, held at the University of Copenhagen, 10 October 2013. I want to thank the conference organizers for their kind invitation and hospitality: Ingrid Hjelm, Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme, Jesper Høgenhaven, and Thomas L. Thompson. 2 I thank my daughter Lisa I. Knight, anthropologist of South Asia and now professor at Furman University, for clarifying several details of this festival, which she observed during her research in India. 3 All citations from non-English sources will be rendered in English, either using pub�lished translations if available or translating them myself as necessary. 4 This geographical term is to be preferred over the conventional phrase “ancient Near East”, which reflects colonialist perspectives in European history. 5 Personal conversation in 1967.

References Barr, J. 1961. The Semantics of Biblical Language. London: Oxford University Press. Bentzen, A. 1948/49. “Skandinavische Literatur zum Alten Testament 1939–1948”, Theologische Rundschau New Series 17: 273–328. Birkeland, H. 1938. Zum hebräischen Traditionswesen: Die Komposition der prophetischen Bücher des Alten Testaments. Avhandlinger utgitt av Det Norske VidenskapsAkademi i Oslo, II. Hist.-Filos. Kl., 1938: No. 1. Oslo: Dybwad. Dundes, A. (ed.) 1999. International Folkloristics: Classic Contributions by the Founders of Folklore. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Engnell, I. 1945. Gamla Testamentet: En traditionshistorisk inledning, vol. 1. Stockholm: Svenska Kyrkans Diakonistyrelses Bokförlag. Engnell, I. 1947. “Profetia och tradition: Några synpunkter på ett gammaltestamentligt centralproblem”, Svensk exegetisk årsbok 12: 110–39. Gottwald, N. K. 1979. The Tribes of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of Liberated Israel, 1250–1050 B.C.E. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Grønbech, V. 1955. Vor folkeæt i oldtiden, new edition in 2 vols. with revisions and additions. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Originally published as 4 vols., Copenhagen: V. Pios Boghandel, 1909–1912. English translation: The Culture of the Teutons, 3 vols., W. Worster (trans.). London: Oxford University Press; Copenhagen: Jespersen & Pios, 1931. German translation: Kultur und Religion der Germanen, 2 vols., O. Höfler (ed.), E. Hoffmeyer (trans.). Hamburg: Hanseatische Verlagsanstalt, 1937–1939; reprint, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2010. Gunkel, H. 1901. Genesis, übersetzt und erklärt, Handkommentar zum Alten Testament I/1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. 3rd edn.: Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910. English translation: Genesis, M. E. Biddle (trans.), with foreword by E. W. Nicholson. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997.

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Høgenhaven, J. 2013. “Biblical Scholarship in Northern Europe”, in From Modernism to Post-Modernism (The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries), part 1: The Nineteenth Century: A Century of Modernism and Historicism. Sæbø (ed.) 1996–2015, vol. III: 223–43. Hygen, J. B. 1988. “Sigmund Mowinckel: The Man and the Teacher”, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 2: 1–7. Knight, D. A. 2006. Rediscovering the Traditions of Israel, 3rd edn. Studies in Biblical Literature 16. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. (1st edn. 1973). Laato, A. 2015. “Biblical Scholarship in Northern Europe”, in From Modernism to PostModernism, part 2: The Twentieth Century. Sæbø (ed.) 1996–2015, vol. III: 336–70. Lemche, N. P. 1985. Early Israel: Anthropological and Historical Studies on the Israelite Society before the Monarchy. Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 37. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Lemche, N. P. 1988. Ancient Israel: A New History of Israelite Society, F. H. Cryer [trans.]. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Originally published in Danish as Det gamle Israel: Det israelitiske samfund fra sammenbruddet af bronzealderkulturen til hellenistisk tid, Aarhus: Anis, 1984. Mendenhall, G. E. 1962. “The Hebrew Conquest of Palestine”, Biblical Archaeologist 25: 66–87. Moe, M. 1914–1917. “De episke grundlove”. Edda 2: 1–16, 233–49; 4: 85–126; 7: 72–88. Morgenstern, J. 1942. “The Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis”, Journal of Biblical Literature 61: 1–10. Mowinckel, S. 1909. “Om nebiisme og profeti”, Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 10: 185–227, 330–60. Mowinckel, S. 1916a. Kongesalmerne i det Gamle Testamente. Kristiania, Oslo: H. Aschehoug. Mowinckel, S. 1916b. Statholderen Nehemia: Studier til den jødiske menighets historie og litteratur. Kristiania, Oslo: Norli. Mowinckel, S. 1917. “Tronstigningssalmerne og Jahves tronstigningsfest”, Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 18: 13–79. Mowinckel, S. 1921. Psalmenstudien I: Āwän und die individuellen Klagepsalmen, Skrifter utgitt av Det Norske Videnskaps-Akademie i Oslo, II. Hist.-Filos. Kl., 1921, No. 4. Kristiania, Oslo: Jacob Dybwad. Mowinckel, S. 1922. Psalmenstudien II: Das Thronbesteigungsfest Jahwäs und der Ursprung der Eschatologie, Skrifter utgitt av Det Norske Videnskaps-Akademie i Oslo, II. Hist.-Filos. Kl., 1921, No. 6. Kristiania, Oslo: Dybwad. Mowinckel, S. 1927. “‘Moder jord’ i Det gamle testamentet”, in Religionshistoriska studier tillägnade Edvard Lehmann den 19 augusti 1927. Lund: C. W. K. Gleerup: 131–41. Mowinckel, S. 1946. Prophecy and Tradition: The Prophetic Books in the Light of the Study of the Growth and History of the Tradition, Avhandlinger utgitt av Det Norske Videnskaps-Akademi i Oslo, II. Hist.-Filos. Kl., 1946, No. 3. Oslo: Dybwad. Mowinckel, S. 1962. The Psalms in Israel’s Worship, 2 vols., rev. edn., D. R. Ap-Thomas (trans.). Oxford: Basil Blackwell; New York and Nashville: Abingdon. Reprinted with foreword by R. K. Gnuse and D. A. Knight (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992). Originally published in Norwegian as Offersang og sangoffer: Salmediktning i Bibelen (Oslo: H. Aschehoug, 1951).

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Mowinckel, S. 1964–1965. Studien zu dem Buche Ezra-Nehemia, 3 vols. Oslo: Universitets forlaget. Mowinckel, S. 1965. Palestina før Israel. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Mowinckel, S. 1967. Israels opphav og eldste historie. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Mowinckel S. et al. 1929–1963. Det Gamle Testamente, 5 vols. Oslo: Aschehoug. Nielsen, E. 1968. The Ten Commandments in New Perspective: A Traditio-Historical Approach, D. J. Bourke (trans.). Studies in Biblical Theology 2/7. London: SCM. Originally published in Danish as De ti bud: en traditionshistorisk skitse, Copenhagen: Københavns Universitet, 1965; and in German as Die zehn Gebote: Eine traditionsgeschichtliche Skizze, H.-M. Junghans. Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1965. Noth, M. 1972. A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, B. W. Anderson (trans., with Introduction). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Originally published in German as Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch, Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1948. Nyberg, H. S. 1935. Studien zum Hoseabuch: Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Klärung des Problems der alttestamentlichen Textkritik, Uppsala Universitets Årsskrift 1935: 6. Uppsala: Lundequistska Bokhandeln. Olrik, A. 1908. “Episke love i folkedigtningen”, Danske Studier 69–89. German translation, revised: “Epische Gesetze der Volksdichtung”, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur 51 (1909): 1–12; English translation, revised: “Epic Laws of Folk Narrative”, in A. Dundes (ed.) 1965. The Study of Folklore, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 129–41. Reprinted in Dundes, 1999: 87–97. See also Olrik 1992: 41–61. Olrik, A. 1992. Principles for Oral Narrative Research, K. Wolf and J. Jensen (trans.). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Originally published in Danish as Nogle grundsætninger for sagnforskning, H. Ellekilde (ed.) (Copenhagen: Det Schønbergske Forlag, 1921). Pedersen, J. 1926 and 1940. Israel: Its Life and Culture. London: Geoffrey Cumberlege, Oxford University Press; Copenhagen: Povl Branner, I–II, 1926; III–IV, 1940. Originally published in Danish as Israel: Sjæleliv og samfundsliv, I–II, Copenhagen: Branner, 1920; Israel: Hellighed og Guddommelighed, III–IV, Copenhagen: Branner, 1934. Pedersen, J. 1931. “Die Auffassung vom Alten Testament”, Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 49: 161–81. Danish version in “Opfattelsen af det gamle testamente”, Norsk teologisk tidsskrift 32 (1931): 137–62. Sæbø, M. (ed.) 1996–2015. Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, 5 vols. in 3. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Stordalen, T. 2000. “Moder jord—etisk impuls i Det gamle testament”, in Makt, eiendom, rettferdighet: Bibelske moraltradisjoner i møte med vår tid. J.-O. Henriksen (ed.), Oslo: Gyldendal akademisk: 115–38. See also his “Mother Earth in Biblical Hebrew Literature: Ancient and Contemporary Imagination”, in J. Middlemas, D. J. A. Clines, and E. K. Holt (eds.) 2010. The Centre and the Periphery: A European Tribute to Walter Brueggemann. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 113–29. Thompson, T. L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives: The Quest for the Historical Abraham. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 133. Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter. Van Seters, J. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven, CT: Yale University.

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Von Rad, G. 1966. “The Form-Critical Problem of the Hexateuch”, E. W. T. Dicken (trans.). The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays. Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd: 1–78. Originally published in German as Das formgeschichtliche Problem des Hexateuch, Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament IV/26, Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1938; reprinted in Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament, 3rd edn, Theologische Bücherei 8, Munich: Kaiser, 1965. Weber, M. 1952. Ancient Judaism, H. H. Gerth and D. Martindale (trans. and eds.). Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Originally published in German in issues of the Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialforschung 1917–1919; then posthumously as Das antike Judentum, Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Religionssoziologie 3, Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1921.

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2 MYTH AND HISTORY Reflections on the relationship between biblical history and the history of Israel1 Reinhard G. Kratz

The so-called Copenhagen School, including all those who can be so labelled, even if they never taught in Copenhagen, is no longer the nightmare of scholarship it was often portrayed as when I was a student in the 1980s, and has itself learned a lot since then.2 The minimalist approach has taken part in the changing perspectives in the humanities, in particular in the science of history of the 1980s and 1990s and thus, without doubt, triggered a change of perspectives in biblical studies. This change is still continuing to have an impact today and is shared meanwhile even by earlier critics, who – as Julius Wellhausen once so aptly wrote about his critics – that they ‘concede compromise, commend criticism and merely condemn hyper-criticism’ (Wellhausen in Bleek, 1886: 3).3 A key point of the Copenhagen School of Minimalists was and is the relationship between biblical history and the history of Israel,4 or in other words, the biblical and the historical Israel. This relationship is indeed highly problematic and complex; it has engaged historical scholarship since its beginnings in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, since the conformity of historia sacra with historia profana could no longer be taken for granted. In the following, I would like to recall an early representative of the minimalist approach, who more than any other changed perspectives in biblical studies. In the light of this, I would like to discuss older and newer alternatives concerning how the relationship between biblical tradition and history is determined.

Biblical history as myth Die eignen kritischen Untersuchungen der neuern Theologen haben schon mehrern geschichtlichen Quellen ihre unmittelbare (einzig zuverlässige) Aechtheit und Glaubwürdigkeit abgesprochen; eine vollkommene, 35

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durchgreifende Kritik aber wird zeigen, dass kein einziges von den geschichtlichen Werken des A.T. geschichtlichen Werth hat; und alle mehr oder weniger Mythen und Tradition enthalten, und dass wir unter allen Büchern des A.T. keine eigentlichen geschichtlichen Zeugen haben, als einige Propheten, die aber wenig geschichtliche Ausbeute geben dürften. (De Wette, 1805a: 28)5 The words of the scholar, which are quoted here, sound like the statements of a minimalist of the Copenhagen School: but they are expressed in German and not in English and can only be translated with difficulty. For this reason, and because it should not cause the learned reader any difficulty, I quote them in the original language. The programmatic statement which has been quoted above originate from Wilhelm Martin Leberecht De Wette, from his Aufforderung zum Studium der Hebräischen Sprache und Litteratur from 1805. In the same year, De Wette (1805b) presented his famous dissertation in Latin in which he denied Moses’ authorship of the book of Deuteronomy and – in a footnote – dated it in the time of King Josiah. He presented the implementation of the programme a short time later in his Beiträge zur Einleitung in das Alte Testament from 1806–1807. It was not only Julius Wellhausen but already De Wette who recognised that historical reconstruction was decided by cultic history, and that the book of Deuteronomy with its commandments on cultic centralisation represented a decisive turning point. In the first volume of his Beiträge from 1806 he therefore presented evidence that the books of Chronicles were dependent on the books of Samuel and Kings and – unlike most of their Vorlage – presuppose the Pentateuch, and that they are therefore totally useless as the source for the early history of Israel. In the second volume of his Beiträge, he presented a critique of the Pentateuch itself, which was likewise dismissed as a historical source in all of its components: Der Pentateuch steht jetzt als ein Ganzes da . . . ; als Ganzes aber hat er lediglich eine mythische Bedeutung: gleichsam die Wurzeln desselben stehen im mythischen Boden; nirgends gewinnen wir einen festen geschichtlichen Punkt; Abraham, Jakob, Joseph, der Auszug aus Aegypten, die Gesetzgebung, alle die wichtigsten Momente sind, von der Mythe in Besitz genommen und ihren Gesetzen unterworfen. Die Geschichte thue daher Verzicht auf diesen Theil ihres Gebiets. (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 397)6 In his criticism De Wette (1806–1807, 2: 1–18.396–408) is guided by hermeneutical principles, which were far ahead of his time and in many aspects recall modern and post-modern concepts of history and historiography. The methodical groundwork and general conclusions of his criticism are still valid today. In the introduction to the second volume of the Beiträge we find the most noticeable sentence: ‘Das erste Geschäft des Historikers ist demnach das hermeneutische’ (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 5).7 This means nothing other than a criticism 36

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of sources according to their tendency or ideology. History is only available to us in the form of sources – or Relationen as De Wette writes – and the historian is first and foremost dependent on his sources, primarily texts. What lies before him or her is not history itself but a particular view and interpretation of history. The hermeneutic task of the historian is first to understand this perspective, and subsequently to evaluate whether anything is historically true and credible about it or not according to the laws of human common sense and logic or analogy. De Wette takes also into consideration the constructive, even creative and therefore subjective, role of the modern historian in his reconstruction. The results of criticism will diminish the historically exploitable material which itself consists only of fragments of history: ‘Aber die Resultate dieser Kritik können immer nur negative seyn, sie kann nur verwerfen, nicht das Verworfene ersetzen, sie zeigt bloß Falschheiten auf, kann aber die Wahrheit nicht entdecken’ (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 3).8 For this reason, in his account of history, the historian, even when bound to the witness of the source, must have freedom to produce coherencies and to construct history as a whole. The (subjective) interpretation therefore supplements hermeneutics: ‘Die allgemeinen Gesetze der Hermeneutik sind auch die der historischen Interpretation, und ihnen muß sich der Historiker ebenfalls unterwerfen’ (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 5).9 On the whole, however, the historian must be modest and content with few details. With this insight De Wette was also far ahead of his time: Wir wissen in der Geschichte nichts als einzelne Erscheinungen, wir können nicht eindringen in die innere Werkstätte der Geschichte, nichts kann eigentlich erklärt werden, jedes Faktum ist ein Produkt unendlicher Ursachen, die im Verborgnen spielen. Man bescheide sich doch seiner Unwissenheit und maße sich nicht an, eindringen zu wollen, wo der Eintritt versagt ist! (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 9f.)10 Above all, the historian must be aware of the limits of criticism, since sources make no distinctions between historical truth and falsehood; both are treated with equal dignitas, worthiness, as historically true and accurate, which even historical criticism is not able to separate: Der Erzähler giebt ja Wahres und Falsches in Einer Bedeutung, er unterscheidet nicht dieses von jenem, sondern stellt beides in gleicher Dignität neben einander: nach ihm, nach seiner Intention ist das Wahre, so gut als das Falsche, Vehikel des außergeschichtlichen (poetischen, religiösen, philosophischen) Sinnes, für ihn ist das Falsche eben so wahr als das Wahre. Hier vermag keine Kunst der Kritik etwas. (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 13)11 If the objective of historical criticism is thus a purely negative one and contributes to a diminishment of the historically exploitable material, it still has a positive 37

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effect. Negative criticism brings the conceptual (philosophical, moral or theological) values of biblical history to light: Wenn aber nun der Pentateuch als Geschichtsquelle unbrauchbar oder vielmehr als solche gar nicht da ist: so hat er darum nicht seine Existenz und seinen Werth verloren; er gewinnt vielmehr einen höhern. Als Poesie und Mythe betrachtet, erscheint er nun als das wichtigste und reichhaltigste Objekt der wichtigsten und fruchtbarsten Betrachtungen, und in einem andern Sinne auch wieder als das wichtigste geschichtliche Denkmal. Er ist Produkt der vaterländi-schen religiösen Poesie des Israelitischen Volkes . . . und ist also eine der ersten Quellen der Cultur – und Religionsgeschichte. (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 398)12 Here, a category comes into play which De Wette (1806–1807, 2: 396–408) had taken over from the classical philologist in Göttingen, Johann Gottfried Heyne, namely: the category of myth. According to De Wette myths are not free inventions; in the narrative as well as the legislative sections of the Old Testament they are based on earlier, historical phenomena. However, the historical data have been merged with the myth in such a way that they can hardly be isolated any more. Myth and history often seem very similar but they each pursue a different purpose: ‘Im Stoff unterscheiden sich diese (sc. die Mythen) von der Geschichte nicht, die Geschichte ist oft wunderbarer und poetischer als die Poesie selbst: nur in der Tendenz liegt der Unterschied’ (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 11).13 The myth incorporates historical details in biblical history, both narrative and law, and gives them their internal narrative and conceptual cohesion. For the authors it makes no difference, they regard the myth as also being history, but they are pursuing a different purpose with their way of telling it. Their history is ‘das Produkt ihres Glaubens und ihrer Phantasie’ (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 405).14 The truth lies not in the area of history but of religion: ‘Die Geschichte verlor, aber die Religion gewann!’ (De Wette, 1806–1807, 2: 408).15

Myth and history in biblical history In the light of all this, De Wette can be considered to be the founder and first representative of modern minimalist approach (Rogerson in Williamson, 2007: 5f.). According to him, biblical history – in the Pentateuch and Chronicles in any case, and on the whole, elsewhere – is not history but myth, not sources for the history of Israel and Judah but the witness and source of faith. On this basis it is, in fact, not possible to write a history of Israel. And yet, with his consistent negative criticism De Wette has prepared the ground for the numerous ‘histories of Israel’, which were written after him and which will continue to be written. His division into earlier and later books with Deuteronomy as the watershed has introduced a historical understanding of biblical tradition. Although biblical history is myth and not history, the myth itself 38

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still has a history and is therefore a source of cultural and religious history. Not much more is needed to correlate the history of the myth with the history of Israel. However, De Wette did not undertake this step himself. After his earlier works of negative criticism he went other ways and, influenced by Friedrich Schleiermacher and Jakob Friedrich Fries, turned resolutely to religion and theology. The task of correlating biblical tradition with the history of Israel was therefore left to others, and Julius Wellhausen in particular. Wellhausen was a student of Heinrich Ewald, whose seven, in fact eight, volume Geschichte des Volkes Israels from 1843–1859, had kept the young student, who was on the threshold of giving up the study of theology, on track. In his vita, Wellhausen (in Schwartz, 1918: 72) wrote that Ewald ‘woke him up from sleep’: donec Ewaldius me excitaret ex somno. What exactly fascinated the young Wellhausen about Ewald’s history of Israel is not easy to say; perhaps it was more the author than the account. Looking back from 1901, on the occasion of Ewald’s 100th birthday in 1903, Wellhausen (in Smend, 1965: 131f) was clearly more reserved. Although the work deserved ‘great praise in many respects’ and Wellhausen emphasised the particular advantage that the ‘criticism of the sources [. . .] was a positive form of pursuing the tradition through their various stages’. Nevertheless, Ewald is described as the ‘great obstacle’ (der große Aufhalter), who, ‘through his authority prevented the correct insight into the course of Israelite history, one which had been gained before his time, from getting through’. Seen from today’s perspective, we could perhaps consider Heinrich Ewald to be an early representative of the maximalist approach; using historical-critical means and scholarly intuition he declared every biblical and archaeological detail, no matter how bizarre, to be historical. Wellhausen (in Bleek, 1878: 656) described De Wette and Wilhelm Vatke to be Ewald’s ‘corrective’. It is said of Vatke that he ‘regarded the legislation of the Pentateuch not as the beginning but as the end result of Israelite history’. Because Ewald did not recognise the significance of this crucial question, the Kardinalfrage, in his history, ‘its fundament floats on air’ (Wellhausen 1901 in Smend, 1965: 132). What Wellhausen is alluding to here is the dating of the law, i.e. the Priestly Writing, which De Wette already considered as historically worthless; Wellhausen with Vatke placed the Priestly Writing chronologically after Deuteronomy. The late dating of the Priestly Writing was the decisive step, which led from the myth of biblical history to the history of Israel. With this step, a development in biblical tradition was visible from history to myth, which Wellhausen correlated, if not to say identified, with the history of Israel. The stages of biblical tradition – before and after Deuteronomy and the Priestly Writing – now reflect the stages of Israel’s history from the ‘ancient Israel’ of the pre-exilic period to the ‘Judaism’ of the exilic-postexilic period.16 Martin Noth (1943; 1948; 1955) then took a further step, which probed into the area of oral tradition lying behind the written sources and thus, in a sense, dropped back behind De Wette and Wellhausen. In the oral prehistory, in particular of the Pentateuch, Noth found everything laid out or already more or less fully developed what was then formulated step by step in the history of biblical 39

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tradition – from the oldest source in the Pentateuch and the other historical books over Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History up to the Priestly Writing and the Chronicler’s history (cf. Kratz, 2000): namely, Israel as the people of twelve tribes chosen by God, or in his words: the Israel ‘in the language of confession and faith’ (in der Sprache des Bekennens und Glaubens, Noth, 1955: 169), which, for him, stands at the beginning of Israel’s history. After De Wette’s distinction between myth and history and Wellhausen’s discovery of a development from history to myth, Noth integrated both approaches by considering the history of tradition to be the history of myth and identifying this with the history of Israel. Wellhausen’s reconstruction of a development from history to myth seems only to be an interlude between the myth of the beginning in oral tradition and the myth at the end of the written tradition. In some ways, this means a return to the pre-critical identification of myth and history, albeit in a historical-critical variant. The same can be said of the great antipode William Foxwell Albright, who tried to prove the identification of myth and history archaeologically; Noth, in contrast, relied more strongly on written sources and their critical analysis. The same can be said of all those who use comparative material from the ancient Near East, material which has been steadily increasing since the nineteenth century, to substantiate the historical credibility of the Old Testament by harmonising and levelling the differences.

History of Israel and biblical history The current debate on the relationship between biblical history and the history of Israel is multi-faceted. And yet the patterns of older approaches, which I have briefly outlined above, are palpable. I have already pointed out the similarity between De Wette and the modern minimalist approach and between Ewald and the modern maximalist approach. Wellhausen and Noth are to be found somewhere between the two approaches, one being located nearer to De Wette and the minimalist approach, the other nearer to Ewald and the maximalist approach. The mainstream of Old Testament scholarship has long wandered on their paths, but this has changed considerably over the past twenty or thirty years. As I see it, characteristic of the present situation is, on the one hand, a growing scepticism of the historical-critical analysis of biblical tradition. As a result, those approaches that make more use of the narrative and literary form of the available biblical text as the start and end point of scholarly explanation have the advantage. This does not produce a history of literature, which might be correlated with the history of Israel. On the other hand, the concept of history and the possibilities of reconstruction have changed dramatically (cf. Barstad, 2008). For the hard facts, i.e. ‘what really happened’, scholarship demands empirical external evidence (epigraphical or archaeological material), but is well aware that, even then, it only gets to see glimpses of history lacking the greater context. The outcome of this is that we no 40

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longer only focus on the outstanding individual events and string these together one after another to construct a continuum of what happened out of the sum. Instead we focus more on general, long-term and, for the most part, complex developments in the natural, economic, political and military, as well as cultural, religious and spiritual domains of a country, a region or throughout the world. Furthermore, the insight for which De Wette had laid the foundation has become prevalent today: namely, that history per se does not exist and in the sources which have been passed down by tradition as well as in our attempts at reconstruction, we are only ever dealing with images and constructions of history. This insight has led us to be much more cautious in our reconstructions. Instead, we restrict ourselves to the description and historicising of collective memories, literary discourses or historical constructions and link these with the long-term development of the history of a country or region. But what consequences arise out of all this, especially for the question on the relationship between biblical history and the history of Israel? Should we content ourselves with biblical history as ‘myth’ (collective memory, discourse, fiction or construction) and forego reconstructing Israel’s history? Or does the new conception of history and historiography offer an opportunity to identify the narrative and literary form of ‘myth’ once again with the history of Israel? Both of these options have the advantage that we need not trouble ourselves seriously either with the history of biblical tradition or with the history of Israel. Or should we, as is usual, take a middle path and throw into a pot all the material which is available – the literary sources, the epigraphical and archaeological finds, the comparative material from the ancient Near East – and from the summa fabricate an image of the history of Israel and its literature? It is not possible in this article to discuss all three options in extenso. Anyone interested in knowing in which direction I am looking for the solution to the problem, I would like to refer to the three essays that I have recently published under the title ‘Historisches und biblisches Israel’ (Kratz, 2013; Eng, 2015). Here, I have not taken any of the three paths referred to above, but suggest, as an alternative, a return to the conceptual framework of De Wette as the basis for the analytical approaches of Wellhausen and Noth. It is my opinion that, due to the recent conception of history and its sources, we should not go behind De Wette; we must retain his well-founded distinction between myth and history, i.e. between biblical history and the history of Israel, therefore the title: ‘Historical and Biblical Israel’. At the same time, it seems to me, that despite the current scepticism, it is crucial to attempt to reconstruct the growth of biblical tradition using literaryhistorical means in the wake of Wellhausen. If we combine this approach with De Wette, we get to Noth, who found the history of tradition – reconstructed by Wellhausen and traced back into the domain of oral discourse by Noth – to be not only a development from history to myth, but also the history of the myth, or in his words: the Israel ‘in the language of confession and faith’ (in der Sprache des Bekennens und Glaubens). 41

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The cardinal point However, the crucial question, die ‘Kardinalfrage’, of which neither Wellhausen nor Noth were aware, is, in my opinion, to what extent the history of biblical tradition (Wellhausen) and of the biblical myth (Noth) really can be correlated or identified with the history of Israel and Judah. Wellhausen and Noth, and all who followed them, assume a more or less direct connection between the stages of (oral and written) biblical tradition and the phases of Israel’s history as a matter of course. Yet this assumption is in no way self-evident. And in the historical differentiation of tradition, the historical and the biblical Israel are not automatically identical. Even in the oldest accessible form, biblical tradition has always been myth and not history. Instead of a historical succession with the myth at the end (according to Wellhausen) or at the beginning (according to Noth), it is more likely that, from a specific point, we can expect a coexistence of biblical history and the history of Israel, in which biblical tradition (the myth) is just one segment amongst many, in fact, I think, in the pre- as well as in the post-exilic period. For this reason I am making a case for initially dealing with both areas separately, the history of Israel – like that of the surrounding Syro-Palestinian neighbours – on the basis of the archaeological and epigraphic findings and the few data in biblical literature (above all the names of people and places, reigns, etc.) which have been documented elsewhere or are trustworthy; biblical tradition, as far as it is available, on the basis of external evidence (manuscripts, inscriptions, biblical and extra-biblical parallels) and otherwise by means of internal analysis. This results in a chronology which is absolute in the first case, i.e. the external evidence, and relative in the second case, i.e. the biblical tradition. Completeness is not to be expected in either case. Israel’s history consists of a gaunt scaffolding of names and dates and it blends into the general stream of ancient Near Eastern history and Syro-Palestinian history in particular. The history of biblical tradition, which reflects the history of Israel in its own way and transfers it into biblical history (historia sacra), cannot be reconstructed without gaps either. Apart from the uncertainties of analysis due to a lack of external evidence we cannot successfully correlate all stages of tradition with the various text areas of the Old Testament, even in the framework of a relative chronology. Not until both areas are processed separately do I consider that there is a basis for tentatively plotting the relative chronology of biblical tradition in the absolute chronology of history in a second step. This is not an easy task. In many cases we can only determine a terminus a quo (or post quem). The inevitable gaps, already mentioned, in the reconstruction of the history of Israel as well as in the history of biblical tradition contribute a further difficulty. Consequently, it seems to me to be impossible to reconstruct a complete literary history and correlate this with the history of Israel. We barely get beyond rough estimations and approximate dating. Finally, we tackle the difficult and not yet solved question on where and when biblical tradition became widely distributed and played a key role in the history of Israel. The answer cannot simply be taken from the biblical (e.g. 2 Kings 22–23; 42

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Jer 36; Ezra 7 and Neh. 8) or para-biblical account (e.g. Letter of Aristeas). Rather the interplay of Israel’s history and biblical history can only be deduced from circumstantial evidence, such as the external testimony of biblical tradition or in a comparison with other, extra-biblical, witnesses. Here too, we cannot get further than conjecture, the earliest evidence points to the Hellenistic period.

Conclusion In conclusion, I would like to state that, with regard to the history of Israel, I confess to being an adherent of the minimalist approach – following De Wette and the modern view of history and historiography. At the same time, however, I am strongly of the opinion that the available (archaeological, epigraphical and also remnants of literary) sources are quite sufficient here, as in other cases of Syro-Palestinian history, such as Aram, Ammon, Moab, Edom, for reconstructing at least an outline of ancient Israel’s history. With regard to the literary-historical analysis of biblical tradition, along with Wellhausen and Noth and the classical objectives of modern biblical studies, I represent a maximalist standpoint, not in order to extract more material for the history of Israel from biblical tradition, but in order to understand the emergence and development of biblical tradition in the context of the history of Israel and Judea and the world of the ancient Near East. Anyone who reverses the relationships and in analysing the sources takes a minimalist standpoint but in the historical analysis a maximalist standpoint, might as well retell or paraphrase the Bible. For the much-trodden path in the middle the criteria are lacking. In any case, however, we should keep in mind the wonderful dictum of Wellhausen which is still valid today: ‘History, as it is well known, always has to be constructed . . . The question is whether one constructs well or ill’ (Wellhausen, 1885: 367).17

Notes 1 English translation Ruth Ludewig-Welch. 2 For the scholarly discussion see Day, 2004; Williamson, 2007; Barstad, 2008; Schaper, 2011; cf. esp. the article of J. W. Rogerson (‘Setting the Scene: A Brief Outline of Histories of Israel’) in Williamson, 2007: 1–14, which was the starting point for my reflections on the relationship between biblical history and the history of Israel in this article. 3 German original version: ‘Trotz der mannhaften Vertheidigung der Tradition durch Hengstenberg und seine Anhänger hat sich doch dieser s(o) g(enannte) Subjectivismus in der Gegenwart allenthalben Bahn gebrochen, so zwar, dass auch seine Gegner mit ihm Compromisse schliessen, die Kritik preisen und nur die Hyperkritik verdammen.’ 4 Here and in the following the term ‘biblical history’ means always the historical narrative of the sacred history in the Hebrew Bible (historia sacra), whereas the term ‘history of Israel’ designates the actual history of Israel and Judah and their SyroPalestinian neighbours. 5 English translation: The critical studies of modern theologians have already denied many historical sources their immediate (only reliable) authenticity and credibility;

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a completely radical critique, however, will show that no single one of the historical works of the Old Testament has historical value and all contain more or less myths and tradition, and that we have no real historical witnesses amongst all the books of the OT, apart from a few prophets, who are unlikely to yield much historical spoil. 6 English translation: The Pentateuch now stands as a whole . . . ; and as a whole it has but a mythical significance: it is as though its roots stand in mythical ground: nowhere do we gain a fixed historical point; Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, the Exodus from Egypt, legislation, all the key moments are taken into the possession of myths and subjected to their laws. History should therefore waive this part of its territory. 7 English translation: The first task of the historian is thus hermeneutic. 8 English translation: But the results of criticism can only ever be negative, they can only reject but not replace that which has been rejected, they reveal only falsehood but cannot discover the truth. 9 English translation: The general laws of hermeneutics are also those of historical interpretation and the historian must submit to them as well. 10 English translation: We know nothing in history but single phenomena, we cannot penetrate the inner workshops of history, nothing can really be explained, each fact is a product of infinite causes, which occur in secret. We content ourselves with our ignorance and do not presume to penetrate where admission is denied! 11 English translation: The narrator gives indeed truth and falsehood in one meaning, he does not distinguish one form the other, but places both with the same dignitas next to each other: according to him, according to his intention, truth is as good as falsehood, vehicle of extra-historical (poetic, religious, philosophical) sense, for him falsehood is just as true as truth. The criticism is of no help here. 12 English translation: But if the Pentateuch is useless as a historical source or rather as such does not exist: it still has not lost its existence and value; rather it wins a higher. Considered as poetry and myth it now appears as the most important and richest object of important and most fertile considerations, and in another sense again as the most important historical monument. It is a product of the patriotic religious poetry of the Israelite people . . . , and is therefore one of the first sources of cultural and religious history. 13 English translation: In the material they (viz. myths) do not differ from the story, the story is often more wonderful and more poetic than the poetry itself: the difference lies only in the tendency. 14 English translation: A product of their faith and their fantasy. 15 English translation: History lost but religion won. 16 Relevant are Wellhausen, 1899; 1905b; 1914; see also the sketches Wellhausen, 1880 and 1905b reprinted in Smend, 1965: 13–64, 65–109. Cf. Kratz, 2003 (esp. 528–530) and 2009. 17 In the German original version 1883: 389: ‘Construieren muss man bekanntlich die Geschichte immer (. . .). Der Unterschied ist nur, ob man gut oder schlecht construiert’.

References Barstad, H. M. 2008. History and the Hebrew Bible: Studies in Ancient Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography, Forschungen zum Alten Testament 61. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

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Bleek, F. 1878. Einleitung in die Heilige Schrift, vol. 1, J. Bleek and A. Kamphausen (eds), 4th edn., J. Wellhausen (arr.). Berlin: Reimer. Bleek, F. 1886. Einleitung in die Heilige Schrift, vol. 1, J. Bleek and A. Kamphausen (eds), 5th edn., J. Wellhausen (arr.). Berlin: Reimer. Day, J. (ed.) 2004. In Search of Pre-Exilic Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 406. London and New York: T&T Clark International. De Wette, W. M. L. 1805a. Aufforderung zum Studium der Hebräischen Sprache und Litteratur. Jena/Leipzig: Christian Ernst Gabler. ____________. 1805b. ‘Dissertatio critica-exegetica qua Deuteronomium a prioribus Pentateuchi libris diversum alius cuiusdam recentioris auctoris opus esse monstratur’, Hans-Peter Mathys (ed., trans., and intro.: Wilhelm Martin Leberecht De Wettes Dissertatio critico-exegetica von 1805), in Biblische Theologie und historisches Denken: Wissenschaftsgeschichtliche Studien, Aus Anlass der 50. Wiederkehr der Basler Promotion von Rudolf Smend. M. Keßler and M. Wallraff (eds). Studien zur Geschichte der Wissenschaften in Basel: Neue Folge 5. Basel: Schwabe Verlag: 171–211. ____________. 1806–1807. Beiträge zur Einleitung in das Alte Testament, 2 vols. Halle: Schimmelpfennig und Compagnie. Kratz, R. G. 2000. Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments: Grundwissen der Bibelkritik. Uni-Taschenbücher 2157. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Published in English as The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, J. Bowden (trans.) (London and New York: T&T Clark International, 2005). ____________. 2003. ‘Wellhausen, Julius’, in G. Müller (ed.) Theologische Realenzyklo­ pädie, vol. 35. Berlin: de Gruyter, 527–536. ____________. 2009. ‘Eyes and Spectacle: Wellhausen’s Method of Higher Criticism’, The Journal of Theological Studies: New Series 60(2): 381–402. ____________. 2013. Historisches und biblisches Israel: Drei Überblicke zum Alten Testament. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Published in English as Historical and Biblical Israel: The History, Tradition, and Archives of Israel and Judah, P. M. Kurtz (trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Noth, M. 1943. Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien. Halle (Saale): Niemeyer Verlag Reprint: 2. edn. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1957. ____________. 1948. Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuchs. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. ____________. 1955. Geschichte Israels. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht (reprint of the 2nd. edn.: 10th edn. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986). Rogerson, J. W. 2007. ‘Setting the Scene: A Brief Outline of Histories of Israel’, Understanding the History of Ancient Israel. H.G.M. Williamson (ed.). Proceedings of the British Academy 143. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1–14. Schwartz, E. 1918. ‘Julius Wellhausen [mit zwei Beilagen]’. Nachrichten von der Königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Geschäftliche Mitteilungen: 43–73 (reprint [without appendix]: In Gesammelte Schriften, Vergangene Gegenwärtigkeiten. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1938 (2nd edn. 1963), vol. 1, 326–361. Schaper, Joachim. 2011. ‘“ . . . wie es eigentlich gewesen”: Historical “Facts” and the Reconstruction of the History of “Ancient Israel”’, in James K. Aitken, Katharine J. Dell and Brian A. Mastin (eds) On Stone and Scroll: Essays in Honour of Graham Ivor Davies, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift der Alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft 420. Berlin: de Gruyter, 153–167.

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Smend, R. (ed.) 1965. Julius Wellhausen: Grundrisse zum Alten Testament. Theologische Bücherei 27. München: Kaiser. Wellhausen, J. 1880. ‘Geschichte Israels’, in R. Smend (ed.) Julius Wellhausen: Grundrisse zum Alten Testament (1965) , Theologische Bücherei 27. München: Kaiser, 13–64. ____________. 1885. Prolegomena to the History of Israel, 2nd edn, J. S. Black and A. Menzies (trans.). Edinburgh: A. & C. Black (reprint: Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1994). Originally published in German as Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels, vol. 1, 2nd edn. Berlin: Reimer, 1883. ____________. 1899. Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments, 3rd edn. Berlin: Reimer (reprint: 4th edn. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963). ____________. 1901. ‘Heinrich Ewald’, in R. Smend (ed.) Julius Wellhausen: Grundrisse zum Alten Testament (1965), Theologische Bücherei 27. München: Kaiser, 120–138. ____________. 1905a. ‘Israelitisch-jüdische Religion’, in R. Smend (ed.) Julius Wellhausen: Grundrisse zum Alten Testament, (1965), Theologische Bücherei 27. München: Kaiser, 65–109. ____________. 1905b. Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels, 6th edn. Berlin: Reimer (reprint: Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001). ____________. 1914. Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte, 7th edn. Berlin: Reimer (reprint: 10th edn. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004). Williamson, H. G. M. (ed.) 2007. Understanding the History of Ancient Israel. Proceedings of the British Academy 143. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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3 OUT OF THE WILDERNESS? Some suggestions for the future of Pentateuchal research Thomas M. Bolin

The Pentateuch is a massive work, which contains many disparate materials, and which is never explicit about its intentions. But there it is. (David Clines 2013: 3)

I Does anything remain to be said about the composition of the Pentateuch that has not already been said more than once, or that is not open to equally plausible counter arguments or alternative scenarios? If we use the work of Simon and Astruc as a starting point, we see that the past three centuries of academic scrutiny of the Pentateuch has yielded precious little by way of what were once called “assured results”: (1) Deuteronomy, or part of it, is an appendix to a larger collection; (2) There are a number of texts, mainly ritual prescriptions, which appear to belong together, and have for a long time been designated as P. To quote another biblical author, “But beyond these, my child, beware!” (Eccl 12:12). If I may be allowed to indulge in a once fashionable academic conceit, the present state of Pentateuchal studies is analogous to the Library of Babel in the well-known story of the same name by Jorge Luis Borges. The Library contains a copy of every possible combination of the alphabet, and thus a copy of every book that can ever be written.1 Naturally most of these combinations yield nothing but gibberish, and so the great quest in the Library of Babel is to find among the vast collection of nonsense those books that make sense and, most importantly, the book that is the catalog of the vast Library itself. This is nothing less than a quixotic task, and Borges speaks of hope followed by depression, of men who drive themselves mad looking for sense in an infinite universe of meaninglessness. 47

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But the assumption that sense can be found amidst so much random arrangement becomes the orthodox position. Those who “assert that absurdities are the norm in the Library and that anything reasonable . . . is an almost miraculous exception” are labeled as “impious” (Borges 1962: 86). Biblical scholars may perhaps be in an even worse situation than Borges’s heretics. Jacques Berlinerblau (2005: 70–73) notes how Hebrew Bible scholars, occupying the no-man’s land between the academy and the church or synagogue, are Mischwesen, too religious for their fellow academics, and too academic for believers. Literary and historical studies of the Pentateuch are like the state of affairs in the Library of Babel. Exegetes search and search through a set of texts—albeit much smaller—looking for the catalogue, or key, that will reveal how the texts came to be written and collected. False leads are trumpeted as assured results, but hope is followed by disappointment, and those who question the rationality of the enterprise are branded as outsiders. One does not need an Archimedean vantage point to see that many of the questions pursued in Pentateuchal study appear, quite frankly, to be played out. Among these is the view of biblical texts that assumes them to be the product of centuries of composition and editing of hypothetical documents2 or multiple imagined traditions. John Van Seters (2006) has described in great detail how the entire project of identifying editors and redactors in ancient Israel is founded upon an anachronism that hides at its core a fatal confusion in the understanding of what ancient scribes and modern editors do. And yet the field proceeds in this direction apache, as can be seen from conclusions drawn by recent studies on the Pentateuch.3 One isolates multiple layers of D and argues that these were then combined with multiple layers of P (Otto 2000). Another posits a three-stage, postexilic redaction of the Pentateuch (Achenbach 2002). While some are ready to bid “farewell to the Yahwist” (Dozeman and Schmid 2006), others still argue for his existence (Levin 1993; 2007). We have choices in Pentateuchal studies, much like the unsuspecting customer wandering into an emporium or curio shop. Do you think J is the base narrative, with P being expansions? John Van Seters (1992; 1994) agrees with you. Would you prefer P as the Grundlage, with J as a redactor? Joseph Blenkinsopp (2000; cf. Otto 2000) has done that work. Joel Baden (2012) has even revived the full, four-source Documentary Hypothesis despite the fact that the very existence of the E document has been in question for almost a century (Volz and Rudolph 1933). And while Baden wisely avoids the mistakes of older Documentarians, and refrains from connecting any of the documents to specific periods of a biblically reconstructed Israelite history, the revived Documentary Hypothesis will not prevent conservative historians from doing so. We may even see the return of a Solomonic Yahwist. Little exists in way of consensus or assured results, and research is conducted with the chorus of those in disagreement as close as the notes at the bottom of the page. What I offer in the remainder of this chapter are three alternative avenues of exploration that may provide scholars different directions worthy of pursuit in Pentateuchal study. My observations are based both on some fruitful recent research in biblical studies and on long neglected questions and issues. The 48

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alternatives are not cumulative, but reflect three distinct and in some ways mutually exclusive ways of analyzing the text. But they offer a way out of the constant recourse to standard source or redaction critical methods which often amount to little more than a rearrangement of the furniture in Pentateuchal study.

II As prelude to the first of the alternative approaches, I would point to an important, but overlooked essay by Thomas L. Thompson (1998) in which he notes that in the Qumran texts, “we have an entry into the actual world of text-making, composition and transmission” (1998: 262). Noting that text preservation at Qumran is also closely bound up with text production, Thompson looks at 4QTestimonia/4Q175 and sees there evidence of text composition that involves the combination of smaller textual units, some of which are found in the Pentateuch, and whose particular arrangements can be used to create different texts entirely. That is to say Thompson shows that textual production in ancient Israel happens on the level of phrases, motifs, and multiple tradition variants. This isn’t the form-criticism of Gunkel or the tradition history of Noth, both of which deal in hypothesizing pre-textual material that otherwise doesn’t exist. It is more akin to the work of Lord (1960) and Parry (in A. Parry 1987) on oral bards and Homer, except that Thompson is not arguing for an exclusively oral phenomenon. Instead, he turns to the witness of the Qumran texts and their similarity with those in the Bible. This leads him to claim, with justification, that [a]ll biblical genres are what might be described as segmented genres; that is, they are complex units of tradition that are composed of multiple smaller segments of material. In a quite substantial way, larger tradition units are created through the joining or selecting of smaller units. (1998: 268) This insight can be seen in Thompson’s reading of biblical texts in two other publications (1995, 2009). The first, published before the essay on 4QTestimonia, but clearly an example of Thompson’s approach, looks at the doublet of Yahweh’s self-revelation of his name to Moses in Exodus 3 and 6, and sees there evidence of ancient Israelite reflection on the nature of the absolute vis-à-vis multiple stories of finite deities. The texts engage in this theological reflection by means of the “common language of our variant episodes and scenes”, and “the intelligent patterning of themes, motifs and plotlines” which together “seriously undermines the documentary hypothesis and helps us focus on the coherence of the whole” (1995: 71). The second looks also to Exodus 3, and describes the multiple uses of the motif of Yahweh both being “with” his people, and of those people being created in Yahweh’s image, two themes that come together not only throughout the Pentateuch but also in Job and Deutero-Isaiah, among other texts.4 More recently and along similar lines, Bernard Levinson (2013) has used 11QTemple to help illuminate puzzling compositional features in Deuteronomy’s law on vows. 49

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Worth further exploration in Pentateuchal studies is the close relationship between oral and literate modes of composition in ancient Mediterranean antiquity (Niditch 1996). For example, Raymond Person draws upon Parry and Lord’s work with Yugoslav bards and demonstrates how When they copied their texts, the ancient Israelite scribes did not slavishly write the texts word by word, but preserved the texts’ meaning for the ongoing life of their communities in much the same way that performers of oral epic represent the stable, yet dynamic, tradition to their communities In this sense, the ancient Israelite scribes were not mere copyists but were also performers. (Person 1998: 602) Thus textual phenomena long classified by critics as “expansions” (e.g. between LXX and MT Jeremiah) are rather evidence of the cluster of associations that certain names or phrases have in a scribe’s mind and which are sometimes included in the text (Person 1998: 605–607).5 This approach has been extensively explored in David’s Carr ambitious and important The Formation of the Hebrew Bible (2011).6 Carr demonstrates how some textual similarities in the Bible are the result of what he calls “memory variants”, i.e., variants in written texts which are the result of an author who is recalling other written texts from memory. Such a phenomenon grows out of the oral-literate environment in which ancient Near Eastern scribes were educated, and has long been noted in the Egyptian sebayit (Carr 2011: 23, following Burkard 1977). He then demonstrates that repeated texts in Proverbs and 11QT’s use of Deuteronomy and Leviticus are not evidence of variant traditions,7 but differences in the scribe’s remembrance of the text (2011: 25–34, 48–56). In this way, the interplay between fluid and static among oral performers long noted by Parry and Lord is also seen to be at work among the biblical scribes, whom Carr understands as transmitters of texts. [T]he manuscript traditions . . . were transmitted, at least in part, through a process of writing supported memorization . . . betrayed by extensive verbatim agreement between traditions combined with occasional variation between expressions of similar or virtually identical semantic content. (Carr 2011: 65)8 Much can and will be said about Carr’s book, in particular that his own historical reconstructions grow more speculative the further back beyond the Hellenistic period he goes. But we are all working with the same evidence, and such is true for everyone who tries to reconstruct Israelite history from texts that were only standardized in the Hasmonean era. What I want to emphasize here is that I think Thompson’s Lego hypothesis is confirmed by Carr’s work on memory variants. In other words, the oral-literate nexus in which ancient Israelite writers worked 50

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explains how biblical texts may be composed of “multiple smaller segments of material”. Susan Niditch has described this when she writes of the Bible’s “oral register” (1996: 8–38). The work of these scholars opens up new ways of looking at so-called redactional layers or glosses in the Pentateuch. For example, instead of seeing “priestly” language throughout the text as evidence of a later scribe going through and supplementing the text, these “glosses” may be better understood as evidence of authors’ own efforts to cross-reference parts of the sprawling text in a cluster of thematic or verbal associations. While this scenario allows for the possibility that “earlier” or “later” texts or traditions may have been incorporated into the Pentateuch, it does not require such a process, which has devolved into an understanding of the biblical text as a literary tell with several distinct historical layers of occupation. This view has yielded a dizzying array of reconstructions and theories with precious few concrete results and lacks substantive evidence from other ancient literatures.

III As a second possibility, I would strongly urge that the large-genre question of the Pentateuch be taken up by more scholars than heretofore and more systematically.9 While questions of the origins and historical contexts of our texts are important, we have been too myopic in our attention to those issues, and ceded the study of the final form of the text to literary scholars dependent upon New Critical or post-structuralist readings of various stripes. Erisman (2014) has noted this, and urged historical-critical scholars of the Pentateuch to become competent critics in New Historicism, which combines the ideological sensitivity of poststructuralist approaches with the view of the text with a history of its own, rather than as a conveyor of history. Exegetes would then realize that “composition history is reception history” and that “[w]e encounter the residue of [the Pentateuch’s] historical development in places where it fails to cohere” (2014: 75, 78). With his characteristic élan, David Clines (2013) has questioned whether such a thing as the Pentateuch even exists, given the almost exclusive scholarly attention on questions of its genesis. As John Barton has argued, the essence of biblical scholarship lies in the desire to make sense of the biblical texts, to determine how they “hang together” (2007: 19). Scholarly attention to the textual difficulties (e.g. doublets, contradictions) is the result of trying to make sense of the text, but failing to do so. For Barton, what distinguishes critical from non-critical attempts to do this is sensitivity to a text’s genre (2007: 23). The problem with the Documentary Hypothesis is that, while it rightfully begins its analysis from the problems with the text, it resorts to the modern creation of pre-existing documents to resolve those problems. The Pentateuch has not only defied easy genre designations; it is also difficult to read as a coherent linear narrative. But “difficult” is not the same as “impossible”. People have been reading the text for centuries before the rise of modern criticism and it is possible for us to determine how these 51

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readers from the past made sense of the Pentateuch. Thankfully, the rise of studies which explore the history of reception and interpretation, and investigates how pre-modern readers dealt with a particular interpretive crux (e.g., the translation of an obscure term, or the meaning of an ambiguous phrase or the theological meaning of a text), have illuminated centuries of readings for us. But how was the Pentateuch as a complete and single composition read in the centuries before the onset of modern biblical criticism? The answer may be that most people in the past didn’t read it this way. I know of no pre-modern Christian work that treats the entire Pentateuch, although Christian commentaries on various parts of the Pentateuch, mainly Genesis, do exist. What we find in Jewish tradition is that, while the Pentateuch is understood as a single work, it is hardly ever read as a text with a narrative arc and thrust from beginning to end. While midrash exploits the gaps or fissures in the text, the midrashic narratives do not always resolve any or all of the tensions in the biblical text. In commentaries such as those of Ibn Ezra or Rashi, the Pentateuch is read as a collection of precepts, and the characters in the narrative are seen as exemplars of the values and norms of the text. Even as thoroughly Hellenized a figure as Philo fits into this category. The most notable exception to this is Josephus, who is consciously adapting the biblical text to the norms of Greek historiography. In other words, the Pentateuch is most often read as a collection of smaller text segments (cf. Thompson 1998) that can be juxtaposed asynchronously on the principle that parts of scripture can be used to interpret other, unrelated portions. Indeed, this is the underlying principle of most of the middoth of Hillel and those reading strategies dependent upon them. In order to address the large-genre question of the Pentateuch, I argued (Bolin 1999) that the Pentateuch was never intended to be read as historiography as that genre was understood in antiquity, although this thesis has been maintained by others (e.g., Halpern 1988; Mandell and Freedman 1993; Van Seters 1992; 1994; Brettler 1995). Instead, I maintained that Genesis-Deuteronomy, along with other parts of the Old Testament, was assembled with the antiquarian aims of preserving multiple variants of past traditions. Consequently, instead of assuming that the biblical text was meant to be read in the way that we read it, and then try to make sense of its incongruities, we should instead ask whether it was ever meant to be read as a coherent whole at all (Bolin 1999: 137–138). In hindsight I acknowledge that the line between historiography and antiquarian writing in antiquity was more fluid than I had at first maintained. I do still think that the Pentateuch is not historiography, a position also held by others (Ska 2007: 147–150). What might it be, then? Because genre designations are essentially conventions shared by authors and readers, the way forward in trying to answer the large genre question for the Pentateuch is to look at how it was read. Determining reading strategies of a text can (although not always) help us to know what kind of text we are reading. At this point it might do well to remind ourselves that the Pentateuch, in the form that we have it, is sacred or authoritative literature referred to as the torah or the torat Mosheh. In modern biblical scholarship, the default translation 52

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of the term, torah, has been “law”. But this is too often tainted by the Pauline Law-Gospel dichotomy of mainly Christian exegetes, and has done nothing but make reading and analyzing the torah more difficult than otherwise. A better translation of torah, one also valid for the term’s Greek equivalent, nomos, would be “instruction”, or even, “custom”, as Reinhard Kratz (2007: 102) and others have argued. As such it encompasses not simply casuistic and apodictic commands, nor even is limited exclusively to a legal setting. Torah encompasses not simply laws to be followed with their consequences, but a way of doing things, what the early Jesuits referred to when discussing their order as nuestro modo de proceder (“our way of doing things”, O’Malley 1995: 8). It is likely that the Pentateuch was read as torah no earlier than the second century bce (Kratz 2007). We ought to ask next exactly what kind of authority the torah was seen to have by its readers. James W. Watts has argued that textual authority in the ancient Near East was not granted to legal codes, but rather almost exclusively limited to texts associated with rituals. In antiquity, claims for the authority of old texts were more frequently made for ritual texts than for any others. Rather than law or diplomacy or bureaucracy or divination, the use of texts for and in ritual explains more plausibly the origins and development of book religion. (Watts 2005: 404) Similarly Russell Hobson (2012), in a detailed study of manuscript variants in the library of Ashurbanipal and at Qumran, has shown that the most stable cuneiform texts were those connected with rituals, while the most stable Hebrew texts at Qumran are from the Pentateuch. While the Pentateuch comprises a number of genres that do not so easily coincide with the categories of cuneiform material, and the stability of individual books of the Pentateuch varies, Hobson—a cautious interpreter of the data throughout his study—nevertheless feels warranted in describing the Pentateuch as “a ritualized collection” (2012: 155). This dovetails with the fact that the one of the few points of agreement in Pentateuchal studies is the centrality of the Priestly source for the overall final structure of the Torah. Whatever else the Pentateuch may be, it is indisputably a collection of ritual literature. We should look for other large collections of authoritative texts that are comprised of both narrative and ritual instruction. Unfortunately, apart from the ritual or liturgical etiologies that occur in texts such as Atrahasis or The Epic of Gilgamesh, there is nothing in the ancient Near Eastern or Mediterranean cultural contexts that can quite compare to a text the size of the Pentateuch comprising elements as diverse as the patriarchal narratives in Genesis and the detailed descriptions of the tabernacle in Exodus. And it will not do to categorize the Pentateuch as a type of literature of which it is the only example. Genuinely new literary works nevertheless establish their novelty in dialogue with existing texts. For example, James Joyce’s Ulysses, widely acknowledged 53

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as the most innovative work of fiction in twentieth-century English literature, uses Homer’s Odyssey, one of the oldest texts in the Western tradition, as its foil (pace Sanders 2015).

IV This leads to a third and final possibility for future study. At this point I want to recall Jonathan Z. Smith’s presidential address to the Society of Biblical Literature (Smith 2009). Smith, with reference to the monumental scholarship of Max Müller, reminds biblical exegetes that one of the most important tasks of the academic study of religion from its beginning has been the comparative project, and he rightly chides biblical scholars for having neglected this task. The study of religion has been conceived from the outset as one that entails comparison, and biblical scholars ought not avoid that requirement . . . For Müller, the biblical scholar is a practitioner of what he termed the science of religion to the degree she sees her work as comparative. I would argue the same. (Smith 2009: 19) Smith goes on to urge biblical scholars to look at how different collections of sacred literatures the world over are formed and read over time. Indeed, he argues persuasively that this is an essential part of the academic study of the Bible as a sacred text. [A]s biblical scholars we are called not only to comparisons between canons, comparative processes of canon formation and supplementation, but also to undertake comparative investigations of strategies for the interpretation of canonical collections as well as comparative inquiries into their several ritual settings and employments. (Smith 2009: 22) I think that Smith is correct in his admonition and recommendation to biblical scholars. The texts found in the collections of other sacred literatures remain untapped sources for fruitful comparison with something as large and focused on ritual as the Pentateuch. The first such collection that comes to mind is that of the Vedas. Previous work on the relationship between Hindu and Jewish texts has primarily been done by scholars of Hinduism (Goodman 1994; Holdrege 1995). I would propose that biblical scholars engage in comparative work between the Pentateuch and the Vedas. While below I can sketch out only the most preliminary observations, I am convinced that further work will yield positive results. A few features of the Vedic literature strike me as potentially significant in regard to the question of how the Pentateuch was read and, perhaps, how it came together. The oldest of these Sanskrit texts, the Rig Veda, is a large collection of 54

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poems comprised of ritual texts.10 As such, they describe rituals—often in the contexts or myths and tales of these rituals’ origins—and provide specific “words of power” (mantras) to be said during those rites (Doniger 2009: 107). As mentioned above, some biblical scholars have argued that the text of the Pentateuch was ritualized, i.e., first used in rituals until it then became part of the ritual itself. The cultic material in the Pentateuch, rather than seen as a “late” addition by an increasingly “legalistic” Jerusalem priesthood,11 really can be seen as the entire collection’s raison d’être. It is perhaps telling in this regard that the oldest extrabiblical occurrences of Pentateuchal texts are the blessings related to passages in Numbers and Deuteronomy inscribed on the two Ketef Hinnom amulets. Written on silver, clearly worn as talismans and found in a large tomb complex, these lamellae clearly demonstrate a ritualistic or mantra-like understanding of the blessings etched on them. Their excavator asserts that they are “amulets whose inscriptions served an apotropaic function” (Barkay et al. 2004: 41). The ritual texts in the Rig Veda spawned an entire body of theological and philosophical literature in the Brahmanas and Upanishads that read the Vedic texts symbolically or extend their legal prescriptions to other aspects of life. As Wendy Doniger describes, In 700 bce, the only texts that were memorized and preserved were the Brahmanas, and the sacrifice was the focal point for all forms of creative expression. Thus these texts purporting to gloss the sacrifice attracted to themselves, like magnets, everything else that could be dragged in to express the meaning of life in ancient India. Or rather, since the sacrifice was believed to symbolize everything that was meaningful in human life, any compelling insight into that life would eventually gravitate to the traditional literature that was constantly coalescing around the sacrifice. (Doniger 2009: 159–160) Similarly, another scholar of Hinduism, Timothy Lubin, makes important connections between the Brahmanas and rabbinic Jewish texts, noting the “marked similarities in the hermeneutical principles developed in the Rabbinic and Brahmanical interpretive traditions”, as evidence of a “parallel trajectory of exegesis devoted to explaining an elite priestly cult to the communities that define themselves by that cult” (2002: 456).12 This is clearly very similar to the ways that both Philo and the Talmud use the ritualistic directives of the Pentateuch as discussed in detail by Barbara Holdrege (1995). This phenomenon might also be at work in the growth of the Pentateuch itself as a collection. The Rig Veda is a large collection of both ritual descriptions and narratives that describe these rituals or provide them with etiologies. As such, it offers a close corollary with the very long cultic and narrative assembly of the Pentateuch, and which is not found in other ancient Near Eastern writings. It is the view of Kratz, who argues that, “The whole process of making the Pentateuch can be understood as an ongoing theological reflection upon the meaning of the community’s own customs” (2007: 97). Jeffrey Stackert 55

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has detailed how certain laws regarding the Levites found in Leviticus are subtly interpreting similar laws elsewhere in the Pentateuch so that these similar laws are either affirmed or marginalized (2009: 187–204; see also Gesundheit 2012). Finally, the second oldest collection of Vedic texts, the Sama Veda is comprised mostly of lines from the Rig Veda that have been rearranged for use in rituals, while the third oldest collection, the Yajur Veda, also combines verses from the Rig Veda with explanatory prose passages. What we see in the contents of these three oldest Vedic collections is the kind of mobility of small text segments as outlined by Thompson in his reading of biblical material. At first glance, my suggestions resemble nothing more than a revival of the fragment hypothesis, but the strength of the approach I have outlined here is in the control offered by the comparative material from the Vedic tradition and its particular rootedness in an elite, sacerdotal class. Such a control is what we have been lacking in Pentateuchal studies (pace Tigay 1985).

V The title of this chapter refers, albeit a bit playfully, to the forty-year itinerant sojourn of the Israelites in the desert, a theme that encompasses over half the Pentateuch. The playful part of my allusion is the fact that I naturally do not believe the last forty (or eighty or one hundred) years of Pentateuchal scholarship have been for naught. I certainly would not characterize them as divine punishment for faithlessness, although that is a position that those who are against historical-critical scholarship for religious reasons might espouse. But I would also say that, like the Israelites in the wilderness, Pentateuchal studies have been wandering for a long time with seemingly little progress to show for the journey. The options I have outlined in this essay are not guaranteed to bring us to the promised land of assured results, but I do think that they will yield us better results than we would get by plowing resolutely forward using essentially the same methods as Wellhausen and Noth. When lost in the wild, the first step required to finding your way again is to acknowledge that you have taken a wrong turn.

Notes 1 There are at least two digital replicas of the Library available online: http://dicelog. com/babel and http://libraryofbabel.info/index.html. 2 What Berlinerblau (2005: 43) refers to as “diachronic polyauthorism”. 3 Other recent surveys of literature on the Pentateuch are Knoppers and Levinson (2007); Dozeman et al. (2011); Erisman (2014). For an essential history of the Documentary Hypothesis see Nicholson (1998). 4 This kind of textual analysis forms the backbone of Thompson (2005) a point not often grasped by its reviewers. 5 “[F]or example, the name Jeconiah is automatically associated with his patronym, titles, and events surrounding his reign, so that the copyist may not even be conscious that he is writing down what from our perspective includes additional words” (1998: 606).

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6 In her review of the book, Erisman (2012) rightly places the volume in the scholarly tradition of the Einleitung. 7 Pace Thompson, (1998: 267). This is also an alternative—and better—explanation for the divergences between the résumé of Israelite history in Nehemiah 9 and Genesis-2 Kings which I put forward (Bolin 1996: 3–15). 8 Again, Erisman’s Review of Carr (2012) is incisive: “[W]e can no longer speak of oral stages of transmission superseded by written stages. This approach to the problem of orality, which was taken for granted in early- and mid-twentieth-century scholarship, has been eroding for some time, but the phenomenon of writing-supported memory in texts from various periods throughout the ancient Near East should drive the final nail in its coffin for anyone still inclined to it.” 9 Among the few who have dealt with this issue are Whybray (1987); Freedman and Mandell (1993); Clines (1997); Sailhamer (2009). 10 The following remarks about the contents of the Vedic literature are dependent upon Doniger 2009: 103–130. 11 It is high time we consign the biases of Wellhausen to history’s rubbish bin. 12 I am grateful to James Lochtefeld of Carthage College for pointing me to this article.

References Achenbach, R. 2002. Die Vollendung der Tora: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Baden, J. 2012. The Composition of the Pentateuch: Renewing the Documentary Hypothesis. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Barkay, G., M. Lundberg, A.Vaughn and B. Zuckerman. 2004. “The Amulets from Ketef Hinnom: A New Edition and Evaluation”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 334: 41–71. Barton, J. 2007. The Nature of Biblical Criticism. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox. Berlinerblau, J. 2005. The Secular Bible: Why Nonbelievers Must Take Religion Seriously. New York: Cambridge University Press. Blenkinsopp, J. 2000. The Pentateuch: An Introduction to the First Five Books of the Bible. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Bolin, T. 1996. “When the End Is The Beginning: The Persian Period and the Origins of the Biblical Tradition”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 10: 3–15. Bolin, T. 1999. “History, Historiography, and the Use of the Past in the Hebrew Bible”. In The Limits of Historiography: Genre and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts. C. Shuttleworth Kraus (ed.). Leiden: Brill: 113–140. Borges, J. 1962. Ficciones. A. Kerrigan (trans.). New York: Grove Press. Brettler, M. 1995. The Creation of History in Ancient Israel. London: Routledge. Burkard, G. 1977. Textkritische Untersuchungen zu ägyptischen Weisheitslehren des alten und mittleren Reiches. Weisbaden: Harrassowitz. Carr, D. 2011. The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction. New York: Oxford University Press. Clines D. 1997. The Theme of the Pentateuch. 2nd edn, London: T. & T. Clark. Clines, D. 2013. “Does the Pentateuch Exist? Seven Questions We Should Be Asking If It Does”. www.academia.edu/3859631/Does_the_Pentateuch_Exist_Seven_Questions_ We_Should_Be_Asking_if_It_Does (accessed May 2014). Doniger, W. 2009. The Hindus: An Alternative History. New York: Penguin.

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Dozeman, T. and K. Schmid. (eds) 2006. A Farewell to the Yahwist: The Composition of the Pentateuch in Recent European Interpretation. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature/Brill. Dozeman T., K. Schmid and B. Schwartz. (eds.) 2011. The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Erisman, A. 2012. Review of Carr 2011. H-Judaic (June), www.h-net.org/reviews/show rev.php?id=34258 (accessed May 2014). Erisman, A. 2014. “New Historicism, Historical Criticism, and Reading the Pentateuch”. Religion Compass 8/3: 71–80. Freedman, D. and S. Mandell. 1993. The Relationship between Herodotus’ History and Primary History. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Gesundheit, S. 2012. Three Times a Year: Studies on Festival Legislation in the Pentateuch. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Goodman, H. (ed.) 1994. Between Jerusalem and Benares: Comparative Studies in Judaism and Hinduism. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Halpern, B. 1988. The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History. San Francisco, CA: Harper and Row. ________. 2003. The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press. Hobson, R. 2012. Transforming Literature into Scripture: Texts as Cult Objects at Nineveh and Qumran. London: Equinox. Holdrege, B. 1995. Veda and Torah: Transcending the Textuality of Scripture. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Knoppers, G. and B. Levinson (eds.) 2007. The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Kratz, R. 2007. “Temple and Torah: Reflections on the Legal Status of the Pentateuch between Elephantine and Qumran”. In The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance. Knoppers, G. and B. Levinson (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 77–103. Levin, C. 1993. Der Jahwist. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Levin, C. 2007. “The Yahwist: The Earliest Editor in the Pentateuch”. Journal of Biblical Literature 126: 209–230. Levinson, B. 2013. A More Perfect Torah: At the Intersection of Philology and Hermeneutics in Deuteronomy and the Temple Scroll. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lord, A. 1960. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lubin, T. 2002. “The Virtuosic Exegesis of the Brahmavadin and the Rabbi”. Numen 49: 427–449. Mandell, S. and D. N. Freedman. 1993. The Relationship between Herodotus’ History and Primary History. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Nicholson, E. 1998. The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century: The Legacy of Julius Wellhausen. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Niditch, S. 1996. Oral World and Written Word: Ancient Israelite Literature. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox. O’Malley, J. 1995. The First Jesuits. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Otto, E. 2000. Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch: Studien zur Literatur­ geschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuteronomiumrahmens. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

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Parry, A. (ed.) 1987. The Making of Homeric Verse: The Collected Papers of Milman Parry. New York: Oxford University Press. Person, R. 1998. “The Ancient Israelite Scribe as Performer”. Journal of Biblical Literature 117: 601–609. Sailhamer, J. 2009. The Meaning of the Pentateuch: Revelation, Composition and Interpretation. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Sanders, S. L. 2015. “What if There Aren’t Any Empirical Models for Pentateuchal Criticism?” In Orality and Literacy in Ancient Israel. B. Schmidt (ed.). Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature: 281–304. Ska, J. 2007. “From History Writing to Library Building: The End of History and the Birth of the Book”. In The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance. Knoppers, G. and B. Levinson (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 145–169. Smith, J. 2009. “Religion and Bible”. Journal of Biblical Literature 128: 5–27. Stackert, J. 2009. “The Holiness Legislation and Its Pentateuchal Sources: Revision, Supple­ mentation, and Replacement”. In The Strata of the Priestly Writings: Contemporary Debate and Future Directions. S. Schectman and J. Baden (eds.). Zürich: Theologischer Verlag: 187–204. Thompson, T. L. 1995. “How Yahweh Became God: Exodus 3 and 6 and the Heart of the Pentateuch”. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 68: 57–74. Thompson, T. L. 2005. The Messiah Myth: The Near Eastern Roots of Jesus and David. New York: Basic Books. Thompson, T. L. 1998 “4QTestimonia and Bible Composition: A Copenhagen Lego Hypothesis”. In Qumran Between the Old and New Testaments. F. Cryer and T. L. Thompson (eds.). Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 261–276. Thompson, T.L. 2009. “Imago Dei: A Problem in Pentateuchal Discourse”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 23: 135–148. Tigay, J. 1985. Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Van Seters, J. 1992. Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox. Van Seters, J. 1994. The Life of Moses: The Yahwist as Historian in Exodus-Numbers. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox. Van Seters, J. 2006. The Edited Bible: The Curious History of the “Editor” in Biblical Criticism. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Volz P. and W. Rudolph 1933. Der Elohist als Erzähler: Ein Irrweg der Pentateuchkritik. Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann. Watts, J. 2005. “Ritual Legitimacy and Scriptural Authority”. Journal of Biblical Literature 124: 401–417. Whybray, R. 1987. The Making of the Pentateuch: A Methodological Study. Sheffield: JSOT Press.

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4 THE CONTEMPORARY DEBATE OVER LINGUISTIC DATING OF BIBLICAL TEXTS Martin Ehrensvärd

The past: how we, or at least I, got here In the good old days scholars knew roughly when many of the biblical books were written. So it seemed like a good idea to use language as one of the ways of dating the texts that one could not date otherwise. After all, scholars had established a clear literary chronology and from that they built a linguistic chronology because there were linguistic differences between older and newer texts to go by. However, in the 1970s and 1980s those dates started to be called seriously into question. And it slowly dawned on a lot of people that they did not possess the knowledge they thought they did. Now, with this massive questioning of the literary chronology, one might have thought that scholars would give up the linguistic dating efforts, or at least proceed with extreme caution. This did not happen. Biblical Hebrew linguists seemed impervious to the shattering of the consensus. They even used the linguistic chronology established by the bygone consensus to argue that the consensus chronology must have been correct in the first place, somewhat circularly one might say. As it happens, I used to be one of the linguists making this circular claim. I was trained as a Semitic philologist by Finn Ove Hvidberg-Hansen1 and Avi Hurvitz.2 If you know them you will understand that my training was very conservative. The subject of my PhD work under Hurvitz was a syntactic analysis of the book of Esther, contrasting it with books we thought were earlier. The aim of the analysis was to show on linguistic grounds why scholars like Lemche, Thompson and Davies were incorrect in their claims (which we found outrageous) that most biblical texts were to be dated much later than we thought. We proceeded on the assumption that syntax is hard to fake. If you want a text to appear older than it is, we thought it was easier to put some older words in it, rather than genuinely using older syntax. And there are clear syntactic differences 60

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between Genesis-Kings on the one hand and Esther and other late books on the other. Therefore, we thought we could show that Genesis-Kings could not possibly be an archaizing product of the same time period as Esther, but had to genuinely be centuries older. My first article was published at that time, in the Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament (Ehrensvärd 1997). It was an attack on Fred Cryer (1994) and his argument that the linguistic uniformity of the Hebrew Bible showed that the Bible must have been written ‘more or less at one go’. In my article I pointed to what I then thought to be a consistent linguistic similarity between pre-exilic inscriptions and the Hebrew of Genesis-Kings. I also pointed to the opposition of this linguistic stage to the language of Esther and other late books. Those late books rather had similarities with post-biblical Hebrew not found in the earlier Hebrew. In that way, I thought I had some datable anchors outside of the biblical texts, securely dating one type of Hebrew texts to pre-exilic times. That article, by the way, is still cited by scholars holding on to the traditional view and disregarding my subsequent work. That is very convenient. When you realize you are wrong it does not mean that others will agree with you that you are wrong! Now, this all sounded very well, and I felt completely certain that we were correct. After all, this was the intellectual environment I was brought up in, and I was being guided by linguistic giants like Hurvitz. Further, in Jerusalem at that time – the last half of the 1990s – no dissenting voices were heard. But still, for reasons I cannot explain, one summer day when I, as I often did, was walking through the beautiful campus of Mount Scopus in Jerusalem, a Cartesian moment of intentional doubt occurred. Just for fun, I thought, since those scholars insist that we are so wrong, let me see if I can inhabit those scholars’ point of view. And in a moment all of my previous convictions unravelled as one thing after another fell into place. It was an extremely surprising and ecstatic experience. Suddenly I understood so much better how everything fitted together. And true enough, wherever I turned after that, I found one serious discrepancy after another in the received theory. I started with looking into what in the consensus view back then was regarded as the single strongest syntactic marker of late biblical Hebrew, the combination of the negative ‫ אין‬with an infinitive construct, e.g. Esther 4:2: ‫אין לבוא אל־שער המלך בלבוש שק‬ ‘One was not allowed to enter the palace gate wearing sackcloth’. ‘One was not allowed to enter’ is here expressed by the phrase ‫אין לבוא‬,֥ ֵ literally: ‘not to enter’. Any text containing this construction, such as Qoheleth which has this construction once (Qoh 3:14), was thought to be late for certain. But I had not been researching this for long before I found an overlooked, but relatively clear example of this construction in the supposedly early Hebrew of Samuel, 2 Sam 21:4: ‫ואין־לנו איש להמית בישראל‬ ‘We are not allowed to put any man to death in Israel’ 61

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The phrase is probably a rare example of Aramaic word order and had been overlooked because it is easily misunderstood as if ‫ אין‬has a different function (‘we do not have a man to kill in Israel’).3 After this I started looking into the issue of how post-exilic scribes were supposed to have imitated earlier Hebrew. The theory was that knowledge of proper early, or standard, Hebrew died out during the exile and that subsequent attempts to write this language resulted in more or less poor imitations. After a while the language became full-fledged late biblical Hebrew. The main obstacle to this theory, however, was that we had no way of telling what is imitation and what is not. If one assumed that later writers could not write proper standard Hebrew but wanted to, then one had to see their output as imitation. But there is no difference in their Hebrew. It is true that late elements were found in all post-exilic texts, but late elements were also found in all allegedly pre-exilic texts. And thus the house I had lived in for so long continued to crumble. However, I did agree that the distinction between two types of biblical Hebrew was unquestionable and that one was typologically earlier than the other. Thus, much of Hurvitz’ work still was valid.4 However, it also became clear that these two types of Hebrew were used in the composition of texts at the same time, even though one of the forms was older than the other. In other words, there was no question that there were people in post-exilic Palestine who could write texts like Genesis-Kings, in that language. The books of Zechariah, of Haggai, of Second Isaiah, of Ruth, and so on, are examples of late books written not in imitated early, or standard, Hebrew, but in the same Hebrew that we have in Genesis-Kings. Alongside those late books, we find other late books written in a newer type of Hebrew, usually called late biblical Hebrew, like Esther. If Second Isaiah could be post-exilic, so could Genesis. I was and am not saying that Genesis necessarily was post-exilic. I was and am merely saying that we have no way of telling this on the basis of language. So anyway, in my PhD dissertation (Ehrensvärd 2002) and a subsequent article (Ehrensvärd 2003) I ended up arguing against the thesis that I had intended to prove. But this was about as far as I was able to go on my own. I still believed that the Masoretic Text had preserved earlier texts without changing their language. I also believed that the Masoretic was by far the best text and that it preserved an ancient form of the biblical writings. I even saw late biblical Hebrew as an integral part of the development of the Hebrew language. Fortunately other scholars had been questioning the consensus view. Ian Young and Robert Rezetko were making very interesting discoveries in this field. I had not at all had the imagination to go where they went, so their work further upset my received worldview. One discovery was that there were surprisingly many late biblical Hebrew forms to be found in pre-exilic inscriptions. And as time went by, we even found that all the biblical texts we looked at had at least some late biblical Hebrew elements. Thus, what set the late biblical Hebrew books apart was not their linguistic elements per se, but simply the accumulation of these elements. 62

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Another very surprising thing I learned was that there was indeed ample evidence that the biblical texts had been linguistically updated. I was taught that the supposedly pre-exilic texts had been updated after the exile in orthography only, but not in language.5 But as it turned out, the linguistic elements distinguishing a late biblical Hebrew text from other texts are precisely the elements most often changed in scribal transmission as has been noted by Rezetko and Young (2014: 145–69): Less common features of Classical Hebrew are highly fluid, and the current distribution of such forms cannot be relied on as evidence of the language of particular authors at particular times and in particular places. Nevertheless, it is precisely these less common features that have played a big role in historical linguistic and linguistic dating studies of BH writings. (Rezetko and Young 2014: 168) This of course strikes a further blow to the effort of dating a text on the basis of such elements. A third discovery was also related to textual criticism and has to do with textual fluidity. In linguistic circles it was received wisdom that the Masoretic Text was an outstanding text preserving an incredible amount of old features. All other texts had to be seen in the light of the Masoretic Text, and this text brought us so much further back in time than any other text. Young and Rezetko taught me that this view was outdated and that proper text-critical procedure does not give a priori precedence to any text or textual tradition. They also taught me that there is no reason to assume that the Masoretic Text brings us further back in time than other textual traditions. And this is not only their view; it is the consensus view among text critics. But the real blow to the Masoretic Text first principle was their contention, also rooted in the consensus view among text critics, that biblical texts were highly fluid in the last centuries before the Common Era. Scribes could add to older texts and rearrange their elements without impairing the status of those texts as Holy Scripture. This means that very different literary editions of the same biblical books were used alongside each other. Take the book of Jeremiah as a particularly illustrative example. The translators of the Septuagint had before them a very different and much shorter book of Jeremiah than the Masoretic version. Yet, both editions were clearly seen as authoritative.6 Even the Torah existed in different, equally authoritative versions. How could this be? Well, it was hard to comprehend, and in spite of Young and Rezetko’s best efforts, I did not really get my head around it until recently. So in any case, there really was not much sense in discussing linguistic dating anymore, much less applying it. But I will come back to that. For there was another major discovery waiting, which was the status of late biblical Hebrew in 63

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the history of the Hebrew language. Against what I had learned, it became clear that late biblical Hebrew is just a beautiful parenthesis. Ben Sira is not written in late biblical Hebrew, nor are the Dead Sea Scrolls. To be sure, late biblical Hebrew elements are present there, but they are present everywhere. Only in the few late biblical Hebrew books are these elements numerous enough to warrant the label ‘late biblical Hebrew texts’. I feel extremely lucky and grateful to have worked in a time when the pioneering work of Niels Peter Lemche, Thomas Thompson and Philip Davies was available and hence made possible my moment of intentional doubt. I am ashamed that I for years regarded them and talked about them as fools, but I am glad that I found out the error of my ways and got a chance to make up for it. In 2004, prompted by Philip Davies, Young and Rezetko began to work on a book dealing with the possibility of dating biblical texts linguistically. After initially resisting it, I was slowly drawn into that work and, about four years later, the two-volume work Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts was published (Young et al. 2008). In the meantime, the discussion had been raging in books, journals, online and not least at conferences, and our book prompted yet another set of conference sessions. Some papers of these have been published in the book Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew (Miller-Naudé and Zevit 2012).

The present: where we are The main objective of Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts was to show that linguistic dating of biblical texts is not feasible with the evidence and methods we currently possess. So Young, Rezetko and I have been happy to see that this part of our work was received relatively well. By this I mean that there, at least for now, has been a shift in focus in diachronic language studies, judging by publications and conference papers in the years since the publication of our work. Looking at Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew as an example, it is clear that the book is written almost exclusively by people who disagree with us. It also contains a couple of contributions from stalwarts optimistically trying to date this or that text because it contains or does not contain this or that linguistic feature. Nevertheless, most contributions are to some extent involved in trying to find new ways of working with language change in biblical Hebrew, and many acknowledge openly or tacitly that new methodology is necessary if we are to go forward. So, interesting new ground is broken and many new angles have come up. Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts has been criticized for not paying nearly enough attention to current historical linguistic methodology. This criticism is to some extent justified. To be fair, Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts is not about historical linguistics as such, but about the extremely narrow subset of the discipline which deals with linguistic dating. However, parts of our book would have been improved by more awareness of the greater field of historical linguistics. And this is where Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew yields valuable new insights. These insights pertain to the development of the Hebrew language in the first millennium bce and its relationship to those languages, with which it was in 64

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contact. Important articles from the book are for example those of John A. Cook,7 Robert Holmstedt,8 and Elitzur Bar-Asher Siegal. These three scholars all investigate specific linguistic phenomena and apply state-of-the-art modern linguistic methodology to them. But no new evidence or methodology has so far made it any more possible or plausible to date given biblical texts on the basis of their language. Neither is there any indication that such evidence or methodology is forthcoming. In short, I will dare to say that linguistic dating of biblical texts is no longer feasible. So, what is now happening in diachronic linguistics is an application of current historical linguistic methodology in order to find out where that can take us. There is every indication that we, through this endeavour, are gaining a better understanding of the early development of Hebrew. Rezetko, Young and my work has often been misunderstood as saying that we deny the presence of language change in biblical Hebrew. This is very far from the truth. Language change is obviously visible in the biblical texts. But since the different varieties of Hebrew were used at the same time, using their features for dating is not an option.

The future: new ways While working on this piece, it dawned on me that I ought to again take a Cartesian moment and intentionally doubt everything I have been taking for granted since my last moment sixteen years ago. So let me for the record mention that I did so. I inhabited the point of view of those who were sure that many biblical texts are objectively datable to the pre-exilic period on the basis of their language. It was unpleasant, I must say, as it felt to be a constraint to my thought, but I managed to stay in that mental world for a little while. I did not gain any insights there and had to leave the place. We truly must find new ways in diachronic Hebrew studies – the old ones are no longer tenable. Rezetko and Young have published a subsequent book on the subject (2014). The book is partly an answer to criticism, partly a development of the argument in our earlier book, and partly suggestions for new theoretical and methodological foundations. Their book presents a wealth of new data resulting from the application of current historical linguistics to biblical Hebrew. Further it contains a massive overview of the linguistic variation found in biblical manuscripts from Qumran, particularly the books of Samuel. It is hard to fathom the extent of this variation. Along with the aforementioned articles in Miller-Naudé and Zevit 2012, this book points to exciting new ways to gain a deeper understanding of the history of the Hebrew language.

Notes 1 Dr. Phil. 1979. His dissertation is published as Hvidberg-Hansen 1979. 2 Ph.D. 1968. His dissertation is published as Hurvitz 1972.

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3 See the discussion in Ehrensvärd 1999. Joüon and Muraoka 2006 (§121l n. 4, p. 406), however, rightly point out that the usage here is equivocal and could be understood as ‘we have or we cannot name anyone whom we ought to kill’. See also Hurvitz et al. 2014: ‘‫ ’ןיא‬who surprisingly do not mention Ehrensvärd 1999 or discuss any other possibility than the difficult traditional reading. 4 I find it useful to distinguish between his insightful linguistic analyses and his outdated conclusions in dating the texts. 5 This theory is stated most recently by Hurvitz 2013: 116: ‘In conclusion: Whatever editorial activities and literary modifications the Priestly genealogy-related accounts and records in Genesis–Joshua may have undergone during the process of their transmission, all these textual developments must have come to an end prior to the emergence of the distinctive LBH corpus as laid before us in its presently extant version. Or, in a slightly different formulation, the linguistic formation and consolidation of the Priestly genealogical and other similar material preserved in the books of the Pentateuch and Joshua predate the time period that shaped our LBH corpus as found in the MT. The language of this material should therefore be categorized typologically as Classical Biblical Hebrew and assigned historically to the preexilic period’ (emphasis in original). 6 ‘Some biblical books, such as Jeremiah, reached a final state more than once, not just in MT but also at an earlier stage, as attested by some textual evidence. Thus, at an early stage, when the edition containing the short text of 4QJerb,d and LXX (“edition I”) was completed, it was considered authoritative and was circulated in ancient Israel. [. . .]. Otherwise, that edition would not have been made the basis for LXX at a later period, and would not have found its way to Qumran. By the same token, the early text of Joshua, which was at the base of LXX and partly reflected in 4QJosha [. . .] must have been consid­ ered authoritative. At a later time, the editions that are now contained in MT also became authoritative. The same thinking pertains to the short LXX texts of Ezekiel and 1 Samuel 16–18, which probably preceded the later editions of MT. [. . .] Since the early crystalliza­ tions could not be eradicated, the Qumran manuscripts include both 4QJera,c (= MT), which probably had the imprimatur of the Jerusalem spiritual center, and 4QJerb,d (= LXX), which lacked such an imprimatur when they were taken to Qumran’ (Tov 2012: 168). 7 Cook’s conclusion is as follows: ‘No one will deny that the linguistic data of BH are difficult. For this reason, not only must we be cautious in drawing diachronic conclusions from them, but at the same time we should not quickly give up the enterprise, as has been suggested. Other possibilities may present themselves for drawing meaningful conclusions from the data. Among these possibilities, I have examined how diachronic typology serves to set up expectations of the data that make the observed variations more meaningful’ (Cook 2012: 93). 8 As concluded also by Holmstedt (2012: 120): ‘[W]e are now embarking on a new stage of historical Hebrew language research – a stage that will be marked by both methodo­ logical rigor and theoretical awareness beyond Hebrew studies’.

References Cryer, F. H. 1994. ‘The Problem of Dating Biblical Hebrew and the Hebrew of Daniel’. In In the Last Days: On Jewish and Christian Apocalyptic and Its Period. Knud Jeppesen, Kirsten Nielsen and Bent Rosendal (eds.). Aarhus: Aarhus University Press: 185–98.

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Cook, J. A. 2012. ‘Detecting Development in Biblical Hebrew Using Diachronic Typology’. In Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew. Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Ziony Zevit (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 83–95. Ehrensvärd, M. 1997. ‘Once Again: The Problem of Dating Biblical Hebrew’. Scandi­ navian Journal of the Old Testament 11(1): 29–40. __________. 1999. ‘Negating the Infinitive in Biblical Hebrew’. Zeitschrift für Althebraistik 12: 146–64. __________. 2002. Studies in the Syntax and the Dating of Biblical Hebrew. PhD dissertation. Aarhus: Aarhus University. __________. 2003. ‘Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts’. In Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology. Ian Young (ed.). London and New York: T & T Clark: 164–88. Holmstedt, R. D. 2012. ‘Historical Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew’. In Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew. Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Ziony Zevit (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 97–124. Hurvitz, A. 1972. The Transition Period in Biblical Hebrew: A Study in Post-Exilic Hebrew and Its Implications for the Dating of Psalms. Jerusalem: Bialik. In Hebrew. __________. 2013. ‘Terminological Modifications in Biblical Genealogical Records and Their Potential Chronological Implications’. In Hebrew in the Second Temple Period: The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and of Other Contemporary Sources. Steven E. Fassberg, Moshe Bar-Asher, and Ruth A. Clements (eds.). Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah, 108. Leiden: Brill: 105–16. Hurvitz, A. In collaboration with L. Gottlieb, A. Hornkohl, and E. Mastéy. 2014. A Concise Lexicon of Late Biblical Hebrew: Linguistic Innovations in the Writings of the Second Temple Period. Vetus Testamentum Supplements, 160. Leiden: Brill. Hvidberg-Hansen, F.O. 1979. La déesse TNT. Une étude sur la religion canaanéo-punique. 2 vols. Dissertation. Copenhagen: G.E.C. Gad. Joüon, P. 2006. A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew. Translated and revised by T. Muraoka. Subsidia biblica, 27. 2nd revised ed. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Miller-Naudé, C.L. and Z. Zevit (eds.). 2012. Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Rezetko, Robert and Ian Young. 2014. Historical Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew: Steps toward an Integrated Approach. Society of Biblical Literature Ancient Near East Monographs. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Siegal, Elitzur A. Bar-Asher. 2012. ‘Diachronic Syntactic Studies in Hebrew Pronominal Reciprocal Constructions’. In Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew. Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Ziony Zevit (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 209–44. Tov, Emanuel. 2012. Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible. 3rd ed. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Young, Ian, Robert Rezetko and Martin Ehrensvärd. 2008. Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts. 2 vols. London: Equinox.

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Part II ARCHAEOLOGY, CULT AND HISTORY

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5 FROM JERUSALEM WITH LOVE Margreet L. Steiner

Jerusalem is without doubt the most cherished, most excavated and most controversial site of the archaeological world. Many excavations have taken place in and around the city and new ones abound, presenting us with a good opportunity to analyse the research questions and interpretations of the archaeologists involved as well as the political and social circumstances they work(ed) in.1

Excavation history It is now just over 150 years ago that the first archaeological excavation was conducted in Jerusalem. In the fall of 1863 Louis de Saulcy, a French orientalist, cleared the so-called Tomb of the Kings on behalf of the Louvre museum. This is a monumental tomb, originally thought to contain the graves of the kings of Judah with all their riches. Now, however, the tomb is considered to belong to Queen Helena of Adiabene, who converted to Judaism and settled in Jerusalem in the first century ce. The history of archaeological research in the city has been described and analysed many times, most recently in Galow and Avi 2011, and Reich 2011.2 A short overview is presented here. The nineteenth century Maybe we should salute another Helena, namely the empress, as the first ‘historian’ working in Jerusalem. When she came to live in the city in the beginning of the fourth century ce, under divine inspiration she identified the holy places of the gospels and built several memorial churches, such as the Rotunda over the Holy Sepulchre. It was only at the beginning of the nineteenth century that scholars began to doubt the authenticity of these and other holy places. Much of the early research in Jerusalem, such as the identifications by E. Robinson (1838) and the survey of C. W. Wilson (1867–68), was meant to prove or disprove theories about the location of the temple of Solomon or the tombs of the kings of Judah, the identification of Golgatha and the course of the ancient city walls. 71

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Excavating in Jerusalem in those days meant digging underground, in tunnels and shafts, a method developed to overcome two difficulties: working in a densely populated city and the prohibitions of the Ottoman authorities against approaching Moslem sanctuaries. That is why in 1867 the British engineer Ch. Warren dug vertical shafts at some distance from the walls of the Temple Mount or Haram al-Sharif, and from there tunnelled his way towards the ancient walls. Then he dug horizontal galleries along the walls. He also explored the underground water system of the south-eastern hill, which includes the shaft leading to the Gihon Spring (now aptly called Warren’s Shaft) and the tunnel bringing the Gihon water to the Siloam Pool at the south end of the hill. His book Underground Jerusalem (Warren 1876) is fascinating reading. Warren’s Shaft was more fully explored during the 1909–11 expedition of the unfortunate M. Parker, who was accused of trying to steal no less than the Holy Ark. Parker fled Jerusalem, and the results of his explorations were published by Père L. H. Vincent in 1911 (Reich 2004). The method of working underground was little practised elsewhere in the country, and remained a Jerusalem speciality, even when there was no need for it. Thus the archaeologist F. Bliss and architect A. Dickie, while excavating the relatively empty hill south of the Old City on behalf of the Palestine Exploration Fund in 1894–97, still worked completely underground. Their work gave the first indications that the town of early biblical times had been located not within the present city walls, but on the south-eastern hill, now called City of David. They were able to follow a complicated system of fortifications that surrounded this hill and they dated these to Solomon’s times. Although later research showed that these walls probably belong to the Byzantine period, the idea of the extramural location of the ancient town (that is: outside of the city walls surrounding the Old City) had been firmly established. The twentieth century This led to the next phase of archaeological research, the exposure of large areas to fill in the ground plan of ancient Jerusalem. The excavations of R. Weill (1913–14 and 1923–25), sponsored by Baron de Rothschild, uncovered a large area in the south part of the City of David, yielding many interesting discoveries, among which were fortifications and a mass grave, all of unknown date. However, this part of the hill had been intensively used as a quarry over the ages, and Weill, to his frustration, excavated large stretches of worked bedrock without any architecture. An intriguing find consisted of a series of long narrow tunnels penetrating the rock at the south side of the hill. The tunnels were empty: no objects or inscriptions were discovered there. However, Weill interpreted the tunnels as the tombs of the kings of Judah, who were buried in the City of David, according to several biblical texts.3 The tunnels were again cleared and made accessible in 1995, on the occasion of ‘Jerusalem 3000’.4 One of Weill’s most famous discoveries was the Theodotus inscription, a stone slab with an inscription commemorating the dedication of a new synagogue in Jerusalem. The inscription is in Greek and dates to the first half of the first century ce, before the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans (Deissmann 1928). 72

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From 1923–25 the British archaeologist, R.A.S. Macalister, exposed a large area on top of the City of David, north of Weill’s area. This excavation revealed many buildings and fortifications, the dating of which remained problematic, as it was based more on information from the Bible than on an analysis of the excavated pottery. Although the excavator was familiar with the method of establishing pottery sequences, he considered the stratigraphy of Jerusalem’s soil too confused to yield any results. Thus, Macalister dated the large tower he had excavated to the time of King David (conventionally situated in the beginning of the tenth century bce). The stone ramp running up to it, he attributed to the Jebusites, who according to several biblical texts had lived in the city before the ancient Israelites occupied it. In 1927, J. W. Crowfoot, the newly appointed director of the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem, was invited by the Palestine Exploration Fund to continue Macalister’s work in the City of David. Crowfoot chose a revolutionary new approach. In contrast to the tunnelling or large area clearance of his predecessors, he dug a deep trench, cutting into the western slope of the hill, where he uncovered a line of fortification with a large gateway. He dated the gate to the Late Bronze Age on the basis of the building technique with rough blocks of stone, in spite of the discovery of a cache of Maccabaean coins from the reign of Jannaeus (103–76 bc), which he considered to be intrusive. Kenyon later assigned the gate to its proper date, the Hellenistic period. After 1925, large-scale excavations were not conducted anymore. The period of the grand excavations was over for the time being and research concentrated on specific sites within the city, using modern methods like deep trenching and careful small-scale excavation. R. W. Hamilton excavated north of the Damascus Gate (1937–38) and C.N. Johns started digging in the Citadel near the Jaffa Gate (1934–40). From 1925–27, E. L. Sukenik from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, uncovered stretches of walls and towers along the line of Josephus’ Third Wall. Most of the problems concerning the city of biblical times were not solved, however, and the debate continued in the form of ingenious re-analyses of existing evidence combined with new research into Bible texts. The focus of such projects had been predominantly biblical. Their research questions were based on the biblical stories – which king built which wall seemed the most important question – and on the political circumstances of the contemporary period. Where and how to excavate was dependent on the permission and funding of the reigning powers, namely the Ottoman and British empires. The inhabitants of Jerusalem were not involved and were not considered to have any connection with the past of the city. Excavation methods were crude, and the dating of the excavated remains was based more on information from the Bible than on an analysis of the excavated pottery. In 1952, the Dutch scholar Father Simons published a book titled Jerusalem in the Old Testament: Researches and Theories, which contained a compilation of all the biblical and archaeological studies concerning ancient Jerusalem up to World War II. After its publication, the book became the “Jerusalem Bible” for historians, biblical scholars and archaeologists alike. 73

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K. M. Kenyon’s excavations in Jerusalem (1961–67), undertaken after her successful project in Jericho, signifies the start of a new series of excavations in the city. Her idea was to apply the Wheeler-Kenyon method of careful stratigraphic research, which had been so successful at Jericho, to Jerusalem’s complex situation. She was confident that it would be possible thus to solve every unsolved riddle once and for all. Kenyon wanted to know why the entrance to Jerusalem’s ancient water shaft was located outside the contemporary city walls, she aimed to establish the correct chronology of the fortifications at the City of David and she wanted to establish a date for the extension of the ancient town over the western hill. But she was also interested in the exact course of the Second and Third city walls mentioned by Josephus, in the location of King Herod’s palace and the size of the city in Roman times. Her research questions were historical, not biblical, although it must be admitted that she considered most biblical stories in the books of Kings as historically reliable and thus relevant as a background to the archaeological remains she unearthed. As Jerusalem was not an empty tell but a densely inhabited city, she was forced to dig small squares of five by five meters all over the area: in the City of David, in the Old City, north of the Damascus gate and just south of the Haram al-Sharif. She then used the pars-pro-toto principle: ‘If I don’t find it in this small area, it doesn’t exist at all’. Some problems were solved, such as the dating of the walls and towers above the Gihon spring, but many were not. After the Six-Day War in 1967, Israeli archaeologists conducted several largescale excavations in Jerusalem. From 1968–77, B. Mazar excavated large areas near the Temple Mount, uncovering remains from the first century ce as well as building from the Byzantine and later periods. This area had never before been excavated because of its location at the foot of the Haram al-Sharif. In 1969, N. Avigad started his explorations of the Jewish Quarter in the Old City, where he unearthed remains from fortifications, public buildings and domestic dwellings from the end of the Iron Age until the Ottoman period. From 1978–85 Y. Shiloh tackled the City of David again, picking up where Kenyon and Macalister had left off. In certain ways these excavations were the opposite of Kenyon’s work. Here no trained workers with small picks trying to remove tons of material by hand, but inexperienced volunteers and the help of modern technical appliances; no small squares but the exposure of large areas with much attention to architecture and little to stratigraphy. And no detailed study of pottery shards but a focus on the composition of a corpus of complete pots from floors. The history of Jerusalem was being re-written; not so much on the basis of biblical texts but on the archaeological remains. However, the foremost aim of these projects was the reconstruction of both a visible and a visitable national history, mainly from the so-called First and Second Temple periods, encompassing the Iron Age and the Herodian/Roman period, although attention was paid to earlier and later periods as well. In the 1980s and 1990s the large-scale Israeli excavations came to an end, and only smaller-sized rescue excavations took place. These were the years of consolidation, of study and analysis. Israeli archaeologists were reaching out to European 74

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scholars, mainly in England and the Netherlands, to compare notes on the material from Macalister’s and Kenyon’s excavations in Jerusalem.5 Several series with final publications saw the light in this period.6 Things looked good. The extreme focus on proving the reliability of the biblical stories and the identification of places mentioned in the Bible had subsided, and archaeology seemed to focus on independently defining the historical background of the city, however incomplete and biased the results sometimes turned out to be. And then the twenty-first century began. The twenty-first century In the beginning of the new century the political controversies concerning excavations in Jerusalem deepened. Many large and small excavations are under way which lay bare the deep rift between Israeli and Palestinian claims to the land and to their respective heritage. From the point of view of the Israel Antiquities Authority, the excavation of ‘Jewish’ remains from the Iron Age and the Herodian/ Roman periods highlights the Jewish history of the city. From the point of view of the Palestinian inhabitants of the areas that are being excavated, these excavations not only ignore their history and ties to the past, but also threaten their very existence in Jerusalem, as land is appropriated not only for excavation but also for tourist centres, parking lots and footpaths.7 Some examples from excavations in the City of David and the Old City will suffice to demonstrate this.

Excavations in the City of David In what is now consistently called the City of David, several large-scale excavations are being conducted in areas which were tackled previously by Weill, Macalister, Kenyon and Shiloh. Weill conducted his excavations without any fuss on a parcel of land that was bought by Baron de Rothschild. Macalister, being a Briton and a gentleman, had no trouble digging in an area that was relatively empty, having been granted permission and goodwill by the reigning rulers of the British Mandate. The local Silwanis had no say in the matter. Kenyon dug in the final years prior to the Six-Day War, when the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan controlled the area. As the local population had expanded, there was less open space available and Kenyon had to drive a hard bargain to hire the land from a reluctant and at times hostile population. The Israeli excavations in the City of David under the direction of Shiloh had a relatively easy task. The Palestinian population had not yet found its voice of protest, and the area was considered to belong to Israel proper, with Israeli and foreign volunteers flocking to the excavations. I was one of them, in 1982, and (very naively or stupidly) it did not occur to me that there were rules of international law in force that prohibited such an excavation. However, following two intifadas, Israeli and foreign archaeologists have become acutely aware of the legal controversies surrounding digging in occupied 75

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territories and against the will of the local population. This, however, did not stop the excavations in the occupied parts of the city, nor furthered any attempt to include the local population in the history of Jerusalem. Quite the contrary. Never before have so many excavations taken place here, and never before were the research aims so biased and restricted. The recent excavations in the City of David are all sponsored by the City of David Foundation or ‘Elad’: an organisation ‘devoted to Judaizing East Jerusalem’ according to the Israeli newspaper Haaretz of June 1, 2008. On its website Elad describes itself as ‘committed to continuing King David’s legacy’.8 Its political goal is clearly stated by the minister of Interior, Gideon Saar, speaking at the City of David’s fifteenth annual Archaeology Conference, sponsored by Elad: ‘The City of David has become one of the leading tourist sites in Israel, and is the heart of a united Jerusalem!’.9 On top of the hill, near the City of David’s Visitor’s Centre, Eilat Mazar has been directing excavations from 2005 onwards, searching for the ‘palace of David’, which, in her opinion and based on biblical texts, should be located there. In 2005 she announced that she was excavating a monumental building on top of the hill. Based on the size of the building (called the ‘large stone building’) and the associated finds, she interpreted it as – indeed – the palace of King David. This discovery has attracted a lot of attention. Searching the internet (on November 30, 2014) I came across some 186 million references to the ‘palace of David’ in the English language alone. Newspapers, websites and blogs spread the word: the palace of King David had been found. Among archaeologists this interpretation evoked many a passionate comment, not least because digging ‘with a trowel in one hand and the Bible in the other’ might have been fashionable in the nineteenth century, but is now considered completely unscientific (or so one would hope). What was happening here? Most areas that Mazar has excavated have been excavated before by Macalister or Kenyon, often though not everywhere all the way down to bedrock. During these excavations, most walls had been left standing, but the deposits between the walls (floors and debris layers) had been dug away. In general this makes it almost impossible to establish a connection between the walls and date the walls. In her publications, Mazar makes no mention of having excavated any floors belonging to the ‘large stone building’. The situation is made worse by the many cisterns and baths dug through the earlier remains. It is, therefore, very difficult to put the walls in their proper stratigraphic order, that is: to establish which walls belong together, which are earlier and which are later. One cannot just assume that they belong to one and the same building, this has to be proven. After comparing Mazar’s finds with Kenyon’s documentation, I had to conclude that Mazar has certainly excavated some walls with stones of enormous dimensions.10 However, it is not at all certain that these walls belong to one and the same building. Some walls (L565 on the north side) had already been excavated by Kenyon and date most probably from the Middle Bronze Age. They may form part of the northern defence line of that period. It is uncertain if the curving 76

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eastern part of wall W107 is one wall; it may consist of segments of several different walls. The walls on the eastern side of the area are built on top of a deposit containing Iron I shards, so these walls are certainly later than Iron I and may indeed belong to an Iron II building. One would expect there to be an important Iron II building on top of the hill, crowning the stepped stone structure. The ashlars and protoAeolic capital Kenyon excavated in front of this area (in her area A/XVIII) and the fragments of a large incense stand, which Shiloh had found on top of the stepped stone structure, may all come from this building. However, on the basis of the available evidence, neither the lay-out of the building nor its function (whether palace, temple or gate), nor its precise dating can be established. The walls in the western part of the area follow a slightly different course and may date to another period (Finkelstein et al. 2007). Mazar’s final publication will have to provide the available evidence for the dating of these walls and their connections. Just outside of Dung gate is the Givati Parking Lot excavation.11 This is the largest archaeological project ever carried out in Jerusalem. Since 2007, D. BenAmi of the Hebrew University and Y. Tchekhanovets of the Israel Antiquities Authority have been conducting excavations there, sponsored by Elad. Large buildings from the first and the second/third centuries ce have been uncovered, as well as a Byzantine residential quarter. Later periods are not deemed of much interest. The Elad website just noted that ‘above these layers, a number of layers of settlement from the Muslim period were found’. Meron Rapoport reports in the Haaretz of June 1, 2008 that Dozens of skeletons from the early Islamic period were discovered during excavations near the Temple Mount. [. . .] Contrary to regulations, the skeletons were removed, and were not reported to the Ministry of Religious Services. The Israel Antiquities Authority termed the incident ‘a serious mishap’.12 When the excavations are finished, the area will be prepared for a four-story building covering 9,000 square meters. The plan of the building includes a visitors centre, museum and coffee shop. In 2013, Tel Aviv University, apparently eager to get its foot in the door of Jerusalem, in the past the domain of the Hebrew University, started an excavation in the City of David under the direction of Y. Gadot. The plan is to work near Shiloh’s area D, at the south side of the hill. As usual in that area, the dig is (indirectly) funded by Elad. Tel Aviv University maintains it has nothing to do with Elad and deals only with the Israeli Antiquities Authorities. Apart from the question of who pays for the dig, the question of legitimacy and lawfulness is still an issue, one would think. On the web page of the university devoted to this project (Exploring Ancient Jerusalem)13 the dig director states: 77

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The excavations will be conducted only within the fences of the National Park, and will stay clear of private houses and of urban infrastructure, such as pavements and roads. We will strive to communicate with the local residents of Silwan – our neighbors in the excavation area – and to find and create avenues of mutual respect. As if the main problem of digging on Palestinian land, sponsored by an organization devoted to Judaizing Jerusalem, lies in the lack of mutual respect! Well, maybe it does . . .

Excavations in the Old City Several large-scale and many small-scale projects are being conducted inside the Old City. Strangely enough, they have not aroused the same tension and opposition as the excavations in the City of David. South of the Haram al-Sharif, the Ophel Excavations are currently being conducted, continuing where Kenyon and B. Mazar left off. A new archaeological park and museum, the Jerusalem Archaeological Park and Davidson Centre, have been opened here.14 Digging so close to the Haram has, expectedly, done nothing to alleviate the tension between the Israeli authorities and the local Palestinian population. Even more controversial to both sides is the work on the Haram al-Sharif. In 1996 the Waqf, the Muslim trust that takes care of the Haram al-Sharif, began to work in the area of the al-Aksa mosque, in the Marwani mosque, also known as Solomon’s stables. A new prayer hall was created there, and truck loads full of soil were removed from that area and dumped in the Kidron Valley. According to some archaeologists (Palestinian and Israeli), the soil consisted of ancient fill, once brought to the site from elsewhere, and it contained no important archaeological artefacts. Others, most prominent the Israeli archaeologist G. Barkay, considered the soil to originate from the Temple Mount. Since 2004, together with volunteers, he has been sieving the hundreds of tons of dumped soil. Apart from ubiquitous pottery and coins, they retrieved several interesting objects such as bullae with Greek inscriptions, Late Bronze scarabs and scarab impressions, a bronze arrowhead, Iron Age stone weights and an Ottoman seal of the grand Mufti of Jerusalem ‘Abd al-Fatah al Tamimi from the eighteenth century.15 The Western Wall Plaza excavations at the site of the former Mugrabi quarter in front of the Western Wall have been undertaken in relative quiet, from 2005 to 2009, by the Israel Antiquities Authorities. Another large building will be constructed here to present the archaeology of Jerusalem to the public.16

Some conclusions The esteemed Jerusalem art of digging underground has made its come-back. Not so much in the form of digging new tunnels under densely occupied areas to 78

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prevent clashes with the authorities, but of cleaning and emptying old tunnels dating from antiquity that transverse the city. It is now done with the official approval of the authorities. Clashes, however, still occur: this time with the local Palestinian population. In 1996 the clearance of a passage-way running along the Haram al-Sharif and appearing above ground in the Via Dolorosa, led to an uproar among the Palestinian inhabitants, ending in the deaths of some eighty people. New tunnels have since been cleared.17 Digging with ‘Bible and spade’ seems to be fashionable once more, such as it was in the nineteenth century. Starting an excavation in search of King David’s palace, or interpreting finds in Jerusalem in the framework of biblical stories, is deemed proper archaeological practice again. Turning our back to Jerusalem for the moment, it is depressing to note that the same developments occur in other areas of the region. A few examples demonstrate this: •

In 2009, I was invited as a respondent to a SBL session entitled: ‘Solomonic Cities’. Nobody objected to the easy and unfounded connection of biblical stories with actual excavated remains, except me, which was why they had invited me in the first place. My protest did not make much impression on the audience of biblical scholars and archaeologists. I began my contribution thus: I am not only surprised but also a bit shocked by the way archeological findings and biblical texts are still being freely and easily mixed by American and Israeli scholars. I know this is a delicate subject, especially in a SBL session, but I still have to bring this up. Regardless of whether the biblical king Solomon was a real or a mythical person, regardless of what he has or has not done, whatever the extent of his real or imaginary empire, his place is within the pages of the biblical text. As long as we have not found contemporary inscriptions mentioning David and Solomon, I think we should not spend all that energy to either confirm or refute the biblical passages. For me and many other scholars – and not only European – there are so many other important aspects of our excavations we can and should tackle.

•

•

On September 8, 2013, Tel Aviv University announced on its website: ‘Proof of Solomon’s mines found in Israel’.18 Already on October 27, 2008, the website of the University of California at San Diego had featured an article entitled ‘King Solomon’s (Copper) Mines? Deep Dig Finds Confluence of Science and Bible’.19 It seems that any copper industry remains dating to the Iron Age must be connected to King Solomon immediately. The interesting site of Tel Qeiyafa in Judah was cheered because the director of the project Y. Garfinkel suggested it established proof that King David indeed reigned over an important kingdom: ‘We said it’s a central administrative building, a palace that served King David’s administration in the city and the entire Judean low lands’.20 They did not find King David nor his kingdom, 79

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but the non-existing connection with the biblical monarch made the site (and its excavator) very famous.21 At the aforementioned SBL session I criticised the interpretation that immediately connected the finds with a biblical king David and pointed out more relevant connections based on the site’s similarity to several sites in Jordan from roughly the same period. The first site I brought into attention was Khirbet al-Mudayna al-Aliya on a tributary of the Wadi Mujib, which had been researched by Bruce Routledge. It is C14-dated to the end of the eleventh and the beginning of the tenth centuries bce, just as Qeiyafa, and displays the same characteristics: a casemate wall and pillared buildings in a belt against the wall, and it is also a short-lived settlement. It has nothing to do with either King David or the Judahites, and is not part of an emerging state system according to Routledge, but the result of nomadic tribes settling down (Routledge 2008). Another parallel is Khirbet al-Lehun, on the banks of the Wadi Mujib itself, which has a casemate wall and a belt of pillared buildings around an open area, and is also short-lived. This site is dated to the twelfth century bce on the basis of the pottery and it is totally unconcerned with statehood and empire (HomèsFredericq 1997; Steiner 2015). With these examples, I invited the excavators of Qeiyafa to broaden their horizon and look beyond the biblical texts to other interesting connections. Not every fortified site was part of a larger political entity, and not every fortified site ‘guarded a frontier’. The parallels in Transjordan may point to other explanations and interpretations which may shed new light on developments in the areas west of the river Jordan. Another controversial aspect seems to be a return to nineteenth-century colonialist perspectives. In Jerusalem, excavations and heritage management seem to concern themselves primarily with the ancient remains of a (supposedly grandiose) Israelite and Jewish past. The Palestinian population of East Jerusalem and Silwan are not considered to have any connection with ancient Jerusalem, and Palestinian land is appropriated for excavation work and the building of national parks, tourist centres and parking lots.22 The political role that archaeological research can and does play is very evident, and here shows most clearly that the nineteenth century’s sentiments are once again embraced by part of the academic community, and not only in Israel. At Deir Alla in Jordan, where Dutch archaeologists have worked since 1960, the tell had been used for decades by the local inhabitants of the nearby village for recreation purposes. On top of the tell there is some wind, very welcome when the temperature rises above 50 degrees Celsius, so in summer people gathered there to drink tea in the evenings. Recently the Jordanian Department of Antiquities has surrounded the tell with a high fence. The entrance to the tell is redesigned to accommodate visitors and the site is now considered to belong to archaeologists and tourists, not to the inhabitants of the village, because (and this is the reason given) ‘they may damage the site’ – as if the site was not damaged so much more by archaeologists. It seems that the history of Jordan is ‘ours’, not theirs. 80

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Luckily not every archaeologist in Jerusalem bows to the new fashion of neo-colonial, neo-biblical archaeology. Emek Shaveh is an organisation of archaeologists and community activists focusing on the role of archaeology in Israeli society and in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. And more than 250 members of the academic community worldwide have signed petitions ‘to change the way archaeology is being conducted in the City of David’ and against the involvement of Tel Aviv University in the contested areas of Jerusalem. There is a future for the archaeology of Jerusalem if we acknowledge that the history of the city belongs to us all and is given meaning by us all: inhabitants, archaeologist, tourists, and people abroad. In the words of the archaeologist Raphael Greenberg, spokesman of Emek Shaveh: ‘Jerusalem is not a ghost town, where time stands still, but a vibrant city; a religious and political arena. Its significance derives from the memories stored within it, as well as from its living fabric’.23

Notes 1 This is an expanded and updated version of Steiner 2014. 2 See also Avigad 1983; Auld and Steiner 1996; Ben-Dov 1985; Bieberstein and Bloedhorn 1994; Geva 1994; Yadin 1975. 3 The interpretation of the shafts as the tombs of the kings of Judah has resurfaced from time to time. The most recent publication is Zorn 2012. 4 This was the celebration in 1995 of ‘David’s capture of the city’. 5 In 1987 Y. Shiloh had planned a trip to England and The Netherlands to discuss the work done there on the Kenyon material. His untimely death prevented this. 6 Kenyon’s excavations were presented in the series Excavations by K.M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961–1967 (Tushingham 1985; Franken and Steiner 1990; Eshel and Prag 1995; Steiner 2001; Franken 2005; Prag 2008). Shiloh’s dig was published in Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 (Shiloh 1984; Ariel 1990; 1996; 2000a; 2000b; De Groot and Ariel 1992), while Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem was published on Avigad’s excavations (Geva 2000–10). Mazar’s work was published in The Temple Mount Excavations in Jerusalem 1968–1978: Final Reports (Mazar and Mazar 1989; E. Mazar 2003; idem 2007; idem 2011). 7 More information on this is found on the website of Emeq Shaveh: www.alt-arch.org and in the reports they have produced. 8 http://www.cityofdavid.org.il/en/The-Ir-David-Foundation. 9 http://www.cityofdavid.org.il/en/news/gideon-saar-city-david. 10 For an overview of Mazar’s finds and some of the comments see my article on the website ‘Bible and Interpretation’: http://www.bibleinterp.com/articles/palace_2468. shtml. 11 For a short overview: http://www.cityofdavid.org.il/en/archeology/excavations/givatiparking-lot. Preliminary reports published so far: Shukron and Reich 2008; Zilberstein and Shatil 2013. 12 For more on the political involvement in these excavations, see: ‘A Privatized Heritage: How the Israel Antiquities Authority Relinquished Jerusalem’s Past’ on http://alt-arch.org/en/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Privatized-Heritage-EnglishWeb.pdf.

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13 http://archaeology.tau.ac.il/?page_id=4713.

4 See http://www.archpark.org.il/excavations2.shtml. 1 15 Read more on http://templemount.wordpress.com. 16 Preliminary report of the excavations: http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_ eng.aspx?id=1219&mag_id=115. More on the building: http://alt-arch.org/en/updatekedem-compound-and-beit-haliba/. 17 See ‘Jerusalem Underground: The Excavation of Tunnels, Channels, and Underground Spaces in the Historic Basin’ on: http://alt-arch.org/en/old-city/. 18 http://english.tau.ac.il/news/Solomons-Mines. 19 http://ucsdnews.ucsd.edu/archive/newsrel/soc/10-22KingSolomon.asp. 20 In an interview on http://www.bibleinterp.com/articles/2013/09/key378016.shtml. 21 For more information and a list of publications see http://qeiyafa.huji.ac.il. 22 See the website of EmekShaveh: http://alt-arch.org/en/. 23 ‘A Future for the Archaeology of Jerusalem’ on http://www.bibleinterp.com/ articles/2013/gre378009.shtml.

References Ariel, D. T. 1990. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Vol. II: Imported Stamped Amphora Handles, Coins, Worked Bone and Ivory, and Glass. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. _________ (ed.). 1996. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Vol. IV: Various Reports. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. _________ (ed.). 2000a. Excavations in the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Vol. V: Extramural Areas. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. _________(ed.). 2000b. Excavations in the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Vol. VI: Inscriptions. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Auld, A. G. and M. L. Steiner. 1996. Jerusalem I: From the Bronze Age to the Maccabees. Cambridge: The Lutterworth Press. Avigad, N. 1983. Discovering Jerusalem. Nashville, Camden, New York: Thomas Nelson Publishers. Ben-Dov, M. 1985. In the Shadow of the Temple: The Discovery of Ancient Jerusalem. Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House. Bieberstein, K. and H. Bloedhorn. 1994. Jerusalem: Gründzüge der Baugeschichte vom Chalkolithikum bis zur Frühzeit der osmanischen Herrschaft. 3 vols. Wiesbaden: Ludwig ReichertVerlag. De Groot, A. and D. T. Ariel (eds). 1992. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Vol. III: Stratigraphical, Environmental, and Other Reports. Jerusalem: Exploration Society. Deissmann, A. 1928. ‘Appendix V: The Synagogue Inscription of Theodotus at Jerusalem’. In Light from the Ancient East: The New Testament Illustrated by Recently Discovered Texts of the Graeco-Roman World, 439–441 + Fig. 80. Translated by L. R. M. Strachan. New York: Harper & Row, 1928. (Reprinted by Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1965.) Eshel, I. and K. Prag (eds.). 1995. Excavations by K.M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961–1967. IV. The Iron Age Cave Deposits on the South-East Hill and Isolated Burials and Cemeteries Elsewhere. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Finkelstein, I., L. Singer-Avitz, D. Ussishkin and Z. Herzog. 2007. ‘Has King David’s Palace in Jerusalem Been Found?’ Tel Aviv 34(2): 142–164.

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Franken, H. J. 2005. A History of Pottery and Potters in Ancient Jerusalem. London: Equinox. Franken, H. J. and M. L. Steiner 1990. Excavations in Jerusalem 1961–1967. II. The Iron Age Extramural Quarter on the South-East Hill. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Galow, K. and G. Avi (eds). 2011. Unearthing Jerusalem, 150 Years of Archaeological Research in the Holy City. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Geva, H. 1994. Ancient Jerusalem Revealed. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. _______ (ed.). 2000–2010. Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, 4 vols. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Homès-Fredericq, D. 1997. Découvrez Lehun et la Voie Royale. Les fouilles Belges en Jordanie/Ontdek Lehun en de Koningweg. De Belgische opgravingen in Jordanië. Bruxelles/Brussel: Koninklijk Museum. Mazar, E. 2003. The Temple Mount Excavations in Jerusalem, 1968–1978. Directed by Benjamin Mazar, Final Reports, Vol. II: The Byzantine and Early Islamic Periods. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Mazar, E. 2007. The Temple Mount Excavations in Jerusalem, 1968–1978. Directed by Benjamin Mazar, Final Reports, Vol. III: The Byzantine Period. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. ________. 2009. The Palace of King David: Excavations at the Summit of the City of David: Preliminary Report of Seasons 2005–2007. Jerusalem: Shoham Academic Research and Publication. _________. 2011. The Temple Mount Excavations in Jerusalem, 1968–1978, Directed by Benjamin Mazar. Final Reports, Vol. IV: The Tenth Legion in Aelia Capitolina. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Mazar, E. and B. Mazar (eds). 1989. Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount: The Opel of Biblical Jerusalem. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Prag, K. (ed.) 2008. Excavations by K.M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961–1967. Volume V. Discoveries in Hellenistic to Ottoman Jerusalem. Centenary Volume: Kathleen M. Kenyon 1906–1978. London/Oxford: Council for British Research in the Levant and Oxbow Books. Reich, R. 2004. The City of David, Revisiting Early Excavations, Notes and Comments on the English Translation of Reports by R. Weill and L.-H. Vincent, H. H. Shanks (ed.). Washington, DC: Biblical Archaeology Society. Reich, R. 2011. Excavating the City of David Where Jerusalem’s History Began. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Routledge, B. 2008. ‘Thinking “Globally” and Analysing “Locally”’. In Israel in Transition. From Late Bronze Age to Iron Age IIA (c. 1250 – 850 B.C.E.).Vol. 1.The Archaeology. L. Grabbe (ed.). New York/London: T&T Clark: 144–176. Shiloh, Y. 1984. Excavations at The City Of David I, 1978–1982: Interim Report Of The First Five Seasons. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Shukron, E. and Reich, R. 2008. ‘Initial Report on the Excavation of the Second Temple Period Central Drainage Channel in the Tyropoeon Valley in Jerusalem’. In City of David Studies of Ancient Jerusalem. The 9th Annual Conference. E. Meiron (ed.), Jerusalem. (Hebrew): 137–159. Steiner, M.L. 2001. Excavations by Kathleen M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961–1967. III. The Settlement in the Bronze and Iron Ages. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press/ Continuum Press.

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__________. 2014. ‘One Hundred and Fifty Years of Excavating Jerusalem’. In Archaeology in the Land of ‘Tells and Ruins’. A History of Excavations in the Holy Land Inspired by the Photographs and Accounts of Leo Boer. B. Wagemakers (ed.). Oxford: Oxbow Books: 24–37. ___________. 2015. ‘The Iron I Pottery of Khirbat al-Lahun’. Annual of the Department of Archaeology of Jordan 57 (2013): 519–533. Tushingham, A.D. (ed.). 1985. Excavations in Jerusalem 1961–1967, Vol. I. Toronto: Royal Ontario Museum and Leiden: Brill. Yadin Y. (ed.) 1975. Jerusalem Revealed: Archaeology in the Holy City 1968–1974. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society Warren, Ch. 1876. Underground Jerusalem: An Account of Some of the Principal Difficulties Encountered in its Exploration and the Results Obtained. With a Narrative of an Expedition through the Jordan Valley and a Visit to the Samaritans. London: Richard Bentley & Son. Zilberstein. A. and A. Shatil. 2013. ‘New Finds Dating from the British Mandate from the Tyropoeon Valley: the Givati Parking Lot Excavations near the Dung Gate’. Strata: Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 31: 153–162. Zorn, J. 2012. ‘Is T1 David’s Tomb?’ Biblical Archaeology Review 38: 45–52, 78.

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6 GENDER MARKING, OVERLAPPING AND THE IDENTITY OF THE BES-LIKE FIGURES AT KUNTILLET AJRUD Brian B. Schmidt

Introduction One can safely say, or sanguinely prognosticate, that we possess a greater understanding than our predecessors of ancient artistic attempts at expressing gender. Yet, we are far from “having arrived” in any meaningful sense of the term. Recent studies on the feminine aspects of the divine in the ancient Near East, the Hebrew Bible and in the material culture from sites in ancient Israel such as Kuntillet Ajrud (hereafter KA) and Khirbet el-Qom continue to proliferate and advance our knowledge of the gendered divine.1 The classic conundrum on this front in ancient Levantine studies is of course the term, the concept or the referent, Asherah or asherah. The term’s context variability indicates that asherah might either refer to a cultic object (a sacred pole?) or to the well-attested West Semitic goddess Asherah. When the former is indeed the case, then that cult object either had lost all meaningful association with said goddess or, as dissenters have proposed, it might have retained a remnant of that association.2 But before a detailed exploration into the Asherah-asherah phenom at KA can be offered, a striking new relevant datum—or more accurately, a ground-breaking, mind-blowing revision—must be mentioned.

Gender marking and deity identity In his editorial note inserted into Pirhiya Beck’s otherwise unaltered 1982 article included in the 2012 Kuntillet Ajrud final report, Zeev Meshel points out that with regard to what was formerly proposed as a “loop” (often identified either as a penis or a lion/leopard skin tail) that had been drawn between the legs of both Bes-like figures on pithos A from KA (hereafter Bes R [right] and Bes L [left]), 85

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was merely soot that has since faded over time in the case of Bes R so that nothing remains between the legs of that figure (cf. the 1982 and 2012 drawings and note that Bes L retains its “loop”, see Figure 6.1). Meshel then concluded, “This fact may change the interpretation of the whole scene”, thereby “strengthening the hypothesis of several scholars that the two figures represent a male and a female” (Beck 2012: 165 and see Meshel 2012: 66). This major revision of an otherwise well known, long presumed datum prompts in part the present reassessment of the KA phenomena regarding the execution and identity of the two Bes-like figures. In her 1982 extended treatment of the drawings at KA, Pirhiya Beck had identified several instances of gender marking and overlapping though she offered no comprehensive synthesis or analysis of either phenomenon. Now this is not intended as a criticism as Beck’s publication has singularly made accessible the primary data in order to initiate such syntheses and analyses as attempted here and in any case, her preliminary observations on both fronts remain invaluable. As proposed by Beck, the employment of gender marking

Figure 6.1 Pithos A: YHWH-Asherah as Bes-Beset scene with overlapping graffito (Inscript 3.1; Meshel 2012).

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and overlapping as artistic techniques not only defines the parameters of what constitutes an integrated scene on the pithoi, but also the components that comprise an integrated scene as well as the interrelationships among those components. At KA, “creaturely” images are combined with epigraphic expressions conveying the interactive, ritualized movement of gendered and, at times, named participants within a constructed visual space utilizing depth of field, and perspective. The first question we aim to resolve then is whether or not there is any evidence at KA for the scribalartisan practice of gender marking. The second question is, can one distinguish between overlapping by design vs. random overlapping at KA. At this point, a crucially important premise upon which this investigation is based should be articulated. Contrary to the often repeated view that the pithoi drawings and epigraphs from KA singularly comprise written and figural graffiti and have little or no connection to those on the painted walls, I want to propose that many of those rendered on the storage jars or pithoi functioned as pre-designed scribal-artisan practice drafts that were transferred from the pithoi to the site’s plastered walls as formal wall murals. The resultant wall decor together with the establishment of an interstitial ritual locus centered on the now decorated pithoi that was constructed in the bench room following their use as drafting surfaces, transformed KA’s cultural space into, “an architecture of the numinous” (and see further Schmidt 2015). Gender marking the masculine Beck pointed out that calf X in the cow-and-calf scene on pithos A was marked with a phallus (Beck 2012: 150–51 and note the photo and modern hand drawing). By inference, the same juxtapositioning can be posited for the gendering of cowand-calf L in pithos B’s only partially preserved cow-and-calf scene on analogy with the cow-and-calf scene of pithos A (see Beck 2012: 148–49, figs 6.6, 6.7 and 6.7a). Accordingly, in the cow-and-calf X integrated scene comprising more than one figure, we have a clear case of the marked masculine gender on the suckling calf that is here juxtaposed with the feminine gender of the nurturing cow. Likewise, in the tree-and-ibexes scene on pithos A, the left hand ibex F has a phallus while the hind half of the right hand ibex G is not preserved. So admittedly, while we have another clear instance of marked masculine gender, we cannot be certain that its juxtaposition with the feminine was intended (Beck 2012: 156 and 146 for a photo). Yet, there may be a comparable datum for just such gendered juxtapositioning of the gendered ibexes in another instance of the tree-and-ibex motif on the headdress of a Baal statue from Hazor.3 The figure N in the worshippers scene on pithos B is marked for masculine gender concerning which Beck curiously concluded, “if so, this is the only figure on the pithoi on which the male sex organ is indicated” (Beck 2012: 174 and 174–75 for a hand drawing and photo). Yet, as we just mentioned elsewhere, Beck posited the drawing of a phallus on calf X and the left hand ibex F in two distinct integrated scenes. Perhaps then, Beck had in view the only “human” figure with a phallus in the instance of worshipper N (Beck 2012: 151, 156). 87

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Another possible instance of masculine gender marking is the case of lion H positioned below the tree-and-ibexes scene on pithos A. As was the case with the right hand Bes-like figure on pithos A, mentioned above, lion H has soot over the area where a phallus might have been executed (Beck 2012: 153, 156; photos in fig. 6.10 and fig. 6.13). Nevertheless, lion H’s “naturally occurring” masculine form, namely with hairy mane, clearly delineates its gender from that of lioness C which is positioned well above the tree-and-ibexes integrated scene on the uppermost register of pithos A. She is clearly rendered with no mane. Finally, mention should be made of what Beck labels a “spiral appendage” on the underbelly of boar B on the uppermost register of pithos A. In spite of the presence of tusks and the masculine gender marking of the other figures surveyed here, Beck identified the spiral appendage not as a penis, but as protruding entrails. Yet, she admits that the marking of entrails is rare and the known instances often involve animals lying on their backs. The six unequivocal instances of masculine gender marking attested on the pithoi figures at KA include calf X (phallus), ibex F (phallus), worshipper N (phallus), lion H (mane, phallus?), boar B (tusks, phallus?), and bull R (long horn, phallus?). This compelling inventory of gender-marked male figures strongly favors an identification of the appendage on the underbelly of boar B similarly as a phallus. This in turn would potentially leave only two other figures at KA that are clearly marked for masculine gender without a phallus, lion H and bull R. Yet, as we noted lion H might preserve a phallus beneath the soot covering the relevant area. This warrants the future reassessment of the relevant area where soot may cover lion H (see Beck 2012: 153, 156 for photos figs. 6.10, 6.13). Furthermore, mention should be made here of bull R that overlaps with the edge of pithos B worshipper scene. The ink markings in the relevant area of bull R are too faded to make a clear determination of the presence or absence of a phallus. By way of summary, then: in three different unequivocal, coherent, integrated scenes involving two or more figures preserved on the two pithoi (the cow-andcalf scene, the worshippers’ procession, and the tree-and-ibexes scenes), we have at least one member in each that is positively marked for masculine gender with a phallus. In three other cases, in which masculine gender is unequivocally marked on isolated figures (with boar B’s tusks or lion H’s mane and bull R with his horns), the phallus may likewise be present (we are only hypothetically assuming here for the sake of analysis that lion H is not an integral part of the integrated tree-and-ibex scene, although it did constitute an element in that larger integrated scene). Gender marking the feminine We can add to these masculine marked figures, those positively marked for feminine gender. These would include nipple circles or breast markings like those on the pithos A’s lyre player with her hairdo and diaphanous skirt. We would include as well, the right hand Bes-like figure (or Bes R), with her nipple circles (see further below). Also included are those numerous animals and worshippers that lack the penis such as ibex J of pithos B, mare (?) A on the upper register of pithos A, 88

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Figure 6.2 Pithos A: tree-ibexes-lion scene (Meshel 2012).

and the female worshippers M, O, P, Q on pithos B. Alongside these, figures that appear in some explicit, culturally specific or natural feminine role should also be considered as marked for feminine gender such as the two lactating cows X and L as well as those occurring in their physical feminine form like lioness C without a mane on pithos A and again cows X and L (both being doubly marked for gender as cow and as cow lactating). Worth mentioning here is Meshel’s gendered interpretation of the two relatively large, seated figures painted on the “Z” sherd and on the plastered wall (W 20) of Bldg. A’s entry way and prominently displayed for all to see (wall painting #9). He identifies both figures as depicting a woman (Meshel 2012: 56, 66). He does not however offer any evidence or argument for such a view. If Meshel’s description of 89

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the seated figure as a woman is found to be viable, then we have two more examples of female gender marking at KA (whatever evidence he had in view prompting this interpretation). In the one instance, wall painting #9, we would have our sole example of gender marking from the entire repertoire of wall paintings at the site. If, however, as Beck and following her, Ornan propose, the two figures rather depict a male ruler, then we have two additional examples of masculine gender marking.4 Gender juxtaposed In at least three cases involving integrated scenes, the marked masculine is juxtaposed with a feminine marked figure in the same scene: the cow-and-calf scene on pithos A, the worshippers’ procession on pithos B, and we would add here the Bes L and Bes R scene on pithos A. In another instance, the tree-and-ibexes scene of pithos A, we cannot be certain of juxtaposed gender owing to surface damage in the case of ibex G. As mentioned above, however, there may exist confirming evidence for just such juxtapositioning of the two ibexes in the tree-and-ibexes motif at Hazor. In the case of a prospective isolated figure like lion H, the potentially juxtaposed figure of lioness C is not part of the same scene. Yet, one could feasibly propose that lion H and lioness C may have comprised juxtaposed genders of the same animal species when transferred to the wall murals and made members of a shared integrated scene. Likewise, is the unidentifiable animal D above lioness C on the uppermost register of pithos A a sow? Its preserved hind half clearly lacks a phallus. If so, it may well have been designed as the juxtaposed feminine figure to boar B when transferred to the wall murals. Perhaps too, the left hand ibex F (with its phallic marking) of the tree-andibexes scene on pithos A was juxtaposed with the freestanding ibex J on pithos B that lacks a penis once they ended up in closer proximity or in the same integrated scene on the corresponding wall murals. The same may obtain in the case of bull R and both cows X and L (Beck 2012: 148–52, 157). Though cow L on pithos B has no corresponding calf accompanying her, given her identical unique posture to cow X in the cow-and-calf scene on pithos A, it is very likely, if not certain, that a calf originally comprised the complementary half of the scene, but was eventually worn away. Lastly, the tree of the tree-and-ibexes scene on pithos A conveys a non-anthropomorphic, non-theriomorphic, coherent symbolic image of the divine feminine. The underlying deity may have constituted a goddess of fecundity, irrespective of any anthropomorphized identity that otherwise might have been attributed to her at KA. The artist’s intent to represent gender is consistent, pervasive and telling and included in that identifiable repertoire of male and female images are the two Bes-like figures. Summary of gender marking There remains one outstanding point that Beck addressed, namely that the two Bes figures on the pithoi both wore beards as suggested by the vertical lines 90

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Figure 6.3 Pithos B: worshipper scene and overhead caption (Inscript 3.9; Meshel 2012).

beneath their noses (Beck 2012: 165, 169–70). Only one and a half vertical strokes are actually present at the vertical center of the neck of Bes R (as opposed to the 6 lines on Bes L that take up the entire width of its neck area). Yet, at another point in her treatment on the same page rather surprisingly Beck states, “it is questionable whether a beard is represented at all” (Beck 2012: 169). Might the one and a half lines have once indicated a decorative neck collar on Bes R? Beck does identify the similar vertical lines on the lyre player’s neck as a decorative collar (Beck 2012: 169 and 200 n. 8). Given that she closely associates Bes R with her acknowledged female lyre player otherwise and not with Bes L, then consistent with her own proposal, the similar lines on these two should be collars not beards. 91

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Still, elsewhere in her discussion, she notes that Bes L, not Bes R, and the lyre player actually have the closer parallels with the same 4 minimum lines in the area of the neck (Beck 2012: 165). The cumulative effect of these data renders highly unlikely Beck’s proposal that the two pithoi Bes figures were both masculine, which would mean that for her there was no female Bes or Beset at KA.

Overlapping at KA: contingency or communicative design? For decades, it has been widely recognized that there are examples of indiscriminate overlap attested in the pithos’ drawings and inscriptions from KA. On the other hand, no one disputes that the artist’s use of overlap as a technique in the case of the lyre player’s right arm crossing over her torso or the overlapping of her near leg and her far leg as she sits in profile. Likewise, the crossover of the forelegs of lion H, one leg overlapping the other, which in addition to creating depth of field and perspective, also creates the image or allusion of locomotion (Beck 2012: 153, 156). These constitute purposeful expressions of perspective, foregrounding and depth of field created by the use of overlapping. At KA, overlapping also occurs between two or more figures on the pithoi (e.g., the five or six worshippers scene on pithos B), or between a figure and an inscription (e.g., inscription 3.1 that overlaps the headdress of the left hand Bes figure on pithos A), or between various components that comprise a single figure (cf. the example of the lyre player just cited). One’s view of the role of overlapping at KA directly impacts interpretations of both the overlapping (and interlocking) of the two Bes figures at the arms as well as inscription 3.1’s overlapping of the left hand Bes figure’s headdress. In other words, were these various elements designed to make up the components of an integrated scene that included both Bes figures, inscription 3.1, and possibly the lyre player, or were only some of these part of such a scene while others comprised random, isolated subsequent additions to that scene (perhaps “second stage” written or figural graffiti)? A test case: overlapping in the worshipper procession on pithos B As a test case for overlapping at KA, the worshipper scene on pithos B is particularly instructive and the figures M and N will provide our specific test case. Beck concluded that the overlapping of these two worshippers was due to space restrictions and so figure N’s arms were not executed in a manner suggestive of designed contact with M. She also pointed out that the length and form of the legs on figure M suggest M’s exceptional form when compared to the other four worshippers with torsos attached. Whether M’s leg length and form are indicative of merely the figure’s height (and possibly suggestive of dwarfism?), his kneeling position or perhaps his handicap or crippling injury, the stick or walking cane that figure M holds in the left hand confirms the exceptional (compromised) form of M’s physical integrity as noted by Beck (2012: 173–74, 176). It might simply be the case that figure M is aged and in need of a walking cane. In any case, any 92

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Figure 6.4 Pithos B: complete projection drawing (Meshel 2012).

analysis of figure M’s execution has to take into account the presence of the cane, M’s unusual height or size and posture, as well as the position and angle of the arms of figure N that make contact or overlap with figure M. Given the exceptional rendering of M’s legs or posture and M’s holding of the cane, it is very likely that figure N was designed to portray another worshipper assisting worshipper M. The placement of the very ends of N’s arms (or the ends of the wrists, hands or fingers?) at precise points that intersect with the lines representing the edge of M’s shoulder and the edge of his chin is not insignificant. The contact points appear too precise and consistent to be dismissed as random or forced. This speaks against N’s detachment from M as well as the notion of N’s forced insertion between M and O. N’s right arm holds up M’s head by the chin, while his other hand supports his upper torso at the shoulder. This is the artist’s complement to M’s lack of physical integrity. Worshipper M is in need of worshipper N’s help. It is worthy of note that the very important fact that the position and angle of N’s arms do not even remotely parallel the arm positions of the other worshippers in their attitude of adoration signified by the raised arms. N’s left arm 93

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is straight and not bent at the elbow and angles downward below horizontal not upward, as it makes contact with (grasps?) M’s shoulder. The right arm is only slightly bent at the elbow and lies more or less on the horizontal plane as it makes contact with (or grasps?) the chin of M. Neither arm is bent deeply at the elbow and angled upwards in a position of adoration like those of the other figures in the scene. All this speaks in favor of N’s execution as M’s intended aide. Beck had concluded that these five or six human figures were rendered out of sequence with worshipper N inserted between M and O and following that Q was inserted in the space between worshipper P and bull R. The resultant scene portrays N overlapping M and possibly Q overlapping P (with Q also overlapping bull R). While I question her sequencing of figural production, I follow Beck in her rather unexpected conclusion that the five or six worshippers, some overlapping with others, were all rendered by the same hand. By analogy, I would apply the same principle to the two overlapping Bes-like figures (and possibly the lyre player) on pithos A, rather than that these were composed by multiple hands and unrelated to each other since the presumed differences between the two scenes, the worshippers and the two Bes figures, are indeterminable.5 A number of the above observable phenomena can serve to guide our more comprehensive assessment of the scribal-artisanal practices at KA: (1) multiple figures (and inscriptions?) comprise a coherent, integrated scene in a handful of instances—in the cow-and-calf scene, the tree-and-ibexes(-lion?) scene, and the procession-of-worshippers scene, and also in the scene comprising the two Beslike figures on pithos A, (2) the figures in such scenes may stand at different levels on the horizontal plane as an expression of depth of field and perspective, (3) in composing the five or six worshipper figures, overlapping is clearly present, which we understand to be by design (M and N, P and Q?) or due to space restrictions in one exceptional case (Q and Bull R), and (4) such integrated scenes might include an inscription in which case, their respective illocutionary messages complement each other. Beck had also identified an ibex-and-garland scene W on pithos A which, while only partially preserved, represents the motif of browsing stags and, for our purposes, another instance of an integrated scene on the pithoi that, like the other integrated pithoi scenes, would have been transferred to the wall murals (Beck 2012: 159). As an example of such complementarity, we propose that inscription 3.9 located above the worshipper scene, was positioned at a predetermined distance, not as a graffito, but as a practice draft that would have been transferred to the walls as part of a mural and as the caption or heading to the worshipper scene. Inscription 3.9’s linguistic elements, its third person generalized character (and the lack of first and second person verbs and individuals mentioned by name), indicate that it was designed for public display and general consumption. This finds confirmation in its comparison with two other inscriptions 3.6 and 3.10 inscribed along the two vertical margins of the worshipper scene. 3.6 has very distinct linguistic elements. It contains first and second person verbal forms and individuals’ personal names as elements in direct discourse. This establishes 94

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its status as a visitor’s graffito that was added subsequently to the pithos. Nonetheless, the 3.6 graffito author and the hand responsible for the list of six names on 3.10 maintained the same spatial distance to the worshipper scene as that of 3.9. Was positioning at distance to the scene in the last two cases based on the precedent provided by the prior positioning of what the graffiti writers recognized as the caption of the inscription 3.9? In sum, the contact that the end of worshipper N’s arms makes with worshipper M’s shoulder and chin and the resultant overlapping were designed to portray worshipper N’s assistance on behalf of worshipper M while also creating perspective, foregrounding and depth of field. As such the scribal-artisan who produced both the scene and epigraph was able to illustrate the spirit of inscription 3.9’s content, the divine response to the human condition, through the act of assistance on the part of worshipper N on behalf of M (see below for the translation of 3.9, section “Writing at Kuntillet Ajrud”). Overlapping and the Bes-like figures When one applies the four phenomena listed above to the two Bes figures and the inscription above the left hand Bes figure on pithos A, the results are telling: (1) we have a coherent scene involving multiple images; here, two figures and possibly one inscription, (2) the two figures stand at different levels on the horizontal plane, (3) overlapping as in the case of the intertwined arms of Bes L and R, was employed by design, rather than accidentally, and (4) the two figures that overlap are two members of the scene itself. This clearly is the case with the figures M and N (and P and possibly Q) on pithos B and, we would propose, Bes L and R on pithos A. They do not involve a figure from a coherent scene overlapping with an isolated figure on its margin due to space restrictions like figure Q and bull R on pithos B or Bes L and the cow X and the garland.6 With these remarks in mind, the implications that Beck drew from her notion of the “stratigraphy” of the two Bes-like figures and the overlapping inscription 3.1 on pithos A need some qualification. We fully endorse her astute observation that one can ascertain the relative sequence in which the two Bes-like figures and inscription were composed, the right hand Bes figure being inked first, followed by the overlapping left hand figure and then the inscription above was added overlapping the left hand figure’s headdress. Yet, in light of the above points it seems very unlikely that (1) space limitations dictated the execution of the two Bes-like figures and the inscription as three unrelated or isolated practice drawings since they exhibit the same characteristics as the other integrated scenes, that (2) all overlapping here was due entirely to space restrictions, that (3) by implication, they necessitated a significant time gap between each composition, and that (4) multiple authors were necessarily involved at each stage. In light of the scribal-artisan practices of gender marking and overlapping, Beck’s four conclusions are far more than what the “stratigraphy” of the three images alone could possibly signify and are not the only possible 95

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Figure 6.5 Pithos A: complete projection drawings (Meshel 2012).

conclusions one could draw from such data. Yet, one contingency remains to be addressed; articulating the parameters of the integrated scenes.

Constructed and prospective integrated scenes Beck proposed that the lyre player and the Bes R figure together make up an integrated scene. In support of this, she invoked an art historical theme comprised of a dancing Bes and a musician. Though she acknowledged that she actually had found no such scene in the ancient art historical repertoire in which Bes dances to the accompaniment of other musicians, she tellingly speculated that the scribal artisan was acquainted with musicians on various media and dancing Bes figures from other media and converged and translated them into the iconographic repertoire on pithos A. The Bes figures and the lyre player: dance, music and artistic license In this instance Beck is more than willing to allow for significant creativity, ingenuity and originality on the part of the scribal-artisan who composed her hypothetical scene made up of the lyre player-and-Bes-dancer. But as she acknowledges, she must do so in the absence of any comparable scenes in the art repertoire of the ancient Near East. Although on its own it possesses merit and is not an impossible scenario by any means, when contrasted with her acknowledgement that, though very rare, there are general parallels to the two overlapping Bes figures en face (Beck 2012: 168, 173), there emerges an inconsistency in that she rejects the latter 96

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in spite of its parallels and prefers the former which lacks parallels. Yet, not to be missed here is Beck’s proposal that together, the lyre player and the Bes figure R constitute another integrated scene made up of multiple images on pithos A. This aside in principle confirms our identification of at least four such scenes on the pithoi. This also goes against Beck’s propensity elsewise to view many of the figures on the pithoi as isolated drawings unrelated to their immediate context such as the Bes L figure. According to Beck the Bes L figure was “squeezed” into the space immediately beside the Bes R figure, but they are not to be related, while Bes R had been positioned next to the lyre player as a strategy by design (Beck 2012: 169, 173). We shall return to this apparent inconsistency envisioned by Beck momentarily. The point to highlight here is that Bes R and the lyre player, although they do not comprise an integrated scene, they do represent the same feminine gender. Not only do they both possess nipple circles, Bes R now no longer has a “loop” or phallus between the legs (or the tail of a lion skin according to Beck 2012: 168). Furthermore, while one may conclude that whereas in some samples from the wider Mediterranean, nipple circles and transparent dresses (like that on the lyre player) may be worn by one or both sexes, at KA it is clear that these consistently mark feminine gendered figures. As confirmation, we cite the fact that Beck in the end acknowledges the lyre player’s feminine gender based on independent evidence such as her hairdo and diaphanous skirt (Beck 2012: 170). This in turn coincides with the nipple circles on the lyre player and on the Bes R figure. The latter likewise exhibits besides her nipple circles, independent evidence for her femininity (her relative size compared to the Bes L figure, her consort positioning and the absence of a phallus and a beard). As for the complicated process proposed by Beck to account for the proximity of the Bes L and the Bes R figures, it is quite clear that several elements shared by the Bes R figure and the lyre player are gender specific so one would not expect Bes L to share them. Yet, elements they do have in common are shared also with the Bes L figure (similar ears, dot pattern, outlining of limbs and their decorative neck collars which are not beards). These neutralize the elements cited by Beck as evidence for her proposed coherent scene that eliminates Bes L from inclusion. Bes L displays dot patterning similar to that of Bes R and the lyre player. More to the point, both the Bes L figure and the lyre player have dot patterning outside the contour lines of their bodies, while Bes R does not. With good reason then, the left hand Bes-like figure has neither nipple circles nor the associated collar bone markings (Beck’s “P” shaped markings) since, as we argued above, these are feminine gender markings and Bes L is otherwise clearly marked as masculine. Besides, it is the Bes L figure and the lyre player that are represented in conventional Near Eastern perspective with torsos en face and below the waist in profile, whereas Bes R is fully en face both above and below the waist.7 Simply put, the loop between the legs of the larger male Bes L is his penis and he has no nipple circles, whereas the smaller, consort positioned, female Bes R, possesses nipple markings but no penis or loop (contra Beck 2012: 166). As pointed out by Beck, there are in fact numerous similarities shared by the two Bes figures: their noses, no hands, arms akimbo, the kilt, bent knees, short thighs 97

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typical of the dwarf-like posture of Bes, etc. (Beck 2012: 165–69). This suggests that the same scribal-artisan produced them. They are also both bald. One could even speculate that both are dancing, not just Bes R as suggested by Beck (2012: 173), but each to a different step. Rather than Bes L being positioned in half profile, he may have been portrayed in a different dance step with both feet pointing in the same direction. Finally, we must mention Ornan’s conclusion that since the lyre player faces away from Bes R, their status as shared elements in a coherent scene seems unlikely. Nevertheless, if one allows for the hypothesis that the same scribal-artisan might have composed Bes R and the lyre player, since they do share a number of traits, he may have produced them as isolated from one another (with Bes R related to Bes L instead) and not as two parts to a coherent scene. Nevertheless, we cannot discount entirely the possibility that, given our own proposal, on the walls all three may have ended up as components of the same integrated scene: Bes L, Bes R and the lyre player (with the lyre player reversed and facing the other two?). In the final analysis, it is more likely that Bes R was part of a coherent scene that included Bes L, rather than supposing that Bes R and the lyre player together comprised a coherent scene to the exclusion of the Bes L figure. Bes L and Bes R share many detailed decorative elements, they overlap, they possess diametrically opposite juxtaposed gender markings and they complement each other in their respective husband-wife or ruler-consort positions. This scene may have been similarly inspired by themes of music and dance, but those elements would have been more coherently displayed when these figures were transferred to the corresponding wall mural. Somewhere on the walls, our figures, Bes and Beset, were meticulously executed and incorporated, each in its appointed position in the integrated scene approximating that on the pithos A but in more formal, full color, elaborate, larger size.

Writing at Kuntillet Ajrud: scribal exercise or religious décor? Ahituv and Eshel conclude that the abecedaries and missives on the pithoi do not seem to be of a religious or magical significance. They view them rather as strictly scribal exercises (Ahituv, Eshel and Meshel 2012: 134). Beck following Naveh, entertained the likelihood that these writings and the blessings including even the abecedaries might have had apotropaic associations (Beck 2012: 183 and see Naveh 1963, 1979 n13). Much recent work on the phraseology and function of similar blessing formulae in northwest Semitic inscriptions overwhelmingly confirms such a magical function of the Kuntillet Ajrud blessings (Smoak 2011). Beck concludes that this, “seems only natural that the caravaneers and other wayfarers . . . would have asked the inhabitants . . . to dedicate inscriptions (and perhaps even drawings) in order to secure the protection of the local gods on their perilous journey” (Beck 2012: 183). That the pithoi inscriptions have linguistic and conceptual analogues in texts composed on the walls of KA, also speaks against the notion that the pithoi inscriptions constitute scribal exercises and lack any religious or magical function. As I have proposed elsewhere, the same applies in the case of the pithoi images and the artistic 98

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repertoire on the plastered walls (Schmidt 2015). For example, the inscription 3.9 of pithos B presents linguistic and generic aspects similar to those of the wall plaster inscription 4.1.1. Both are rendered in the third person, not the first or second person, and both are proverbial and injunctive in character. As 4.1.1 and its context establish, this is the more generalized or inclusive language of religious public display and discourse at KA. Thus, its parallel 3.9 was clearly designed to be both more than a mere scribal exercise and other than a (random) graffito inscription. Inscription 3.9 served as a caption positioned above the worshipper scene. This point finds additional confirmation in the thesis set forth from the outset, that like the pithoi figures, many of the pithoi inscriptions were either elements in pithoi integrated scenes which were transferred in toto to the plastered walls or, as isolated figures and epigraphs on the pithoi, such were combined with others to create integrated scenes on the walls. As for the evidence of the material culture expressive of the religious associations of the site, Meshel has listed four major items: a bamah, massebot, plaster mural images of gods and goddesses (does this have in view the seated figure of wall painting #9?) and the male and female Bes figures on the pithos which may depict a god and goddess (Meshel 2012: 66). While the present author is favorably inclined toward the notion that the site, at least in part, had a religious function or character, the interpretations of the first three items proposed by Meshel seem very uncertain. The religious character of (at least part of) the site can be more compellingly verified on the basis of the content of the inscriptions mentioning YHWH and Asherah, El and Baal, the imagery of the Bes figures as well as the images in other integrated scene drawings such as the worshipper procession on pithos B. Furthermore, one can detect a spatial clustering of artifactual and epigraphic material as well as art historical elements in the immediate vicinity of Bldg. A’s bench room. Within this constructed space, various elements of religious symbolism and function, and specifically apotropaism and theophany, converge. Four inscriptions bearing the blessings of YHWH and his Asherah were found either within the confines of the bench room or in close proximity. One was written on a plastered wall in the north wing of the bench room (fragment 4.1.1) and another on pithos A (3.1). Assuming that pithos B was indeed located in the bench room at some point as the excavators concluded, two inscriptions were written on pithos B (3.6, 3.9) with one of these two inscriptions (3.6) containing a welfare inquiry, “ . . . are you well?”. Other texts that form part of the clustering in the bench room or in the south storeroom include 1.2, 3.10, 3.16, 3.17, 4.2.8 I. Inscription 3.1 [Pithos A: graffito overlapping the headdress of Bes Figure L] “Message of [ . . . .], Speak to Yaheli and to Yo’asa’ and to [ . . . .] I have blessed you to YHWH of Shomron and to his Asherah”. The personal nature of the blessing in 3.1, composed as it is in the singular and in first and second person and mentioning as it does, an individual by name, suggests 99

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that this inscription was not part of the design of the integrated scene comprised of the two Bes figures (and perhaps the lyre player?) which in turn was to be transferred to the plaster walls of the site as a blessing for general consumption. Rather, this inscription is an individual visitor’s graffito inscribed on the pithos at some point subsequent to the pithos’ use as drafting surfaces following the set up of the pithoi in the bench room as the two central cultic loci of the site. Inscription 3.1 constitutes a worshipper’s inspired, contemporary response to the overwhelming numinosity of the bench room’s pithos “cult” and to the site’s numinous wall painting décor. The relationship between text and image here, 3.1 and the Besfigures, contrasts with that of inscription 3.9 and the worshippers procession on pithos B (Ahituv, Eshel and Meshel 2012: 98–100 for inscription 3.9; ibid., 105–06 for inscription 4.1.1). II. Inscription 3. [Pithos B: caption above the worshippers’ procession] “[. . .] to YHWH of the Teman and his Asherah. Whatever he asks from a man, that man will give him generously and if he would urge, then YHW will provide him according to his desire”. Inscription 3.9 is positioned directly above the worshipper scene on pithos B. It is an inscription that was designed as an element of the larger integrated scene that also includes the six worshippers. This is indicated first by the proverbial nature of the blessing and the singular third person narrative style employed. As noted previously, the idiom in the blessing formula of the inscription 3.9 of pithos B approximates that of the plastered wall fragments that make up inscription 4.1.1. These were retrieved from the floor of the bench room’s north wing. Not only is YHWH’s localization in Teman mentioned in both sets of inscriptions, both are set in the singular and plural third person. This is what one would expect of an epigraph intended for painted wall display, and as a caption elucidating an accompanying integrated scene designed for the reception by a traveler’s viewing audience, in this case the six-person worshipper scene. III. Inscription 4.1.1  [Bench room: plaster fragments of a caption? recovered from floor] “May He lengthen their days and may they be sated [. . .] recount to YHWH of Teman and to his Asherah [. . .] because YHWH of the Teman has shown them favor, has bettered their days”. That they comprise elements of a shared integrated scene is both demonstrated by their complementary content and is crucial to understanding the illocutionary effect that the convergence of the text 3.9 and the image of the worshippers’ procession convey. Worshipper N’s assistance on behalf of figure M illustrates and embodies the fulfillment of the promised blessing of 3.9: YHWH will provide in one’s time of need. This in turn confirms both text and image as 100

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constituent elements of a common integrated scene. In fact, one can identify all the scribal-artisan techniques set forth in our previous analysis of the finds from KA; overlapping (between worshippers N and M [and P and Q]), coherence between worshipper N’s assistance on behalf of figure M and the content of 3.9 and finally, the mix of male and female figures. The congruence of text and image is also suggested by the positioning of the inscription 3.9 at a predetermined, measured distance directly above the worshipper scene as a caption, a distance also shared by the two other inscriptions, the graffito 3.6 and the (graffito?) name list 3.10. Though epigraph 3.6 was most likely added subsequently as a visitor’s graffito (cf. its distinct linguistic and generic aspects), it was nonetheless positioned on the left side of the scene at equidistance with 3.9 and 3.10 from the worshippers scene. Once 3.6 was inscribed on pithos B along with 3.9 and 3.10, the three inscriptions, regardless of the order of sequencing, created a framing effect of the procession scene. IV. Inscription 3.6 [Pithos B: on the right margin of the worshippers scene] “Message of Amaryaw, Say to my lord; are you well? I have blessed you by YHWH of Teman and His Asherah. May He bless you and may He keep you and may He be with my lord [forever . . . ]”. While 3.6, and more tentatively 3.10 (below), are viewed here as graffiti, alternatively it is possible that they comprise elements that were designed to be included in the same integrated scene along with 3.9. For example, if one views 3.6 to the right of the worshipper scene as a blessing that makes mention of the ruler who held control of the site, here referred to as “lord”, then one could feasibly postulate a blessing or votive dedicated to the site’s royal patron by one Amaryaw. As such, this epigraph would have been suitable as a pre-designed caption for public display rather than as a graffito.9 Yet, that 3.6 comprises a visitor’s graffito seems more likely as it is set in the singular first, second, and third persons and mentions individuals by personal name just like 3.1 on pithos A. V. Inscription 3.10 [Pithos B: on the left margin of the worshippers scene] Shekanyaw ‘Amotz Shemaryaw ‘Eliyaw ‘Uzziyaw Mitzri Inscription 3.10, the list of six names that may correspond to the six figures making up the worshipper scene (one of which was left incomplete), might have been designed as an element to be included in the integrated scene mounted on the wall, 101

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which was otherwise comprised of the worshippers and the overhead inscription 3.1. Although its graffito status cannot be discounted as one can easily invoke parallels to the writing of names as a magical, performative act (and perhaps in conjunction with the writing of the pithos abecedaries?), once 3.10 was written on the pithos, it served as a votive text making permanent the identity of the worshippers and their perpetual petition to the divine.10 Another inscription on a plaster wall fragment (4.2) was recovered from the entryway area to the bench room. It contains a theophany of El set in the third person along with an oracle mentioning both El and Baal.11 VI. Inscription 4.2 [On the wall of the western entryway to the bench room] 1  . . . ] second time/years [ . . .  2  . . . ] in earthquake. And when El shines forth in the [heights. Y] HW[H . . .  3  . . . ] R The mountains will melt, the hills will crush [ . . .  4  . . . ] earth. The Holy One over the gods [ . . .  5  . . . ] prepare (yourself) [to] bless Baal on a day of war [ . . .  6  . . . ] to the name of El on a day of wa[r . . .  The painted seated figure, most likely a male ruler, holding a lotus flower (wall painting #9) was recovered from the same area of the entryway immediately adjacent to the bench room.12 The cumulative effect of clustering evinced by highly evocative writings and images has important implications for ascertaining the nature of the religious practices and beliefs attested at the site and in particular those related to the bench room. One can add to this, other instances of clustering that involve inscriptions (and drawings?) alongside other objects such as the painted fragments of pithoi C and D with their illegible inscriptions 3.16 and 3.17, a prospective ceramic cultic assemblage or favissa, and the large stone basin from the east corner of the south store room (locus 8) containing a blessing to one Obadyaw son of Adna, “ . . . blessed be he to YHW” (1.2). Inscribing and illustrating apotropaism The fact that the Hebrew term RcT “evil” (< RAcAH) appears in one of the plastered wall inscription fragments, 4.6.3, indicates that the topic of evil was a matter of public display and discourse as well as a highly charged topic that must be viewed from the perspective of such contrary themes in the inscriptions as divine presence, blessing, aid and, above all, divine protection. Although there survives little context on the fragment, Ahituv and Eshel viewed it along with eight others, 4.6.1–2, and 4.6.4–9, and 30 even smaller pieces, as originally comprising one much larger inscription. These were all recovered in the courtyard of Bldg. 102

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A at the foot of the stairs near the entry way to the western storeroom. In fact, the numerous fragments that make up the three inscriptional groupings 4.4, 4.5 and 4.6 were found in three neighboring loci near the western storeroom. The excavators hold that all three sets of inscriptions were originally written on the doorposts of the western storeroom’s entrance.13 The discovery of inscription 4.3 in situ at more than a meter above floor level on the northern doorjamb of the bench room’s western entryway and at the opposite end of the courtyard provides an incontrovertible precedent for the specific entryway location, public display and discursive function of a inscriptions 4.4, 4.5 and 4.6.14 The point of all this: the “Evil” mentioned in 4.6.3 was part of a larger inscription mounted on one of the walls near an entryway at KA, and was therefore designed for public display and undoubtedly a topic of immense importance and concern for both those who planned and completed the site’s wall decorations and those who visited KA. All this harkens back to the two opposing views regarding the nature of the KA inscriptions: that either the pithoi writings were exclusively scribal exercises or they were designed to convey apotropaic power and imbue the bench room and site with the overwhelming presence of the numinous. As proposed and illustrated both here and elsewhere, the scribal-artisans drafted on pithoi and sherds, numerous texts and images; they then transferred many of those same or similar images and epigraphs onto the plastered walls of KA’s buildings as whole integrated scenes. Moreover, they combined several of the isolated elements drafted on the pithoi to create additional integrated scenes or to enlarge others that had been drafted on the pithoi.15 In the final analysis, there is no justification for separating the major part of the pithoi décor from the wall décor whether one has in mind, an image, a text, or both and labeling the pithoi décor as practice exercises or graffiti. The lone, unequivocal exception would be the “second-stage” graffiti added to the pithoi following their positioning in the bench room as numinous objects that became the focus of what constituted various, at present unidentifiable, rituals. Instead, the two sets of images and texts constitute two stages in the same larger undertaking, the production of religious décor for wall display. Both sets of décor, those on the pithoi and those on the walls, that include the epigraphs and the images from both sets, comprised scribal-artisan executions designed to convey magical power. The figures and inscriptions, whether rendered as individual items or in convergence with other figures as coherent integrated scenes, gave expression to the apotropaism of not only the décor, the pithoi, the walls, and the bench room, where, following their use as drafting surfaces, the pithoi were set up as the focus of ritual, but ultimately of the entire site. Following the execution of the figures and epigraphs on the walls as painted murals for public viewing, visitors could experience the numinous that permeated the site and invoke the apotropaic powers for their personal protection and safe passage. This in turn, prompted some of those visitors to express their gratitude and confidence in the form of graffiti they wrote on the bench room’s decorated pithoi as a means of conferring the same blessings of protection on fellow visitors. 103

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The making of Bes and Beset This brings the investigation full circle to the original aim of ascertaining the identity of the two figures on pithos A. While it is quite clear that gender was frequently marked in the art historical repertoire at KA using anatomical gender traits or natural function (e.g., the “nurturing” cow), another obvious sign of gender marking on our two Bes-like figures is relative size. Applying the prior arguments for the coherence of the figures as two elements in a larger integrated scene, one cannot overlook Bes L’s much larger size. As noted above, this is affected by the positioning of the ends of the feet of Bes R at a point higher on the horizontal plane of the scene relative to those of Bes L and positioning the head of Bes R lower on the horizontal relative to that of Bes L. The same applies to their relative positioning. The larger left hand Bes-like figure is clearly positioned front and center with Bes R to his left and rear. Just as we demonstrated in the case of worshippers M and N, rather than the unintended outcome of restricted or limited space, the overlap of Bes L’s arm onto that of Bes R (or their intertwining?) was a scribal-artisan’s deliberate technique constructed by design. When the techniques of relative sizing and positioning were combined with overlapping, they created the simultaneous effects of distancing (of Bes R) and foregrounding (of Bes L). With the “disappearance of the loop” between the legs of the smaller left hand Bes-like figure announced recently by Meshel, the likelihood that these two figures evince juxtaposed and complementary genders as two complementary halves of an integrated scene is strengthened considerably. Bes L has no nipple circles, but he does have a loop or, based on several precedents at KA, a phallus between the legs, while Bes R possesses nipple circles, but clearly now no loop, and therefore no longer a penis, between her legs. In sum, Bes R is consistently marked with multiple feminine traits, while Bes L is consistently marked with multiple masculine traits and as such they are juxtaposed to one another. Beck’s argument that the manner in which the legs were attached to the torsos of the two Bes-like figures is a further indicator of their execution by different hands can in fact now be more accurately explained in the first instance, as the result of a male figure, Bes L, having been rendered with a phallus between his legs and in the other instance, a female figure, Bes R, having been rendered without one (Beck 2012: 168). Beck had described the loop as a tail of a lion skin common to Bes figures in which case the loop as a tail would be irrelevant to and pose no obstacle for the otherwise well attested artistic gendering at KA. This Beck proposed long before Meshel’s 2012 editorial comment that Bes R lacks a loop. Our demonstration that gender marking pervades the KA drawings and the repeated juxtaposition of complementary gender markings as described above offers a more compelling explanation for the presence or absence of the loop on the two figures. Moreover, the presence or absence of a loop or, as we propose, a phallus, is inversely complemented by the corresponding absence or presence of nipple circles on the Bes and Beset figures. In either case, the presence or absence

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of the phallus resulted in entirely different executions of the legs, torso attachment, and space between the legs. When overlapping is viewed as at work in tandem with relative sizing and vertical head and foot positioning, the effect on depth of field and perspective is all the more highlighted. As others have pointed out, these are conventional artistic techniques for conveying the male god or king and his female wife or consort. The male is situated front and center with the female positioned behind and to the side. Assuming these techniques were at work in the scribal-artisan’s execution of the two-figure integrated scene, they conform to the gendering by design we also identified as present in the many other figures on the two pithoi. This entire repertoire of artistic technique, relative sizing and positioning, overlapping, foregrounding and gender marking, is closely paralleled in the several integrated scenes of masculine and feminine figures we identified previously that comprise the other coherent scenes on the pithoi. In each case, the cow-andcalf, the worshippers’ procession, and the tree-and-ibexes scene, the scene was comprised of two or more figures of contrasting gender with sizing, positioning and/or overlapping also evident. We found that gender marking and at times, relative sizing was also applied to a number of isolated animals on the pithoi: bull R vs. cows X and L, lion H vs. lioness C, and ibex F vs. ibex G (?) and/or ibex J. In sum, the larger left hand image is the male Bes figure. It is marked for masculine gender by his larger relative size, his front and center dominant position (vis-à-vis the right hand image), the lack of nipple circles and by the loop or phallus between his legs as imagined by the scribal-artisan. The smaller right hand Bes figure is marked for feminine gender by her smaller relative size and consort position, the presence of nipple circles, and the lack of a loop or phallus between her legs as conceptualized by the scribal-artisan. That they comprise a couple is confirmed by their shared conventional Bes-like visual traits (dwarfism, etc. see Beck), their husband-wife positioning and their overlapping or intertwined arms. Along with these factors, the repeated occurrence of integrated scenes on the pithoi and the evidence suggestive of the transfer of those integrated scenes from the pithoi as drafts to the walls as formal murals, all point to the Bes and Beset figures constituting an integrated scene. In closing, we should make mention of the fact that Beck had entertained the possibility that Bes R was a Beset figure, the female counterpart of Bes (Beck 2012: Beck 2012: 169). In light of various factors that have developed since her 1982 article which we have touched on here along with the several additional points we have outlined, the labeling of our two figures as Bes and Beset is, by all measures, the most accurate description to date. If the overlapping graffito 3.1, conveys an ancient, but contemporary understanding of the two images, then in its mention of YHWH and Asherah, it too gives expression to the complementary gendering evident in pithos A’s integrated scene portraying Bes and Beset.

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Bes and Beset as Yahweh and Asherah The Bes and Beset figures represent Yahweh and Asherah respectively. The consistent and frequently attested technique of marking gender at KA clearly confirms that both the imaged figures and the inscribed referents comprise a male and a female. Secondly, the repeated mention of Yahweh and Asherah in the inscriptions on the pithoi and on the walls at KA makes them the only viable, gendered candidates for identification with these two images. At KA, no other deities occur as frequently in the inscriptions and no other female deity is ever mentioned and when Asherah is mentioned, she is coupled exclusively with Yahweh. A third factor is the compelling analogy provided by the integrated worshipper scene on pithos B. We propose that inscription of 3.9 was positioned directly above the worshipper scene on pithos B as the scene’s caption or credo. To be sure, the worshippers gesture toward the heavens as an act of adoration. Yet, the space above the worshippers is large and empty save for the positioning of credo 3.9 at its upper margin. As I have proposed elsewhere, the scene is expressive of empty space aniconism such that any observer of the scene, having read or heard the credo 3.9 read aloud, would mentally or perceptually “fill in the empty space” with familiar or locally conventional images of Yahweh and Asherah who are inscribed in the caption 3.9 (Schmidt 2002). In fact, the scene’s credo 3.9 set in the third person, makes mention of “Yahweh of the Teman and his Asherah”, and describes Yahwe(h) (< YHW) as the source of mankind’s blessing. Furthermore, the credo of 3.9 is dramatically illustrated in the worshipper scene by figure M’s assistance on behalf of the debilitated figure N. The point is that while the scene on pithos B does not portray Yahweh and Asherah in concrete form, the empty space was designed to provoke the observer to imagine the divine couple mentioned in the display inscription 3.9. What image would have come to mind? In the context of KA and its bench room, the most immediate images would have been those rendered on pithos B’s complement, namely pithos A: the empowering images of Bes and Beset as confirmed by the overlapping graffito 3.1. In conclusion, the mention of Yahweh and Asherah in the caption 3.9, coupled with the empty space aniconism of the worshippers-in-adoration scene, underscores the central role the divine couple played at KA as this scene too would have been transferred to a wall somewhere at KA for all to observe and revere. A final factor in identifying the Bes-and-Beset figures with Yahweh and Asherah is the overlap of the graffito inscription 3.1 with the headdress of the larger Bes L figure on pithos A. This inscription specifically conveys the blessing of Yahweh as mediated by his consort-wife, Asherah. The graffito character of 3.1, rather than its status as a predesigned caption, makes the association no less meaningful or accurate. After all, it constitutes the most ancient and proximate interpretation of the two figures. Although it may not be an “official” identification or that produced by the original scribal-artisan, it is unmediated, unequivocal and contemporary.16 That in Egypt, such religious graffiti were often produced by lector priests of varying status 106

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in marginal geographic locales, should caution against dismissing such graffiti prematurely as random or, “popular” and therefore of little or no consequence.17

Scribal-artisan technique and the making of Bes-like Yahweh and Asherah Whether the images and epigraphs were executed on pithos A and B as individual pieces or as elements within the larger integrated scenes, their formal integrated counterparts would have been inscribed and illustrated somewhere on a wall within the confines of Bldgs. A or B. As such they were displayed as elements within larger, more elaborate, but nonetheless, comparable integrated scenes. Both the repeated presence of integrated scenes on the pithoi and the evidence that I have set out here and elsewhere in support of the transfer of such scenes from the pithoi to the painted walls, confirms such a religiously inspired, decorative production process. The resultant décor imbued KA with the numinous power of the divine capable of providing protection and safe passage to all who ventured a visit. The convergence of inscription and image on the walls and on the pithoi, which were set up in the bench room following their use as drafting surfaces, implicitly conveyed a clear and promising message: “ . . . May Yahweh and His Asherah protect you on your journey with the same magical potency as that of Egypt’s renowned apotropaic deities, Bes and Beset . . . !”

Notes 1 Cf. the recent volume by Asher-Greve and Westenholz 2013 for an exemplary treatment of ancient gendering in early Near Eastern sources. 2 See Sass 2014 for the most recent adoption of the view that the term refers to a “temple”. 3 See Ornan 2012 for photos of the statue and note the same possible juxtapositioning in Taanach cult stand A and a contemporary pithos drawing from Lachish (Keel and Uehlinger 1998: 156 #182a; 216 #223). 4 Beck as recent as 2000 and 2002 viewed the seated figure as “a ruler”, or the contemporary king of Israel. Ornan (in press), followed by Ziffer 2013, similarly view the seated figure as a ruler. The only other instances of animal or human figures preserved on painted plastered wall fragments are the badly fragmented scene of a city wall with two human heads positioned behind parapets (#1), a fragmented leg of a hooved animal (#8), the human head with inscription (#11), but apart from the goat lacking a phallus painted alongside a human head and lotus flower on the unplastered stone of a door jamb (#12) the others offer no indication of gender, cf. Beck 2012: 185–196. 5 On the relationship between inscription 3.1 and the Bes figures, see the section below, “Writing at Kuntillet Ajrud”, and Schmidt (2015) where based on various linguistic and generic aspects of inscription 3.1 (and in contrast to 3.9), and for reasons independent of those suggested by Beck, 3.1 is interpreted as subsequently added as a visitor’s graffito just like 3.6 that is positioned adjacent to the worshipper scene on Pithos B.

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6 Beck 2012: 173 mentioned the overlap of Bes L’s right foot with the front left foot of the cow X and the overlap of Bes L’s shoulder with the garland near ibex W in support of her notion that Bes L was a later addition, but in point of fact and in the absence of additional support for her interpretation here, overlapping in these two instances can at most, point to the limitation of space present when Bes L was drawn which may have immediately succeeded the drawing of Bes R as part of the same integrated scene. 7 Cf. Beck 2012: 168 where she notes that both feet of Bes L point to the left whereas those of Bes R point in different (opposing) directions, yet on p.173, she assumes that both Bes figures are represented fully en face. 8 Translation by Ahituv and Eshel unless otherwise indicated. See Ahituv, Eshel and Meshel 2012 for the final report’s publication of the texts; Naaman 2011, Puech 2014 and Lemaire 2014 for responses; and Ahituv 2014 for a more recent summary. 9 This may be the same ruler depicted as the seated figure on wall painting #9 and the corresponding seated figure on the “Z” sherd; cf. Schmidt (2015). 10 Inscription 3.8 positioned to the right of 3.6 may likewise comprise a visitor’s graffito though its content contains only two identifiable words, “Shomron” and “barley(s)”. 11 Following provisionally the text as presented in Ahituv and Eshel 2012: 110–14. While 4.2 mentions, “the gods”, “(the) Holy One”, and “YHWH”, for alternative readings to the first two, cf. Lemaire 2013, and note that only two letters are legible in the proposed reading of YHWH ( . . . y]hw[h . . . ) in L.2. 12 For wall painting #9 see Beck 2012: 189, 191–92. Ziffer, 2013: 41–51, 78 in identifying the figure as a male, cites other military and royal motifs in the wall paintings and drawings. She also concludes it is the only extant evidence for Israelite monumental royal art from the Iron Age. For floor plans of the KA structures locating these and other relevant finds see Ahituv, Eshel and Meshel 2012: 74 for the inscriptions, and Beck 2012: 144 for the wall paintings. 13 For 4.6.3 cf. Ahituv, Eshel and Meshel 2012: 120, and for the floor plan with loci, cf. p.74 and comments on p.117. 14 See Meshel 2012: 22, 24 (for a photo) and for comments, cf. Ahituv, Eshel and Meshel 2012: 115. 15 For detailed validation see Schmidt (2015). 16 I am indebted to Brent Strawn and Joel Lemon for highlighting this point in their forthcoming article in MAARAV, “Once More, Yhwh and Company at Kuntillet ʿAjrud”. 17 Cf. Peden 2001 and now R. Forshaw 2014: 123–28. On the proposed appearance of Yahweh and Asherah in a triadic pictorial design incised on a jug from Jerusalem’s Iron II Ophel, see Gilmour 2009. Contra Gilmour and as proposed here and in variant form in Schmidt 1995, Schmidt 2002 and Schmidt (2015), the phenomena from Kuntillet Ajrud may well comprise the earliest, datable, and unambiguous textual reference to, and pictorial representation of Yahweh and Asherah. Gilmour’s proposed “folk religious” description of these privately owned and used objects might better be situated in current discussions on internal Israelite religious pluralisms and their various interstitial cultic expressions.

Bibliography Ahituv, S., 2008. Echoes from the Past: Hebrew and Cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period. Jerusalem: Carta. __________. 2014. “Notes on the Kuntillet Ajrud Inscriptions”. In ‘See, I will bring a scroll recounting what befell me’ (Ps 40:8): Epigraphy and Daily Life from the Bible

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to the Talmud Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Hanan Eshel. E. Eshel and Yigal Levin (eds.). Goettingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: 29–38. Ahituv, S., E. Eshel, and Z. Meshel. 2012. “Chapter 5: The Inscriptions”. In Kuntillet ‘Ajrud (Horvat Teman): An Iron Age II Religious Site on the Judah-Sinai Border. Meshel, Ze’ev (ed.). Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society: 73–142. Asher-Greve, J. M., and J. G. Westenholz. 2013. Goddesses in Context: On Divine Powers, Roles, Relationships and Gender in Mesopotamian Textual and Visual Sources. OBO, 259. Fribourg: Academic Press Fribourg. Barkay, G., Vaughn, A., Lundberg, M. and B. Zuckerman. 2004. “The Amulets from Ketef Hinnom: A New Edition and Evaluation”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 334: 41–71. Beck, P. 2000. “The Art of Palestine During the Iron Age II: Local Traditions and External Influences (10th–8th centuries bce)”. In Images as Media: Sources for the Culture History of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (1st Millennium bce). OBO, 175. Uehlinger, Chr. (ed.). Goettingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: 165–83. Beck, P. 2002. “The Drawings from Horvat Teiman (Kuntillet Ajrud) 2nd. Rev. ed.”. In Imagery and Representation: Studies in the Art and Iconography of Ancient Palestine, Collected Articles, 94–170. Tel Aviv: Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology: 94–170. __________. 2012. “Chapter 6: The Drawings and Decorative Designs”. In Kuntillet ‘Ajrud (Horvat Teman): An Iron Age II Religious Site on the Judah-Sinai Border. Meshel, Ze’ev (ed.). Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society: 143–203. Blum, E. 2013. “Die Wandinschriften 4.2 und 4.6 sowie die Pithos-Inschrift 3.9 aus Kuntillet ‘Aǧrūd ”. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palaestina-Vereins 129: 21–54. Dever, W. 2005. Did God Have A Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W. et al. 2005. Hebrew Inscriptions: Texts from the Biblical Periods of the Monarchy with Concordance. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Eggler, J. 2016. “Bes”. In Iconography of Deities and Demons in the Ancient Near East. OBO.SA. J. Eggler and Uehlinger Chr. (eds.). Fribourg: University Press. Finkelstein, I. and E. Piasetzky 2008. “The Date of Kuntillet Ajrud: The 14C Perspective”. Tel Aviv 35: 175–85. Forshaw, R. 2014. The Role of the Lector in Ancient Egyptian Society. Oxford: Archaeopress. Freud, L. 2008. “The Date of Kuntillet Ajrud: A Reply to Lily Singer-Avitz”. Tel Aviv 35: 169–74. Gilmour, G. 2009. “An Iron Age II Pictorial Inscription from Jerusalem Illustrating Yahweh and Asherah”. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 141: 87–103. Hutton, J. 2010. “Local Manifestations of Yahweh and Worship in the Interstices: A Note on Kuntillet Ajrud”. Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 10: 177–210. Keegan, P. 2014. Graffiti in Antiquity. London: Routledge. Keel, O. and Chr. Uehlinger 1998. Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Lemaire, A. 2013. “Remarques sur les inscriptions phéniciennes de Kuntillet ‘Ajrud”. Semitica 55: 83–99. Mazar, E., Ben-Shlomo, D. and S. Ahituv 2013. “An Inscribed Pithos from the Ophel, Jerusalem”. Israel Exploration Journal 63: 39–49. Mastin, B. 2009. “The Inscriptions Written on Plaster at Kuntillet Ajrud”. Vetus Testamentum 59: 99–115.

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________. 2011. “Who Built and Used the Buildings at Kuntillet Ajrud?”. In On Stone and Scroll: Essays in Honour of Graham Ivor Davies. J. Aitken, K. Dell. K. and B. Mastin B (eds.). Berlin: De Gruyter: 69–85. McCarter, P. K. Jr. 2003. “Kuntillet Ajrud”. In The Context of Scripture. Vol. 2. W. Hallo (ed.). Leiden: Brill: 171–73. Meshel, Z. (ed.) 2012. Kuntillet ‘Ajrud (Horvat Teman): An Iron Age II Religious Site on the Judah-Sinai Border. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Muehlberg, T. 2002. Jahwe . . . und seine Ashera: Eine Analyse der These eines Goetterspaares Jahwe und Ashera an Hand und Funde von Kuntillet Agrud. Dresden: GRIN Verlag. Naaman, N. 2011. “The Inscriptions of Kuntillet ‘Ajrud Through the Lens of Historical Research”. Ugarit Forschungen 43: 299–324. Naaman, N. and N. Lissovsky 2008. “Kuntillet Ajrud, Sacred Trees and the Asherah”. Tel Aviv 35: 186–208. Naveh, J. 1963. “Old Hebrew Inscriptions in a Burial Cave”. Israel Exploration Journal 13: 74–92. __________. 1979. “Graffiti and Dedications”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 235: 27–30. __________. 2014. “Teman Horvat, A Bibliographic Update to Vol. 4”. In The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Supplementary Volume 5. E. Stern (ed.) Jerusalem: Carta: 1458–64. Ornan, T. 2004. “Expelling Demons at Nineveh: The Visibility of Benevolent Demons in the Palaces of Nineveh”. Iraq 66: 83–92. __________. 2005. “A Complex System of Religious Symbols: The Case of Winged Disc in Near Eastern Imagery of the First Millennium bce”. In Crafts and Images in Contact: Studies on Eastern Mediterranean Art of the First Millennium bce. OBO 210. C. E. Suter and Chr. Uehlinger (eds). Fribourg: Academic Press: 207–41. __________. 2011. “‘Let Baʿal Be Enthroned’: The Date, Identification, and Function of a Bronze Statue from Hazor”. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 70.2: 253–80. _________. 2012. “The Long Life of a Dead King: A Bronze Statue from Hazor in its Ancient Near Eastern Context”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 366: 1–24. __________. (in press). “Chapter 2: The Drawings from Kuntillet cAjrud”. In By Yahweh and His Ashera: The Inscriptions and Drawings from Kuntillet cAjrud. Jerusalem: (In Hebrew). Puech, E. 2014. “Les inscriptions hébraïques de Kuntillet ‘Ajrud”. Revue biblique 121: 161–94. Peden, A. J. 2001. The Graffiti of Pharaonic Egypt. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Sass, B. 2014. “On Epigraphic Hebrew ʾŠR and *ʾŠRH, and on Biblical Asherah”. In Bible et Proche-Orient. Mélanges André Lemaire III. Transeuphratène 46. J. Elayi and J.-M. Durand (eds.). Paris: Gabalda: 47–66, 189–190 (pls. 4–5). Schmidt, B. B. 1995. “The Aniconic Tradition in Early Israel: On Reading Images and Viewing Texts”. The Triumph of Elohim: From Yahwisms to Judaisms. D. Edelman (ed.). Kampen: Kok Pharos: 75–105. Schmidt, B. B. 2002. “The Iron Age Pithoi Drawings from Horvat Teman or Kuntillet ’Ajrud: Some New Proposals”. The Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 2: 91–125. __________(2015). “The Epigraphs and Drawings at Kuntillet Ajrud: Graffiti or ScribalArtisan Drafts”. MAARAV: A Journal of the Northwest Semitic Languages 20: 53–81.

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Singer-Avitz, L. 2006. “The Date of Kuntillet Ajrud”. Tel Aviv 33: 195–228. __________. 2009. ”The Date of Kuntillet Ajrud: A Rejoinder”. Tel Aviv 36: 110–19. Smoak, J. 2011. “Prayers of Petition in the Psalms and West Semitic Inscribed Amulets: Efficacious Words in Metal and Prayers for Protection in Biblical Literature”. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 36: 81–84. Strawn, B. and J. Lemon. (in press). “Once More, Yhwh and Company at Kuntillet ’Ajrud”. MAARAV: A Journal of the Northwest Semitic Languages. Wiggins, S. 2007. A Reassessment of Asherah: With Further Considerations of the Goddess. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. P. Xella. 1995. “Le dieu et “sa” déesse” l’utilisation des suffixes pronominaux avec des théonymes d’Ebla a Ugarit et à Kuntillet Ajrud”. Ugarit Forschungen 27: 599–610. __________. 2001. “Yhwh e la sua ’šrh: la dea o il suo simbolo? (Una risposta a J. A. Emerton)”. Studi epigrafici e linguistici 18: 71–81. Zevit, Z. 2001. The Religions of Ancient Israel; A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. New York: Continuum. __________. 2007. “Scratched Silver and Painted Walls: Can We Date Biblical Texts Archaeologically”. Hebrew Studies 48: 23–37. Ziffer, I. 2013. “Portraits of Ancient Israelite Kings”. Biblical Archaeology Review 39.5: 41–51, 78.

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7 LOST AND FOUND? A NON-JEWISH ISRAEL FROM THE MERNEPTAH STELE TO THE BYZANTINE PERIOD Ingrid Hjelm

The historical, the biblical and the ancient Israel In 1992, Philip Davies made notice of a serious issue in dealing with histories of Israel and Judah. In order to reach a clearer and more truthful history, he suggested that a distinction be made between the historical, the biblical and the ancient Israel (Davies 1992: 16–18). Little could he know of the growing need for working with such clear distinctions when archaeology in the 1990s revealed that what had hitherto been assumed or “known” about the Palestine of the late Iron, Persian and Hellenistic periods had to be rewritten, and that the biblical Israel, which towards the end of the first millennium had been transformed into a Jewish Israel, was far from identical with the historical Israel. History’s earliest testimony of an entity named “Israel” (Ysr’el) is found on the Merneptah stele depicting the Egyptian Pharaoh Merneptah’s campaign to Hatti-land around 1209 bce (Pritchard 1969: 376–378). The authenticity of the stele’s celebration of Merneptah’s victory over his surrounding enemies is confirmed by three contemporary Egyptian inscriptions. The closing stance of the Merneptah inscription includes the name “Israel” as a conquered people, whose seed is no more. Scholars have disagreed about what the term signifies and how the hieroglyphs should be read as there are several possibilities; from the more remote Sharon and Jizreel, as well as Biblical Jeshurun, to the closer reading ‘Asher, known as a thirteenth-century people ísrw in Papyrus Anastasia I, and mentioned also in inscriptions from the reigns of Seti I and Ramses II. A clan named ‘Asher’el or Asri’el is mentioned in the Samaria Ostraca from the eighth century (Hjelm and Thompson 2002: 13–14). 112

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Building on Davies’ distinction, we must conclude that interpretation of the term Israel in the Merneptah stele differs according to the chosen perspective. Historical Israel? From a historical Israel perspective, Israel designates the people of the land of Hurru located in an area comprising Gezer and the city states: Gaza, Ashkelon and Yeno’am. These names are mentioned in several Egyptian inscriptions from the late Bronze and early Iron Age, which deal with campaigns to Hatti land. After Thutmosis III’s conquest of Canaan around 1470–60 bce (ANET 234–241), the cities appear in reliefs at Karnak (ANET 242–243), describing Egyptian campaigns and listing their conquests. Ashkelon, Gezer and Gaza also appear frequently in the Amarna letters (e.g. EA, no. 287, 289, 290, 292; ANET 488–490). Gaza seemed to have been the capital city of Canaan for about 400 years under Egyptian rule (Liverani 2005: 10; Ahlström 1993: 236–237). The non-defined enemy population “Israel” of the Merneptah stele is wedded to Hurru, who being a widow can be taken as part of Egypt’s household (Hjelm and Thompson 2002: 16). Biblical Israel? From a biblical perspective, we must conclude that Merneptah and Yeno’am are not mentioned in the Bible. This is not unique, as in fact, the Bible relates nothing whatsoever about Egyptian presence or campaigns in Palestine before Pharaoh Shishak’s campaign in the tenth century bce. Gaza and Ashkelon are mostly Philistine cities in the Hebrew Bible. They were never fully conquered by the invading Israelites or firmly included in Israelite territory. Gezer was partly conquered by Joshua (Josh 16:3; Judg 1:29), destroyed by Pharaoh and given as a dowry to Solomon, who fortified the city (1 Kgs 9:15–18). Ancient Israel? An ancient Israel perspective will take its departure from biblical Israel’s people, who had conquered the land under Joshua. It designates an Israel that is larger than the historical people of Hurru and Kenaan mentioned in the Merneptah stele as it also comprises the Transjordan. It is also larger than the Iron Age II kingdom called Israel and Bit Humri in the Mesha stele and neo-Assyrian inscriptions from the ninth–eighth centuries bce. An ancient Israel perspective takes Egyptian historiography into consideration and harmonizes this with biblical narrative and archaeology. This perspective will also interpret “Israel” of the Merneptah stele as proof that the biblical Israelites did in fact exist as a people in the thirteenth century bce, but will neglect the stele’s statement that “Israel is laid waste, its seed is no more”, and relegate this to conventional and hyperbolic phraseology (e.g. Kitchen 2003: 220). However, the settlements of the central and the Judean highlands increased in the Iron I (Kochavi 1971; Thompson 1979; Finkelstein 1988), so what did the stele designate when using the term “Israel”? Although we 113

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have hundreds of Egyptian inscriptions, the “Israel” of the Merneptah stele never appears in any of these.

A non-Jewish historical Israel in the Iron II The Merneptah stele’s designation of Hurru’s husband as “Israel” with the determinative of a people rather than land is exceptional in Egyptian epigraphy. The name does not occur elsewhere in this form although the Egyptian pharaohs led many campaigns to the region to fight the Hittites and the Sea peoples in order to maintain their sovereignty. Especially, descriptions of the major attempt by Shishak/Sheshonk I (tenth century) to regain control over Syria and Palestine/ Canaan by his conquest of “the Asiatics of foreign lands” or “the Asiatics of Mitanni” list some 150 names of cities in Palestine without using the term “Israel” for its people. The inscriptions, however, are not complete (ANET 263–264).1 We find our next references to a non-Jewish historical Israel in the Mesha stele and neo-Assyrian inscriptions from the ninth–eighth centuries bce. Israel in these inscriptions designates the mighty Iron II Omride Kingdom, mostly known as Bît-Hu-um-ri-ia or KUR hu-um-ri-i i (the land of Humrî) and only occasionally called sir-i-la-a in neo-Assyrian inscriptions (Hjelm 2009). The Moabite stele of Mesha uses the name Israel throughout. The name is thus firmly attested from the mid-ninth century bce for the kingdom, whose rulers were “Omri King of Israel” and “his son” (Mesha stele l. 5–6). The kingdom also comprised the newly conquered territory of Moab to the southeast, which were now taken back by Mesha, who hyperbolically states that “Israel has gone to ruin, yes, it has gone to ruin forever” (l. 7a; Smelik 2003: 137). Mesha’s patron god was Kemosh and following his conquest of Nebo, he offered its population of seven thousand individuals to Ashtar Kemosh and “took the vessels of Yahweh and hauled them before the face of Kemosh” (l. 14–18). Historical inaccuracy aside, the inscription nevertheless conveys two characteristics of the enemy kingdom, namely that its name is “Israel” and its patron god is “Yahweh”. This kingdom, which also the Hebrew Bible calls Israel and depicts as a sister kingdom to the kingdom of Judah, was, in fact, closer to its eastern northern and western neighbors, the Syrian/ Aramaean and Philistine/Phoenician kingdoms with which it made alliances when the political situation made that suitable. Denigrating its Omride kingship identity as Bît-Ḫumria, which was the usual designation for the kingdom in neo-Assyrian inscriptions from Shalmanezer III to Sargon II (Hjelm 2009), “Israel” became enrolled in the biblical formation of a fictitious twelve tribe federation descended from Jacob/ Israel with its division into a ten tribe league for Israel and one or occasionally a two tribe league for Judah (Hjelm 2004: ch. 2; 2010a). The kingdom of Judaea, however, was a late comer in the arena and did not gain much importance before the second half of the eighth century bce. Judaea’s growing self-esteem became devastating as it roused the anger of the Assyrian king Sennacherib, who destroyed most of Judaea (ia-ú-du), deported over 200,000 inhabitants and severely reduced the size of the Judaean kingdom ruled by Hizkija, the Jew (ia-ú-da-ai; Oded 1979; Na’aman 1993; 114

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Stern 2001: 130–131; Lipschits 2003). This happened a little less than twenty years after the kingdom of Israel had ended and become an Assyrian province renamed Sa-me-ri-na around 720 bce. Contrary to some claim in the Bible, and further developed by the first century Jewish author Josephus, of a complete deportation of Israel’s population, its demography remained rather intact. No major exchange of the population in the Assyrian period can be sustained archaeologically, although Adam Zertal has tried his best to do so.2 Some 27,000 were deported by Sargon II according to Assyrian sources (ANET 284–285; Luckenbill, ARAB II §§55, 92, 99, 118; Lawson Younger 2000, II: 293–300; Fuchs 1994: 308; further ref. in Hjelm 2009: 16–18). However, an earlier inscription from the reign of Tiglatpileser inconsequently states: “The land of Bît-Humria [its] ‘auxiliary army’, [. . .] all of its people, [. . .] I carried off [to] Assyria. Peqah (mPa-qa-ha), their king [I/ they] killed] and I installed Hoshea (mAú-si-’i) [as king] over them” (ANET 283– 284; ARAB I § 616; Tadmor 1994: 140–141, 188–189; cf. Hjelm 2009: 17–18). Obviously all of its people had not been deported by Tiglat-pileser since Sargon II conquered Samaria two years later and carried off 27,290 or 27,280 people. In spite of a rather substantial Assyrian presence in the province, no wide-spread cultural changes can be observed in the material remains (Stern 2001: 55; Lawson Younger 2004). Yahwism continued to be the dominant religion both before and after the Assyrian invasion (see further below). The name Israel, however, was replaced with the official name Samerina. During the Persian period it was termed Shamrin/ Shomron in Aramaic and Hebrew, and became part of the fifth Persian satrapy abar naharā, known also from neo-Assyrian inscriptions since Tiglat-pileser III as ebir Nāri (literally, “across the river” [Euphrates]). According to Herodotus (III. 91) it comprised the whole of Phoenicia and that part of Syria which is called Palestine, and Cyprus (Briant 2002: 49). During the second century bce, the name Israel was appropriated for the upcoming Hasmonaean kingdom with its center in Judaea, while the regional Greek name of Samaria with its related gentilica Samareis and Samaritai continued to exist in addition to tribal names Ephraim and Manasseh. Such regional geographical terms, however, also became religious designations when Judaean Yahwists were termed “Jews” and Samarian Yahwists were termed “Samaritans”.

A non-Jewish Israel in the Persian and Hellenistic periods Two scenarios have and still prevail in biblical scholarship. One is the aforementioned assumption of a total or nearly total disappearance of the Israelite population, caused by the Assyrian conquest of the kingdom of Israel. In this scenario, the land did not remain empty, as different peoples were settled there. Using the Samaritan temples, they developed a syncretistic Yahwism, which 2 Kings 17 claims did not fully align with proper Yahwism. Although there is little support for such a scenario in the remainder of the Hebrew Bible, scholars have readily embraced ideas of a total disappearance of the Israelite peoples (the ten tribes) of the Northern Kingdom, not least because Josephus in his writings had cast them out for good (Jos. Ant. 9.280; 10.184–185; cf. Hjelm 2000: 192–195; Pummer 2009: 67–80).3 115

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The second scenario, advocated also by Josephus, is tied to the decline of the Persian Empire at the advent of Alexander the Great, who gave permission to some apostate priests from Jerusalem to build a temple for the Samaritan people on Mount Gerizim around 330 bce (Jos. Ant. 11.297–347). They accompanied the brother (Neh 13:28: “son”) of Jerusalem’s High Priest, whose illicit marital alliance with the daughter of the Persian governor Sanballat caused his expulsion. Both Nehemiah 13 and Josephus imply or openly claim Sanballat’s foreignness and the scene is set for viewing the Samaritans as apostate and syncretistic Yahweh worshippers. The depicted scenarios rest on the all too familiar biblical paradigm that Israelite Yahwism became polluted by foreign cults and beliefs caused by illicit political and social alliances (Hjelm 2004: Ch. 2). Josephus, however, does not explicitly depict the Samaritans as syncretists in his reuse of 2 Kings 17, but as foreigners, so-called Cuthaeans. In other stories, he mixes them with apostate Jews and marks them as Sidonians, Shechemites, Medes, or Persians and, elaborating on 2 Macc 6:1–2, he depicts the Sidonians of Shechem as willingly accepting Greek customs (Hjelm 2000: 216–222; 2005: 35–39). While in general, modern research has based itself on Josephus and regarded the Samaritans as schismatic Jews, the most persistent view on Samaritan origins in early rabbinic and patristic literature is the foreignness of the Samaritans based on an exegetical reading of 2 Kings 17 and Ezra 4:2, 8–10. On the background of such texts, Samaritans were considered to be Assyrian foreigners, who had adopted Jewish belief and tradition (the Law, given by Ezra). From the third century ce onwards, however both rabbinic and patristic literature express antiSamaritan sentiments which accuse them of idolatry and syncretism.4 Nevertheless, toning down the question of foreignness, Jewish Rabbis of the third–fourth century ce also expressed hopes that the Samaritans would one day abandon Mt. Gerizim and return to Jerusalem (Montgomery 1907: 177; Hjelm 2000: 107). It is interesting that scholarship of the twentieth century until quite recently has transferred ancient views on Samaritans as (Hellenized) syncretists onto Samaritans living in the Persian and Hellenistic period also. They basically found evidence for that in four different historical incidents of Greco-Roman influence in the Samaria region: 1

2

3

Alexander and his successors established Macedonian centres in Samaria and ancient Shechem (Tel Balatah). Both cities, as well as the temple and city on Mt Gerizim, were destroyed by John Hyrcanus between 110–107 bce (Magen 2008: 18). A rebuilding of Samaria was undertaken by the Syrian Governor Garbinius in the first century bce and it was continued by Herod, who changed its name to Sebaste, populated it with pagan immigrants and constructed a temple dedicated to his patron, the Roman emperor Augustus. Shechem became rebuilt as a Roman city in 72 ce with garrisons and pagan inhabitants who had their own temples and institutions (theater, hippodrome, mausoleums, etc.) This was done in order to prevent the Samaritans from entering Mount Gerizim after they had revolted in 67 ce (Jos. War 3.307–315; Magen 2008a: 43–51). 116

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4

In the mid-second century ce, Antonius Pius built a temple to Zeus Hypsistos on the northern summit of Mt. Gerizim.5 It was rebuilt by Caracalla and Julian the Apostate in the third century (Magen 1993: 488–489; 1993a). The Roman temple and the staircase have been depicted on coins from Neapolis and are mentioned in early Christian sources and Samaritan Chronicles (for ref. see, Mor 1989: 28–30; Hjelm 2010: 26).

Pivotal “proof” of Hellenization of the Samaritan cult and religion, however, came from Josephus’ creative elaboration of 2 Macc 6:1–2 in his Antiquities 12.237–264 (Hjelm 2000: 207–212). Denying any relationship with the Jewish population in order to be acquitted of the charges Antiochus IV had decreed on the Jews, the Samaritans declared themselves to be Sidonians, who through a certain superstition had chosen to follow the Jewish custom of observing the Sabbath. The correspondence between these “Sidonians” and Antiochus is brilliantly carried out when Antiochus’ reply permits the “Sidonians in Shechem” to live in accordance with Greek customs, be acquitted of the charges levelled against the Jews and let their temple on Gerizim be known as that of Zeus Hellenios. Attempts at reading Josephus’ narrative historically have proven unsuccessful. It has not been possible to verify Josephus’ account, nor decide who these Sidonians are or whether they, as in Josephus’ accounts, were equivalent to the Samaritans.6 Knowledge of a Sidonian colony in Marissa in the second century bce (Schürer 1885, II: 4–5; Tcherikover 1975: 453)7 has encouraged proposals of a similar colony in Shechem, one which did not belong to the Samaritans themselves but which made use of their temple (Delcor 1962: 35–38; Kippenberg 1971: 79; Pummer 1982). Confirmation of this proposal certainly would be interesting (Hjelm 2005). It would demand a further examination of who these Samaritans are who had their temple on Mt. Gerizim. They certainly could not be any of those groups presented in Josephus, but would most probably belong to the “lost tribes of Israel”, which Josephus had cast out for good (cf. Ant. 10.183, 11.133)! Our problem with Josephus’ reliability does not relate to the authenticity of whatever correspondence he claims to have had access to, but to his use of it. It is Josephus who purposely identifies the Sidonians with the Samaritans! He, in fact, succeeded so well in making that identification that modern scholars, in spite of arguing that Josephus was speaking about a Sidonian colony, which adhered to the Samaritan temple, have accepted his implied accusation of Hellenization of the Samaritan cult (Egger 1986: 266–281).8 Some degree of Hellenization of the area of Samaria is attested from the fourth century bce onwards, but have these sporadic institutions and artefacts (imported attic ceramic, luxury goods, Greek names and stamps with Greek icons) much to do with the Samaritan religion as practised on Gerizim in the Persian and Hellenistic periods? And does Josephus’ progressive decrease of the Samaritans as a population, from at first comprising the whole of the former Northern kingdom in the eighth century bce, to become the mixed population of renegade Jews in the time of Alexander, a “Sidonian colony” in the time of Antiochus IV, and 117

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finally “those living around Mt. Gerizim”, when John Hyrcanus destroyed their temple in the second century bce, reflect reality (Hjelm 2005: 35–36)?

Mount Gerizim in the Persian and Hellenistic periods We have remarkable new insights regarding the histories of Shomron/Samaria and Yehud/Judaea in the Persian and Hellenistic periods. 1 The dominant adherence to Yahwism in the Samaria region from the ninth through the fourth centuries bce (Van der Toorn 1995) has been attested by a wide variety of epigraphic evidence, including the Mesha stele; the inscriptions from Kuntillet ‘Ajrud (Weinfeld 1984; Schmidt in this volume), Khirbet el-Qom and Hamath (Dalley 1990; Van der Toorn 1992; Thompson 1999: 168–178). Iconographic similarities between the Kuntillat ‘Ajrud graffiti from the ninth–eighth centuries bce and Samarian coins from the Achaemenid Persian period (Meshorer and Qedar 1991; 2002: 71–81) are notable and testify to religious and ethnic continuation in spite of both emigrations and immigrations. As the Samaria Ostraca; Assyrian inscriptions and Persian documents from Wadi el-Daliyeh and Elephantine show, a high percentage of personal names contained the theophoric element Yah/Yau.9 Also archaized seal impressions that are inscribed in palaeo-Hebrew have a considerable overlap in personal names and a predominance of Yahwistic personal names (Knoppers 2006: 273–279). It is also noteworthy that the names of Sanballat’s sons are Yahwist (Cross Jr. 1966, 1971; Leith 1997: 10; Gropp 2000: 823–825; 2001: 6; Dušek 2007: 549). From the Achaemenid Persian and Hellenistic periods, phylacteries, coins and seals testify to a cultural continuity between Samaria and Yehud (Knoppers 2013: 109–120). Nevertheless, the province of Samaria functioned politically and religiously independent of Yehud and Jerusalem. 2 Archaeological surveys and excavations have shown that Samerina/ Shomron did not suffer from the Babylonian conquest. Its provincial status continued. If there was any change, its power increased and the region became quite affluent by the Persian and early Hellenistic periods. With Yehud almost completely destroyed,10 Benjamin was the only area, which was left intact and the seat of the Babylonian administration was in Mizpah, not in Jerusalem. In the early Persian period the Persians seem to have transferred their center of government from Mizpah to Ramat Raḥel until at least the mid-fifth century (Lipschits 2003: 331; Na’aman 2001: 274–275; Stern 2001: 436–437). Jerusalem remained extremely impoverished (Lipschits 2003: 329–333, 364–366) and did not really gain in economic and political importance before the second century bce. These issues have been widely discussed in especially the first three of four volumes on Judah in the Babylonian, Achaemenid and Persian periods and in the fourth century, with Oded Lipshitz as chief-editor.11 118

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3 Renewed excavation on Mt. Gerizim under the conduct of Yizhaq Magen from 1982–2006 revealed that the non-Jewish Israel of Shomron had a cult place on Mt. Gerizim, just south of Nablus, from the mid-fifth century. This place had traditionally been understood by scholars as belonging to a socalled Jewish sect, the Samaritans, known from Jewish and Early Christian sources. The excavation, however, revealed that tradition had it wrong, when especially Josephus claimed that it was built by apostate Jews headed by priests from Jerusalem’s temple after Alexander’s invasion in 330 bce (Jos. Ant. 11.297–347). The cult place served as a cultic center for Yahweh worship in the region and existed for a period of at least 350 years, after which both its surrounding city Luzah and the temple was destroyed by the Jewish king John Hyrcanus in 110 bce along with ancient Shechem (Tell Balatah) in 107 bce (Magen, Misgav and Tsefania 2004; Magen 2000, 2007, 2008; earlier ref. in Hjelm 2005). The Samaritan cult place on Gerizim had two building phases from a more modest precinct in the early Persian period measuring 98 by 98 m to its enlargement in the early second century bce. The excavators Yitzhaq Magen and his team date the Persian period stratum “to the time of Nehemiah”, that should be midfifth century, although the oldest coin excavated date to 480 bce and the precinct had three six-chambered gates to the north, the south and probably to the east, although only its second century replacement has been excavated (Magen 2007, 2008). It also had proto-ionic capitals, which usually are dated to Iron II, but here both the gates and the capitals are interpreted as imitations of an earlier fashion or the capitals might have been transferred from Samaria (Magen 2008: 152–153). The western wall was without a gate, presumably because of its proximity to the Holy of the Holies. A structure, interpreted as the Twelve Stones (Deut. 27:4–8; Jos. 8:30–35), has been excavated there as well as the north-western corner of what is considered the temple building (Magen 2008: 113–114). A plastered altar with steps and a large quantity of sacrificial bones, ashes and pottery was excavated under the Hellenistic eastern gate just inside the Persian gate. In the early second century bce, the temple was magnificently rebuilt and enlarged and continuous walls were built on the foundations of the early walls. Four chambered gates replaced the old six-chambered gates and a monumental staircase was constructed on the eastern side connected to a gatehouse at its bottom. To the north and south of the staircase were courtyards. The city, Luzah, that grew up around the temple had already begun to expand considerably after the invasion of Alexander the Great in 330 bce and his conquest of the city of Samaria. Five residential quarters with streets and alleys have been excavated to the north, south and west of the holy precinct. The city had a great number of public buildings, workshops, private houses, defensive fortresses, towers and courtyards. It is estimated that it housed more than ten thousand people in addition to the many pilgrims who visited the temple (Magen 2008: 177). Both the city and the temple were destroyed around 110 bce by John Hyrcanus (Magen 2008). 119

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The finds include pottery and metal ware, about 13,000 coins dating from the Persian period to the time of John Hyrcanus and Alexander Jannaeus, and then from the Byzantine (fourth century ce) to the Umayyad period.12 About 300,000 burnt animal bones of one- to three-year-old sheep, goats, cattle (rare) and pigeons, are consistent with the distribution of sacrifices mentioned in Leviticus 1–7 (Magen, Misgav and Tsefania 2004: 9; Magen 2008: 160–162). No pagan objects, no Greek pottery with mythical depictions and no images have been uncovered. Miqvaot have not been found, but many bathtubs were found inside private residences from the Hellenistic period (Magen, Misgav and Tsefania 2004: 10; Magen 2008: 159). The second stratum yielded about 400 stone inscriptions in Aramaic ninety percent of which are dedicatory (see below). From the fourth century ce were found about 100 inscriptions in Greek and from a later time some medieval inscriptions in Samaritan Hebrew. The 300,000 fragments of bones found on the site have mainly been found in four deposits inside and outside the walls of the holy precinct (Magen 2008: 160–164). Apart from those outside the eastern wall they date to the Persian stratum. A huge deposit of bones, ashes and broken pottery was found in the Persian period northeastern corner in a structure, which might be labeled “House of Ashes”. It also had a cistern and a small altar. The altar inside the eastern gate also yielded a huge quantity of bones and ashes. Only small samples of bones have been examined so far, but a significant difference of distribution appears between the Persian and Hellenistic deposits. In both groups, all the bones examined belong to sacrificial animals as prescribed in Leviticus 1–7 (Magen 2008: 161–162). A random sampling presents a high quantity of bones of sheep and goats from one to three years old, a few rock pigeons and turtledoves. Bones of cattle as oxen and calf were significantly fewer in the Persian period deposits than in the deposit from the Hellenistic period. A striking observation so far is it that bones of animals belonging to the local fauna have not been found in the deposits. The area is ripe with many kinds of game animals, especially roe deer and birds, which are permitted as food in the Pentateuch, but not as offerings. In Oded Borowski’s discussion of animals in cultic contexts in his 1998 book, he states that “almost none of the Israelite cult places that have been located allow any verification of the biblical record” (Borowski 1998: 221). These places are the Iron Age I and II cult places in Arad (tenth– seventh bce), Lachish (tenth), the Bull Site in Samaria, the altar on Mt. Ebal and Tel Dan (tenth). Only Lachish, Mt. Ebal and Tel Dan have remains that have been dated and catalogued. A great majority of their offerings consists of domestic ruminants and birds (doves and turtledoves) with an additionally up to 15 percent of deer, gazelle, wild ungulates and lions. Lions are found also in pre-Israelite Jaffa and Iron I and II Tel Miqneh (Ekron) (Wapnish and Hesse 1991: 47–48). Also amulets, figurines and depictions of lions in cultic contexts have been found at Iron Age Dan, Ekron and Arad (Borowski 1998: 227). The bone samples from Tel Dan periods I (873–851) and II (785–745) show that “the bulk of the remains are from sheep, goat and cattle, all permissible for sacrifice under Israelite rules, and characteristic of Canaanite sacrifice as well” 120

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(Wapnish and Hesse 1991: 46; cf. Borowski 1998: 225). Although Borowski concludes that the bones from Lachish align with “biblical prescription that call for the sacrifice of mostly young caprovines” (p. 226), the examination has yielded more than 50 percent subadult and adult caprovines for both Dan (Wapnish and Hesse 1991) and Lachish (Lernau 1975). Mt. Ebal, which Zertal claimed was Joshua’s altar (Zertal 1986–1987; critique of Zertal in Kempinski 1986), lying just north of Mt. Gerizim, yielded the most varied and highest percentage of non-prescribed animal bones of deer, polecat, tortoise, lizard and mole rat. The site’s identification as Israelite has been questioned by Kolska-Horwitz (1986–1987: 187), and it seems that biblical tradition and the lack of pig bones at the site has determined its classification. However, pig bones are not such a clear ethnic marker as scholars have made it (Lev-Tov 2003). From the Late Bronze Age on, pig bones occur only in small amounts and “using pig percentage would create a huge Jewish world beyond the Galilee, covering vast nearly pig-free lands from Egypt to Persia to Asia Minor and beyond” (Lev-Tov 2003; cf. Hesse and Wapnish 1997). This is also true of the Persian and Hellenistic periods and, with the exception of a few Philistine cities, the distribution of pig bones in Palestine cannot be used as cultural boundary makers (Lev-Tov 2003). So far the material from Gerizim has not been compared with contemporary cult sites, so contextualizing the material has to await further research. Nevertheless, we can say something about Pentateuchal Yahwism on the basis of the bone material and other finds from Mt. Gerizim. We must, however, first turn to the other group of impressive finds on Mt. Gerizim, about 400 stone inscriptions dating to the Hellenistic period. Only one was found in situ on the Eastern staircase and most of the others were found in near proximity of this. The texts are votive inscriptions identifying the donors who offered to “Adonai”, “Elah” or “Yahweh” in “this place” or in “the temple” (Magen, Misgav and Tsefania 2000 and 2004; Hjelm 2005: 167–171 and 2010; Gudme 2013: 52–90; Dusě k 2012). The cult place was also termed “miqdas”, “house of god” and “house of sacrifice”. The texts of the inscriptions, most of which are incomplete, are rather uniform: “that PN son of PN offered for himself, his wife (PN) and his children”, ‫זי הקרב פלוני בר פלוני על נפשה על אנתתה ועל בנוהי‬, with little variation (name of wife might be added, or no wife mentioned, no children mentioned, etc.). Some seventy inscriptions have the formulaic addition “for good remembrance before God in this place”, ‫( לדכרן טב קדם אלהא באתרא דנה‬Magen, Misgav and Tsefania 2004: 18). A close variant of this formula is found in Exod. 30.16. One inscription (no. 150) has the variant, “before Adonai (‫ )אדני‬in the temple” (‫)מקדש‬. We cannot go into detail with the material, but a thorough analysis published by Anne Gudme in her monograph Before the God in this Place for Good Remembrance (Gudme 2013) states that the Aramaic inscriptions fall within a general pattern of formulating and giving offerings to the God in Semitic dedicatory inscriptions. Yet they also conform in every way to what we find about votive practice in the Hebrew Bible and thus testify to “Yahwistic votive practice anno 200 bce” (Gudme 2013: 90). Most of the identified donors have about 80 percent Hebrew and Aramaic names and about 20 percent Greek, Arabic, Nabatean, 121

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Palmyrean, and perhaps a single Persian as well. The distribution of the Hebrew names is similar to that found in Jewish onomasticon of the post-exilic period (Magen, Misgav and Tsefania 2004: 27; Knoppers 2013: 125–131). If we compare the Gerizim names with the distribution in the Wadi el-Daliyeh Papyri (375–334 bce) we find that they also contain about 80 percent Hebrew and Aramaic names, but 15–20 percent Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian, a few Edomite, but hardly any Greek names (Hjelm 2005). So, were the Yahweh worshippers on Mt. Gerizim more Hellenized? That’s the interesting point, because looking at the material culture we find that the seals attached to the Wadi el-Daliyeh papyri expose a very high influence of Greek iconography in a mixed Greco-Persian style, known from coins also from the same period (Leith 1997: 20–24; Briant 2002: 715). This should not come as a surprise as it has been well known that the taste for Greek art was widespread in all of the Persian Empire (Leith 1997: 10–12). The documents did not come from a cultic context and anti-Greek sentiments belong to a later period when the influx of Greek citizens and customs had become a political and religious problem. The Greek names in the Gerizim inscriptions might belong to non-Samaritan pilgrims, who gave gifts to the temple. Contemporary evidence for such practise we find in the second century inscriptions from Delos, where “The Israelites in Delos, who send the temple tax to holy Ar-garizein” honor donors having Greek names, for their contribution to the Samaritan colony and the building of a synagogue (Kartveit 2009: 216–225; Bruneau 1982). On the basis of the finds it can be concluded that the excavated cult place on Mt. Gerizim testifies to a continuous Yahwistic worship in Northern Palestine for a period of more than 350 years in the Persian and Hellenistic periods with roots in the Iron II. The design of the cult place resembles prescriptions for the temple in Ezekiel and the Temple Scroll. The cult corresponds with prescriptions found in the Pentateuch without any traces of syncretistic influence. This is attested in the distribution of sacrificial bones, the votive inscriptions as well as other artefacts belonging to cultic activity. So far, the excavations from Mt. Gerizim give the earliest and fullest evidence of what one might term a “Biblical or Pentateuchal Yahwist cult” in Palestine ever.

The “Israelite” Samaritans in the Roman period After the destruction of Gerizim, Samaria and ancient Shechem, the region was incorporated into the Hasmonean state for a period of about fifty years until the Roman takeover in 63 bce, when for another short period the Samaritan regions were lifted from Jewish control and became part of the province of Syria. This, however, changed again when Herod the Great (40–04 bce), and his son Archelaus (4 bce–6 ce) ruled as ethnarchs over Palestine (Kasher 1995). The many similarities between Jews and Samarians/Samaritans made it difficult for their neighbors to distinguish them from one another and especially from the centuries around the turn of the era, Samarians/Samaritans were often subsumed under a Jewish designation and they fared similarly as their Jewish neighbors (Hjelm forthcoming). Ancient sources relate that in pre-Christian times, Diaspora Samaritans and Jews fought 122

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for legitimacy and supremacy in front of their overlords (e.g., Jos. Ant. 12.7–10; 13.74–79; Pummer 2009: 179–199). The confusion increased because a growing identification with “Israel” had taken place in Judah from at least the second century bce. Terms that used to signify geo-political “ethnic” differentiation transformed into religious designations based on literary traditions about a twelve tribe federation descending from an eponymic Jacob/Israel. With emerging Christianity, the situation had become even more complex, when, beginning in the second century ce, many Samaritans moved northwards and westwards from the Palestinian heart land. They basically settled in the larger coastal towns and in the valleys of Jezreel and Bet Shean, which already had a mixed population. Whatever the role of the Samaritans was in the Bar Kochba revolt, the second to third centuries and especially the rise of Christianity in the fourth century improved their economic condition. Samaritan communities were founded in almost all the Roman cities of Palestine: Neapolis, Sebaste, Ascalon, Gaza, Iamnia, Caesarea, Scythopolis (Beth Shean), Emmaus, Ashdod, Antipatris, etc. (Levine 1975: 107–108; Crown 1989a: 59; Magen 2008a: 83, 100). It is believed that when many Jews fled after the failed Bar Kochba revolt in 135 ce, Samaritans took over many of their settlements. However, Jews did not flee Palestine in large numbers and ancient sources testify to their presence in many of the mentioned cities (see further in Sand 2009: 133; Hjelm forthcoming). The depletion of the Jewish population basically happened in the south, while the north and the coastal area had a growing Jewish population in the second to third century ce (Levine 1975: 64–67). The increase also of the Samaritan population to an estimated half a million people in Palestine in the fourth century, their settlement outside of the Samaritan heartland and their integration into the Roman cities created confusion regarding Samaritan–Jewish relationships. Jewish rabbinical literature of the second to fourth centuries ce testify to this in discussions, which sought to establish the identity and place of the Samaritans in relation to pagans and Christians also, and to set up standards for social interactions in light of Jewish halachah (Montgomery 1907: 167–203; Hjelm 2000: 104–115; Magen 2008a: 83–85).

Notes 1 For a recent discussion, transcription, translation and bibliography of these inscriptions, see Weippert 2009: 228–241. 2 Zertal 1989 and 2003; cf. my critique of Zertal in Hjelm 2005: 163–164; 2010: 32–33. 3 For detailed analyses of Josephus’ narratives about the Samaritans, see Egger 1986; Dexinger 1992; Hjelm 2000: 183–238; Pummer 2009. 4 The first author to build on Josephus is Eusebius (third century) in his Chronicle, transmitted through Jerome (fourth–fifth century) and appearing in the writings of George Syncellus (eighth–ninth century). In general, Josephus’ views are unrepresented in first millennium Christian writings (Hjelm 2013). 5 Samaritan sources erroneously declare that the temple had been built by Hadrian, who ignited the Jewish insurrection, the Bar Kochba revolt, by erecting a temple to Jupiter in Jerusalem and changing the city’s name to Aelia Capitolina.

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6 E. Bickerman (1937) sought to establish the authenticity of the correspondence and argued that the term Sidonian should be interpreted as Canaanite, since in Gen 10:15 Sidon is Cana’an’s firstborn son (Hjelm 2000: 219–220). For recent discussion, see Pummer 2009: 161–178; Dusek 2012: 101–104. 7 Tcherikover 1975: 453 n 128: “The large number of Edomite names confronts the scholar with the question whether the Sidonians at Marisa were really from the neighbourhood of Tyre and Sidon, or whether they were ‘Cananites’ in the broad sense of the term.” 8 Egger (1986: 266–281) probably offers the clearest example when she states (p. 278): “die Sidonier hätten von nun an nicht mehr oder nicht mehr ausschlieslich JHWH verehrt: Der Garizin-Tempel ist einige Jahrzehnte später (129/128) zerstört worden. Der Grund dieser Zerstörung durch Johannes Hyrcanus ist uE. bei den Sidoniern bzw. ihrer Herrschafft über diesen Tempel zu zuchen.” 9 For further information on Samaria Ostraca, Assyrian inscriptions and Persian documents from Wadi el-Daliyeh and Elephantine, see Tigay 1986; Dušek 2007. 10 References to discussions about the extent of the depopulation and destruction of Jerusalem and Judaea in Hjelm 2005 and Hjelm forthcoming, Equinox 2016. 11 Lipschits and Blenkinsopp (eds.) 2003; Lipschits and Oeming (eds) 2006; Lipschits, Knoppers and Alberz (eds.) 2007; Lipschits, Knoppers and Oeming (eds.) 2011. 12 The oldest coin dates to 480 bce; 68 to the fifth and fourth centuries, while most come from 330 onwards. Magen, Misgav and Tsefania 2004; Magen 2008: 168–171.

References Ahlström, G. 1993. The History of Ancient Palestine from the Palaeolithic Period to Alexander’s Conquest. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement, 146. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Bickerman, E. J. 1937. Der Gott der Makkabäer. Untersuchung über Sinn und Ursprung der makkabäischen Erhebung. Berlin: Schocken Books. Eng. trans. 1979. The God of the Maccabees: Studies on the Meaning and Origin of the Maccabaean Revolt. Studies in Judaism in Late Aniquity, 32. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Borowski, O. 1998. Every Living Thing: Daily Use of Animals in Ancient Israel. Walnut Creek, London and New Delhi: AltaMira Press. Briant, P. 2002. From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Transl. (P. T. Daniels) from L’histoire de l’Empire perse. Paris: Librairie Arthème Fayard, 1996. Bruneau, P. 1982. “Les israelites de Délos et la juiverie délienne”. Bulletin de correspondance hellénique 106: 465–504. Cross Jr., F.M. 1966. “Aspects of Samaritan and Jewish History in Late Persian and Hellenistic Times”, HTR 59: 201–11; repr. In Die Samaritaner. Dexinger, F., and R. Pummer (eds.), 1992. Wege der Forschung, 604. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft: 312–323. __________. 1971. “Papyri of the Fourth Century B.C. from Daliyeh”. In New Directions in Biblical Archaeology. D.N. Freedman and J.C. Greenfield (eds.). Garden City, NY: Doubleday: 45–69. Crown, A.D. 1989. “The Byzantine and Muslem Period”. In The Samaritans. A. D. Crown (ed.). Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck: 55–81. Dalley, S. 1990. “Yahweh in Hamath in the Eighth Century BC”. Vetus Testamentum 40: 21–32.

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Davies, P. R. 1992. In search of “Ancient Israel”. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Delcor, M. 1962 “Vom Sichem der hellenistische Epoche zum Sychar des Neuen Testaments”. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästinavereins 78: 35–38. Dexinger, F. 1992. “Der Ursprung der Samaritaner im Spiegel der frühen Quellen”. In Die Samaritaner. Dexinger, F., and R. Pummer (eds.), Wege der Forschung, 604. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft: 67–140. Dušek, J. 2007. Les manuscrits araméens du Wadi Daliyeh et la Samarie vers 450–332 av. J.-C. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East, 30. Leiden: Brill. __________. 2012. Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim and Samaria between Antiochus III the Great and Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Leiden: Brill. Egger, R. 1986. Josephus Flavius und die Samaritaner: Eine terminologische Untersuchung zur Identitetserklärung der Samaritaner. NTOA, 4. Fribourg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Finkelstein. I. 1988. The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Gropp, D. M. 2000. “Sanballat”. Encyclopaedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 823–825. __________. 2001. Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert, xxviii. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Gudme, A. K. de Hemmer. 2013. Before the God in this Place for Good Remembrance: A Comparative Analysis of the Aramaic Votive Inscriptions from Mount Gerizim. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. Fuchs, A. 1994. Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad. Göttingen: Cuvillier Verlag, Hjelm, I. 2000. The Samaritans and Early Judaism: A Literary Analysis. JSOTSup 303; CIS, 7. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. __________. 2004. Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition. JSOTSup. 404; CIS 14. London and New York: T&T Clark International. E-book 2011. In A History of Jerusalem Collection, authored by T.L. Thompson and S.K. Jayyusi, I. Hjelm and B. Ollenburger. T & T Clark International/Sheffield Academic Press (1987– 2004). LOGOS Bible Softvare (3 vols.). __________. 2005. “Changing Paradigms: Judaean and Samarian Histories in Light of Recent Research”. In Historie og Konstruktion. Festskrift til Niels Peter Lemche i anledning af 60 års fødselsdagen den 6. september 2005. Forum for Bibelsk Eksegese, 14. M. Müller and T. L. Thompson (eds.). Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum: 161–179. __________. 2009. “The Assyrian Evidence: A Reply to Salibi’s Questions Regarding Assyrian Sources for their Campaigns in Palestine and the Existence of a Bît Humria in Palestine in the Iron II”. In Studies in Honour of Thomas L. Thompson. N.P. Lemche (ed.), Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 23/1: 7–22. __________. 2010. “Mt. Gerizim and Samaritans in Recent Research”. In Samaritans: Past and Present: Current Studies. Mor, Menachem and Friedrich V. Reiterer (eds.). Berlin: De Gruyter: 25–41. __________. 2010a. “Samaria, Samaritans and the Composition of the Hebrew Bible”. In Samaritans: Past and Present. Current Studies. Mor, Menachem and Friedrich V. Reiterer (eds.). Berlin: De Gruyter: 91–103. __________. 2013: “Review of Reinhard Pummer, The Samaritans in Flavius Josephus (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism, 129; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009)”, SJOT 27/2: 299–303. Hjelm, I. forthcoming 2016: “‘When Dreams Come True’: Jerusalem/Hierosolyma and Jewish Nationalism in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods”, in Łukasz

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Niesiołowski-Spanò, Chiara Peri and Jim West (eds.), The Bible is Always Right: Only Scholars Often Err. (Equinox). __________. Forthcoming. “Samaritan”. In The Oxford Handbook of the Literatures of the Roman Empire. D.L. Selden and P. Vasunia (eds). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hjelm, I. and T. L. Thompson. 2002. “The Victory Song of Merneptah, Israel and the People of Palestine”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 27.1: 3–18. Kartveit, M. 2009. The Origin of the Samaritans. Leiden: Brill. Kasher, A. 1995. “Josephus on Jewish-Samaritan Relations under Roman Rule (bce 63– ce 70)”. In New Samaritan Studies of the Société d’Études Samaritaines: Essays in Honour of G.D. Sixdenier, III-IV, A.D. Crown, and L. Davey (eds.). Studies in Judaica, 5. Sydney: Mandelbaum: 217–236. Kempinski, A. 1986. “Joshua’s Altar: An Iron Age Watchtower”. Biblical Archaeology Review 12/1: 42–49. Kippenberg, H. G. 1971. Garizim und Synagoge: Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur samaritanischen Religion der aramäischen Periode. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. Kitchen, K. A. 2003. On the Reliability of the Old Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kochavi, M. 1972. Judaea, Samaria and the Golan: Archaeological Survey 1967–1968. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Knoppers, G. N. 2006. “Revisiting the Samaritan Question in the Persian Period”. In Judah and the Judaeans in the Persian Period. O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrausns: 265–289. _____________. 2013. Jews and Samaritans. The Origins and History of their Early Relations. Oxford: Oxford Universitty Press. Kolska-Horwitz, L. 1986–1987. “Faunal Remains from the Early Iron Age Site on Mount Ebal”. Tel Aviv 13–14/2: 173–89. Lawson Younger, K. 2000. “Nimrud Prisms D & E (2.118D)”. In The Context of Scripture: Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World. W.W. Hallo (ed.). Leiden: E.J. Brill: II: 295–296. __________. 2004. “The Repopulation of Samaria (2 Kings 17:24, 27–31) in Light of Recent Study”. In The Future of Biblical Archaeology: Reassessing Methodologies and Assumptions. The Proceedings of a Symposium August 12–14, 2001 at Trinity International University. J.K. Hoffmeier and A. Millard (eds.). Grand Rapids, MI and Cambridge, UK: W.B. Erdmans Publishing Company: 254–280. Leith, M. J. W. 1997. Wadi Daliyeh I: The Wadi Daliyeh Seal Impressions. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert, xxiv. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Lemaire, A. 2006. “New Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea and their Historical Interpretation”. In Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 413–456. Lernau, H. 1975. “Animal Remains”. In Investigations at Lachish: The Sanctuary and the Residency (Lachish V). Y. Aharoni (ed.). Tel Aviv: Gateway Publishers: 86–103. Lev-Tov, J. 2003. “‘Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed . . . ?’ A Dietary Perspective on Hellenistic and Roman Influence in Palestine”. In Zeichen aus Text und Stein. Studien auf dem Weg zu einer Archäologie des Neuen Testaments. J. Alkier and J. Zangenberg (eds.). Tübingen: Francke Verlag: 420–466. Lipschits, O. 2003. “Demographic Changes in Judah between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries B.C.E.”. In Judah and the Judaeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.). Winona Lake IN: Eisenbrauns: 323–376.

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Lipschits, O. and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.). 2003. Judah and the Judaeans in the NeoBabylonian Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lipschits, O. and M. Oeming (eds.). 2006. Judah and the Judaeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lipschits, O., G. N. Knoppers and R. Alberz (eds.). 2007. Judah and the Judaeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lipschits, O., G. N. Knoppers and M. Oeming (eds.). 2011. Judah and the Judaeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Liverani, M. 2005. Israel’s History and the History of Israel. London, Oakville: Equinox; Eng. trans.: C. Peri and P. R. Davies of Liverani. 2003, Oltre la Bibbia: Storia Antica di Israele. Roma-Bari: Gius. Laterza & Figli Spa. Luckenbill, D.D. 1926–27. Ancient Records of Assyria and Palestine. 2 vols. Chicago, IL: Chicago Press. Magen, I. 1993. “Gerizim, Mount”. In The New Encyclopaedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. E. Stern (ed.). New York: Simon & Schuster: II, 484–492. __________. 1993a. “Mount Gerizim and the Samaritans”. In Early Christianity in Context: Monuments and Documents. F. Manns et al. (ed.). Jerusalem: The Franciscan Printing Press: 91–147. __________. 2000. “Mt. Gerizim: A Temple City”. Qadmoniot 33/2 (120): 74–118 (in Hebrew). __________. 2002. “The Samaritans in the Roman-Byzantine Period”. In Sefer Hashomronim (The Book of the Samaritans). E. Stern and Ḥ. Eshel (eds.). Jerusalem: Yad Izhak BenZvi: 213–244 (in Hebrew). ________. 2005. Flavia Neapolis. Shechem in the Roman Period. Judea & Samaria Publications, 5. Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeology, Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria (in Hebrew). __________. 2007. “The Dating of the First Fase of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim in Light of the Archaeological Evidence”. In Judah and the Judaeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers and R. Alberz (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 157–211. __________. 2008. Mount Gerizim Excavations II: A Temple City. Judea & Samaria Publications, 8. Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeology, Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria. Eng. Trans.: E. Levin and C. Ebert (in English and Hebrew). __________. 2008a. The Samaritans and the Good Samaritan. Judea & Samaria Publications, 7. Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeology, Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria. Eng. Trans.: E. Levin. Jerusalem. Magen, Y., H. Misgav and L. Tsefania. 2000. “The Hebrew and Aramaic Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim”. Qadmoniot 33.2: 125–132 (in Hebrew). __________. 2004. Mount Gerizim Excavations I: The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan Inscriptions. Judea & Samaria Publications, 2. Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeo­ logy, Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria, 2004; Eng. trans.: E. Levin and M. Guggenheimer; (in English and Hebrew). Meshorer, Y., and S. Qedar. 1991. The Coinage of Samaria in the Fourth Century bce. Jerusalem: Numismatics Fine Arts International. __________. 2002. “The Coins of the Persian Period”. In Sefer Hashomronim (The Book of the Samaritans). E. Stern and Ḥ. Eshel (eds.). Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi: 71–81 (in Hebrew).

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Montgomery, J. A. 1907. The Samaritans: The Earliest Jewish Sect: Their History, Theology and Literature. Philadelphia, PA: J. C. Winston. Repr. New York: Ktav, 1968. Mor, M. 1989. “The Persian, Hellenistic and Hasmonaean Period”. In The Samaritans. A.D. Crown (ed.). Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck: 1–31. Na’aman, N. 1993. “Population Changes in Palestine Following Assyrian Deportations”. Tel Aviv 20/1: 104–124. __________. 2001. “An Assyrian Residence at Ramat Rahel?”. Tel Aviv 28: 260–280. Oded, B. 1979. Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo- Asyrian Empire. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Pritchard, J. B. 1969 (3rd ed.). Ancient Near Eastern Texts: Relating to the Old Testament. Third Edition with Supplement. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pummer, R. 1982. “Genesis 34 in Jewish Writings of the Hellenistic and Roman Periods”. Harvard Theological Review 75: 177–188. ___________. 2009. The Samaritans in Flavius Josephus. Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism, 129. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Sand, S. 2009. The Invention of the Jewish People. London and New York: Verso. Schmidt, B. B. 2016. “Gender Marking, Overlapping and the Identity of the Bes-Like figures at Kuntillet Ajrud”. In History, Archaeology and The Bible Forty Years After “Historicity”. Changing Perspectives 6. Copenhagen International Seminar. I. Hjelm and T. L. Thompson (eds.). London: Routledge: 85–111. Schürer, E. 1885. Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi. Leipzig: H.C. Hinrichs; trans. and ed. G. Vermes et al., 1973–87. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ. 3 vols. Edinburg: T & T Clark. Smelik, K. A. D. 2003. “The Inscription of King Mesha (2.23)”, in The Context of Scripture: Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World. W.W. Hallo (ed.). Leiden: Brill, II, 137–138. Stern, E. 2001. Archaeology of the Land of the Bible. II. The Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian Periods (732–332 B.C.E.). ABRL. New York: Doubleday. Tadmor, H. 1994. The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria. Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Tcherikover, V. A. 1975. Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews. New York: Atheneum. Tigay, J. H. 1986. You Shall Have No Other Gods: Israelite Religion in the Light of Hebrew Inscriptions. HSM, 31. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Thompson, T. L. 1979. The Settlement of Palestine in the Bronze Age. Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients 34. Wiesbaden: Dr. Reichert Verlag. ___________. 1999. The Bible in History: How Writers Create a Past. London: Jonathan Cape. Van der Toorn, K. 1992. “Anat-Yahu, Some Other Deities, and the Jews of Elephantine”. Numen 39: 80–101. __________. 1995. “Yahweh ‫”יהוה‬. In Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. K. van der Toorn et al. (eds.). Leiden: E. J. Brill: 1712–1730. Wapnish, P. and B. Hesse. 1991. “Faunal Remains from Tel Dan: Perspectives on Animal Production at a Village, Urban and Ritual Center”. ArchaeoZoologia 4/2: 9–86. __________. 1997. “Can Pig Remains be Used for Ethnic Diagnosis in the Ancient Near East?”. In The Archaeology of Israel: Constructing the Past, Interpreting the Present. N. A. Silberman and D. Small (eds.). Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 237. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 238–270.

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Weinfeld, M. 1984. “Kuntillet ‘Ajrud Inscriptions and Their Significance”. Studi Epigrafici e Linguistici 1: 121–130. Weippert, M. 2009. Historisches Textbuch zum Alten Testament. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Zertal, A. 1986–1987. “An Early Iron Age Cultic Site on Mount Ebal: Excavation Seasons 1982–1987”. Tel Aviv 13–14/2: 105–165. __________. 1989. “The Wedge-Shaped Decorated Bowl and the Origin of the Samaritans”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 276: 77–84. __________. 2003. “The Province of Samaria (Assyrian Samarina) in the Late Iron Age (Iron Age III)”. In Judah and Judaeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Lipschits O. and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 377–412.

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8 ANTIOCHUS IV EPIPHANES AND THE JEWS A reassessment Łukasz Niesiołowski-Spanò

The traditional view, which still dominates scholarship, of events related to Antiochus IV Epiphanes’ acts in Jerusalem and his role in Jewish history, is based on a conviction of his unparalleled aversion toward Jews, their traditions, and religion. This phenomenon has been variously explained. However, scholars seem to agree on one aspect, namely on the strange disinclination of the king toward the Jews. In this chapter, I intend to present the events in a different light. I will argue that this scholarly conviction of Antiochus’ prejudice is based primarily on the creativity of our sources and their biases. Sources created the narratives, which have been accepted slavishly in both scholarly and popular opinion. I will argue that the very events, their causes and consequences, could have been different than what is presented and in previous scholarship.

The sources It is appropriate here to start with the sources. The events in question are reconstructed mainly on the basis of two texts, namely the First and Second Book of Maccabees, and their later adaptation by Josephus. I skip all archaeological and epigraphical data, which are used in the reconstruction of the Seleucid period and the time of the Jewish Revolt in Palestine.1 Usually the First Book of Maccabees is considered to be typical biblical historiography (cf. Hjelm 2004: 266–288). Uriel Rappaport (2007: 712) says: “I Maccabees is composed in a style and with a vocabulary similar to biblical historiography.” The Second Book of Maccabees, in its actual form, is the work of an anonymous author, who wrote an epitome of the five-volume book by Jason of Cyrene (2 Macc. 2:19–23). Very little is known about the original work and the author of the epitome (Doran 2007: 734–735). Usually the book is considered less credible because of the presence of supernatural beings and many pious references of a theological nature. Robert Doran, for example, 130

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points to the similarity in historiographical style of the Second Book of Maccabees and the Deuteronomistic tradition: “First and foremost is the Deuteronomic theme that the invincible God of the Jews protects his temple and his people only when they are loyal to him and good” (Doran 1981: 110). Such opinions on both texts explain why historians prefer the First Book of Maccabees as the basis for their reconstructions. They are often inclined to ascribe credibility to the historiographical genre, while angels and exalted religious language make them more cautious about the text’s value. I will argue that such opinions about the books are wrong and unjust and, what is more important, hinder historical reconstruction. Usually the First Book of Maccabees is dated to ca. 100 bce. We know that it was written after the takeover by John Hyrcanus (134 bce). We do not, however, know if it was written during his reign or after his death (104 bce) or during the reign of his successors (Aristobulus [104–103 bce] and Alexander Jannaeus [103–76 bce]). The origins of the Second Book of Maccabees are more complicated (Goldstein 1983:28–54). The basis of the book is a five-volume book by Jason of Cyrene, from which the author extracted and compiled his entertaining “history” in a single short volume (2 Macc. 2:23–32). This very text, probably a typical example of Hellenistic historiography of the period, was composed according to the demands of the ruling elite at court in Jerusalem, and it narrated their achievements (erga). It might have been entitled: ΤΑ ΚΑΤΑ ΙΟΥΔΑΝ ΤΟΝ ΜΑΚΚΑΒΑΙΟΝ.2 Therefore, Jason of Cyrene might have been contemporary with the first or the second generation of the rebels (i.e., active between 150 and 100 bce). It is plausible that Jason’s text focused on the period between 175–161 bce, and it might have been written during the reign of Judah’s successor, Jonathan (160–143 bce). For Jonathan, praise and commemorating the acts of his bellicose brother might have served as propaganda, which reinforced his own power and that of his heirs. 2 Maccabees’ epitome of Jason’s history was in turn composed before 63 bce (the year of Pompey’s military campaign in Palestine).3 To what extent the original text of Jason’s “Life of Judah the Maccabee” is present in 2 Maccabees remains a subject of dispute (Doran 1981: 12–23). The author of the epitome, when discussing large omissions, states: For considering the flood of statistics involved and the difficulty there is for those who wish to enter upon the narratives of history because of the mass of material, we have aimed to please those who wish to read, to make it easy for those who are inclined to memorize, and to profit all readers. (2 Macc. 2:24–25) I regret he did! Despite the chronological span covered by 1 and 2 Maccabees, the main difference between the two books consists of the narrative methods, reasoning and general descriptions of the Jewish revolt. 1 Maccabees openly underlines the evil role played by Antiochus IV, namely that it is his inexplicable will to oppress the Jews, which led to the riot. 2 Maccabees also mentions the Hellenized Jews and 131

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their role in instigating the revolt. They – according to the Book – accepted Greek culture, and as such largely contributed to the instability of the political situation. However, both books agree that it was the Seleucids, and their hatred toward Jews and Judaism – who knows why? – which fuelled the religious intolerance, porkconsumption by force and even the extermination of the people. In both books, Antiochus is depicted as a promoter of religious innovations, who severely punished every act of resistance (1 Macc. 1:29–50). This violation of traditional forms of religion and the bloody repressions, ended in Jewish independence. Commentators have also noticed political propaganda used in both books and their bias. Undoubtedly, contemporaneous politics influenced their authors. According to Rappaport (2007: 712), “[T]he author’s talents served a political cause”. Obviously these books may have also served other purposes, like the promotion of a certain world-view or advocating a certain attitude. The dominant impact on authors and readers, of the political background, including the real and propagandistic needs of a young political entity, cannot be overestimated here. However, secondary considerations, such as religious faith, may also have influenced the authors. In the study of the origin of the Jewish revolt, it is the attitude of Antiochus towards the Jews, which is the primary concern of recent scholarship. Moderate positions taken by some scholars in regard to historicity of most details must be mentioned. Following the arguments of Tcherikover, Jonathan Goldstein expresses doubts about the accuracy of documents quoted in 2 Maccabees.4 Most scholars, however, accept the biblical version and, rationalising the actions of Antiochus, they place them in the political and cultural context of the Hellenistic era. The classical view on the cause of events in works by Martin Hengel (1974), Peter Schäfer (1995), Etienne Nodet (1997: 202–271) or, recently, by Daniel R. Schwartz (2001) and John Ma,5 advocate a rationalistic interpretation of the sources and political and cultural contextualisation. Despite all the differences between these scholars, one aspect of argumentation is common to all of them, and this very issue creates an obstacle. All these studies accept the historical value of testimonies about Antiochus’ anti-Jewish bias.6 Naturally, scholars differ in their opinions about the scale and form of the anti-Jewish actions undertaken by the king. However, very little attention is given to the reasons for this attitude, which, I will argue, is the key issue. The issue is central since such an attitude and hostile actions are unusual. They do not fit the epoch and they are unparalleled in the Hellenistic Levant. Hellenistic rulers normally did not interfere in local cults, and, often, they supported them generously. Furthermore, the economic ramifications of Antiochus’ acts have not been explained satisfactorily. Obviously, the king collected any money due to him as taxes. In the case of the Seleucids, who were forced to pay huge contributions to Rome, this right is even more reasonable. This particular situation may even explain the pillaging of treasures. However, how do we explain the killing of his subjects who would be more profitable alive, working and paying more taxes? Lack of space does not permit me to provide a detailed summary of the views of other scholars. As I reject the historicity of religiously inspired anti-Jewish 132

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actions of the king and doubt most of the anti-Jewish actions, I will present my own hypothesis explaining the events that took place during the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes.

The reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes Antiochus took over in 175 bce. His rule started, however, in the shadow of events from the recent past when Antiochus III the Great was defeated in war by the Romans, and, after a crucial battle at Magnesia in 190 bce, concluded an unfavourable peace treaty with Rome at Apamea (188 bce). This treaty meant severe territorial losses for the Seleucids and a colossal tribute of 15,000 talents to be paid to Rome during the next 12 years. Deportation to Rome of the young Antiochus, the future Epiphanes, as a hostage was the formal guarantee of the Seleucids’ obedience. This forced stay in Rome taught Antiochus a lot about politics, international relations, and the situation of his own kingdom in relation to Rome as a new global power. After the reigns of his father, Antiochus III the Great, and his brother, Seleucus IV, Antiochus made every effort to consolidate, and reinforce his kingdom when he inherited the throne. The state suffered from the costly contributions and territorial losses to Rome. Furthermore, the murder of his brother and predecessor, Seleucus, was interpreted as reflecting the weakness of the state. This might have been sufficient cause and reason for the Ptolemies to initiate a military conflict (the sixth Syrian War [170–168 bce]).7 One has to remember in this regard that the border territories, Judea included, had been Egyptian properties, lost only 30 years earlier (after the battle at Panion in 200 bce). It is not surprising, that Ptolemy VI Philometor and his court, expected an easy victory in the territory, where Egypt might have been remembered well, and would be warmly welcomed as liberators. The military campaign resulted in the quick success of Antiochus, who in 169 bce took Pelusium and marched into the Delta as far as Alexandria. In the next year of the war, the Roman legatus, Gaius Popilius Laenas, appeared on the stage. He humiliated Antiochus, as Livy relates, After the time allotted for the truce had expired, Antiochus’ officers sailed to Pelusium via the mouth of the Nile, while he [Antiochus] marched through the Arabian Desert and, after being received by the inhabitants of Memphis and the rest of the Egyptians, partly through good-will and partly through fear, he came down to Alexandria by short marches. When he had crossed the river at Eleusis, a place four miles away from Alexandria, the Roman envoys met him. As they approached, he greeted them and offered his hand to Popilius; whereat Popilius handed him the tablets containing the decree of the senate in writing, and bade him read this first of all. On reading the decree, he said that he would call in his friends and consider what he should do; Popilius, in accordance with the usual harshness of his temper, drew a circle around the king with a rod that he carried in his hand, and said, “Before you step out of this circle, 133

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give me an answer which I may take back to the senate.” After the king had hesitated a moment, struck dumb by so violent an order, he replied, “I shall do what the senate decrees.” Only then did Popilius extend his hand to the king as to an ally and friend. (Liv. XLV 12)

Antiochus IV Epiphanes and the Jews Before all the above-mentioned took place, still in the autumn of 169 bce, Antiochus returned to Antioch, passing by Judea. During this trip for winter quarters, events of great importance to the Jews took place. The beginnings of Antiochus’ rule were seen by the Jews, and probably described by Jason of Cyrene, the source for the author of 2 Maccabees, as follows: When Apollonius son of Menestheus was sent to Egypt for the coronation of Philometor as king, Antiochus learned that Philometor had become hostile to his government, and he took measures for his own security. Therefore upon arriving at Joppa he proceeded to Jerusalem. He was welcomed magnificently by Jason and the city, and ushered in with a blaze of torches and with shouts. Then he marched his army into Phoenicia. (2 Macc. 4:21–22) The situation described in the text refers to the coronation of Ptolemy in 175 bce, after the death of his mother, Queen Cleopatra I. Already at that time, the population of Judea might have realized that their homeland would be the subject of conflict between Egypt and Syria. It was natural for a monarch to assure his rule through the reinforcement of border territories. To achieve these goals, the loyalty of the people was crucial. In this context, we should understand the replacement of the Priest Onias by Jason. The new priest was supposed to guarantee the loyalty of Jerusalem to the Seleucid king. Jason’s generous offer of 590 talents of silver made his candidature even more attractive to the king (2 Macc. 4:8–9). After a period of three years Jason sent Menelaus, the brother of the previously mentioned Simon, to carry the money to the king and to complete the records of essential business. But he, when presented to the king, extolled him with an air of authority, and secured the high priesthood for himself, outbidding Jason by three hundred talents of silver. After receiving the king’s orders he returned, possessing no qualification for the high priesthood, but having the hot temper of a cruel tyrant and the rage of a savage wild beast. So Jason, who after supplanting his own brother was supplanted by another man, was driven as a fugitive into the land of Ammon. (2 Macc. 4:23–26) 134

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Here the author only mentions Menelaus’ cunning. However, if we remember the international situation, especially the tensions with Egypt, it is difficult to accept that the king made this decision without serious consideration. The next generous proposition had to have secondary importance. As future events proved, it was Menelaus, not Jason, who was the real ally and supporter of Seleucid rule in Jerusalem. These events, according to 2 Maccabees, from 173 bce provoked rebellion in Jerusalem, because of “many acts of sacrilege” (2 Macc. 4:39). However, we know that [a]lthough Menelaus continued to hold the office, he did not pay regularly any of the money promised to the king. When Sostratus the captain of the citadel kept requesting payment – for the collection of the revenue was his responsibility – the two of them were summoned by the king on account of this issue. (2 Macc. 4:27–28) Menelaus, and his brother Lysimachus, undoubtedly needed cash. This may explain the so-called “acts of sacrilege.” Under such circumstances, the war with Egypt broke out. When a false rumour arose that Antiochus was dead, Jason took no fewer than a thousand men and suddenly made an assault on the city. When the troops on the wall had been forced back and at last the city was being taken, Menelaus took refuge in the citadel. But Jason kept relentlessly slaughtering his compatriots, not realizing that success at the cost of one’s kindred is the greatest misfortune, but imagining that he was setting up trophies of victory over enemies and not over compatriots. He did not, however, gain control of the government; in the end he got only disgrace from his conspiracy, and fled again into the country of the Ammonites. [. . .] When news of what had happened reached the king, he took it to mean that Judea was in revolt. So, raging inwardly, he left Egypt and took the city by storm. (2 Macc. 5:5–27) This is the most important sentence for the historical reconstruction of the events. The rumour about the king’s death spread throughout Palestine, probably at the end of the first year of the Egyptian campaign in the autumn of 169 bce. Such news gave a clear sign to the pro-Egyptian party, which could then count on a quick victory for the Ptolemies and, as a consequence, a change of international alliances. If Antiochus had died, they would have taken over power in Jerusalem and awaited the Egyptians. This perspective makes Jason’s act an obvious antiAntiochean political action. Political sympathies of the former High Priest of Jerusalem are openly described in 2 Maccabees, where we read about Jason’s escape to Egypt: 135

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Finally he met a miserable end. Accused before Aretas, the ruler of the Arabs, fleeing from city to city, pursued by everyone, hated as a rebel against the laws, and abhorred as the executioner of his country and his compatriots, he was cast ashore in Egypt. (2 Macc. 5:8) What, then, would the king have done if, during the war, just behind the front, rebellion had broken out? First, he would have punished the rebels in order to scare their potential followers and allies, and second, he would have guaranteed firm and strong control over this unstable region. Undoubtedly, the descriptions of a bloody massacre (2 Macc. 5:12–14) are exaggerated. Entering the Temple and taking away the treasure worth 1,800 talents is much more plausible (2 Macc. 5:21).8 Antiochus introduced his direct control over Judea by establishing the officials, whose presence in Jerusalem shows a lack of confidence in Jewish loyalty (2 Macc. 5:22–26). The military garrison in question, led by Apollonius,9 certainly reinforced Acra. The arrival of these military forces opened a new chapter in the administrative organization in Judea. As a deputy of the king, Apollonius, and his soldiers, had political authority, as well as competence in other spheres, including religion. A new ritual began: “On the monthly celebration of the king’s birthday, the Jews were, under bitter constraint, to partake in the sacrifices; and when a festival of Dionysus was celebrated, they were compelled to wear wreaths of ivy and to walk in the procession in honour of Dionysus” (2 Macc. 6:7). Why? Did Antiochus venerate Dionysus in a particular way? Of course he did not. Especially not, as this deity was a dynastic protector of the Ptolemies, while the Seleucids were devoted to the cult of Apollo. These monthly rituals served the purpose openly interpreted in the text: “these punishments were designed not to destroy but to discipline our people” (2 Macc. 6:12). The rituals gave the king an opportunity to realize one of his objectives during the pacification of the region that had rebelled: the spectacular punishment of the guilty. In the language of the biblical scholarship this rational, or even politically indispensable act, is known as The Martyrdom of Eleazar and The Martyrdom of Seven Brothers (2 Macc. 6:18–7:42). In both cases, the victims, instead of being simply executed, were first asked to join the ritual and offer a sacrifice. Presumably they were supposed to offer the sacrifice for the health and prosperity of the king. 1 Maccabees gives an adequate description of the procedure: The king’s officers who were enforcing the apostasy came to the town of Modein to make them offer sacrifice. Many from Israel came to them; and Mattathias and his sons were assembled. Then the king’s officers spoke to Mattathias as follows: “You are a leader, honoured and great in this town, and supported by sons and brothers. Now be the first to come and do what the king commands, as all the Gentiles and the people of Judah and those that are left in Jerusalem have done. Then you and your 136

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sons will be numbered among the Friends of the king, and you and your sons will be honoured with silver and gold and many gifts.” (1 Macc. 2:15–18) This act is similar in its details to the Roman practice during the Christian persecutions. Commonly, Roman officials tried to convince Christians to sacrifice, or, if not, to declare a readiness to sacrifice for the Emperor’s fortune (cf. 2 Macc. 6: 21–23). The authorities did not want mass human extermination, but rather they wanted to see the religious and symbolic gesture of obedience. If one accepts the chronological sequence proposed above, which accords with 2 Maccabees, we have to consider the reference to the king’s presence during the martyrdom of seven brothers (2 Macc. 7:12). If we assume that this verse is based on historical events, the scene may be dated to one of two different occasions: it might have taken place during the king’s journey back to Egypt in the spring of 168 bce or during his first entrance into Jerusalem in the autumn of 169 bce. It is difficult to judge which date is more plausible; however, I prefer the earlier date, since pacification and punishment had to be immediate and spectacular. This is the bloody aspect of city-conquest, which found its place in exaggerated biblical texts about thousands of victims (2 Macc. 5:24–26). The hypothesis proposed above ignores many aspects and details of the narrative about the circumstances in which the Maccabees rebelled. I think, however, that it explains, in full agreement with extra-biblical sources, the reasons and processes of Antiochus’ acts towards the Jews. They had nothing to do with religious obsession, forced Hellenization or anti-Jewish mania. Antiochus did not combat Judaism, which – as I said before – would be atypical, or even unparalleled in the Hellenistic era. Rather his actions were based on cool, political and rational calculations to ensure peace and obedience in the frontier region. As the consequences of this proposal, we will accept the king’s anti-Judaic edict as a fictitious literary feature. The depiction of Antiochus’ prejudice should not be seen as the result of the unexplained bias of the king, but rather as the result and creation of the ideological and literary needs of the writer. The insertion of this tale, and the blaming of the king for the entire confusion, served as justification for violence and allowed silence about internal splits and conflicts. Obviously, the creation of a religious cause for the uprising against the legal authorities helped to justify the very act of rebellion. In such a way, the writer justifies the Hasmonean usurpers and their heirs.

The Temple in Jerusalem A separate theme in the narrative concerns the profanation of the Temple in Jerusalem. As we have seen, the king was mainly interested in the loyalty of the Jews, and the collection of taxes because of the state’s financial needs. There are no objective reasons for the king to interfere with the Jewish cult. On the other hand, it is highly probable that at that time a non-Jewish cult was introduced into Jerusalem. There were sacrifices for the king’s fortune, which may imply a nonYahwistic cult. More important in this regard is the settlement of a non-Jewish 137

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garrison in the citadel of Acra within the city walls (Ant. XII 252).10 It would be very unusual if such a group were deprived of cultic space. However, following this consideration, the cult of Olympic Zeus (2 Macc. 6:2), “a desolating sacrilege on the altar of burnt offering” (1 Macc. 1:54), might not have been located in the Jewish temple.11 This interpretation is supported by the following passage: “Maccabeus and his followers, the Lord leading them on, recovered the temple and the city; they tore down the altars that had been built in the public square by the foreigners, and also destroyed the sacred precincts” (2 Macc. 10:1–2). The text openly states that altars were situated in the agora, i.e. a public marketplace, not within the temple (τοὺς δὲ κατὰ τὴν ἀγορὰν βωμοὺς ὑπὸ τῶν ἀλλοφύλων δεδημιουργημένους) (Goldstein 1983: 377). Similarly, the altar in Modein, referred to in 1 Macc. 2:23, and the site of Eleazar’s and the seven brother’s martyrdom (2 Macc. 6:18–7:42) seem to be located in the local marketplace, in a space easy to access, and wide enough to gather a large number of people, which was not necessarily the case in any temple site. If such was the case, the monarchical sacrifices were offered in public areas, not inside the Yahwistic temple. The restoration of the cult in Jerusalem (25 Kislev 148/14 December 164 bce) played, for the Hasmoneans, the role of mythological foundation act. The new beginning is indicated by the introduction of a new national festival (2 Macc. 10:8). The same year was used as an anchor for the biblical chronological pattern we find in the Masoretic Text (Thompson 1999: 73–75). Therefore, this very event marked the beginning of the Hasmonaean era. But, as sometimes happens with such fundamental events, they are often not spectacular enough. So, an innovative writer, often an historian, comes to the rescue. Imagination and exaggeration help a lot to create the past. I am convinced that the laws against the Sabbath, circumcision, and their implementation, as well as the intentional profanation of the Temple in Jerusalem, are only the result of the writer’s exaggeration and creative imagination. However, I would hesitate to entirely reject the passage concerning pork. The sacrificial usage of pork in Jerusalem remains very improbable (Schäfer 1998: 68–69). But still, the emphasis on this abomination may indicate the echo of a real event.12 Maybe, at Acra, or other place in Jerusalem, but not in the Temple, pork was used for sacrifices and eaten by non-Jews (cf. Lev-Tov 2003). And thus it became part of the Jewish anti-gentile repertoire.13 Last, but not least, a few words about sources are necessary. The scenario proposed above is based on the text of 2 Maccabees. Through the theological facade of the text and its religiously driven attitude, somewhere below the surface, the original text by Jason may be traced: the reliable text of a Hellenistic historian. Having at our disposal only 1 Maccabees, such a reconstruction would not be possible. So, what do we learn from that? Sometimes, an ancient religious or theological text (2 Maccabees) provides more accurate historical data, despite super-human beings flying above the city, than the historiographical text (1 Maccabees). Historians, too often, served politicians and promoted their ideology. A seemingly historical and “objective” style of narrative does not make a text more trustworthy.14 138

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Notes 1 Cf. useful set of sources in John Ma (“Documents on the Maccabees”). 2 Bucher (“Jason of Cyrene (182)”); cf. Goldstein (1983: 21–22). 3 Cf. “This, then, is how matters turned out with Nicanor, and from that time the city has been in the possession of the Hebrews. So I will here end my story” (2 Macc. 15:37). See also the friendly or at least neutral references to the Romans (2 Macc. 4:11;11: 34–38). See Doran (1981: 111–112). 4 Goldstein 1983: 357–363; cf. Brutti 2006: 175–197. 5 Ma (“Re-Examining Hanukkah”). 6 The position proposed by Nodet (1997), represents an exemption, rather than common opinion. 7 Cf. 2 Macc. 4:21. 8 According to 2 Macc. 8:10. 36, Antiochus still had to pay Rome 2,000 talents in the year of Nicanor’s campaign (161 bce). 9 2 Macc. 5:24–26: “Antiochus sent Apollonius, the captain of the Mysians, with an army of twenty-two thousand, and commanded him to kill all the grown men and to sell the women and boys as slaves. When this man arrived in Jerusalem, he pretended to be peaceably disposed and waited until the holy Sabbath day; then, finding the Jews not at work, he ordered his troops to parade under arms. He put to the sword all those who came out to see them, then rushed into the city with his armed warriors and killed great numbers of people.” 10 Josephus Flavius dates the construction of the Acra after Antiochus’ conquest of Jerusalem in 169/168 bce. 11 Cf. Ant. XII 252–253: “And he burnt the finest parts of the city, and pulling down the walls, built the Akra (citadel) in the Lower City; for it was high enough to overlook the temple, and it was for this reason that he fortified it with high walls and towers, and stationed a Macedonian garrison therein. Nonetheless there remained in the Akra those of the people who were impious and of bad character, and at their hands the citizens were destined to suffer many terrible things. The king also built a pagan altar upon the temple-altar, and slaughtered swine thereon, thereby practising a form of sacrifice neither lawful nor native to the religion of the Jews” (Flavius Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews, transl. R. Marcus). 12 “But he [Eleazar], resolving to die with honour rather than to live disgraced, walked of his own accord to the torture of the wheel, having spat the stuff out, as befits those with the courage to reject what is not lawful to taste, rather than live. The people supervising the ritual meal, forbidden by the Law, because of the length of time for which they had known him, took him aside and privately urged him to have meat brought of a kind he could properly use, prepared by himself, and only pretend to eat the portions of sacrificial meat as prescribed by the king” (2 Macc. 10:19–21). 1 3 Schäfer (1998: 66–69) is inclined to accept the view that the biblical tradition may reflect on the pork used for the sacrifice in the temple in Jerusalem by Antiochus. 14 Cf. Rappaport (2007: 712): “The author’s talents served a political cause [. . .]. Needless to say it diminishes the veracity of his narrative, along with his other apologetic aims and his Judeocentric attitude. Nevertheless he succeeded in producing a historical narrative of high quality, although because the original language was lost, it can only partially be appreciated by us.”

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References Brutti, M. 2006. The Development of High Priesthood during the pre-Hasmonean Period. History, Ideology, Theology. Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill. Bucher, G. S. “Jason of Cyrene (182)”. In Brill’s New Jacoby. Ian Worthington (ed.). Brill Online, 2015. http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/brill-s-new-jacoby/jasonof-cyrene-182-a182 (accessed: 08 June 2015). Doran, R. 1981. The Temple Propaganda: The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees. The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 12. Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America. Doran, R. 2007 [2001]. “II Maccabees”. In The Oxford Bible Commentary, J. Barton and J. Muddiman eds. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 734–750. Flavius Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews, (transl. R. Marcus, 1957. LCB, 365). London and Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Goldstein, J. A. 1983. II Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible, 41A. New York: Doubleday. Hengel, M. 1974. Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. Hjelm, I. 2004. Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition. London and New York: T&T Clark International. Lev-Tov, J. 2003. “‘Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed . . . ?’ A Dietary Perspective on Hellenistic and Roman Influence in Palestine”. In Zeichen aus Text und Stein. Studien auf dem Weg zu einer Archäologie des Neuen Testaments. TANZ 42. S. Alkier and J. Zangenberg (eds.). Tübingen: Francke Verlag: 1–27. Livy, 1951. The History of Rome, Books XLIII-XLV. With an English Translation. A. C. Schlesinger (transl.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London and Cambridge, MA: William Heinemann, Ltd. Ma, J. “Documents on the Maccabees”, www.academia.edu/2393826/Documents_on_the_ Maccabees (accessed 08 June 2015). Ma, J. “Re-Examining Hanukkah”. Marginalia: A Review of Books in History, Theology & Religion. http://marginalia.lareviewofbooks.org/re-examining-hanukkah (accessed 08 June 2015). Nodet, E. 1997. A Search for the Origins of Judaism: From Joshua to the Mishnah. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Rappaport, U. 2007 [2001]. “I Maccabees”. In The Oxford Bible Commentary. J. Barton and J. Muddiman (eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press: 711–734. Schäfer, P. 1995. The History of the Jews in Antiquity: The Jews of Palestine from Alexander the Great to the Arab Conquest. Luxembourg: Harwood Academic Publishers. Schäfer, P. 1998. Judeophobia: Attitudes toward the Jews in the Ancient World. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press. Schwartz, D. R. 2001. “Antiochus IV Epiphanes in Jerusalem”. In From the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 27–31 January 1999. D. Goodblatt, A. Pinnick and D.R. Schwartz (eds). Leiden and Boston, MA and Köln: Brill: 45–56. Thompson, Th. L. 1999. The Bible in History: How Writers Create a Past. London: Jonathan Cape.

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9 FROM THE SEARCH FOR ANCIENT ISRAEL TO THE HISTORY OF ANCIENT PALESTINE Emanuel Pfoh

During the last five decades, approximately, a remarkable shift of research paradigms took place within biblical and historical studies of ancient Israel, the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, and related ancient literature. If we list some of the main changes, we must note the following: (a) a progressive deconstruction of biblical stories as referring directly to ancient historical realities and their placement instead within theological and ideological realms or interpretive contexts; (b) a dating shift of the production of biblical stories from the Iron Age to the Persian, Hellenistic or Graeco-Roman periods; and (c) a change of a primary concern with the history of “ancient Israel” in pre-classical times to a broader and regional history of ancient Palestine. The appearance of these historiographical concerns may certainly be seen as responding to external and internal changes in the field of biblical studies. Among the external changes, the rise of epistemological reflexivity in the social and human sciences during the 1960s but also a conscious visualization of the modern Israeli-Palestinian conflict can be counted as important, even if their impact is not always direct or explicit, or even immediate. Among the internal changes, the results of the archaeological practice in modern Israel and the Occupied Territories and the appearance of new interpretative approaches are to be considered as pivotal in our new understandings of Palestine’s past, peoples and cultural productions and manifestations (see, among many sound evaluations and résumés of debates, Lemche 1994, 1998b; Thompson 1995, 2013b; Liverani 1999; Zevit 2002; Schaper 2006). In this chapter I will discuss what I consider to be the main themes in current history and historiography about ancient Israel/Palestine, aiming at further development.

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The Bible, archaeology, and history Since the beginnings of Western exploration of the Near East after Napoleon Bonaparte’s expedition to Egypt and Syria in 1798–99, the impulse to recover— materially and symbolically—the biblical scenarios and monuments produced the development of Orientalist disciplines, in particular Semitic philology and biblical archaeology (cf. in, general, Said 1978; further Silberman 1982; Larsen 1995; Davis 2004). This intellectual endeavour was based on a confidence in both the historical veracity of the biblical record and the possibility of “unearthing the Bible”, of bringing back to the present a biblical past buried in Near Eastern landscapes. The development of historical-critical methods in biblical studies during the nineteenth century and the substantial work carried out in the archaeology of Palestine, especially since the 1960s, affected only partially this modernist confidence in the historical testimony provided by the biblical narrative and the ability to scientifically recover ancient Israel’s past. Amihai Mazar (2007: 144) expresses this situation in a succinct manner, when he affirms: Although the bulk of the biblical historiographic texts can be considered as literary works biased by late Judean theology and ideology, it may nevertheless retain valuable historical information, which may be assessed on the basis of external written sources and archaeological finds. Such confidence in our potential ability to capture and retrieve historical kernels behind (or within) textualized worldviews—ancient theology and ideology—has fostered methodological techniques attempting to provide controlled results for history-writing. Magnus Ottosson (1994: 213), for instance, offers a reasonable procedure to relate archaeology and biblical texts: To provide solid ground for evaluating history in relation to the [Old Testament], we have to require a three-dimensional proof. The premises are the following: an episode mentioned in the [Old Testament] has (1) to be proved through archaeological sources, (2) placed on the map and (3) mentioned in an inscription. As Marit Skjeggestad (1994: 232) evaluates Ottosson’s proposal, “the aim of this method is to make it possible to distinguish between history and ideology, and even to separate reality and fiction in the biblical texts”; however, “the principal question is whether in fact archaeology is able to independently evaluate the historicity of the biblical material and to supply or even replace the biblical sources”. Nonetheless, even if such an approach seems to be perfectly reasonable, it still pivots around the question of the putative historicity of the biblical narrative; it still has “ancient Israel” at the centre of the historiographical interest of biblical scholars. Surveying the progress, both thematic and methodological, accomplished during the last fifty years of modern biblical historiography, it ought to be accepted that “ancient Israel” as a historiographical theme has to give place to ancient Palestine as the general and broad object of main historical interest, in which to understand such “ancient 144

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Israel”, or better “historical Israel”, as different also from “biblical Israel” (see Davies 1992; Thompson 1992a; Lemche 1998a). Keith W. Whitelam (1996: 35) has summarized the historiographical shift of research paradigms in this manner: The major implication for historical research has been to signal the death of “biblical history”, which is gradually being replaced by the growing recognition of Palestinian history as a subject in its own right. A history of the region increasingly divorced from biblical studies: a broad-based thematic conception of history concerned with the economy, demography, settlement, religions and ideologies of Palestine as a whole. A history of the region concerned with its various micro-environments in which what little we know of Judah and Israel plays an important but by no means dominant or unique role. I agree wholeheartedly with this diagnosis and, further, with the prospects for writing histories of ancient Palestine according to this historiographical perspective. Yet, even as we widen the historiographical scope from “ancient Israel” to ancient Palestine—and, in doing so, upgrading qualitatively our historical epistemology— one question has still to be treated: how to anchor historically an “ideological” epigraphic or biblical text? (Cf. the discussion in Thompson 2007.) On one hand, archaeological material remains are not more “objective” than texts, of course; both, inasmuch as they constitute artefacts, are to be subjected to interpretation in order to produce meaning (cf., for instance, Hodder and Hudson 2003; also Knauf 1991: 27–34). However, archaeological remains and data constitute a primary source for reconstructing ancient social realities and should be attended first, only then to be confronted or supplemented by secondary sources, as an integrative effort of proper evaluation of all kinds of available data. On the other hand, and when we approach this methodological question from an ethnographic perspective, an epistemological issue must be dealt with: ancient sources are not direct witness to ancient realities; they are rather ancient representations of realities that must be culturally translated or understood in their own cultural terms (see Liverani 1973; also Pfoh 2010 and in press). Of course, the ideal procedure to critically observe the socio-cultural environment of ancient biblical scribes is an impossible task: to conduct ethnographic fieldwork in ancient social contexts! We have therefore to proceed with the second best choice, namely a critical epistemological and methodological awareness in the interpretation of biblical and epigraphic sources for writing history. The distinction between primary and secondary sources is therefore most important to this end. Such a distinction is in effect not new in general historical methodology. Recently Joachim Schaper (2011: 165) has in fact indicated that [h]istorians have been differentiating between primary, secondary, and other sources since the very first beginnings of modern European history-writing in the seventeenth century. It is in that tradition that literary sources are often classified as primary sources, whereas archaeological ones are seen as secondary [my emphasis]. 145

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Schaper is discussing sympathetically here the classical historian Moses I. Finley (1986: 20–21), who argued that archaeology and texts are two kinds of evidence of the past and therefore should not be given different relevance, but should rather be integrated in a critical manner, depending on the questions to be answered (cf. in this regard Mazar 2007; Na’aman 2011). Schaper argues then for an abolition of the distinction between primary and secondary sources and that “the evidence must be weighed anew in every single case. No kind of artefact, textual or nontextual, must be privileged over the other” (2011: 165). The problem with these methodological propositions—the primacy of textual over archaeological sources, or their simple equivalence—is, however, epistemological. True, both texts and archaeological remains are to be interpreted according to conceptual frameworks and analytical tools that produce a particular meaning, in our case a historical reconstruction. Yet the epistemological matrix of a modern discipline like archaeology and the epistemological matrix of ancient writers are absolutely different, modern and pre-modern, separated by millennia of intellectual development. Accordingly, biblical texts are not only secondary in their methodological placement, as they do not materially belong in the Iron Age (Knauf 1991: 46–47; Davies 1997: 105; Niehr 1997: 157–62), but, as indicated, their testimony is culturally encoded and epistemologically divergent from our socio-cultural worldview; it is a textual product to be analysed, not to be directly followed when reconstructing the past. The recent discussion about the probable Hellenistic composition of the Hebrew Bible (cf. Grabbe 2001; and especially Thompson and Wajdenbaum 2014) adds weight to the secondary character of biblical literature for historywriting. Thus, primary sources, in the sense of primary data, should be attended first. Against the classical historiographical distinction between sources (and against Finley and Schaper), we should base our historical reconstructions of Palestine’s past according to the general layout provided by archaeology, historical geography, climatology, comparative ethnography, etc., then integrate the data from the contemporary epigraphy and textual records from the Iron Age and finally investigate how the biblical narrative is related to the picture resulting from that historical methodology (cf. Niemann 2001: 85–96; Pfoh 2010).

“Ancient Israel” deconstructed Each particular historical analysis of past events or periods is far from being a simple, direct observation of the sources related to the subject. In fact, seeing the past historically means thinking of it as a problem to be sorted out, a question of knowledge involving epistemological and methodological concerns, as well as ideological and contextual scenarios of interpretation. After having acknowledged this, the changing paradigm regarding the relation between the Bible and history is understood in a more sophisticated manner. The progressive deconstruction of the alleged historicity of the periods of the history of ancient Israel showed that the biblical narrative was not reflecting historical events ready to use by the modern 146

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historian, but it rather evoked some historical events to convey a theological, allegorical or philosophical message, or also to provide a sense of belonging or identity (cf. Lemche 1998a; Thompson 1999; Hjelm 2004). In this sense, the biblical discourse is very much akin to the product of what ethnographers call a mythic mind, a discourse reflecting a worldview quite different from our Enlightened conception of what is real and what is not and the origins and causes of the material and spiritual realms—a formal and concrete distinction already modern and foreign to the ancient Near Eastern mind-set (cf. Liverani 1976; Wyatt 2005: 151–88). Thus, to what extent can we separate myth from history when reading the Old Testament? German historical-criticism has devoted two hundred years to answering this question, with results not always satisfactory from the point of view of an ethnographically informed historical analysis. However, it is actually not the methodology of this interpretation that is problematic, but rather its epistemology, its way of understanding the biblical data. A historiographical aspect worth attending is therefore the manner in which we arrange the biblical data and the archaeological and epigraphic materials from Palestine. No doubt, our results will vary considerably whether we frame our research with the history of ancient Israel or we have the history of ancient Palestine in mind. J. Maxwell Miller (2006: 19–22) has recently defended the legitimacy of the “history of ancient Israel” as a historiographical genre, pursuing a “best guess scenario” as some kind of historiographic ideal guiding the historian’s research (see further on this Moore 2006: 136–83). However—and besides the criticism on methodology and epistemology already presented above—what fails to be addressed from this perspective is where, in which socio-cultural realms is the history of ancient Israel important, and who deems it relevant? And, essentially: how does this socio-cultural framing of the historical research on “ancient Israel” affect the results of the research? One can think immediately in modern cultural, nationalist and religious reasons (and audiences) for preserving such historiographical genre, untainted by more critical developments. Further, and now building on the results of the critical research of the last decades, the “history of ancient Israel” cannot be understood apart from the regional historical processes of the whole of the southern Levant. So, from this perspective, it is only our modern, Western (even religious) concern with the Bible that gives primacy to the history of Israel over a history of the southern Levant or ancient Palestine. The religious and/or nationalist context of historiographical production actually shapes the past we reconstruct, and if we want to produce more objective or critical histories, we should we aware of this (cf. Whitelam 2013b). Some biblical scholars and archaeologists, in particular, have often referred to this kind of interpretative and analytical procedure, and explicitly to the challenge the so-called “minimalists” have posed on the history of ancient Israel—the historiographical issue in question—as intrinsically postmodern, or even nihilist and ideologically-driven.1 Even if it is correct to affirm that some aspects of the criticism raised by scholars like Davies, Thompson and Whitelam might in fact be perceived as responding to a certain postmodernist influence in the social 147

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and human sciences,2 it is certainly wrong to conceive of minimalism either as a postmodern perspective or as a homogeneous movement attacking the history of so-called ancient Israel. Again, the key question lies in the reference to ancient sources and its value for the writing of history. This last question is rather modern in its epistemology, as is the re-writing of history from an ever-changing present (cf. Febvre 1965).

The politics of historiography The publication in 1996 of Whitelam’s The Invention of Ancient Israel not only sparked controversy and bold accusations, but it also marked a diachronic watershed within the field of biblical studies, in some way recalling the watershed Edward Said’s Orientalism created in 1978 (Whitelam 1996; Said 1978). After Said’s book, anyone dealing with “the Orient” had to face and expose its epistemological matrix and ethnocentric or Eurocentric bias. After Whitelam’s book, biblical scholars cannot work in neglect of modern politics in Israel/Palestine. In many ways, this is a late loss of innocence for Old Testament scholarship, since the political implications of scholarship and its relation to the social context and cultural background of scholars had been acknowledged in social and human sciences—at least—already in the 1960s (cf. Bourdieu, Chamboredon and Passeron 1968). This recognition leads us then to face and deal with an uneasy question: the political implications of academic research. In principle, professional historians and scholars need not get involved in political controversies about the historicity of what is evoked in biblical narrative or the ultimate religious truth of the Bible. However, when fundamentalist understandings of the biblical past attempt to legitimize political or religious views of oppression, dispossession and ethnic cleansing—as in the case of modern Palestine (cf. Prior 1997: 106–213; Masalha 2013; Starzmann 2013)—I strongly believe scholars have a moral duty to engage with the scholarly constructed arguments of certain politics. Scholars have a voice to historically and ideologically legitimize or delegitimize political actions. In the field of biblical studies, especially Old Testament studies, and the archaeology and history of ancient Palestine/ Israel, we cannot choose to be untouched by such moral and political aspects of research. The production of knowledge about the past is never a purely academic endeavour. It always affects the present, and it is always marked by the present and the social contexts we inhabit. The so-called minimalist–maximalist controversy of the 1990s brought to the fore this question in harsh, at many times unpleasant or nasty manners (cf. Whitelam 2002). However, it forced scholars to reflect on their epistemology. It is now impossible to claim pure objectivity or the isolation of biblical studies from modern contexts of interpretation. Of course, it is understandable that many, if not most, scholars wish or attempt to limit their studies to issues concerning philology, epigraphy, archaeology, ancient history, etc. exclusively. However, it is no longer possible to abstain from having a scholarly voice affecting modern political myths. 148

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Scholars who choose to phrase an understanding of collective identity in the Iron Age as national identity regarding “ancient Israel” cannot claim to be outside of an essentially political controversy. Scholars who choose to address the biblical figure of King David in historical terms, without producing direct archaeological or epigraphic evidence for the existence of such an individual, contribute to sustain the national and political myth of the State of Israel, forged in the process of nationbuilding, and its claim to land and patrimony on the basis of ancient traditions (cf. Abu el-Haj 2001; Oestigaard 2013; Pfoh 2013). Due to its nature, biblical studies cannot avoid having an impact to some degree on political discourses affecting the situation in modern Israel/Palestine. This influence may be indirect or subtle, but it exists and we should accept it as an inherent factor in biblical scholarship. In a certain sense, it has to be recognized the fact that the West has claimed ownership of Palestine’s past through the idea of an “ancient Israel” and, by doing so, has excluded others from identifying with such a past. The mere possibility that modern Palestinians, either Muslim or Christian, can relate to pre-Hellenistic Palestine or later periods and engage with the cultural patrimony of the country as a means of identity-building was essentially denied and prevented by the Western religious interest in the land and its patrimony and by early Zionism in its claim for the ownership of the past and the land (Sand 2012). The scholarly deconstruction of “ancient Israel” has therefore allowed not only alternative ways of understanding the past of Palestine and the production of biblical texts, but it has opened the possibility that such a past can be reclaimed or appropriated in a more inclusive manner: it belongs not only to Western Jews, Christians and Israelis, but also to modern Muslim and Christian Palestinians (cf. Glock 1994; Ra’ad 2010; Thompson 2013a; Whitelam 2013b). We need to decolonize the history of ancient Palestine and stop focusing exclusively on the past of “ancient Israel” and the relevance of that past for the West. “Ancient Israel” is a modern historiographical creation, rooted in the paradigm of “the Bible as history”. Historical research may start with the Patriarchs (Bright 1960) or with the Israelite settlement in the land (Noth 1950) or with the United Monarchy (Soggin 1984; Miller and Hayes 1986; but cf. the updating in Soggin 2002, and Miller and Hayes 2006), yet the epistemological basis of such research is the same. The search for an “ancient Israel” deserves proper scholarly deconstruction and its contextualization in contemporary European, American and Israeli societies (see already Whitelam 1996). To shift our attention from the search for ancient Israel to the history of ancient Palestine means much more than a change in terminology. A history of ancient Palestine implies a historical construction of the past not based on biblical images and scenarios, but rather on extra-biblical data and other primary sources, which makes it possible to think of the past of the region on its own terms and serve as the background for understanding the production of biblical literature. We need to write more postcolonial histories of ancient Palestine that deal with the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, with the Bible stories, but also with the rest of Palestine’s ancient polities, traditions and stories from the southern Levant (cf. Whitelam 2013a, 2013b). 149

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In recent years, Thompson and Lemche, and most recently Whitelam, have proposed the first examples of the sort of history of Palestine/southern Levant that is desirable, free of the constraints of the biblical image of the past for this region (Thompson 1992a: 301–51; Lemche 2008: 393–453; Whitelam 2013a). This history, especially in the case of Whitelam, is greatly influenced by the work of the French historian Fernand Braudel and his notion of la longue durée, that is, the long-term in historical processes (see also the methodology in Marfoe 1979; Coote and Whitelam 1987: 27–116; Thompson 1992b; Bunimovitz 1994; Finkelstein 1994). This kind of history does not attend primarily to particular events or kings, heroes and individuals, but rather to deep structures and processes within a long period of time: ecological, economic, political, religious, social, etc. Building on these scholars’ work, I will sketch now a personal view on the prospects for a new kind of history of ancient Palestine.

A plea for a critical research program The previous general considerations and arguments, along with all the references presented above, affect directly the task of writing a critical history of ancient Palestine, from the end of the Late Bronze Age (ca. 1200 bce) to the Roman occupation of the southern Levant (i.e., to the Bar Kochba revolt in 132–135 ce) and the relation that biblical literature has with it. Of course, this periodization is arbitrary, and one should have a greater historical framework in mind, from the rise of the urban culture in the late fourth millennium bce to more recent times (see a preliminary example in Knauf 1987). If I can sketch these implications in a number of programmatic points, summarizing the questions already discussed in this paper, I would start first by stating that biblical literary chronology cannot guide archaeological and historical research. This is a key factor for proposing a critical history of the southern Levant or Palestine in its ancient Near Eastern realm, because it deals essentially with the proper distinction between primary and secondary sources. The Hebrew Bible/Old Testament is undoubtedly a secondary source for such a historical inquiry, not least in the arrangement of the knowledge transmitted in it. Mario Liverani (2010: 87) has recently observed in this respect that The biblical chronology is not only completely fantastic for the periods of the patriarchs, conquest and Judges (for the obvious reason that such periods did not exist), it is also of an artificial and fairy-tale character for the United Monarchy, and indeed for the earliest phases of the divided kingdoms, when archival data did not exist or were not handed down.3 As already argued above, primary sources are the starting point of a critical historical methodology; in our case, the data provided by the archaeology and epigraphy of Palestine. Only then, secondary sources are to be integrated in a historical reconstruction, even more if they can provide further knowledge. However, their 150

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use is at least problematic if the information they provide cannot be confirmed by a primary source and we still use them as our main source for historical reconstruction.4 But above all, the Old Testament represents a cultural artefact that must be understood in its historical, intellectual and social contexts in antiquity. Events from the history of the Iron Age in Palestine are at times evoked in the biblical narrative, but the secondary nature of this source forces us to ask, first, why the Bible evokes the past centuries after those events, and then, how the Bible evokes the past, if not historically. A second point, closely related to the first one, is that the correlation of events, places, etc., is only valid from the archaeological and historical records to biblical literature, not vice versa. The Bible is not confirmed by archaeology. Not because of methodological reasons—in fact, sometimes primary sources can confirm the historicity of events narrated in secondary sources—but due to the epistemological and ontological differences between the rationale of modern archaeological and historical discourses and the mythic character of biblical narrative. The finding of archaeologically and historically (extra-biblical) known names, places and events in the Bible tells us only that the biblical writer(s) used such data in order to transmit a certain message. Thus, recent efforts to propose corroborations of ancient Near Eastern and biblical data in order to support a certain degree of historicity in the Bible and so proving its importance as a leading historical source for the history of ancient Palestine (notably Dever 2001: 124–31; and Mykytiuk 2004; to some extent, also Grabbe 2007: 164–66, 212–15), still operate within the conceptual boundaries of “ancient Israel”, that modern historiographical creature identified by Philip R. Davies (1992) more than two decades ago. A third point is related to ethnogenesis and ancient identities. To perceive the history of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah and ancient Judaism as a rather homogeneous, continuous and self-conscious developing process of an ancient nation—that is, following almost to the letter the biblical accounts of events— betrays a rather modern, let us say, Hegelian view of History (with a capital “H”). Such a perspective of ancient socio-cultural processes belongs better within modern Jewish (in fact, Israeli), nationalist myths than among sounder treatments about the creation of national pasts and identities.5 The detection and acknowledgment of the various ancient identities in the making during the second half of the first-millennium bce in Palestine, attached to the formation of biblical narrative, seems to be then the more reasonable interpretation of these data (see Thompson 1998, 2013a, 2013b; Hjelm 2004; Davies 2011a; Nodet 2011), together with an investigation about the different historical referents the term “Israel” has: a tribal group in the thirteenth century bce, a polity in the Iron Age, a variety of ethnoreligious identities in the Graeco-Roman period (Pfoh 2014). As to ethnicity and archaeology, it is rather difficult to establish a clear connection between the ethnic identity of the people of Iron Age Palestine and the material culture unearthed by archaeology (see Anfinset 2003; Oestigaard 2007: 29–93). The fourth and final matter deals with questions of methodological and historical reflexivity, already sketched in this paper: deconstructing modern academic 151

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discourses that deal with the Bible allows for better understanding of the Bible’s place in Western culture and history, and paves the way for approaching critically the formation of the biblical stories—and then the canon—in a more “objective” manner and less confessionally biased (cf. the criticism in Whitelam 1996; Avalos 2007; Boer 2010). This is a difficult topic to address due not only to the religious implications and self-awareness it demands, but also to the politics of modern biblical scholarship—whether implicit or explicit, recognised or ignored, conservative or liberal, imperialist or libertarian (cf. Avalos 2007; Masalha 2013). In this sense, the recent approaches—although hardly new in humanistic and social sciences—on cultural and collective memory in biblical studies are indeed welcome and need to be further developed as they represent not only a sounder understanding on the nature of biblical stories, their evoking and their transmission, but also a critical reflexivity (cf. Pfoh 2010: 15–19) on Western biblical scholarship’s social contexts, ideological receptions, political locations and analytical methodologies (see, for instance, Davies 2008; and the essays collected in Carstens, Hasselbalch and Lemche 2012). In conclusion, critical treatments of the history of ancient Palestine, and of the nature of biblical literature, should address, at least in their methodology, the points mentioned, as we can no longer write histories without problematizing our sources, the modern conditions and contexts in which our historiography is produced, and its impact in wider social realms beyond the academy.

Notes 1 Notably, Dever (i.e., 1998, 2001: 23–52). Provan (1995, 2000) has also accused minimal�ist/revisionist scholars of scepticism and, together with Barr (2000: 82), of emphasizing ideology in their reconstructions of the past (see also the evaluation of postmodernism in biblical studies and the crisis in current biblical historiography in Barr 2000: 59–162; and Collins 2005: 1–51). Cf. the responses in Davies (1995), Thompson (1995) Lemche (2000, 2005) and Whitelam (2002, 2003). 2 For instance, Davies (1997) has contributed with an important article reflecting on history-writing—among many more—which implicitly acknowledges postmodernist criticism in historiography. Thompson’s The Bible in History (1999) discusses the biblical version of Israel’s past and then the modern historian’s version of Palestine past. A similar exposition is found in Liverani’s Israel’s History (2005), distinguishing between a “normal history” and an “invented history”. Are all these examples of historiographical sophistication postmodernist? It is doubtful. To my knowledge, only Whitelam’s latest scholarly output may be understood as postmodern in some aspects; at least, he is well versed in postmodern literature. All of this, however, hardly counts as nihilism, as Dever claims (1998: 46, 48, 50; 2001: 23). 3 However, even Liverani, in his recent history of Israel (2005), follows somewhat the biblical chronology. See also the review in Davies (2011b). 4 I would therefore disagree with the methodology and, also, the results proposed by Albertz (2010) and, in the same perspective, Na’aman (2011, 2013). 5 I refer to the studies of Zerubavel (1995) and Ben-Yehuda (1996). See also Kimmerling (2001: 16–55) and Sand (2009, 2012).

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References Abu el-Haj, N. 2001. Facts on the Ground: Archaeological Practice and Territorial SelfFashioning in Israeli Society. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Albertz, R. 2010. “Secondary Sources also Deserve to Be Historically Evaluated: The Case of the United Monarchy”. In The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe. LHB/OTS 530, D.V. Edelman & P.R. Davies (eds.). London: T & T Clark: 31–45. Anfinset, N. 2003. “A Passion for Cultural Difference: Archaeology and Ethnicity of the Southern Levant”. Norwegian Archaeological Review 36(1): 45–63. Avalos, H. 2007. The End of Biblical Studies. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books. Barr, J. 2000. History and Ideology in the Old Testament: Biblical Studies at the End of a Millennium. The Hensley Henson Lectures for 1997 Delivered to the University of Oxford. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ben-Yehuda, N. 1996. The Masada Myth: Collective Memory and Mythmaking in Israel. Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. Boer, R. (ed.). 2010. Secularism and the Bible. BibleWorld. London: Equinox. Bourdieu, P., J.-C. Chamboredon and J.-C. Passeron. 1968. Le métier de sociologue. Préalables épistemologiques. Paris: École Pratique des Hautes Études. Bright, J. 1960. A History of Israel. London: SCM Press. Bunimovitz, S. 1994. “Socio-Political Transformations in the Central Hill Country in the Late Bronze-Iron I Transition”. In From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel, I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.). Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society: 179–202. Carstens, P., T.B. Hasselbalch and N.P. Lemche (eds.). 2012. Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis, Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts 17. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. Collins, J.J. 2005. The Bible after Babel: Historical Criticism in a Postmodern Age. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Coote, R.B. and K.W. Whitelam. 1987. The Emergence of Early Israel in Historical Perspective, SWBA 5. Sheffield: The Almond Press. Davies, P.R. 1992. In Search of ‘Ancient Israel’, JSOTSup 148. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Davies, P.R. 1995. “Method and Madness: Some Remarks on Doing History with the Bible”. Journal of Biblical Literature 114(4): 699–705. Davies, P.R. 1997. “Whose History? Whose Israel? Whose Bible? Biblical Histories, Ancient and Modern”. In Can a ‘History of Israel’ Be Written?, JSOTSup 245 / ESHM 1, L.L. Grabbe (ed.). Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 104–22. Davies, P.R. 2008. Memories of Ancient Israel: An Introduction to Biblical History – Ancient and Modern. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Davies, P.R. 2011a. On the Origins of Judaism, BibleWorld. London: Equinox. Davies, P.R. 2011b. “Way Beyond the Bible: But Far Enough?”. In Enquire of the Former Age: Ancient Historiography and Writing the History of Israel, ESHM 9/LHBOTS 554, L.L. Grabbe (ed.). London: Bloomsbury T & T Clark: 186–93. Davis, T.W. 2004. Shifting Sands: The Rise and Fall of Biblical Archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dever, W.G. 1998. “Archaeology, Ideology, and the Quest for an ‘Ancient’ or ‘Biblical Israel’”. Near Eastern Archaeology 61(1): 39–52.

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Dever, W.G. 2001. What Did the Biblical Writers Know & When Did They Know It? What Archaeology Can Tell Us about the Reality of Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Finkelstein, I. 1994. “The Emergence of Israel: A Phase in the Cyclic History of Canaan in the Third and Second Millennia bce”. In From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel, I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.). Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society: 150–78. Finley, M.I. 1986. Ancient History: Evidence and Models. New York: Elizabeth Sifton Books. Febvre, L. 1965. Combats pour l’histoire. Paris: Armand Colin, 2nd edn. Glock, A. 1994. “Archaeology as Cultural Survival: The Future of the Palestinian Past”. Journal of Palestine Studies 23(3): 70–84. Grabbe, L.L. 2007. Ancient Israel: What Do We Know and How Do We Know It? London: T & T Clark. Grabbe, L.L. (ed.). 2001. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period, JSOTSup 317/ ESHM 3. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Hjelm, I. 2004. Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition, JSOTSup 404/CIS 14. London: T & T Clark. Hodder, I. and S. Hudson. 2003. Reading the Past: Current Approaches to Interpretation in Archaeology, 3rd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kimmerling, B. 2001. The Invention and Decline of Israeliness: State, Society, and the Military. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Knauf, E.A. 1987. “Berg und Tal, Stadt und Stamm – Grundzüge der Geschichte Palästinas in den letzen fünftausend Jahren”. In Pracht und Geheimnis: Kleidung und Schmuck aus Palästina und Jordanien, G. Völger, K. v. Welck and K. Hackstein (eds.). Köln: Rautenstrauch-Joest Museum: 26–35, 417–18. Knauf, E.A. 1991. “From History to Interpretation”. In The Fabric of History: Text, Artifact and Israel’s Past, JSOTSup 127, D.V. Edelman (ed.). Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 26–64. Larsen, M.T. 1995. “Orientalism and Near Eastern Archaeology”. In Domination and Resistance, One World Archaeology, D. Miller, M. Rowlands and Ch. Tilley (eds.). London: Routledge: 228–38. Lemche, N.P. 1994. “Hvad er det vi har lavet, og hvor går vi hen? Nogle personlige betragtninger omkring et paradigmeskift”. In Fra dybet: Festskrift til John Strange I anledning af 60 års fødselsdagen den 20. juli 1994, FBE 5, N.P. Lemche & Müller (eds.). Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Forlag: 130–43. Lemche, N.P. 1998a. The Israelites in History and Tradition, LAI. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Lemche, N.P. 1998b. “New Perspectives on the History of Israel”. In Perspectives in the Study of the Old Testament & Early Judaism: A Symposium in Honour of Adam S. van der Woude on the Occasion of His 70th Birthday, E. Noort and F. García Martínez (eds.). Leiden: E.J. Brill: 42–60. Lemche, N.P. 2000. “Ideology and the History of Ancient Israel”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 14(2): 165–93. Lemche, N.P. 2005. “Conservative Scholarship on the Move”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 19(2): 203–52. Lemche, N.P. 2008. The Old Testament between Theology and History: A Critical Survey, LAI. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press.

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Liverani, M. 1973. “Memorandum on the Approach to Historiographic Texts”. Orientalia NS 42: 178–94. Liverani, M. 1976. “La concezione dell’universo”. In L’alba della civiltà. Società, economia e pensiero nel Vicino Oriente antico, S. Moscati (ed.). Torino: UTET: III, 437–521. Liverani, M. 1999. “Nuovi sviluppi nello studio della storia dell’Israele bíblico”. Biblica 80(4): 488–505. Liverani, M. 2005. Israel’s History and the History of Israel, BibleWorld. London: Equinox. Liverani, M. 2010. “The Chronology of the Biblical Fairy-Tale”. In The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe, LHB/OTS 530, D.V. Edelman and P.R. Davies (eds). London: T & T Clark: 73–88. Marfoe, L. 1979. “The Integrative Transformation: Patterns of Socio-Political Organization in Southern Syria”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 234: 1–42. Masalha, N. 2013. The Zionist Bible: Biblical Precedent, Colonialism and the Erasure of Memory, BibleWorld. Durham: Acumen. Mazar, A. 2007. “The Spade and the Text: The Interaction between Archaeology and Israelite History Relating to the Tenth-Ninth Century bce”. In Understanding the History of Ancient Israel, Proceedings of the British Academy 143, H.G.M. Williamson (ed.). London: The British Academy: 143–71. Miller, J.M. 2006. “Israel’s Past: Our ‘Best Guess Scenario’”. In Israel’s Prophets and Israel’s Past: Essays on the Relationship of Prophetic Texts and Israelite History in Honor of John H. Hayes, B.E. Kelle and M. Bishop Moore (eds.). London: T & T Clark: 9–22. Miller, J.M. and J.H. Hayes. 1986. A History of Ancient Israel and Judah. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press. Miller, J.M. and J.H. Hayes. 2006. A History of Ancient Israel and Judah, 2nd edn. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Moore, M. Bishop. 2006. Philosophy and Practice in Writing a History of Ancient Israel, LHB/OTS 435. London: T & T Clark. Mykytiuk, L.J. 2004. Identifying Biblical Persons in Northwest Semitic Inscriptions of 1200–539 B.C.E., Academia Biblica 12. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Na’aman, N. 2011. “Does Archaeology really Deserve the Status of a ‘High Court’ in Biblical Historical Research?”. In Between Evidence and Ideology: Essays on the History of Ancient Israel read at the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap. Lincoln, July 2009. Oudtestamentische Studiën 59. B. Becking and L.L. Grabbe (eds.). Leiden: E.J. Brill: 165–83. Na’aman, N. 2013. “The Kingdom of Judah in the 9th Century bce: Text Analysis versus Archaeological Research”. Tel Aviv 40: 247–76. Niehr, H. 1997. “Some Aspects of Working with the Textual Sources”. In Can a ‘History of Israel’ Be Written?, JSOTSup 245/ ESHM 1, L.L. Grabbe (ed.). Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 156–65. Niemann, H.M. 2001. “Von Oberflächen, Schichten und Strukturen: Was leistet die Archäologie für die Erforschung der Geschichte Israels und Judas?”. In Steine— Bilder—Texte: Historische Evidenz ausßerbiblischer und biblischer Quellen, Ch. Hardmeier (ed.). Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt: 79–121.

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Nodet, E. 2011. “Israelites, Samaritans, Temples, Jews”. In Samaria, Samarians, Samaritans: Studies on Bible, History and Linguistics, Studia Judaica 66/Studia Samaritana 6, J. Zsengellér (ed.). Berlin: W. de Gruyter: 121–71. Noth, M. 1950. Geschichte Israels. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Oestigaard, T. 2007. Political Archaeology and Holy Nationalism: Archaeological Battles over the Bible and Land in Israel and Palestine from 1967–2000, Gotarc Series C, Nº 67. Gothenburg: Göteborg University. Oestigaard, T. 2013. “Israel and Palestine: A Critique of How to Create and Anchor a Nation-State Archaeologically”. In The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation-Building, The Social World of Biblical Antiquity, Second Series 8, E. Pfoh and K.W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press: 152–68. Ottosson, M. 1994. “Ideology, History and Archaeology in the Old Testament”. Scandi­ navian Journal of the Old Testament 8(2): 206–23. Pfoh, E. 2010. “Anthropology and Biblical Studies: A Critical Manifesto”. In Anthropology and the Bible: Critical Perspectives, Biblical Intersections 3, E. Pfoh (ed.). Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press: 15–35. Pfoh, E. 2013. “Some Reflections on the Politics of Ancient History, Archaeological Practice and Nation-Building in Israel/Palestine”. In The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation-Building, The Social World of Biblical Antiquity, Second Series 8, E. Pfoh and K.W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press: 1–17. Pfoh, E. 2014. “What Does «Israel» Refer To? Ethnogenesis, Socio-Political Organization and Identity”, paper read at the International Society of Biblical Literature/European Association of Biblical Studies Annual Meeting, Vienna, 6–10 July 2014. Pfoh, E. In press. “On Finding Myth and History in the Bible: Epistemological and Methodological Observations”. In Finding Myth and History in the Bible: Scholarship, Scholars and Errors, Ł. Niesiołowski-Spanò, Ch. Peri and J.E. West (eds.). Sheffield: Equinox. Prior, M. 1997. The Bible and Colonialism: A Moral Critique, The Biblical Seminar 47. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Provan, I.W. 1995. “Ideologies, Literary and Critical: Reflections on Recent History Writing on the History of Israel”. Journal of Biblical Literature 114(4): 585–606. Provan, I.W. 2000. “In the Stable with the Dwarves: Testimony, Interpretation, Faith and the History of Israel”. In IOSOT Congress Volume – Oslo 1998, VTSup 80, ed. by A. Lemaire and M. Sæbø. Leiden: E.J. Brill: 281–319. Ra’ad, B. 2010. Hidden Histories: Palestine and the Eastern Mediterranean. London: Pluto Press. Said, E.W. 1978. Orientalism. London: Penguin. Sand, S. 2009. The Invention of the Jewish People. London: Verso. Sand, S. 2012. The Invention of the Land of Israel: From Holy Land to Homeland. London: Verso. Schaper, J. 2006. “Auf der Suche nach dem alten Israel? Text, Artefakt und »Geschichte Israels« in der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft vor dem Hintergrund der Methodendiskussion in den Historischen Kulturwissenschaften, I-II”. Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 118: 1–18, 181–96. Schaper, J. 2011. “‘ . . . wie es eigentlich gewesen’: Historical ‘Facts’ and the Reconstruction of the History of ‘Ancient Israel’”. In On Stone and Scroll: Essays in

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Honour of Graham Iver Davies. BZAW 420. J.K. Aitken, K.J. Dell and B.A. Mastin (eds.). Berlin: W. de Gruyter: 153–67. Silberman, N.A. 1982. Digging for God and Country: Exploration, Archaeology, and the Secret Struggle for the Holy Land, 1799–1917. New York: A.A. Knopf. Skjeggestad, M. 1994. “Ideology, Archaeology, and History in the Old Testament”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 8(2): 228–35. Soggin, J.A. 1984. A History of Israel: From the Beginnings to the Bar Kochba Revolt, AD 135. London: SCM Press. Soggin, J.A. 2002. Storia d’Israele: Introduzione alla storia d’Israele e Giuda dalle origini alla rivolta di Bar Kochbà, Biblioteca di cultura religiosa 44, 2nd edn. Brescia: Paideia. Starzmann, M.T. 2013. “Occupying the Past: Colonial Rule and Archaeological Practice in Israel/Palestine”. Archaeologies: Journal of the World Archaeological Congress 9(3): 546–71. Thompson, T.L. 1992a. Early History of the Israelite Peoples: From the Written and Archaeological Sources, SHANE 4. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Thompson, T.L. 1992b. “Palestinian Pastoralism and Israel’s Origins”, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 6: 1–13. Thompson, T.L. 1995. “A Neo-Albrightean School in History and Biblical Scholarship?” Journal of Biblical Literature 114(4): 683–98. Thompson, T.L. 1998. “Etnicitet og Bibel: Flere ‘jødedomme’ og Det nye Israel”. In Etnicitet i Bibelen, FBE 9, N.P. Lemche and H. Tronier (eds.). Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanums Forlag: 23–42. Thompson, T.L. 1999. The Bible in History: How Writers Create a Past. London: Jonathan Cape. Thompson, T.L. 2007. “Mesha and Questions of Historicity”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 21(2): 241–60. Thompson, T.L. 2013a. “Your Mother Was a Hittite and Your Father an Amorite: Ethnicity, Judaism and Palestine’s Cultural Heritage”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 27(1): 76–95. Thompson, T.L. 2013b. “Changing Perspectives on the History of Palestine”. In Biblical Narrative and Palestine’s History: Changing Perspectives 2, CIS. Sheffield: Equinox: 305–41. Thompson, T.L. and P. Wajdenbaum (eds.). 2014. The Bible and Hellenism: Greek Influence on Jewish and Early Christian Literature, CIS. Durham: Acumen. Whitelam, K.W. 1996. The Invention of Ancient Israel: The Silencing of Palestinian History. London: Routledge. Whitelam, K.W. 2002. “Representing Minimalism: The Rhetoric and Reality of Revisionism”. In Sense and Sensitivity: Essays on Reading the Bible in Memory of Robert Carroll, JSOTSup 348, A.G. Hunter and P.R. Davies (eds.). Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 194–222. Whitelam, K.W. 2003. “Interested Parties: History and Ideology at the End of the Century”. In Reading from Right to Left: Essays on the Hebrew Bible in Honour of David J.A. Clines, JSOTSup 373, J.C. Exum and H.G.M. Williamson (eds.). London: T & T Clark: 402–22. Whitelam, K.W. 2013a. Rhythms of Time: Reconnecting Palestine’s Past. Sheffield: BenBlackBooks [e-book].

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Whitelam, K.W. 2013b. “Shaping the History of Palestine: Nationalism and Exclusivity”. In The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation-Building. The Social World of Biblical Antiquity, Second Series 8. E. Pfoh and K.W. Whitelam (eds). Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press: 183–211. Wyatt, N. 2005. The Mythic Mind: Essays on Cosmology and Religion in Ugaritic and Old Testament Literature. BibleWorld. London: Equinox. Zerubavel, Y. 1995. Recovered Roots: Collective Memory and the Making of Israeli National Tradition. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Zevit, Z. 2002. “Three Debates about Bible and Archaeology”. Biblica 83(1): 1–27.

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10 ETHNICITY AND A REGIONAL HISTORY OF PALESTINE Thomas L. Thompson

[A] fundamental premise: the authenticity of the Bible as a book, describing real events and people. The existence of an ethnic Israelite group is not only (understood as) a premise, but the most important research question . . .  (Oestigaard 2013, 159–160)

Terje Oestigaard’s observations describe both the point of departure and the goal of Israeli nationalist—as well as biblical—archaeology (see also Oestigaard 2003; 2007). They explain well the intensity of our archaeological and historical debates as well as the difficulties we face in constructing a historical narrative for Palestine, which might offer an alternative to the biblical story and live up to the promise of a history independent of mythic and ethnocentric biblical perspectives. This is a change in our historiography, which has been urged by Robert Coote and Keith Whitelam since 1986. Already in the 1970s, the failed identification of the EB IV/MB I period as the Bible’s patriarchal period also undermined the understanding of this period as nomadic and Amorite and, for the first time, this segment of the history of third and second millennium was no longer a pre-history of Israel (Thompson 1974: 315–324). Understanding the Bronze Age requires rather a historical narrative about Palestine (Thompson 1979; 1992: 90–91). That we, however, still offer biblically oriented, ethnocentric interpretations of historical and archaeological data, once we leave the Early Bronze Age, is most marked in interpretations of Iron I settlement patterns in the central highlands; for the central highland region invites assertions of ‘convergence’ of historical data with the Bible’s default story of a ‘land of Israel.’ Moreover, such biblically inspired ‘convergences’ with settlement patterns (Zertal 1986; Finkelstein 1996; further 159

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Dever 2001: 97–157), for the sake of ‘a potential history of Israel,’ unduly influence our understanding of other regions. The chain of absurdities spawned by calling the Bronze Age ‘Canaanite’ and the Iron Age ‘Israelite’ launches the history of the Iron Age from a single highland region’s surface remains (see Kochavi 1972; Zertal 1986; Finkelstein 1988). Moreover, such surveys typically are neglected in favor of the biblical story after Samaria and Jerusalem are destroyed (see, however, Becking 1992; Hjelm 2004: 37–41; Lipschits 2003; 2006; Lipschits and Tal 2007; Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2007). By identifying Iron Age Palestine with biblical Israel, nationalist archaeology’s origin story not only separates this period from the Bronze Age, but also separates Palestine’s Iron Age from the surrounding regions. By closing this Israelite Iron Age with the deportations of 722 and 586 bce, it effectively isolates Israel from the ‘strangers in the land’—implying a ‘convergence’ in this new biblical archaeology, which far exceeds the misinterpreted xenophobia of Ezra’s legend (Thompson 2003; see also Whitelam 2013: 184–185). Ideologically dubious theories of Israelite ethnicity and ethno-genesis are unproductive in regional histories of ancient Palestine (contra Faust 2006). I would argue that such complex associations as are involved in ethnic, religious, and political identities and boundaries are, in the longue durée, so subject to change that no critical historian can assume their existence at any given period without warrant. I think we could well resist such shadows of racism if our history of Palestine were more sensitive to regional evidence and contexts, and more engaged in interregional comparisons with the considerable variety of settlement histories, which mark Palestine’s regions not only in the Iron Age, but throughout antiquity. We might thereby further that humanist project, so necessary for peace in this region, of writing a history of Palestine for all Palestinians, as Ilan Pappe has proposed (Pappe 2006: xix–xx). A regional orientation of archaeological research first was institutionalized in the registry of antiquity sites under the British mandate. This orientation has been intensified since 1964 by the archaeological survey of Israel. Historical interpretation of regional settlement patterns also owes great debts to earlier surveys from the Palestine Exploration Fund’s (PEF) Survey of Western Palestine of 1874–1877 to the comprehensive regional historical and geographical maps and monographs of the Tübinger Atlas in the 1970s. The PEF’s survey was particularly productive in the identification of ancient sites through attention to the rich heritage of Arabic toponyms. Biblical archaeologists, searching for Abraham’s roots among the Amorites, hoping to visit Solomon’s mines north of ‘Aqaba or find traces of the Exodus story and its route through the Sinai, have long given way to comprehensive regional exploration through field surveys of the Jordan Valley, the Negev, the Sinai, the Transjordan, the Galilee and the Lebanese Biqa’ (Albright 1926; Glueck 1934–1939; 1953; Aharoni 1957; 1958; Aharoni et al. 1960; Rothenberg 1967; 1972; Mittmann 1970; Kuschke, Mittmann and Müller 1972; Oren 1973; Miller 1979). Two ‘emergency’ surveys: undertaken by Moshe Kochavi on the West Bank in 1968 (Kochavi 1972; Thompson 1979) and Rudolph Cohen from 1978–1988 on the northwestern slopes of the central Negev highlands (Thompson 1975; Dever 160

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and Cohen 1978; 1979; 1981; Dever 1983; Cohen and Cohen-Amin 1999; 2004) clearly demonstrated the value of regional surveys for historical construction. They also awakened archaeological ambitions for extending such surveys to the whole of Palestine through the Survey of Israel. Today, some thirty-five to forty maps are completed and some fifty are in progress (bibliography in Bolen and Riddle 2013). Regionally distinctive histories structure the interpretation of change and development of an area’s ancient past since Palestine’s Mediterranean Economy was first established in the late Chalcolithic and the beginning of the Early Bronze period (Miroschedji 1971; Thompson 1979). A Mediterranean economy is not well described as a subsistence economy (contra Hopkins 1985: 273–275; see Thompson 1992a: 146–149; 2013: 93–103). It is rather marked by ‘cash crops’ and structured by regional markets and international trade. Typically, Palestine’s Mediterranean economy was supported by the production of three distinctive types of cash crops. These varied considerably from region to region: animal husbandry, horticulture and grain agriculture. Sheep and goat herding, supplying meat, cheese, skins and wool, was deeply integrated with agriculture throughout the most fertile and well-watered regions of the Palestinian heartland, with shepherds from the village grazing their flocks over areas of the internal steppe and uncultivated areas of the highlands, shifting seasonally to grazing in and fertilizing the village fields, following the harvest. In larger grazing regions near the open steppe and desert regions of the south, such as the Northern Negev, southern Jordan Valley and Judean watershed, however, herding supported groups of less sedentary, steppe dwellers, who seasonally migrated from the steppe to the central highlands in transhumance patterns (Thompson 1975; 1992a). Pigs were limited to well-watered areas of the lowlands and were a source of meat in the coastal areas. Beef cattle, on the other hand, had a greater spread and were to be found throughout most of the agricultural heartland. The production of chickens, pigeons and eggs seems to have functioned—along with the vegetables and fruits of kitchen gardens—within a context of family subsistence. Horticulture was oriented towards delivering olive oil and wine to the great interregional trade routes. It also included the production of a large variety of fruits and nuts (especially figs, dates, grapes, pomegranates, pistachios and almonds). Orchards dominated the gentler slopes of the foothills and were the economic basis of most settlements along the steep western slopes of the central and southern highlands, where the construction of terrace systems was essential to agriculture. Grains (especially wheat, barley and millet) seem to dominate the plains and lowlands, wherever rainfall rises above 250–300 mm annually. Fishing in the Mediterranean and Sea of Galilee, and hunting in the highlands and the steppe, are obviously regionally dependent, specialized trades. Palestine’s synergism of the Mediterranean economy created close ties between regions with considerably varied climates. Shepherds and hunters of the southern steppe and desert formed symbiotic relationships of dependency with the villages in oases such as Jericho, but also with the steppe-adjacent villages of the central highlands and valleys. Historically, Palestine has been subject to considerable fluctuations in longterm rainfall and aridity, which had a deep impact on sedentarization. The 161

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sub-pluvial weather patterns in the Early Bronze II period spread prosperous settlements throughout the highlands, wherever fertile lands and adequate spring water was available (Thompson 1979: 64). Moreover, the border of aridity shifted southwards, as the increased rainfall supported widespread highland settlement. The prolonged droughts of the EB IV/MB I and Late Bronze periods, however, conversely, moved the border of aridity northwards, driving a process of desedentarization throughout the highlands (Thompson 1979; 1992a; Finkelstein 1996). Settlement patterns in Palestine were also deeply dependent on the location and development of springs, wells and cisterns, the control of erosion and the construction of terraces, systems of irrigation and draining, all of which factors offer considerable explanatory potential for developing regional histories. As historians since the 1960s have often pointed out (Buccellati 1967; Liverani 1990: 187–202; Lemche 1995; Pfoh 2009: 124–137; Pfoh forthcoming), the Mediterranean economy’s political system was centered in the patronage of local markets and trade, controlled by a limited number of small, historically stable and regionally dominant towns, whose prosperity reflected the fertility and accessibility of the local regions they controlled. The ‘Execration Texts’ (1810–1770 bce: Thompson 1974: 106–113), list just such towns with their ‘princes.’ Alongside the larger Syrian towns, such as Byblos, Tyre, and Damascus, the stability of Palestine’s indigenous population was born by systems of patronage, such as Acre, Hazor, Beth Shan, Shechem, Jerusalem, Lachish, Eglon, and Ashkelon: all of which played controlling roles in their regions throughout the Bronze and Iron Ages. The Middle Bronze, Egyptian-influenced cultures of Byblos and Tyre, for instance, dominated the coast as far south as Acre, Tall Keisan, and Tantura. Other centers of early Egyptian influence were Gaza, Megiddo (controlling the Via Maris’s passage through the Jezreel) and the regionally dominant towns of Beth Shan, Shechem, Gezer, and Jericho. Following Thutmosis III’s campaign of 1479 bce, Gaza, Gezer, Megiddo and Beth Shan solidly anchored Egyptian influence in the region for the following four centuries. The largest Middle Bronze city in Palestine: Hazor in the eastern Galilee, which has been compared to the great Syrian city of Kadesh, lay on the trade routes to Syria and North Mesopotamia and established particularly close political ties with Mari. Egyptian influence in Palestine strengthened and reinforced the indigenous political dominance of such centers. The Amarna letters reflect a Palestine organized around a distribution system—with or without ‘palaces’ (Tebes 2011)—anchored in such patronates as Hazor, Acre, Megiddo, Beth Shan, Pella, Shechem, Gezer, Jerusalem, Lachish, Ashkelon, and Gaza. The interrelationship of their histories—far more than Egyptian imperial controls—should guide our historical understanding. The peoples (and politics) of Palestine are ancient (Ra’ad 2010: 196) and have a continuous history in the land since the Neolithic period. Indeed, Palestine’s many regions have their own distinctive histories. Palestine never belonged to a single ethnic group, nor did it ever have a single language. As a land, Palestine informs Abraham’s role in the story; for it is a homeland of many peoples. In the Iron Age, distinctive sub-regions developed their own language or dialect variety 162

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of the Bronze Age’s Early West Semitic. Dialects of Aramaic were used in the Northern Transjordan, the Eastern Galilee, and possibly the Jezreel. Varieties of Phoenician were used on the northern coast and in Lebanon. Philistine was spoken with sub-dialects such as in Asdud and ‘Aqrun on the southern coast, while Samaritan-Israelite was used in the central highlands. Ammonite and Mo’abite in central Transjordan; Judean and Edomite in southern Transjordan, the southern highlands, and the northern Nagab, while Old South Arabic was found in the Araba and the Sinai (Thompson 2013c: 210–211). This brief epitome of ancient Palestine’s linguistic complexity reiterates an introduction I have published in Holy Land Studies, proposing a teacher’s handbook on Palestine’s history and heritage, which I am helping to prepare for students in schools under the administration of the Palestine Authority. It addresses some tangible historical questions related to ethnicity and ethno-genesis and makes an argument for a regional approach, which embraces the complex make-up of this ancient land’s population. In what follows, I offer five brief examples to illustrate the explanatory value of such an approach to Palestine’s history.

Aram and the eastern Galilee Assyrian imperial interests engaged Palestine directly in an attack against Damascus in 853 bce. Among that city’s successful defenders were the regional patronates of Bit Ammani and Bit Humri on Aram’s southern and southwestern borders. By 806 bce, Aram had come to accept the patronage of Adad-Nirari III: leading to a Syrian domination of the region, which was enforced in 796 bce by another attack on Damascus. Fragments from what the excavators have identified as a royal victory stele were found in the course of excavations in Dan (Biran and Naveh 1993; 1995; however, also Lemche 1995; Athas 2003). One fragment contains a reference to a ‘king of Israel’ and, in the following line, a reference to what seems to be the toponym: bytdwd (compare: Beyt Bamoth, Beyt Medeba, Beyt Diblathaim and Beyt Ba’al Me’on on the near-contemporary Mesha stele). Biran and Naveh, on the other hand, have understood such a name to refer to a dynastic kingdom, such as Bit Humri (Israel) or Bit Ammani (Ammon) of Assyrian inscriptions. This most interesting debate aside, I find it interesting that the inscription is Aramaic. Do we know whether the eastern Galilee and northern Transjordan were or were not Aramean in patronage and culture? Does the inscription’s language reflect a foreign Aramaic presence or the indigenous people? Dan’s Iron I pottery and evidence from the regional surveys do reflect a Syrian-related economy and culture, quite distinct from the economy and material culture we find in the central highlands. In 773 bce, Aram’s tribute to Shalmaneser V seems to confirm that Damascus remained under Assyrian patronage—indeed, well into the second half of the eighth century, as, in 738 bce, they paid tribute to Tiglath-pileser. In 732, the Assyrians destroyed Damascus and annexed Aram, destroying, in the process, the Transjordan to the border of Bit Ammani. The Galilee and the Jezreel were 163

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also plundered and some of the elite from Beth Shan, Rehov, Kadesh, Dan, Tall al-‘Oreimah, Hazor, Jezre’el, Tall Ta’annek and Megiddo were deported. Without evoking any assumption of ethnic identity, one does seem to have cause to consider these regions to belong to, not an Eretz Israel, but rather a ‘Land of Aram’; that is, the land under Aramean patronage.

The Assyrian province of Megiddo Following the annexation of Aram, the Assyrians established the province of Megiddo, integrating under a single administration the Eastern and Lower Galilee, the Jezreel, Beth Shan, and northern Jordan valleys: the last two of which are arguably the most populous regions of ancient Palestine. With Megiddo fortified, the Assyrians controlled the Via Maris and could assert their patronage over the towns of the coastal plain, strengthening and furthering their longstanding strategy to integrate Arab overland trade with Assyria’s already active mining interests in the south of Palestine, particularly the Negev and southern Jordan Rift. The Assyrian’s key to Palestine lay in Megiddo, and its possession brought the empire to the southern rim of the Jezreel. Assyria’s strategy reiterates central aspects of Egyptian strategies of the Bronze Age. Controlling the Via Maris through Megiddo and Beth Shan was a necessary key to all of Palestine’s patronage. Assyrian consolidation of its power in the Jezreel did not change the political structures of Palestine in any significant way, but strengthened the indigenous patterns of the regions politics and economy, whose foundations lay on the millennia-long functions of Palestine’s local and regional patronages. The continuity of indigenous Bronze Age settlement patterns around regional market towns continued well into the Iron II period and determined historical development far more than any role that the Bible’s ‘new Israel’ of the central highlands could have.

Phoenicians and Philistines on the coastal plain Iron I occupation of the western region of the Upper Galilee and the Carmel has been found at a small number of sites, spread over a very large region, covered by a considerably forested wilderness throughout the Bronze Age. In material culture, the archaeological remains found at these settlements have little in common with the finds of the settlements in the Central Highlands or the foothills. Pottery and tools rather reflect cultural dependence on the port cities of the Phoenician coast. However, the coastal towns of northern Palestine, like Tall Sukas, Acre, Tall Keisan and Tantura, which were linked as clients to Byblos, Tyre and Sidon and had both their political and economic orientation in trade and fishing, seem apparently to have been unrelated to the scattered settlements of the highlands. In 740 bce, already some eight years before the fall of Damascus, Tiglath-pileser conquered the coastal region and subordinated his new province of Tantura under Tyre’s patronage, creating a cultural and political border, separating the various 164

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patronages in the southern coastal plain from the Tyrian dominated north, which formed the culturally coherent region of ‘Phoenicia.’ For more than a century, Tantura could be used as a fulcrum (Stern 2001: 12) to exert Assyrian influence on the South, much in the manner Egypt had supported the integration of the Anatolian and Aegean immigrants with the indigenous populations of the towns of the southern coast during the Late Bronze/Iron I transition period. Although these ‘sea peoples’ had borne for some time identifying gentilics, such as Tjekker, Denyen, Shardana, Meshwesh, Lukka and Peleset and had lived in coastal towns as far north as Acre, their integration with the indigenous population resulted in the geographically, but hardly ethnically, distinctive region of Philistia, which was tightly linked to the international trade routes. These followed the Via Maris, on the one hand, through the Jezreel and in the direction of northern Mesopotamia and, on the other hand, continued along the coast to the Phoenician seaports of northern Palestine and southern Lebanon. Under Assyrian patronage, Palestine’s expansive trading politic not only dominated the coastal economy, but, over the course of the Iron II period, created an integrated South. Arab trade supported the processing of grains, cattle and fruits from the Northern Negev and coastal plain with the sheep and wool, olives and wine from the Judean foothills and highlands. Among the southern coast’s most important towns were Jaffa, ’Aphek, Ekron, Ashdod, Gimti (Tall as-Safi), Ashkelon and Gaza. In 712 bce, Sargon II annexed the region of Pilishte (Philistia) and brought it under direct Assyrian control.

From Samaria to Sebaste One needs to avoid exaggerating the ‘new beginnings’ of the Early Iron Age settlement in the central highlands, as if they mark Palestine of the Iron Age as significantly other than that of the Bronze Age. Both this marked return to sedentary agriculture and the earlier, extraordinary de-sedentarization that had marked the highland regions of the Late Bronze Age (Kochavi 1972; Thompson 1979; 1980; 1980a) had followed a recurrent cycle of sedentarization and desedentarization in Palestine. This cycle responds to the rainfall patterns in the central highlands, which are particularly vulnerable to drought. Such change followed an economic strategy that was even more apparent in the southern highlands (Thompson 1992a). There is, in fact, a clear continuity of pottery and material culture between the limited Late Bronze population of the central highlands and its transforming expansion during Iron I. The rapid spread of settlement reflects a rapid renewal of Middle Bronze settlement patterns rather than something entirely new. Moreover, the political and economic continuity between such Late Bronze sites as at Tall Seilun and Schechem and the north-central area’s Iron I settlements is indisputable, as is the LB/ Iron I continuity at the site of al-Burnat on the slopes of Ebal (Thompson 1992: 225–226). That such cultural continuity is found in the best watered and most fertile valleys should raise considerable doubt about Finkelstein’s revision and Zertal’s original understanding of the earliest settlements in the regions which they identify with biblical Ephraim 165

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and Manasseh (Zertal 1986; Finkelstein 1988: 89–91; Thompson 1992: 221–239). Finkelstein’s revision offers a scenario beginning in pastoralism and closely reiterates Albrecht Alt’s biblical archaeological thesis, rooted in the Book of Judges (Alt 1924; 1925)! Finkelstein identifies three, chronologically successive regions as reflecting a progressive settlement of the central highlands and spreads, chronologically, from the arid East to the intermountain valleys and plateaus along the watershed and, subsequently to the steep, western slopes, which descend to the foothills (Finkelstein 1988: 185–197; 1989). The east to west progression of settlement—from the eastern steppe to the slopes of the western highlands—is essential to his origin theory that pastoralists had their roots in the region already since MB II C, a half-millennium earlier (see also Thompson 1992a). It should be noticed that Finkelstein’s chronology marks the sedentarization of three radically distinct ecological regions, each of which supports distinct sectors of the highland’s Mediterranean economy. The settlements on the eastern steppe supported herding, while the well-watered settlements in the fertile plateaus and valleys supported hamlets and villages, dependent on grain and field agriculture. The third and latest area of settlement, along the steep, rugged western slopes, is an area where agriculture is necessarily dependent on the construction of terraces and produced fruits, olives and vines. The settlement of this region holds implicit an investment over decades. Finkelstein’s tripartite settlement, borrowed from Zertal, hardly gives evidence of a biblical, patriarch-evoking, origin story for Israel (cf. Noth 1930). Far more simply, it reflects the necessary progression of a Mediterranean economy in the highlands region and not an origin in pastoral groups with roots in the region from the Middle Bronze Age. In considering the possible expansion during Iron II of the pyramidal, patronage structure of Bit Humri/Israel, limitations of evidence make it difficult to stretch this polity’s borders beyond the central hills, though I have little doubt that the historical Ahab did try. The Moab stone’s story of Mesha’s role as savior of Moab is a mythic representation of the figure of the ‘good king,’ common to many royal inscriptions (Thompson 2007; 2007a). Mesha is divinely chosen to free the Moabites from Israel’s oppression and inaugurate a utopian rule of transcendent peace and prosperity. Reflective as the story is of conflict and competition between two neighboring patronates, the story reflects the independence of these regions and their competition, but is not, in itself, sufficient to argue for a lengthy period of Israel’s occupation of Moab or to mark the conflict as national or ethnic. The narrative on the Mesha stele affirms the patronage of Mesha, not its national character. It is a trope which belongs to the narrative’s stereotypical theme of past suffering, before Mesha was called by Chemosh to free the land (that is to subject it under Chemosh’s divine patronage. Moreover, generally speaking, the concept of a subordinating patronage is far more useful than one of expansive national or regional kingship for understanding the interrelationships between variously distinctive regions (Pfoh 2009; Pfoh forthcoming). Samaria was besieged by Shalmanezer and fell to Sargon in 720 bce. Many of its elite were deported and some Arab groups—conceivably Midianite—were 166

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transferred into the area. The small villages of the highlands governed by the former patronage kingdom escaped widespread damage and both pottery and material culture remained intact. Although Beitin, Schechem, Tell al-Farah (N) and Gezer show destruction levels, the indigenous population continued their lives uninterrupted throughout the region. Samaria, rebuilt and renamed Samerina, became a provincial center under an Assyrian governor and maintained the stability of the indigenous population (Hjelm this volume). Recent excavations on Mount Gerizim by Yitzhak Magen, uncovering a Samaritan temple from the fifth century (Magen 2008), have transformed our understanding of this region for the Persian and early Hellenistic periods. Some 400 Hebrew and Aramaic inscriptions from the Hellenistic period were found and about 100 Greek inscriptions from the Byzantine period. In the early Hellenistic period, a large city of some 400 dunams supported a population estimated at some 10.000. This city on Gerizim may well reflect religious dominance over the culture, centered in the temple on Gerizim—perhaps in response to the Hellenistic exclusion of Samaritans from Samaria, as Josephus asserted.

Judah and Edom My final example is the large, ecologically fragile area bordering on the southern steppe, with the arid Judean desert, Dead Sea and Araba at its center: the understanding of which a historicized Bible so thoroughly muddles. Generally speaking, sedentarization of this region in both the Late Bronze and the Early Iron I periods is quite thin, apart from limited areas of the coast and the Shephelah. Settlement is nearly absent in the highlands, steppe and desert regions. Early Iron I settlement of the Northern Negev, for example, as we find on Tall Mshash, offers considerable opportunity to study the dimorphic interaction of shepherds with market towns on the fringe of the agricultural zones. The southern foothills, in contrast, reflect cultural and sedentary continuity with the Amarna patronate of Lachish. Settlement in the highlands, however, on both sides of the Jordan rift, hardly develops before Assyrian interests and overland trade increase the demand for olives and wine. By the mid-740s bce, a patronate of Judah was established in Jerusalem and had come under Assyrian patronage along with Edom, Gaza, Ashkelon and other sites across southern Palestine—apparently reflecting an Assyrian effort to control the Arab trade routes. Jerusalem’s new role as ‘the city of Judáa’ was as a distribution center—rooted in its traditional identity as a holy city (Thompson 2013a), perhaps functioning in the manner of what Juan Tebes has called a ‘palace redistribution economy’ (Tebes 2011: 308). While early settlement in Edom—apparently copper mining camps—appears already in the ninth century, settlement expanded sharply in the middle of the 740s, when Bozra, ‘the city of ’Adumi’ also organized its economy around trade and mining and, consequently, fell under Assyrian patronage. Jerusalem’s function as ‘city of Judah’ was seriously undermined by Sennacherib’s punitive campaign against Lachish in 701 bce. This campaign not only destroyed Lachish, but also 167

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redistributed Jerusalem’s patronage over the region’s villages to the benefit of such towns along the coast as Gaza, Ekron, and Ashdod. Having devastated a considerable part of the foothills and highlands and deporting much of its population, Sennacherib erased Jerusalem’s hinterland and reduced Hezekiah to a figure of Sennacherib’s mockery, a ‘bird in a cage’ (Grabbe 2003; Hjelm 2004). Judah hardly recovered until Lachish itself was rebuilt in the mid-seventh century bce. Finkelstein’s efforts to explain the relatively rapid expansion of Jerusalem onto the western hill by reviving Alt’s assumption that a flood of refugees from Samaria found refuge in Jerusalem has no historical warrant. This scenario is rooted in the supersessionist, biblical understanding of Israel as destroyed and exiled. It presents a possible, but unnecessarily early date (the final quarter of the eighth century) for this expansion to suggest a ‘convergence’ of Bible and archaeology, without considering other possibilities. At the end of the eighth century, Sennacherib created countless refugees in the foothills and highlands of Judah. Moreover, Jerusalem’s expansion was neither as unique or as isolated an event as Finkelstein allows. Jerusalem’s expansion over an area of some 60 hectares (Tebes 2011: 308), might as well be related to the growth of new settlements in new areas of the highlands of Samerina, during the reigns of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, when increased production of olives, grain, wool, and meat supplied the Arab trade network and fed the great Assyrian cities. Such economic expansion also included further sedentarization in Judea and Edom, and also brought recovery and a return to prosperity of the Judean highlands and the Shephelah in the process. Agricultural expansion in the South involved rebuilding Lachish and the systematic sedentarization of nomadic groups, supported by the construction of small fortresses across the northern steppe. From the mid-seventh century, Edom, Southern Judah, and the southern foothills began to develop a socio-economic continuum, which involved a considerable integration of their populations. We see this reflected in the common pottery of sites such as Aro’er and Tall Malhata. Edom and Judah not only shared common historical roots, but had similar political functions, interrelated economies, fluid borders, common language and closely related religious traditions (Thompson 2011). In the late seventh century, a marked reduction of the population density of Jerusalem has been noted, along with a significant diminishment of its wealth (Tebes 2011: 315). When the Babylonian Nebuchadnezzar laid siege to ‘the city of Judah’ in 597 bce, he appointed a new ruler and took heavy booty. Within a decade, the city and nearly all of Judah, south of Jerusalem, were destroyed and many of the survivors deported. The distributive and administrative functions of Jerusalem hardly survived and the region around Jerusalem perhaps was under the control of the rebuilt Ramat Rachel (Lipschits 2003: 326–334). Destruction extended as far as the mining centers at Tall al-Khuleifah and the Feinan, which remained unexploited (Lipschits 2003: 334–338). The Arab trade network was also greatly reduced. As Edom was a Babylonian client state, it likely supported their patron against Jerusalem—at least in the South, near Arad and in the southern foothills where Bozrah had its own interests. Following the destruction of Bozrah by Nabonidus 168

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in 553 bce, settlement in the southern Transjordan was generally abandoned. The Iron Age’s cultural continuum across the south shifted its center of gravity westwards to Lachish, holding together the Northern Negev, the southern foothills and the whole of the coastal plain to Ashdod in the new, Persian, province of Idumea. With Jerusalem in ruins and Judah reorganized and renamed, Yehud’s self-identity turned on the strength of Jerusalem’s indigenous heritage as a holy city.

Concluding remarks regarding a ‘convergence’ of historical Judah with biblical Israel Finkelstein’s unsuccessful effort to explain the biblical traditions about Judah’s identity with Israel: a problem, which is much discussed, not least in connection with Philip Davies’ theory, identifying continuity between the Iron Age and biblical traditions, within the context of a so-called ‘Benjaminite’ Mizpah and Bethel in the Neo-Babylonian period. Davies sees a formerly Israelite Bethel (assuming that it is to be identified with Beitin), as a ‘Judean’ cult center in the Neo-Babylonian period. In spite of this theory’s confusing identification of an Iron Age historically and geographically definable Judah with Benjamin of biblical geography, Davies offers a strikingly attractive, if not entirely clear and falsifiable, theory (Davies 1998: 83–88; esp. 2007; 2008; Sawah 2013; cf. Thompson 2013a; 2013b and personal communication with P. R. Davies). I, nevertheless, do recognize a considerable web of cultic association between Judah and Bit Humri, which I also see as a possible key to early Judaism’s identity with Israel. From eighth century Quntillat Ajrud, we learn of a cult center of Yahweh in Samaria, which might conceivably be identifiable with Bethel. The inscription’s ‘Yahweh of Samaria’ was, moreover, identified with Yahweh of Teman, a region, which was part of the greater Judean-Edomite region (Thompson 2011). Given Bethel’s identity with Beitin, the site was destroyed in the fifth century. At approximately the same time, the Samaritan temple on Garizim was first built (Knauf 2006; Magen 2012), allowing the possibility that Samerina’s cult had moved from Bethel to Garizim. Unlike the supersessionist closure of 2 Chronicles—possibly written after Samaria had been closed to the Samaritans and they had built their great city on Gerizim—the author of Ezra offers a caricature of a xenophobic Jerusalem (Thompson 2003) and opens his story of the building of Jerusalem’s temple with Cyrus’s decree that a temple of Yahweh be built: a Yahweh which was ‘Israel’s god’, who was henceforth to be identified also with Jerusalem’s temple (2 Chron 36:23; Ezra 1:3)!

References Aharoni, Y. 1957. The Settlement of the Israelite Tribes in Upper Galilee. Hebrew University dissertation. Aharoni, Y. 1958. ‘The Negev of Judah’. Israel Exploration Journal: 26–38. Aharoni, Y. et al. 1960. ‘The Ancient Desert Agriculture of the Negev: An Israelite Agricultural Settlement at Ramat Matred’. Israel Exploration Journal 10: 23–36, 97–111.

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Albright, W. F. 1926. ‘The Jordan Valley in the Bronze Age’. Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 6: 13–74. Alt, A. 1924. ‘Ein Reich von Lydda’. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina Vereins 47: 169–185. _______. 1925. Die Landnahme der Israeliten in Palästina: Reformationsprogramm der Universität Leipzig. Leipzig: Universitätsverlag. Athas, G. 2003. The Tel Dan Inscription: A Reappraisal and a New Interpretation, Copenhagen International Seminar 12. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Becking, B. 1992. The Fall of Samaria: An Historical and Archaeological Study, Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East 2. Leiden: Brill. Biran, A. and J. Naveh. 1993. ‘An Aramaic Stele Fragment from Tel Dan’. Israel Exploration Journal 43: 81–98. _______. 1995. ‘The Tel Dan Inscription: A New Fragment’. Israel Exploration Journal 45: 1–18. Bolen, T. and A.D. Riddle 2013. ‘Preliminary List of Archaeological Surveys of Israel and Jordan’, www.bibleplaces.com/download/archaeological%20Surveys%20Bibliography. pdf (accessed February, 2014). Buccelatti, G. 1967. Cities and Nations of Ancient Syria: An Essay on Political Institutions with Special Reference to the Israelite Kingdoms, Studi Semitici. Rome: Istituto di Studi Del Vicinio Oriente. Cohen, R. and R. Cohen-Amin 1999. Ancient Settlement of the Central Negev, Vol. 1: The Chalcolithic Period, The Early Bronze Age and the Middle Bronze Age I Israel Antiquities Authority Report 6. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. _______. 2004. Ancient Settlement of the Negev Highlands, Vol. 2: The Iron Age and the Persian Period, Israel Antiquities Authority Report 20. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Coote, R. and K. W. Whitelam 1986. The Emergence of Early Israel in Historical Pers­ pectives, Social World of the Bible and Society 5. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Davies, P. R. 1998. Scribes and Schools: The Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures, Library of Ancient Israel. London: Westminster John Knox. _______. 2007. The Origins of Biblical Israel. London: T&T Clark. _______. 2008. Memories of Ancient Israel: An Introduction to Biblical History—Ancient and Modern. London: Westminster John Knox. Dever, W. 1983. ‘Be’er Resisim: A Late Third Millennium bce Settlement’. Qadmoniot 16: 52–57. _______. 2001. What Did the Biblical Writers Know and When Did They Know It? What Archaeology Can Tell Us about the Reality of Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Dever, W. and R. Cohen 1978. ‘Preliminary Report of the Pilot Season of the “Central Negev Highlands Project”’. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 232: 29–45. _______. 1979. ‘Preliminary Report on the Second Season of the “Central Negev Highlands Project”’. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 236: 41–60. _______1981. ‘Preliminary Report of the Third and Final Season of the Central Negev Highlands Project’, BASOR 236: 57–77. Faust, A. 2006. Israel”s Ethnogenesis: Settlement, Interaction, Expansion and Resistance. London: Equinox.

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Finkelstein, I. 1988. The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. _______. 1996. ‘Ethnicity and Origin of the Iron I Settlers in the Highlands of Canaan: Can the Real Israel Stand Up?’. Biblical Archaeologist 59: 198–212. Glueck, N. 1934–1939. Explorations in Eastern Palestine I-III, Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 14/15, 18–19. _______. 1953. ‘Explorations in Western Palestine’. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 131: 6–15. Grabbe, L. L. 2003. “Like a Bird in a Cage”: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 bce. London: T&T Clark. Hjelm, I. 2004. Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition. Copenhagen International Seminar, 14. London: T&T Clark. Hopkins, D. C. 1985. The Highlands of Canaan, Social World of the Bible and Society 3. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Kochavi, M. 1972. Judea, Samaria and the Golan: Archaeological Survey 1967–1968. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Knauf, E. A. 2006. ‘Bethel: The Israelite Impact on Judean Language and Literature’. In Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 291–350. Kuschke A., S. Mittmann and U. Müller. 1972. Archaeological Survey in der nördlichen Biqa”, Herbst 1972: Report on a Prehistoric Survey in the Biqa”, Beihefte zum Tübomger Atlas des vorderen Orients 11. Wiesbaden: Dr. Reichert Verlag. Lemche, N. P. 1995: ‘From Patronage Society to Patronage Society’. In The Origins of Ancient Israelite States. V. Fritz and P. R. Davies (eds.). Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 106–120. Lipschits, O. 2003. ‘Demographic Changes in Judah between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries bce’. In Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 323–376. _______. 2006. ‘Achemenid Imperial Policy, Settlement Processes in Palestine and the Status of Jerusalem in the Middle of the Fifth Century bce’. In Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Lipschits O. and M. Oeming (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 19–52. Lipschits O. and Tal O. 2007. ‘The Settlement Policy of the Province of Judah: A Case Study’. In Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century bce. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers and R. Albertz (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 33–52. Lipschits O. and D. Vanderhooft, 2007. ‘Yehud Stamp Impressions in the Fourth Century bce: A Time of Administrative Consolidation?’. In Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century bce. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers and R. Albertz (eds.). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns: 75–94. Liverani, M. 1990. Prestige and Interest: International Relations in the Near East ca. 1600–1100 bce, History of the Ancient Near East Studies 1. Padua: Sargon. Magen, Y. 2008. Mount Gerizim Excavations: A Temple City. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Miller, J. M. 1979. ‘Archaeological Survey of Central Moab: 1978’. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 234: 43–52. Miroschedji, R. de. 1971. L’Époque pré-urbaine en Palestine, Cahiers de la Revue Biblique 13. Paris: Gabalda.

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Mittmann, S. 1970. Beiträge zur Siedlungs- und Territorialgeschichte des nördlichen Ostjordanlandes, Abhandlung des Deutschen Palästina Verein. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Noth, M. 1930. Das System der Zwölf Stämme Israels, Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom alten und neuen Testament IV/I. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Oestigaard, T. 2003. ‘The Bible and Believers, the Power of the Past and Antiquated Archaeology in the Middle East’. In Scandinavian Archaeological Practice: In Theory. J. Bergstol (ed.). Oslo: University of Oslo: 302–314. _______. 2007. Political Archaeology and Holy Nationalism: Archaeological Battles over the Bible and Land in Israel and Palestine from 1967–2000. Gothenbürg: Göteborg University. _______. 2013. ‘Israel and Palestine: A Critique of How to Create and Anchor a NationState Archaeologically’. In The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation Building. E. Pfoh and K. W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Phoenix Press: 152–168. Oren, E. 1973. ‘The Overland Route between Egypt and Canaan in the Early Bronze Age’. Israel Exploration Journal 23: 198–205. Pappe, I. 2006. A History of Modern Palestine. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pfoh, E. 2009. The Emergence of Israel in Ancient Palestine: Historical and Anthropological Perspectives. London: Equinox. _______. Forthcoming. Syria-Palestine in the Late Bronze Age: An Anthropology of Politics and Power. Copenhagen International Seminar. London: Routledge. Ra’ad, B. L. 2010. Hidden Histories: Palestine and the Eastern Mediterranean. London and New York: Pluto Press. Rothenberg, B. 1967. Negev. Ramat-Gan: Masada. _______. 1972. Timna. London: Thames and Hudson. Sawah, F. 2013. ‘The Faithful Remnant and the Invention of Religio-Ethnic Identity’. In The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation Building. E. Pfoh and K. W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Phoenix Press: 61–76. Stern, E. 2001. Archaeology of the Land of the Bible II. New York: Doubleday. Tebes, J. M. 2011. ‘The Pottery Assemblages of Jerusalem”s Neo-Babylonian Destruction Level: A Review and Discussion’. Antiguo Oriente 9: 277–341. Thompson, T. L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives: The Quest for the Historical Abraham. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 133. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. _______. 1975. The Settlement of the Sinai and the Negev in the Bronze Age, Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients 8. Wiesbaden: Dr. Reichert Verlag. _______. 1979. The Settlement of Palestine in the Bronze Age, Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients 34. Wiesbaden: Dr. Reichert Verlag. _______. 1980. ‘Palästina in der Mittelbronzezeit’. Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients, Map B II 11c. Wiesbaden: Dr. Reichert Verlag. ________. 1980a. ‘Palästina in der Spätbronzezeit’. Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients, Map B II 11d. Wiesbaden: Dr. Reichert Verlag. ________. 1992. The Early History of the Israelite People from the Written and Archaeological Sources: Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East 4. Leiden: Brill. ________. 1992a. ‘Palestinian Pastoralism and Israel”s Origins’. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 6: 1–13.

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_______. 2003. ‘Holy War at the Center of Biblical Theology: Shalom and the Cleansing of Jerusalem’. In Jerusalem in Ancient History and Tradition. T. L. Thompson (ed.), Copenhagen International Seminar, 13. London: T&T Clark: 223–257. _______. 2007. ‘A Testimony of the Good King: Reading the Mesha Stele’. In The Rise and Fall of the Omri Dynasty, L. L. Grabbe (ed.). European Seminar for Historical Methodology, 6. London: T&T Clark: 236–292. _______. 2007A. ‘Mesha and Questions of Historicity’. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 21/2: 241–260. _______. 2011. ‘Memories of Esau and Narrative Reiteration: Themes of Conflict and Reconciliation’. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 25/2: 174–200. _______. 2013. Biblical Narratives and Palestine’s History: Changing Perspectives 2. London: Eqinox-Acumen. _______. 2013a. ‘What We Do and What We Do Not Know about Pre-Hellenistic alQuds’. In The Politics of Israel”s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation Building. E. Pfoh and K. W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Phoenix Press: 49–60. _______. 2013b. ‘The Faithful Remnant and Religious Identity: The Literary Trope of Return—A Reply to Firas Sawah’. In The Politics of Israel”s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation Building. E. Pfoh and K. W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Phoenix Press: 77–88. _______. 2013c. ‘Palestine”s Pre-Islamic History and Cultural Heritage: A Proposal for Palestinian High-School Curriculum Revision’. Holy Land Studies 12/2: 207–233. Whitelam, K. W. 2013. ‘Shaping the History of Palestine: Nationalism and Exclusivity’. In The Politics of Israel”s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation Building. E. Pfoh and K. W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Phoenix Press: 183–211. Zertal, A. 1986: Arubath, Hepher and the Third Solomonic District. Tel Aviv University dissertation.

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11 “THE DESTRUCTION THAT CAN BE STUDIED” Israeli archaeology and the deserted Palestinian villages Raz Kletter and Gideon Sulimani

Introduction: a research proposal In May 1964, a young student in the archaeology department of the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, submitted a research proposal to his teacher. A copy of this proposal survived in the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA) archive. We have translated the entire proposal from Hebrew, since it is a rare document (Appendix 1 and Figs. 11.7–8). Avraham Eitan, the author of the proposal, was at the time a young student in the Department of Archaeology of the Hebrew University. A decade later he was appointed Director of the Israel Department of Antiquities and Museum (IDAM), the body replaced in 1989 by the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA). In this role, which he held for a long time (1974–1989), Eitan was responsible for the implementation of the Antiquities Ordinance (since 1978, Antiquities Law) all over the State of Israel and was given wide authority for that aim. The 1964 research proposal is rare because Israeli archaeologists avoided any public discourse about the deserted Palestinian villages – political, professional, or cultural. The problematic nature of the subject of research is seen in the proposal. Eitan uses the terms “Arab villages” or “Arab settlements” in the title and in the introduction, but chooses “neutral” terms later on: “the above-mentioned”, “the subjects for study”. He replaces “destruction” with an “improved”, more optimistic term: “the process of destruction-creation” – an oxymoron, since destruction is an antonym of creation. Eitan’s proposal specifies ways of performing the research, and details of the destruction, but an introduction common to any research proposal, explaining the subject, is missing. Deserted villages appear as a natural, self-understood matter. Why are there deserted villages, how were they created? 174

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In this article, we will discuss Eitan’s proposal and the processes that affected the deserted villages. Eitan found in them an opportunity for an archaeological exercise, while the vast majority of Israeli archaeologists at the time ignored their existence. Eitan’s text is situated in a middle point. For quite a long time after the 1948 war, the deserted villages were identified with the enemy and grasped as a threat. In accordance, the archaeologists defined them as “late”, removing from them the protection given under Law to antiquities sites. This legitimized their destruction. However, the destruction emptied the villages of “Palestinian essence”, so that in recent years, with the memories of 1948 dimming, it enables archaeologists to re-treat them as “neutral” antiquities sites.1

The deserted villages until the 1960s The establishment of the State of Israel and the 1948 war brought deep political and demographical changes, as well as dramatic physical changes to the landscape of Palestine/Israel. Around four hundred Palestinian villages were emptied. New settlements with new names were established near and sometimes in them. The

Figure 11.1 Khartiyah, c. November 1948, photo Y. Ory. IAA archive i143.

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Figure 11.2 Kunayissah/Kh. Neches (near Modi‘in), 2012, photo R. Kletter. Perhaps because it was a tiny daughter-village, it survived the 1960s operations.

Jewish National Fund (Keren Kayemet le-Yisrael, or KKL) planted forests over large areas and traditional Palestinian agriculture was replaced with a modern one. A minority of the Palestinian villages was ruined during the war, but most were left standing. The villages suffered from gradual destruction due to natural forces, random damage by humans (robbery of building materials, vandalism, army trainings), but also planned operations of demolition as part of an intentional government policy. For example, a few dozen villages in the Galilee were destroyed in 1949, and villages around Jerusalem were destroyed ca. 1959. The policy was set by the high authorities, involving many operating bodies – KKL, the Israel Land Administration, the army, and bodies dealing with settlement.2 At the same time, the map was Hebraized – thousands of Arab names were replaced by Hebrew names collected from any possible source, or invented when a source could not be found (Benvenisti 1997). During the 1950s, Israeli archaeology fitted itself to the development ideology of the ruling party MAPAI (Mifleget po’alim eretz yisraelit) (Greenberg 2008). However, the archaeologists were not partners in policy-making and the operations of destruction of villages were made without notifying them in advance. The IDAM, under the leadership of Shemuel Yeivin (1948–1959), tried as best as possible to prevent the destruction of antiquities in deserted villages. However, it often failed, due to a combination of reasons. First, the State did not give the IDAM proper 176

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tools – it suffered from acute shortages of workers, budget, and vehicles. Hence, the IDAM could not guard efficiently even major, famous tells. Second, the ideology of rapid development was dominant and was understood as Zionist fulfilment (dressing the land with a “gown of cement”, as the poet Nathan Alterman said in his famous 1930s poem “morning song” (Alterman 1979: 302–303)). Third, security forces were a top necessity, and alternatives that could minimize military damage to antiquities were not always considered. Fourth, the deserted villages were troubling evidence – contradicting the Zionist narrative that spoke about an empty waste-land rejuvenated by Zionist pioneers. Finally, Chief of Staff Moshe Dayan started his wild antiquities robbery in the 1950s; it went on for years and was visible to all. Dayan’s acts ruined the IDAM’s efforts of protecting sites. The IDAM applied to the KKL, the army, and other bodies asking for cooperation; but was often ignored and was not allowed to participate in planning committees, with the result that programs of development (for settlements, roads, etc.) were approved without archaeological reservation. A few examples may suffice: a temporary immigrant camp (ma‘abara) was established on Tell Shimron in the Galilee; the army occupied and established bases at major antiquities sites, such as Athlit and Appolonia-Arsuf; the Ministry of Health turned the old castle of Accho into an asylum for mentally-ill people; a fishing harbour was erected at Caesarea, damaging antiquities. The Police was phlegmatic concerning transgression of the antiquities rules. A rare case that reached court ended in a ridiculously small fine, with the result that afterwards the IDAM preferred avoiding pressing charges (Kletter 2003; 2006: 42–64; Rapoport 2007). The levelling with bulldozers of houses in the deserted village of Kolonia (near Moza, west of Jerusalem) in 1959 can serve as an example of the helplessness of the archaeologists. The destruction was ordered by Tedi Kollek, then Manager of the Prime Minister’s Office and the power figure in the Government Tourist Company. How was demolition of a deserted village related to tourism? Apparently, it was defined as “improvement of the landscape” of Israel, a matter trusted to the hands of the Government Tourist Company. One of the aims was to prevent innocent tourists from seeing the remains of the village, which could raise unwanted questions. The operation was entrusted to the Jewish National Fund (KKL), headed by Yosef Weitz. Kolonia was an ancient site with remains of many periods, as even the name hints (for example, it was once a Roman settlement). The IDAM was not informed about this operation. The bodies responsible were divided only about the quality of the destruction – as the following letter from Tedi Kollek to Yosef Weitz in April 1959 shows: A few days ago you told me that you destroyed the village Kolonia following what was agreed among us. To my great sorrow it is not so. Perhaps in relation to paving the road a few houses were destroyed, but remains of dozens of houses exist and nobody has yet touched them. I will thank you if it will be done soon. I want you to understand that this financial effort is quite serious in the frame of the meagre means at our disposal, and if we did it we are interested in a full clean operation, as agreed between us. With Blessing, T. Kollek.3 177

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Figure 11.3 Traditional architecture and ancient stones at Selbit/Sha‘alabim 1949; unknown photographer. IAA archive i320.

The destruction had to be “clean”. Many villages were located in antiquities’ sites, their houses dovetailed with older structures, bonding together past and present. Take for example, Selbit/ Sha’alabim. After the village was occupied in 1948, soldiers holding it found remains of a mosaic floor from a Samaritan synagogue, and the site was investigated by El‘azar Sukenik. However, the entire village was subsequently destroyed and today the exact location of the synagogue is unclear. Few archaeologists tried to protect all ancient remains without discrimination. They included Shemuel Yeivin, the first manager (1949–1959) of IDAM. Another archaeologist who must be mentioned is Levi-Yitzhak Rahmani, then curator of IDAM (Kloner and Zias 2013). Rahmani was a member of the “Committee for Locating and Preserving Sites in Jerusalem”. Until 1967 the major ancient sites of Jerusalem, including the Old City, were held by Jordan. This committee was 178

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established in order to find alternative sites for promoting tourism in Western Jerusalem. In one meeting, the deserted village of Liphta was discussed, and Rahmani said that there are beautiful old structures there. They should be documented as in Switzerland, where, before every act – whether of demolition or of restoration – a plan is made of every old building. Rahmani suggested that architectural parts of old houses, destined for destruction should be placed in an “Arab Museum” – to be established in the future, after the houses no longer exist. Photos should be taken before the destruction to show what existed, “otherwise they will say that we have barbarically destroyed all the antiquities, without leaving even documentation”.4 It seems that the committee was shocked by this exceptional vision, since no response appears in the protocols (Kletter 2006: 64). Liphta was not destroyed, but neither was it documented in a detailed survey.5 It remains abandoned; plans for turning it into a natural reserve have failed. The Israel Land Administration tries to market the area for new buildings, which will obliterate the nature of the remains of the village.

The 1964 proposal We do not know the origin of Eitan’s proposal. Yigal Yadin wrote that Eitan “worked” it.6 Lacking contradictory evidence, we assume that the idea came from Eitan himself. The preliminary nature and modesty of the proposal also fits a young student. The proposal is really an unfinished draft. Eitan hesitates, cannot estimate the duration and costs of research (section F). He often uses pairs of words in places where one would have been perfectly fine, probably to impress (“facts and data”, “material and data”, “comparisons and deductions”, “the picture and the knowledge”, etc.). The frame is vaguely defined. According to section C, research would start in deserted Arab villages and later move to settled Arab villages. Other sections mention deserted Arab villages, settled Arab villages, and Arab villages settled by Jews. Section F introduces “technical” stages related to budget (field study, preparing the material for publication). Perhaps the lack of clarity is related to the difficulty of discussing such a sensitive subject. Eitan’s words concerning the “the process of destruction which can be studied . . . from its beginning to its end” (section D) reflect the assumption that everything is open for research. However, Eitan wrote during the destruction, not at its beginning. He has no intention of studying the destruction “from the beginning” in a historical sense; that is, from the events of 1948. Perhaps he meant some houses that survived whole, here and there, so they can be studied “from the beginning”. According to Eitan, the destruction creates a new archaeological layer: “The process of formation of the destruction with its various phases, the process of accumulation [of debris], the creation of a “Stratum” in the archaeological sense in these places, which are done right in front of our eyes” (section D). Indeed; but with two important reservations. First, modern destruction with bulldozers or explosives is not similar to ancient destruction. Second, one must 179

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understand the meaning and importance of an archaeological destruction layer. A destruction layer in archaeology is highly important and every archaeologist wishes to find it. It supplies crucial data which is rarely found in other types of layers. The question, how buildings have been destroyed, is only one very limited aspect in the study of a destruction layer. Violent destruction often prevents dwellers from removing their belongings, leaving significant assemblages of complete or restorable objects. Such assemblages teach us much about the vessels and their use, as well as about those who used them – economy, diet, beliefs, in short, culture in a wider sense (not just material culture). They also enable us to date more precisely the end of a layer, since it is easier to date whole vessels than shards. Therefore, an archaeologist, lucky enough to expose a destruction layer, must document it professionally and with utmost care. The destruction layer of the deserted Arab villages had no value for Israeli Archaeologists. It was not ancient; nobody dreamed about finding it, nor wanted to document and publish it. Eitan was exceptional in treating the deserted villages at all. However, he was interested only in their destruction process, not in their culture as a whole. Eitan defined two research goals (section C). The second goal is a professional one: the comparison between the Arab villages and ancient sites concerning processes of destruction, building techniques, building materials, etc. Eitan would use the deserted villages for comparison with sites of the past. The underlying assumption is that traditional Arab buildings, or rather, their destruction, might reflect ancient destruction patterns. The villages have value only as examples of destruction – the destruction that can be studied (section D). Indeed, traditional Arab architecture is more similar to ancient architecture than modern architecture. However, one should beware of any direct comparison. Archaeologists have tried to bridge a gap of thousands of years, for example, when comparing bedouin tents with Iron Age four-room houses ascribed to the “Israelites”. Allegedly, the comparison indicates the nomadic/pastoral origins of the Israelites. There is a growing realization that there is no unified “Arab house” or “bedouin tent”, but complex, rich traditions drawing from earlier cultures and developing varied forms, which bear no direct relation to the Iron Age (Fuchs 1998; Rosen 2009; Rosen and Saidel 2010). Eitan’s first research goal seems to take the villages as worthy objects of research in “themselves” (section C). He even regrets their ongoing destruction, since soon there would be nothing to study. However, a closer scrutiny shows that this goal means collecting exactly the same data as that mentioned in the second goal – the various building details, phases and stages of destruction. It is the same goal in different words. Indeed, in referring to the possible results of the research (section E), Eitan mentions only one goal (the second of section C). Probably, Eitan wanted to impress readers by presenting more than one research goal. The aim of archaeology, even if it cannot fully accomplish it, is to restore a living picture of a past society. Any modern introductory book in archaeology would have a statement of the following sort:

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Archaeologists try to discover the remains of human acts in various periods and restore, through them, the reality of each period. They wish to follow changes in humans’ activities . . . and to understand them; to understand the finds and the human lives that they reflect. (Reich 1995:11) Israeli archaeology in the 1960s lacked the ability to see the material remains of the deserted Palestinian villages as representatives of a culture worthy of research, documentation and protection. It ignored the villages and, even when someone finally considered them, it was not for a study of the villages “themselves”, but only of their destruction. The research would follow the destruction but not reconstruct the past lives.

Ethno-archaeology? At a superficial glance, Eitan’s proposal seems to belong to the field of ethnoarchaeological studies, that is, research of past societies based on comparison with societies documented by anthropologists (the bedouins in the Negev, the aboriginals in Australia, etc.). Ethno-archaeological studies were one of the innovations that stem from the “New Archaeology” of the 1960s and 1970s.7 The “New Archaeology” called for self-awareness and criticism; for theoretical and not just practical studies; for the inclusion of exact sciences as part of archaeology and for turning it from a historical to an exact, or at least anthropological, science. When “new archaeologists” tried to use anthropological studies as comparison material for ancient societies, they found out that anthropologists paid little attention to material culture. Hence, archaeologists started to do research on material culture in existing societies, establishing Ethno-archaeology.8 While the roots of “New Archaeology” go back to the work of Walter Taylor (1948), its rise as an influential school of thought began in the early 1960s in the USA and England. It arrived in Israel two decades later, in the 1980s.9 Eitan could hardly have been influenced by New Archaeology in 1964. Nor did Eitan show any taste for New Archaeology later in his career. Eitan’s proposal is not related to ethno-archaeology. It focuses on architectural, technical aspects of destruction. Eitan had no interest in the “society” of the villages before 1948, though his proposal spoke also about the study of settled villages. Village people still lived in 1964, both outside and in Israel. They were outside the fields of interests for Eitan. He was not concerned with ethnological observations of an existing society, but only with a study of material destruction, belonging (in his grasp) to the past. He would compare the destruction of “late” buildings to that of early buildings. Comparing material finds from different periods is a method as old as the science of archaeology, but it is not an ethnoarchaeological study.

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Figure 11.4 Letter by Yadin, 26.5.1964.

Yadin, the deserted villages and the survey of Israel To the proposal of Eitan was attached a brief letter by Yigal Yadin, addressed to the Survey Committee of the Archaeological Council.10 182

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26.5.1964 The Department of Archaeology. The Hebrew University, Jerusalem. To The Archaeological Council. The Survey Committee Dear Sir Enclosed is a memorandum worked by Mr. Avraham Eitan, the content of which is evident. In my opinion, it is worthy also to include in the frame of the survey non-territorial subjects. Exploration of such subjects is important to the research of the knowledge of the land and archaeology, which might become impossible in a short while, due to destruction and acts of development. It seems to me that the suggested plan can serve as a good start for encouraging studies of this type and the results achieved by it can assist in similar researches of this type in the future. I shall be thankful if you would bring this matter up for discussion soon. With much honour, [-].

Yigal Yadin

[Handwritten note: “to the file of the survey committee”.] Eitan was a student of Yadin. It is therefore only natural that he handed him the research proposal. Yadin was not only a professor of archaeology in the University of Jerusalem, but a key figure at the heart of the establishment. He was Head of Operations in the 1948 war (and Chief of Staff de facto, since Ya‘acov Dori, the nominated Chief of Staff, was severely ill); Chief of Staff in 1949–1952; Military Advisor to PM Levi Eshkol before 1967; the leader of the Dash party in Parliament and a senior member in Menachem Begin’s Government in 1977–1981. Yadin symbolizes the archetypical national Israeli archaeologist (Geva 1992; Silberman 1993). In addition, as Head of Operations and Chief of Staff in 1948–1952, Yadin played a role in the destruction of the deserted Arab villages. How did Yadin treat Eitan’s proposal? Yadin recommended accepting the proposal due to its significance (without explaining what it was) and passing it to the Survey Committee of the Archaeological Council. The Archaeological Council was an advisory body to IDAM (later IAA) composed of selected senior archaeologists in Israel, government officials and public personae. Though its legal status was only that of an advisory body, it wielded real power, since it practically decided (though officially only “recommended”) the giving of excavation licenses. In Israel, archaeological excavation is impossible without a license. The British established an advisory archaeological council already in 1920 and it was adopted by Israel after 1948. After the council had crumbled, due to power struggles between IDAM and the professors at the Hebrew University in the late 1950s, it was re-established in 1962. This council functions also today (Kletter 2006: 214–249). 183

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During the 1960s, the Archaeological Council had several sub-committees: for excavation licenses, preservation of sites, archaeological legislation, etc. The Survey Committee was busy organizing the general survey of Israel. This was meant to be a detailed, systematic survey of the entire country. It was a vital need since the rapid development of the land had caused irretrievable damage to a number of sites and endangered many more. However, due to shortages in professional manpower and budget, only a few limited surveys were performed in the 1950s, for example, the survey by Yohanan Aharoni in the Galilee (Aharoni 1957). After considerable efforts and the “begging” of every penny from any possible source, an organization was established for the general survey: the Association for Survey of Israel, headed by Zeev Yeivin. This association was placed under the direct control of the Archaeological Council (turning it to an operative, not just advisory, body). The Archaeological Council, through its Survey Committee, decided the nature and scope of the surveyed areas; the nomination of workers and even the format of the survey publications. The land was divided into maps of 10 × 10 kilometres. The first unit lead by Avraham Ronen and Ya’acov Olami began to work on the Haifa Map in the summer of 1964. In January 1965, a second team started surveying the Sdeh Boqer Map in the Negev. This marked a huge success for Israeli Archaeology. Yet, even today, some fifty years later, the work has not yet been finished. Eitan submitted his research proposal when the Israel Survey was coming alive. Therefore, Yadin transferred the proposal to the Survey Committee – the right body to discuss this proposal. If approved, the Archaeological Committee could allocate budget, or at least search for a budget for such a survey. Yadin was a member of the Archaeological Council, but not of the Survey Committee.11 What did the words “non-territorial subjects” mean? At the time, archaeological surveys dealt with finding sites, dating them (by collecting pottery), photographing the remains, making plans, and studying the distribution of sites per region/ period. Eitan’s proposal was not related to these conventional aspects. It was a thematic study of one aspect (destruction), which was not part of the usual study of a certain territory in a survey.12 To support the proposal, Yadin explained its urgency, since it “might become impossible in a short while due to destruction and acts of development”. This echoes the words of Eitan that soon there will be nothing to study. Eitan’s terms imply natural, gradual destruction – “the teeth of time” (section E), “process of destruction” (sections A, D), and “becoming extinct” section C. His examples give the same impression; for example, the gradual formation of a layer. However, Yadin adds a term not found in Eitan’s proposal: destruction through “acts of development”. What does it mean? Settlement of new immigrants in a deserted Arab village or moving Arab refugees to another (existing) village were also acts of development in Israel, and Eitan mentioned them when speaking about re-settled villages (Sections A, E). Yet, such things were a legacy of the past by 1964, when deserted villages no longer stood half-complete, inviting re-use. In addition, there was no large wave of immigrants in the early 1960s and no desperate need for immediate 184

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dwelling solutions. Yadin must have meant future acts. What acts of development threatened the deserted villages in 1964, with an economy in recession? Many villages were declared as antiquities sites, hence protected (at least on paper) by the Antiquities Ordinance. Usual acts of development did not threaten the villages: planners of new settlements/roads would prefer to avoid them, since clearing the remains would only add to the cost and duration of development. Did Yadin add the “acts of development” just to strengthen the urgency of the proposal and its chances of acceptance? Or, did he know already in 1964 that the deserted villages would soon face a very special type of “development act”? We do not know. One more document mentions Eitan’s proposal, but it only adds to the enigma. It is a one-sentence letter by Yosef Braslevsky, a member of the Survey Committee, sent to Ida Pommerantz, the secretary of the Archaeological Council (and also of IDAM). On the 26 June 1964, Braslevsky wrote that he is interested in the “memorandum worked out by” Eitan, and that “if it will be discussed in the forthcoming Survey Committee meeting, I shall try to come to that meeting”. We can restore quite plausibly the first steps of the proposal. Eitan gave it to Yadin; Yadin sent it to the Survey Committee. Ina Pommerantz dealt with all the correspondence of the Archaeological Council, so her involvement is natural. Pommerantz showed the proposal and Yadin’s letter to Avraham Biran, Director of IDAM. We know this because Biran signed the letter with his initials, AB (on the right margin). Members of the Council could write Benjamin Mazar, the Chairperson, to suggest items for the next meeting. Mazar and Biran agreed on the agenda (which was typed and distributed by Pommerantz). However, here was a matter addressed not to the entire Council, but to one committee. We do not know if Mazar was notified, as well. Braslevsky wrote before the matter was placed on any agenda (hence the words “if it will be discussed”), but a month after Yadin had sent the proposal. Braslevsky wrote to Pommerantz, not to Yadin. All this indicates that Braslevsky learned about the proposal from Biran (not from Yadin). Since Braslevsky was a member of the Survey Committee, he did not have to ask to be notified especially about a coming meeting, as he would have received an invitation anyway. So why write this letter? It expresses his interest, and maybe supports Yadin’s suggestion to discuss the matter in the Survey Committee. At the same time, the wording “if it will be discussed” indicates uncertainty. Did Braslevsky hear from Biran some opinion against discussing the proposal? Why was Braslevsky interested in Eitan’s proposal? This is another mystery. Braslevsky was known as a scholar of the “knowledge of the land”, an educator, and a guide. He was not an archaeologist and his name does not appear in any known relation to deserted Arab villages. What happened with Eitan’s proposal next? We can only guess. Biran could have placed it on the agenda of the Archaeological Council. This did not happen. Biran could have moved it to the knowledge of the Survey Committee by notifying Prawer, Chair of the Survey Committee. This did not happen either (in that case we would have found a letter from Biran to Prawer about it, or at least a handwritten note by Biran/Pommerantz on Yadin’s letter; the sheer amount 185

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of correspondence could not be handled verbally). Eitan’s proposal was never placed on the agenda of the Archaeological Council/Survey Committee and was never discussed by them (based on thousands of relevant documents, including full protocols of the meetings). Biran – alone or in consultation with Benjamin Mazar – stopped the wheels from turning. An added note “to the file of the Survey Committee” on Yadin’s letter marks the end of the road. The proposal with Yadin’s letter was archived in the files. The next readers, fifty years later, were us.

The survey of villages Eitan’s proposal of May 1964 was never implemented. Instead, a “Survey of Villages” paved the way for their destruction. The study of Aharon Shai (2002; English version 2006) is an important breakthrough. Here we will focus on the archaeological aspects of the Survey of Villages, which were not yet discussed. Around July 1965, the Israel Land Administration asked IDAM to perform a special survey of deserted Arab villages. This survey formed the basis for the destruction of these villages by a special unit in the Israel Land Administration. Since summer 1965 and for most of 1966 the archaeologists of the Survey of Israel were employed in the survey – that is, preparing the destruction – of more than a hundred villages. The archaeologists surveyed and made survey-files for each village, in the same methods and using the same forms of the general Israel Survey. This urgent work was given priority and the regular work on the survey maps was postponed. The archaeologists decided the fate of the buildings: those proclaimed ancient would survive; the rest would be demolished. Zeev Yeivin, Head of the Survey Association, signed letters authorizing the demolition, on the condition that ancient remains, if found, would not be destroyed. Usually, an archaeologist from the Survey Association was present during the demolition, to protect ancient remains; but often the archaeologists visited the village only after the demolition. A short “destruction report” was filled and archived in the Survey of Villages’ files. The main difference between the Survey of Villages and the general Israel Survey was the time frame. In the Israel Survey, units were relatively independent in their fieldwork. They decided how much time to dedicate to each site and work periods were not too rigid. Finding more sites was an achievement, even if it meant prolonging the work and adding costs. The Survey of Villages was made in haste, almost under the bulldozers’ blades. It was meant neither to be a detailed archaeological survey nor to be published. In some cases, usually due to lack of coordination, the archaeologists lost the race against the bulldozers of the Israel Land Administration. Such a situation occurred at the village of Qulah near Rosh Ha‘ayin. After the survey, Zeev Yeivin, head of the Survey Association, authorized its demolition in a letter of 22 September 1966, though: “All of Qulah is built on remains of a Crusader site, and in no way should the Crusader church, the nearby buildings and the water pool be damaged”. Dan Urman13 described in a “destruction report” what happened next. 186

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On 2/3/67, I went out with Mr. Hanan Davidson of the Israel Land Administration for a tour of the deserted villages. During the tour, Mr. Davidson informed me that possibly the contractors would go up (‘olim) on the same day to the village of Qulah. Therefore, I decided to visit the place that same day. I arrived at the area with Mr. Davidson and we found the bulldozer destroying the Crusader Tower of Qulah . . . I stopped the work and checked the area. I found out that the contractors had worked at this site for nearly two days already (without any prior notice to IDAM or to the Survey [Association]); and that they have already managed to destroy half of the Crusader hall north of the tower, half of the tower and the water pool east of the buildings . . .  During the examination I found remains of many Crusader buildings east of the tower, which were not found by the surveyors; I instructed the contractors and Mr. Davidson that they must not be destroyed. After finishing the examination, the bulldozer continued its work outside the area of the Crusader site, under my supervision. With the end of the work in the area of the village, one may conclude that, except for the damages to the Crusader site, there were no further damages and the Arab village was completely destroyed and leveled . . . No new archaeological finds were discovered during the destruction of the area of the Arab village. [Signed] D. Urman (IAA Archive, Qulah, Map 78, site 7860/1). The lack of coordination was perhaps accidental, though it reflected the low status of the archaeologists in the hierarchy of destruction. Had Mr Davidson forgotten to mention it, the village would have been razed to the ground. It is more important to notice how far the archaeologists identified with the goal of the operation. Urman lamented the damage but with acceptance, as if it were made by a supernatural, unstoppable power. Notice, especially, the ending of the letter, which presents – like many similar “destruction reports” – a picture of work completed to satisfaction. The ending implies that the operation could continue as usual. There is no need to find those responsible for the damage and bring them to justice. Of course, their identity was well known; but they stood above the archaeologists – and above the Law. If Qulah was built on an ancient site, as Zeev Yeivin wrote, the archaeologists should have tried to prevent its wholesale destruction. The later remains were organically connected to the earlier ones. Yet the destruction was approved, except for a few remains. The survey was also poor in quality, since many ancient remains were “not found by the surveyors”. To sum up, the archaeologists were deeply committed to the ideology of destruction, and they never questioned it. They approved wholesale destruction instead of trying to ensure maximum protection. The destruction temporarily stopped on account of the 1967 war, but was resumed afterwards and extended to the newly occupied territories in the same 187

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Figure 11.5 Yalu 2014, photo R. Kletter.

frame and with the full cooperation of the archaeologists. Several villages in the area of Latroun were demolished in a “delayed punishment” for their role in the 1948 war; along with dozens of Syrian villages in the Golan Heights.14 Some of the Golan villages were documented before their destruction by Yehudah Roth (1984). Roth was an amateur archaeologist from Kibbutz Sha‘ar Hagolan, one of the founders of the Avshalom Institute and the founder of the Museum of Yarmukian Culture in his Kibbutz.15 Roth did not specify the circumstances of destruction. Similarly, Yigal Kipnis mentions briefly a “destruction process” in his study of the pre-1967 population of the Golan Heights (Kipnis 2005: 117). Readers may contemplate natural destruction, but this was not the case. The landscape of deserted villages was well known to Israeli Archaeologists. They knew the land intimately due to their work both before and after the 1948 war. The participation of the archaeologists as soldiers and commanders in the 1948 war, their being part of the first generation of the state shaped their relation to the Palestinians, affecting moral and professional decisions. During the 1950s, the Establishment ignored the archaeologists. In the 1960s, the archaeologists were minor yet important members in the operation of destruction. They gave it legitimization, since, according to the Antiquities Ordinance, all sites of antiquities (including many deserted villages) were protected and under 188

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the jurisdiction of the IDAM. The archaeologists legally released the villages to destruction. The Israel Land Administration financed the units, which the Association of Survey employed in the Survey of Villages. Past remains were not highly important to the Israel Land Administration and it did not need the archaeologists to trace the location and borders of the villages (such data was available from other sources, such as air photographs). What prevented the Israel Land Administration from ignoring the archaeologists in the same manner as in the 1950s? We can only guess. In the 1960s, the archaeologists were deeply engrained in the establishment and widely acclaimed in public (especially due to Yadin’s work in Hazor and Masada). The archaeologists were also successfully marketing the Israel Survey. A colour pamphlet was issued and many meetings were arranged with journalists, heads of municipalities, district committees, etc. The Survey of Israel was presented as a Zionist act that secures the bridge between past and present, and gives rights to the land. Perhaps the Israel Land Administration preferred supporting the survey with a modest (from their point of view) contribution and receiving in return full cooperation, rather than ignoring the archaeologists and risking legal consequences. Eitan wrote his proposal at the time when the Israel Survey started. The Survey Association was established, at least according to all open sources, with the goal of documenting systematically all ancient sites, since sites were destroyed or endangered by the rapid development. It is ironic that an association, which had been established to document sites that were in danger of being destroyed served, but a year later, as a tool for destruction. Eitan’s proposal was exceptional in its reference to the deserted villages, but it was never implemented. It had no influence on the policy of destruction and on the operations that followed suit. The available documents do not reveal who gave the orders to the Israel Land Administration, nor why the operation started specifically in 1965. The Government must have known about it, and documents probably exist, but they are not available for study (the files of the Israel land Administration are closed). The system that enabled archaeologists in the 1960s to detach many deserted villages, listed officially as antiquities sites, from their “antiquity”, was related to the legal definition of “antiquity”. To this system we dedicate the following lines.

Archaeological surgery for removal of antiquity No person would deny that archaeology was established and developed throughout many decades by western scholars. Like any science, the study of the past is not disconnected from a complex net of present political, economic and social interests. An archaeology which ignores or neglects the past of “others” who are termed “Orientals” is contaminated by Orientalism (Said 2000; Shenhav 2005, with references). An example appears in a popular introductory book about archaeology, which should have presented archaeology at its best to the Israeli audience. The author, as 189

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if objective, criticizes the use of archaeology for political reasons by everybody – “Christians, Jews, and Moslems” (Reich 1995: 196; notice the order). However, the Moslem case is different from the rest, it is their negative imprint: The area of the State of Israel is strewn with thousands of antiquities sites, remains of past cultures, which existed here hundreds and thousands years ago. These remains represent extinct past cultures as well as cultures and religions whose birthplace is here – Judaism, Christianity and to a certain extent also Islam. One cannot exaggerate the importance of the archaeological remains left from the Jewish settlement of EretzIsrael throughout the periods . . . They perhaps form the most tangible proof for the connection between the Jewish people and Eretz-Israel. (Reich 1995: 180) Indeed, there never occurred in Israel an archaeological excavation or survey on behalf of a Moslem institution, or whose researches are Moslem, or arrived from a Moslem country . . . However the relation between archaeology [of the Land of Israel] and the Moslem World exists. It exists, for example, in a negative way. Since the Six Days war [1967], institutions and scholars avoided continuing excavations and surveys in Israel. British, German and other institutions . . . have stopped dealing with the study of the biblical period and the Second Temple period (the days of Jesus), and have shifted the focus of their activity to archaeological work in Arab countries, especially the Kingdom of Jordan. They have also started to deal with research of the Early Islamic, Crusader, and Late Moslem periods in Eretz-Israel. (Reich 1995: 198, our translation from Hebrew and stresses) The embroidery of facts and wording tell the reader about the subtext: the Land of Israel is not really important to Islam. The important remains, which give kushan (an Ottoman land deed; this term is used in Modern Hebrew as slang for solid proof of land ownership) over the land, are only the Jewish remains. Moslems are presented as one monolithic, bad entity. Notice the skilful play with the term “Israel”, which at times denote the entire land (a geographic term), but sometimes only the State of Israel after 1948. Moslems did excavate and survey in “Eretz Israel”, when they could, during the British Mandate period and in the WestBank under Jordanian rule until 1967. One should ask, what are the chances of a “Moslem Institution” or of citizens of a “Moslem country” to receive an excavation license from the State of Israel? Without such license, one cannot excavate, and requesting one acknowledges the issuing government. Should we condemn Israeli scholars for not asking licenses for excavation from the Syrian governments? Western scholars and institutions do excavate in the State of Israel, just not in occupied East Jerusalem (Sulimani 2013). Notice how readers receive teachings about important and unimportant periods. Periods with Israelite/Jewish remains 190

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are important (Biblical, Second Temple). Periods of foreign rule by Crusaders and Moslems are not important; it is a pity that scholars focus on them, instead of on “our” periods. Christianity should focus on Jesus, which happily fits one of “our” periods too. The entire discussion appears in a chapter titled “archaeological ethics”. Reading this, one understands better why Israeli Archaeology produced only one written ethical code, the work of a tiny minority group, which was neither accepted nor used (Kletter and Sulimani 2010). Following western scholars, Israeli archaeology adopted the separation between past and present. The past requires protection, study, restoration and documentation, as well as display in Museums. The ancient site forms a national and touristic attraction. Israeli archaeologists held a scientific scalpel that severed the ancient remains, worthy of protection, from “recent”, worthless objects – using the legal definition of “antiquity”. Following the British Ordinance of 1929, the Israeli Antiquities Ordinance defined an antiquity as an object made before 1700 ce. Hence archaeologists were obliged by Law to treat without discrimination any object earlier than 1700 ce; later objects were unprotected by Law.16 However, the deserted Arab villages could not be easily dissected with this scalpel. Sometimes it is easy to recognize a modern building, for example, according to the use of either Iron beams or cement. But the scientific scalpel is insensitive when dealing with traditional architecture. Even in an archaeological excavation, it is often hard to distinguish between Mamluk and Ottoman architecture (cf. Benvenisti 2012: 65). The situation is more difficult in a survey, where remains are dated by finds from the surface (mainly pottery shards). One doubts whether surveyors in the 1960s were qualified to identify shards from “late” periods, since at the time few archaeologists in Israel studied such periods. Shreds on the surface cannot accurately date buildings, which still stand partially above ground. They cannot tell dates of establishment. Archaeology finds the end of a stratum or a building, based on the latest finds discovered on floors. It is however difficult or impossible to find when a stratum or a building was established. Archaeologists can hardly separate building remains by shards of pottery between the early Ottoman time (before 1700 ce), which legally should be preserved, and later times, not protected by Law. The Crusader period found a saviour in the figure of Yehoshua Prawer. Crusader fortresses were preserved and restored, while Moslem fortresses were neglected (a few were understood as “kosher” Crusader forts: Benvenisti 2010: 301; 2012: 63–70). However, History ended with Prawer, and the Survey of the Villages paved the way for a general destruction of the villages as a whole. Incidentally, Mandatory period legislation, approved by the State of Israel in its Antiquities Ordinance (and since 1978, Antiquities Law), allowed archaeologists to preserve even remains later than 1700 ce, which have special historical or cultural importance. This was performed by a special declaration. During the Mandate Period, the British used this possibility to preserve the assemblage of the old city of Acco with its walls. The IDAM activated this mechanism in order to save, by request of the Tel-Aviv – Jaffa Municipality, the first flat of the Herzeliya Gymnasium (the first Hebrew high school) in Jaffa. Apparently this 191

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was a sort of compensation, since the famous, iconic building, used later by the same Gymnasium in Tel-Aviv was destroyed by the building of the first skyscraper in Tel Aviv, the Shalom Tower. The municipality asked later to remove the declaration and the Jaffa flat was destroyed ca. 2000. Also protected was the so-called Bilu House near Miqveh Yisrael. This was an orchard house of a Palestinian named Anton Ayyub, where the Biluyim Zionists hired two rooms in the year 1882. This house still exists (Davidovitch and Lavie 2007; GL 44866/2). Perhaps because of the unfortunate case of the Gymnasium building in Jaffa, the IDAM hardly used this legal mechanism. Needless to mention, it was never used in relation to the deserted villages, though some were surely worthy of preservation for cultural values; for example, Achzib/ez-Zib north of Acco and Liphta near Jerusalem. The separation between “ours” and “theirs”, one past worthy of preservation and another destined for neglect, was based on the legal separation between “ancient” and “recent/modern”. It was successfully employed, without cracking the scale-armour of Israeli archaeology, which claimed that it is dealing with pure science. We are not aware of archaeologists who refused to take part in the Survey of Villages. Most of the archaeologists in Israel believed in the Zionist narrative. One should note that ignoring “late” periods was not unique to Israel, but common for the time in the entire world. For example, in Turkey “late” remains were not defined as antiquities and hence damaged and destroyed, some say on purpose, when Greek remains were concerned (Özdoğan 1998).

A return of antiquity Once the deserted Arab villages did not resemble villages anymore, a new metamorphosis began. The destruction annulled the contours of life – houses, streets and alleys, signs and inscriptions. Once destroyed, a village could be seen as a romantic landscape: picturesque, ruins dotted by terraces, olive trees and sabres (Hebrew slang for prickly pear cacti, used in the 1930s–1960s for denoting “indigenous” Israelis, that is, those born in Israel. However, the plant is a late arrival from America; it grows in many sites of deserted villages; and is also a Palestinian symbol, especially of rootedness). The ruins could be appropriated as an “ancient biblical landscape”, preferably in the frame of national gardens or natural reserves. Perhaps the clearest, but certainly not the only, example is the Sataf natural reserve in the Jerusalem Mountains. The remains of a deserted Arab village were transformed into a garden of “traditional mountain agriculture”.17 The site does not take the visitor back in time to the Arab village and its culture, but leaps thousands of years backwards. The visitor may see the remains as tangible remains of the “biblical past”. In recent years, the antiquity of the deserted Arab villages is being re-discovered. There are two main reasons for this process. The first relates to a change concerning “late” periods. There is a growing tendency to acknowledge these periods as legitimate for study and preservation. “Historical archaeology”, dedicated to (roughly) the last 500 years, but especially since the industrial revolution, is 192

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Figure 11.6 Sataf, 2005, photo R. Kletter.

thriving (Hicks and Beaudry 2006). Archaeologists excavate and study remains of the Civil War in the USA and the First World War in Europe. More archaeologists become experts in “late” periods and more sites and remains are published (for example, the Arab village and the Zionist settlement at Ramat Ha-Nadiv in the Carmel Mountains (Hirschfeld 2000). A second reason relates to the destruction of the villages. The destruction emptied the villages of distinctive Palestinian elements. To the present Israeli 193

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generation, far-removed from 1948, the ruins no longer so clearly symbolize the enemy. Memories have blurred and those who remember are mostly no longer with us. Younger generations do not carry in mind the imprint of the villages before or immediately after 1948. Gone are the smells and sounds of a concrete, traumatic past. When young supervisors meet the remains, they treat them as neutral archaeological sites, not as deserted Palestinian villages. There is, of course, a monetary aspect (money from salvage excavations flow to the pockets of the excavating bodies), but it is not the major issue. The destruction (for which one had to imagine that the Arab villages are not ancient) enables us now to see them as ancient. To sum up this circular process: first the deserted villages were seen as hostile villages of the enemy – late and worthless things. Then a patent was found to remove their “antiquity”, legitimizing their destruction. However, the destruction left “anonymous” ruins that can be treated neutrally, once the memories of 1948 have dimmed. Thus the sites became again ancient sites, worthy of protection and study. The village of El-Qubab in the Ayalon valley, between Tel-Aviv and Jerusalem, is a good example. It was mentioned in the sixteenth century ce (Khalidi 1992: 406–407). The archaeologists knew it in the 1960s. Zeev Yeivin authorized the destruction of El-Qubab on 22 September, 1966, writing that the village was built on an ancient site and hence “careful supervision” was required during its destruction to avoiding penetrating the surface. With their scalpel, the archaeologists detached the Arab village from the ancient site; the village was demolished in February 1967. Forty years later, “archaeological remains had been damaged by a bulldozer along a road in Lehi forest” (En Gedi 1996: 55*18). This is the very same site – the village of El-Qubab, covered by the forest of the Jewish National Fund. The forest is named after Lehi, an extreme underground organization of the British Mandate Period. The case brings to mind the famous 1963 story of A.B. Yehushua, “against the forests”. In this story, the ruins of a deserted Arab village are exposed, after a forest that covered them was burnt in suspicious circumstances.19 Literature, born out of reality, as if predicting it too . . . After the damage, an excavation was carried out in January 2001, published fully by En Gedi (2006). The IAA supervisors, who checked El-Qubab after the damage and decided on an excavation, could not know in advance that the building remains found in the excavation would be “recent” (nineteenth century ce). Only a handful of earlier shards were found in the excavation. Yet, the site was proclaimed an ancient site in the official lists, and in such sites the IAA can prevent development and demand an excavation if damage had occurred. The deserted Arab villages were never removed from the list of declared antiquities’ sites. In the last decades, quite many excavations have been carried out in sites that were once Arab villages.20 The excavation at El-Qubab tells us about the Survey of Villages of the 1960s. If ancient shards from the surface are scientific evidence today, they would have been so in the 1960s too. Ancient shards were strewn over the surface of many deserted Arab villages. The 1960s archaeologists could could have tried to protect 194

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villages as ancient, if they had wanted to. It would be naïve to think that the archaeologists could change the policy or prevent the destruction, but they could at least call for a more detailed survey before the destruction.

Summary Eitan ignored the political implications when he submitted his proposal in 1964. He brought to the surface a taboo in Israeli archaeology (even if not in Israeli society as a whole, as the story of Yehushua shows). However, his proposal was never addressed by the Archaeological Council, the Survey Committee, or any other archaeological body. When the Israel Land Administration destroyed the villages, the archaeologists did not raise questions about the nature and necessity of the operation. Eitan hoped to work on the survey materials; that is, prepare them for publication (section F). However, the mere recognition of the deserted villages contradicted the Zionist narrative and there was no chance that such a study would be published in 1960s Israel. It was quietly “archived”. The data collected in the Survey of Villages was closed in secret files, which have been opened for the public only in the last decade. Archaeologists who watch the past with inquiring, that is, critical, eyes, cannot ignore the questions that arise from the story of the deserted villages. There is no “pure” archaeology. Our beloved biblical period and the periods of the Mishnah and Talmud sit under a heap of demolished Arab villages. A few-dozen years old past is already distant; it is difficult to get from the facts (which are not principally disputed) to the meanings (which are constantly debated). We must imagine ourselves in the place of those who did not know the shape of the future and not judge them hurriedly from our more comfortable position in time. However, we must also enquire how the same scientific archaeology, armed with the best tools and methods, worked in completely different directions. On the one hand, excavation, survey and maximum documentation of a distant, yet close to the heart, past. On the other hand, neglect and destruction of another past, closer in time, but further from the heart.

Notes 1 We wish to thank Ingrid Hjelm and Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme for inviting us to the Copenhagen conference “Changing Perspectives” and for creating a hospitable and fruitful atmosphere. A former Hebrew version of this article was published in Theory and Criticism 42 (2014). We thank Eitan Ben-Yosef, editor of Theory and Criticism and the reviewers of this journal for their helpful comments. Translations from Hebrew are by the authors. Translation of names follows conventional spellings. We are deeply grateful to Arieh Rochman of the IAA Archive and to the workers of the reading hall of the State Archive, Jerusalem, for their help. 2 Morris 1991; Khalidi 1992; Golan 1996 and 1997; Greenberg 2008; Kadman 2008: 111–112; Benvenisti 2000; Fischbach 2003. 3 Kletter 2006: 62–63; 2013: 14.

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4 Israel State archive, GL5451–12, quoted in Kletter 2013: 145. 5 See http://planning-jerusalem.blogspot.com/2012/02/lifta.html (accessed 25.7.2013). 6 Hebrew ‘ibed, see also Part IV below. 7 Clarke 1973; Watson 1972; Binford 1962; 1965; for criticism, see Flannary 1982; Hodder 1982: 1–16; Kohl 1985; for a general review, see Trigger 1989: 289–328. 8 Binford 1967; Schiffer 1978; Kramer 1979; London 2000. 9 Bunimovitz 1992; Dever 1981; Toombs 1987; Hodder 1992. 10 The letter is a retyped version of Yadin’s letter made by the department. Such copies were not signed and the place of the signature was usually marked by [-]. 11 In 1964, the Survey Committee included, among others, Yohanan Aharoni, Yosef Braslevsky, Moshe Dothan, Ruth Amiran and Yoseph Naveh. Chairperson was Yehoshua Prawer, a historian of the Crusader Period and Dean of the Faculty of Humanities of the Hebrew University, Jerusalem. Important members were also Avraham Biran, the Director of IDAM in 1961–1974; and Benjamin Mazar, Chair of the Archaeological Council. Mazar was also the President of the Hebrew University in 1953–1961; Secretary of the Israel Exploration Society, and member of the Israeli Academy of Sciences since 1960. 12 On the archaeological survey, see Banning 2002; on the beginning of the Israel Survey, Yeivin 1967; on survey methods, see Dagan 2010: 1–2. A good example of an Israel survey map is Dagan 2006. For criticism of surveys in Israel, see Greenberg and Keinan 2009: 7–14. 13 Dan Urman was the head of a survey unit at that time; after 1967, one of the Golan surveyors, and later, the Archaeological Officer of the Golan District; he also excavated Nizzana in the Negev. 14 Shai 2002; 2006; Fogelman 2010. 15 On Roth see the Museum’s site, www.myc.org.il. 16 There was some discussion throughout the years of whether the date should be 1700 ce, 1800 ce, or a moving wall such as 200 years BP (Avni 2001). These discussions had no influence on the fate of the deserted villages. 17 www.gemsinisrael.com/e_article000006236.htm. Kadman 2008: 146; Pappe 2006: 229; http://www.zochrot.org/en/place/sataf. 18 In bilingual journals and publications in Israel, Hebrew articles start from one (right) side of a volume and English from the opposite (left) side. The asterisk marks the Hebrew pages. 19 Yehushua 1963; we thank Eitan Bar-Yosef for the reference. For discussion of ruins – Khirbehs – in Israeli culture see also Levine 2014. 20 A salvage excavation is usually made in anticipation of development work; sometimes it is made after remains have been damaged. After the excavation the area is normally released for development. In “academic” excavations (usually held by universities; the term is misleading since salvage excavators also hold academic degrees) the site/area is usually not in danger of development and scholars can choose the areas. The difference is technical. In all other aspects, such as excavation methods, treatment of finds and publication, all (legal) archaeological excavations are equal. The opinion, that salvage excavations are “less scientific” or important, is a paternalistic view.

References Aharoni, Y. 1957. The Settlement of the Israelite Tribes in the Upper Galilee. Jerusalem: Magness. Alterman, N. 1979. Pizmonim ve-Shirey Zemer. 1976. Tel Aviv: 302–303 (Hebrew).

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Avni, G. 2000. “Should the Antiquity Law Be Applied to Cultural Objects Made after Year 1700?” Unpublished lecture, the Conference of the National Israel Academy of Sciences, 18th November (Hebrew). Banning, E.B. 2002. Archaeological Survey. New York: Plenum. Benvenisti, M. 1997. “The Hebrew Map”. Theory and Criticism 11: 7–29 (Hebrew). Benvenisti, M. 2000. Sacred Landscapes: The Buried History of the Holy Land since 1948. California: University of California. Benvenisti, M. 2012. The Dream of the White Sabra. Jerusalem: Keter (Hebrew). Binford, L.R. 1962. “Archaeology as Anthropology”. American Antiquity 28(2): 217–225. Binford, L.R. 1965. “Archaeological Systematics and the Study of Culture Process”. American Anthropologist 31: 203–210. Binford, L.R. 1967. “Smudge Pits and Hide Smoking: The Use of Analogies in Archaeological Reasoning”. American Antiquity 32: 1–12. Bunimovitz, Sh. 1992. “The ‘New Archaeology’ and Israeli Archaeology”. Archeologia: Bulletin of the Israel Archaeological Association 3: 59–67 (Hebrew). Clarke, D. 1973. “Archaeology: The Loss of Innocence”. Antiquity 47: 6–18. Dagan, Y. 2006. Archaeological Survey of Israel: Map of Amazya (109), Jersalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Dagan, Y. 2010. The Ramat Bet Shemesh Regional Project: The Gazetteer, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 46. Davidovitch, L. and T. Lavie. 2007. Documentation File. The House of Anton Ayyub. Tel-Aviv University, School of Architecture. www.bateibeer.com/www/12.pdf (last accessed 31.7.2013, Hebrew). Dever, W.G. 1981. “The Impact of the ‘New Archaeology’ on Syro-Palestinian Archaeology”. Bulletin of the American School of Oriental Research 242: 15–29. En Gedi, M. 1996. “El-Qubab”. Atiqot 51: 55*−67* (Hebrew). Fischbach, M. 2003. Records of Dispossession: Palestinian Refugee Property and the Arab-Israeli Conflict. New York: Columbia University. Flannery, K.V. 1982. “The Golden Marshalltown: A Parable for the Archaeology of the 1980s”. American Anthropologist 84: 265–278. Fogelman, Sh. 2010. “What happened to the 130.000 Syrian Citizens Living in the Golan Heights in June 1967?”. Ha’aretz Newspaper, 27.7.2010. www.haaretz.co.il/ misc/1.1232759 (last accessed 12.8.2013, Hebrew; English trans. 30.7.2010). Fuchs, R. 1998. “The Palestinian Arab House Reconsidered (Parts 1–2)”. Cathedra 89: 83–126; Cathedra 90: 53–86 (Hebrew). Geva, Sh. 1992. “Israeli Biblical Archaeology at its Beginnings”. Zmanim 42: 93–102 (Hebrew). Golan, A. 1996. “The 1948 War and the Transformation of Abandoned Rural Arab Areas in the Landscape”. Ha-Zionut 20–21: 221–243 (Hebrew). Golan, A. 1997. “The Transformation of Abandoned Arab Rural Areas”. Israel Studies 2/1: 94–110. Greenberg, R. 2008. “‘The Rock of Our Existence’: A Parable of Archaeology-State Relations in Israel”. In Archaeology and Nationalism in Eretz-Israel. M. Feige and Z. Shiloni (eds.). Beer Sheba: Ben-Gurion University: 105–120 (Hebrew). Greenberg, R. and A. Keinan, 2009. Israeli Archaeological Activity in the West Bank and East Jerusalem: A Sourcebook. Ostracon Press: Haifa. Hicks, D. and M. Beaudry (eds.). 2006. Historical Archaeology: Cambridge: Cambridge University.

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Hirschfeld, Y. 2000. Ramat Hanadiv Excavations: Final Report of the 1984–1998 Seasons. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Hodder, I. 1982. Symbolic and Structural Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University. Hodder, I. 1992. Theory and Practice in Archaeology. London: Routledge. Kadman, N. 2008. On the Side of the Road and in the Margins of Consciousness: Depopulated Palestinian Villages of 1948 in the Israeli Discourse. Jerusalem: November Books (Hebrew). Khalidi, W. (ed.). 1992. All That Remains: The Palestinian Villages Occupied and Depopulated by Israel in 1948. Washington, DC: Institute of Palestine Studies. Kipnis, Y. 2005. “The Profile of Settlement in the Syrian Golan Heights prior to the Six Day War”. Cathedra 116: 117–145 (Hebrew). Kletter, R. 2003. “A Very General Archaeologist: Moshe Dayan and Israeli Archaeology, 1951–1981”. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 4. www.jhsonline.org/cocoon/JHS/a027. html. Kletter, R. 2006. Just Past? The Making of Israeli Archaeology. London: Equinox. Kletter, R. 2013. “Archaeology in Israel, 1948–1973: Selected Documents”. In The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation Building. E. Pfoh and K.W. Whitlam (eds.). Sheffield: Phoenix Press: 136–151. Kletter, R. and Sulimani, G. 2010. “Archaeology and Professional Ethical Codes in Israel in the Mid 80s: The Case of the Association of Archaeologists in Israel and its Code of Ethics”. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 10. http://purl.org/jhs. Kloner, A. and J. Zias. 2013. “Obituary. Levi-Yotzhak Rahmani”. Israel Exploration Journal 63: 233–234 Kohl, P.L. 1985. “Symbolic Cognitive Archaeology: A New Loss of Innocence”. Dialectical Anthropology 9: 105–117. Kramer, C. (ed.). 1979. Ethnoarchaeology: Implications of Ethnography for Archaeology. New York: Columbia University. Levine, D. 2014. “Our Hirbeh: Representations of Arab Ruins in the Israeli Culture”. Israelis 6: 68–94. London, G. 2000. “Ethno-archaeology and Interpretations of the Past”. Near Eastern Archaeology 63: 2–8. Morris, B. 1991. The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem, 1947–1949. Tel-Aviv: Am Oved (Hebrew; English original, Cambridge 1988). Özdoğan, M. 1998. “Ideology and Archaeology in Turkey”. In: Archaeology Under Fire. L. Meskell (ed.). London: Routledge: 111–123. Pappe, I. 2006. The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine. Oxford: One World Publications. Rapoport, M. 2007. “History Erased”. Ha’aretz Newspaper 5.7.2007. www.haaretz.com/ weekend/magazine/history-erased-1.224899 (accessed 8.1.2013). Reich, R. 1995. Invitation to Archaeology. Tel-Aviv: Dvir (Hebrew). Rosen, S. 2009. “History does not Repeat Itself: Cyclicity and Particularism in NomadSedentary Relations in the Negev in the Long Term”. In Nomads, Tribes and the State in the Ancient Near-East: Cross Disciplinary Perspectives. J. Szchuman (ed.). Chicago, IL: Oriental Institute: 57–86. Rosen, S. and B.A. Saidel. 2010. “The Camel and the Tent”. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 69: 63–77. Roth, Y. 1984. The Survey of the Southern Golan. Tel-Aviv: Eretz-Israel Museum (Hebrew).

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Said, E.W. 2000. Orientalism. Tel-Aviv: Am Oved (Hebrew; English origin London, 1977). Schiffer, M.B. 1978. “Methodological Issues in Ethno-archaeology”. In Explorations in Ethnoarchaeology. R.A. Gould (ed.). Albuquerque: University of New Mexico: 229–247. Shai, A. 2002. “The Fate of the Abandoned Arab Villages in Israel on the Eve of the SixDay War and its Immediate Aftermath”. Cathedra 105: 151–170 (Hebrew). Shai, A. 2006. “The Fate of Abandoned Arab Villages in Israel, 1965–1969”. History and Memory 18: 86–106. Shenhav, Y. 2005. “Hybridity and Purification Juxtaposed: Orientalism as a Discourse with Broad Shoulders”. Theory and Criticism 26: 5–11 (Hebrew). Silberman, N.A. 1993. A Prophet from Amongst You: The Life of Yigael Yadin, Soldier, Scholar, and Mythmaker of Modern Israel. Reading, MA: Addison Wesley. Sulimani, G. 2013. “Israeli Archaeology in the Old City of Jerusalem”. In The Politics of Israel’s Past: The Bible, Archaeology and Nation-Building. E. Pfoh and K.W. Whitelam (eds.). Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press: 120–136. Taylor, W.W. 1948. A Study of Archaeology. Menasha, WI: American Anthropological Association Memoire 69. Toombs, L.E. 1987. A Perspective on the New Archaeology. In Archaeology and Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Memory of D.G. Rose. L.G. Perdue, L.E. Toombs and G.L. Johnson (eds.). Atlanta, GA: John Knox: 41–51. Trigger, B. 1989. A History of Archaeological Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Watson, R. 1972. “The ‘New Archaeology’ of the 1960s”. Antiquity 46: 210–215. Yehushua, A.B. 1963. “Facing the Forests”. In Collected Stories. Tel-Aviv: Kibbutz Meuchad: 99–127 (Hebrew). Yeivin, Z. 1967. “Israel’s Archaeological Survey”. Ariel 18: 80–85 (Hebrew).

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Appendix 1: proposal by Avi Eitan, May 1964 “Checking abandoned Arab settlements and settled Arab settlements today” A. General 1) Checking (bdikah) lonely buildings, groups of buildings and abandoned villages, which are under a process of destruction (heres) in various stages. 2) Checking various places (villages, lonely buildings) settled at present (including former Arab settlements, which have been re-settled by Jews). B. Main subjects of checking The stress of the checking is on: 1) Various building details technically. 2) Stages of destruction and their formation processes. 3) Phases. 4) Plans of dwelling units; the different functions of unit parts and the relations between these parts (courtyard, living rooms, etc.); how the dwelling units relate to each other. 5) The relation between the geographic region and the climate to materials and forms of building. C. The goal The checking has a double goal: 1) The above-mentioned [settlement places] themselves. With every passing year the destruction is larger, and some of them are becoming completely extinct. Not registering and documenting on time will cause loss of facts and data that still exists. 2) The above-mentioned [settlements] in comparison to situations and phenomena in occupation layers, which are exposed in archaeological excavations. The checking will be done in two stages: First stage: checking the abandoned and ruined places of settlement. Second stage: checking places of settlement settled today (mekomot yishuv noshavim). D. Details (for goal no. 2) The assumption is that there is similarity between the subjects of examination (nos’ey ha-bdikah) (although they are late), and occupation layers containing buildings in archaeological excavations, in regard to details of construction, 200

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formation of stages, functions of various parts of the dwelling unit, and mainly situations of destruction (mazavey heres) in abandoned settlement sites (the process of formation of the destruction with its various phases, the process of accumulation [of debris], and one may say: the creation of a “Stratum” in the archaeological sense in these places, which are done right in front of our eyes). The state of preservation in the subjects of examination is usually better than in occupation layers exposed in excavations, both in details of buildings and other matters, and in the process of destruction which can be studied with all its various phases and stages from its beginning to [p. 2] its end, unlike in excavations. The data is more complete and proliferate in the subjects of examination than in the excavations. Sometimes, excavations lack data that exist, indeed, in the subjects of examination (better preservation state). Checking and registering such data might broaden the understanding and knowledge of phenomena and situations in excavations or complete the picture and the knowledge both about details and in general, which due to the objective situation, are only partial or missing in the excavations. I assume and hope, that the results of the proposed examination, except for the importance of the registration of the above-mentioned themselves, may furnish material and data for comparison and deductions with situations in excavations; and maybe even furnish data, which to a certain extent no longer exists in excavation. E. A few examples Building details: forms of building in stone and bricks, using bricks and stones together, wall joints, plaster, lintels, thresholds, floors, roof features, windows, relation between thickness of walls and [the number of] stores, etc. Destruction situations: which parts of buildings are more vulnerable to the teeth of time and are destroyed first; shapes of collapse of stone and brick walls, roofs, debris, forms of accumulation and how it develops,; that is, formation of a layer. Phases: phases in the building and how they are expressed in building details, heights and the plan; relation of ruins or of buildings that went out-of-use to still settled buildings next to them, or re-settled (in existing settlement places today, and in Arab settlements that have been re-settled by Jews); and comparison with occupation layers in excavations (including the conclusions that derive from it for dating finds and ascribing buildings to various phases within the same Stratum – “stratigraphy”). Dwelling units and their plans, and how they relate to each other, in abandoned places and also in places settled today, and trying to infer [from this] to occupation layers in excavations (shared walls, forms of contiguity, streets, location of installations, etc.). 201

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These are only a few examples, without entering too many details of possibilities of additional results in the suggested subjects of examination and in inference to archaeological excavations. Clearly the examination might also bring partial or negative results in some of the subjects, regarding the aim noted above. F. Financing The required financing is in the first stage for transport and exploring (siyur) expenses, and expenses of photographing and measuring (sirtut). In the second stage, for processing the material.It is difficult to estimate in advance the time needed for performing the checking and the collection of data and, later, for the processing of the material. [Copy, not signed]

Avraham Eitan

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Figure 11.7 The opening page of Eitan’s research proposal.

Figure 11.8 The last page of Eitan’s research proposal.

12 THE BIBLE IN THE SERVICE OF ZIONISM “We do not believe in God, but he nonetheless promised us Palestine” Ilan Pappe

There is a tale that is 66.5 per cent true about Ben Zion Dinburg (later Dinur), the doyen of the early Zionist historiography of Palestine, and later one of the first ministers of Education. In 1937, he was approached by David Ben-Gurion, the leader of the Jewish community in Palestine and later the first Prime Minister of Israel, two weeks before the arrival of the Royal Peel Commission, which was asked by His Majesty’s Government to find a solution for the conflict in Palestine. Ben-Gurion inquired whether the respectable historian could produce some research that would prove Jewish continuity from 70 ce, the time of the Roman exile, to 1882, the time of the arrival of the first Zionists. Well, replied the historian, I could, but this involves many periods and a variety of expertize and therefore it will probably take a decade or so to complete it successfully. “You do not understand”, retorted BenGurion, “The Peel Commission is coming in two weeks’ time. Therefore you have to reach your conclusion by then, after that you have a whole decade to prove it!” Even if this story is not entirely true – it has no identifiable source – it shows the interaction between the ancient Jewish experience in Palestine and the Zionist battle for recognition and legitimacy in the twentieth century. It is not clear whether the presentation of the continuity argument won the day. It was in any case presented as a powerful argument in front of both the Peel Commission and the UN special commission on Palestine (UNSCOP) in 1947. British and later UN support for Zionism, it seems in hindsight, had little to do with the proof for such continuity. However, both for internal consumption and external support the Zionist exploitation of the Bible as both a scientific truth and moral justification for the colonization of Palestine did matter considerably in the ability to recruit support from large sections of the Western Christian world behind the Zionist movement. 205

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The secular early Zionists quoted intensively from the Bible to show that there was a divine imperative to colonize Palestine, or in their discourse, to redeem Eretz Israel.1 But in fact the Bible is not a very useful text for reinventing a Jewish nation: the father of the nation, Abraham, was not from Palestine, the Hebrews became a nation in Egypt and the Ten Commandments were given to them in Egypt (the Sinai). This text was reinterpreted by the early and secular Zionists. The nation was one of the tribes, living under occupation in Canaan, exiled to Egypt and came back to redeem the homeland, as did the modern Zionists. As new occupiers of Canaan was how the secular Zionists saw themselves. Namely, the successors of Joshua and the Judges, and, then, they too founded a Jewish kingdom (Almog 1992: 81). On the margins of the secular and quite often socialist, early Zionist settler bodies, grew a small group of religious people who were taken by the idea of Zionism. They added to the secular interpretation the idea that the exile, not only to Egypt, but the various exiles throughout the biblical period associated with the immoral and anti-God behaviour of the people was a punishment that came to an end with the arrival of Zionism in Palestine. Later, on the ground in Palestine, they would add that, in order for the exile not to re-occur, a more religious behaviour would be required of the settlers – an issue that still today divides the Jewish society in Israel (Levy 1969: 60–78). What secular and religious Zionists agreed on was that the Bible had a central place, not as a religious text, but rather as a historical document that reaffirms the right of ownership over the land. Moreover, it was read by secular Zionists as a text that deemed exile from that land as an abnormal and unhealthy historical condition (M.Y. Ben-Gurion 1960: 99–150). The Bible was treated as a book that foresaw and predicted the return of the people to their land, the building of the country and the gathering of exiles – all Hebrew terms appearing in the Bible and re-used as a modern national dictionary. So it was both a spiritual justification and a practical map which pointed to the locations, and sites, where things happened during the biblical period that would become the Zionist map of colonization (D. Ben-Gurion 1976). Both these approaches, regarding the Bible as a major independent text, and negating exile as a non-Jewish and abnormal reality were alien concepts to any practicing and religious Jew when Zionism appeared. The fusion still leaves practicing Jews in an uncomfortable position today. The first problem for them was that they have never studied the Bible as a separate book, if they studied it at all. But the problem was more serious than that. As underlined by Amnon Raz-Krakotzkin, Zionist experience raised from the very beginning many problems for practising Jews who had found themselves unable to interpret the “return” of the Jews to Israel before the return of the Messiah. Thus, in a metaphysical degree, exile is not ended with the creation of the Jewish state. Indeed, exile is a major constituent of Jewish identity and is supposed to have a therapeutic function which Zionism endangers in claiming the return to “Eretz Israel”, because only God is able to put an end to exile. This particular 206

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critique was, of course, prevailing among the orthodox Jews such as the Haredim, who were not at all comfortable with the use the Zionists made of the Torah and the concept of the Promised Land (Raz-Krakotzkin 2007). These theological and ideological divergences of opinion about the place of the Bible, the concept of return and other more marginal issues were symptoms for a much more profound gap between the orthodox and Zionist Jewish perspectives. Mainstream Zionism was not only a movement seeking the colonization of Palestine and the assertion of the Jewish right for self-determination; it was also a very significant movement of secularization. As such it was not unique in the period when other religious groups for similar or other reasons redefined themselves in national terms. But its relationship with the religious interpretation of identity proved to be complex as in many cases of what Anthony Smith used to call vertical nationalism. That is national identities born in close association with religious affiliation, despite their modernization and success in creating a nationstate (Smith 1986). When the early Orthodox protests were made, Zionism was still a minority opinion among world Jewry and in many ways this objection could have wilted the early buds of secular Jewish nationalism or at least the insistence of implementing the idea of Jewish nationalism in Palestine. Hence, in the early twentieth century, some of the leading figures of the Zionist movement, including the founding father of the movement, Theodore Herzl (1946: 66–77), opted for colonization elsewhere. The preferred option was Uganda.

Christian biblical scholarship and the Zionization of Palestine Eventually Palestine was chosen. Among the reasons for this shift was a strong British support for the idea. The support was mainly on the basis of religious, rather than strategic, interests – although one could very rarely separate the two in the Imperial British drive over the globe. The foundations for this British religious interest in settling the Jews in Palestine are to be found in Western Christian scholarship about the Bible as a text that foresees the future and serves as a political and not only a divine, master-plan (Prior 1998). Several studies have shown that the gravitation towards Palestine as the epicentre of Zionist visions and aspirations was facilitated, among other factors, by a very keen and intensive Protestant interest in connecting the Jewish colonization of the “holy land” with divine and apocalyptic Christian doctrines, which saw the return of the Jews as precipitating the second coming of the Messiah. The orientation of Zionism towards Palestine followed European scholarly preoccupation with biblical Israel in the age of colonialism and imperialism. As Keith Whitelam (1998) has indicated, this scholarship adopted two attitudes that served secular Zionism particular well. In its scholarly coverage of the history of the Holy Land, from biblical to contemporary times, this scholarship studied the country as an empty space and thereby entirely de-Arabized it. Arabs and Muslims were left outside the realm of professional historical writings. Second, 207

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scholarly research was motivated by apocalyptic and millenarist notions, in which the second return of the Messiah would be precipitated by the return of the Jews. This combination of de-Arabization and the religious imperative for the return of the Jews paved the way for the imposition by word and sword of the Zionist narrative onto the land. A Eurocentric, as well as a Christo-centric, narrative served the Zionist one well. This is exemplified best in one of the principal Zionist claims: a nation returning not only to a homeland but also to a space that in the past had been occupied by a Jewish nation-state. The exclusive nature of the Zionization of the past hinged on the biblical scholarship produced in the nineteenth century in Europe. It began with the theological mythic construct of the “nation of Israel”. This term was presented by biblical scholars in the last century as a historical fact – indeed, as the only suitable way of defining the people living in Palestine from the Middle Bronze Age onward, even though it seems that the scattered villages of that Palestine had very little in common. The reinvention of the Jewish people as an ancient nation of Israel was an important product of that scholarly effort. It played an important role in shaping the founding myth of Zionism: a people without a land returning to a land without a people. Excluding the Palestinians from the land was one thing, claiming that the land had had its original nation, wandering about, was yet another. The two are interconnected. A genuine nation returned home, an undefined group of people had to move, and later move out, to make place for this act of historical justice (Prior 1998). As Thomas Thompson showed, the myth of a wandering nation hardly ever was challenged in a scholarly way. He claims that after the great Jewish rebellion against the Romans in 70 ce most people stayed. Not only that; in due course they were Christianized more or less at the time the empire as a whole was “baptized” and in turn with the advent of Arab conquerors they were partly Islamized (Thompson 1998). This was the indigenous population of Palestine; at times mostly Jewish, later mostly Christian, and finally predominantly Muslim – a population undergoing processes of conversion, over a period of 2,000 years, similar to most people in the area, a historical chapter ending with the redefinition of these communities as national movements (Sand 2010). The late Michael Prior exposed very carefully this enterprise and concluded that the Bible “can be a charter for dispossession, not only for liberation” (Prior 1998a: 53). This is, of course, true about all the Holy Scriptures and the elastic interpretation that can be given to them to serve contemporary political aims. A prime example for this scholarship is the reinvention within this Christian scholarship of the kingdom of David as a Jewish nation-state, a reinvention later adopted gladly by the Zionist movement. The theological scaffolding for Zionism was as absurd in Judaism as it was for Christianity. As Thompson argued: from a biblical point of view (i.e., a theological point of view), any secular (i.e., national) attempt to reclaim the past, or nationalize it, for the present, is false (Thompson 1998). Is there a genuine story to be told when such a distant past is considered? he asked rhetorically. 208

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Religion deals with beliefs and not scientific truth and thus even sceptics would be less bothered with the lack of scientific proof for its conviction. But in the case of Palestine a holy, or rather an unholy, alliance was formed between Christian scholarship of that kind and secular Zionism (which also developed a propensity to prove scientifically such ideological claims over Palestine). The most common thread was the ability to Zionize, or nationalize, anyone who lived in the biblical era up to the Roman time and then de-Palestinize others – namely question other people’s, even indigenous ones, affinity or connection to the land of Palestine, up to the arrival of the early Zionists. This act of nationalizing people in the past was not unique to Zionism of course. As Benedict Anderson (2003: 41) noted, it was always easy for national movements to nationalize dead people who could not resist this act of nationalization. The human problem created by this act of Palestine was not whether people were justifiably regarded a Jewish nation or not, but that the Zionist adoption of the biblical narrative was an a priori nationalization of the land, as a people-less space between 70 ce and 1882, while the native people were deemed as either absent or as usurpers who had taken over a land that was not theirs. In fact the people of Palestine had been excluded from the Zionist narrative of the land already in 1882, long before they were uprooted forcefully in 1948. In other words, the imposition of the biblical narrative produced real victims – the Palestinian people who did not fit the definition of the people of Israel, according to the Zionist narrative of the Bible.

The Bible as a secular charter By 1905, Zionism was focused on Palestine and any other territorial options were ruled out. The people who took over from the early central European prophets of the day, injected socialist, and even Marxist, ideology in huge doses into the growing secular reality of Zionism in Palestine. But as Zeev Sternhell (1999), and before him Zachary Lockman (1996) and Gershon Shafir (1989) among others have shown, this was always a very conditional and limited version of Socialism and Marxism. The universal values and aspirations that characterized the various ideological movements in the Western Left were, very early on, nationalized or Zionized in Palestine. Zionization meant in this case evoking the religious dogma and reframing it in such a way that would assert an eternal moral right to the land, that transcends not only any other external claims to the land in those dying days of colonialism and Imperialism, but also those of the native population. One of the most socialist secular colonialist projects demanded exclusivity in the name of a pure transcendental promise. A secular reliance on the Word of God as a justification for colonization is not the only basis for solidifying a takeover. Material power, diplomacy, and brutality, etc. are of course at times even more essential. But the Zionist leaders wished to cement these discrete impulses into a coherent narrative that would explain not only why they arrived in Palestine but also why they denied the right of the Palestinians to be there. 209

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This however turned out to be a heuristic and dangerous exercise. The Labour movement navigated successfully between Realpolitik and pragmatism when it came to employing the Bible. Colonization and dispossession was a secular strategy but was justified – internally and internationally when needed – on the basis of the Bible. When Labour lost power, the more right wing factions of Zionism would take the biblical text as justifying disregard for Realpolitik, Israel’s international standing or obligation and, indeed, of human rights considerations. This reliance on the biblical text as overriding any universalist approach to politics, was at first only adopted at the right margins of the Zionist movement but it soon became a mainstream force and in recent years even a dominating force. These political movements within Zionism reconnected, very much as the Labour Zionists did, to a very selective reading of the Bible. In this new, more revered reading of the Bible it became a text that justified not past conquest but also present day policies towards the Palestinians, consisting of occupation and dispossession. Right wing and marginal religious groups were not the only ones tempted to employ the Bible in such a way. Every now and then the more sober labour Zionists would do the same, especially in moments of violent clashes with the native Palestinians, over land, water and other natural resources. Their authors, leaders and poets described these clashes as a re-enactment of some of the bible’s most famous battles. And thus Israel’s foremost national poet, Nathan Alternam compared various Palestinian attacks on settlers to the defeat of Saul’s army in front of the Philistines in the Gilboa. And he assumed that unlike in exile, on the homeland, defeat will always be succeeded by victory; as it did in the Bible (Guri 2008). But in principle the labour and mainstream Zionist establishment reliance on the Bible for the major strategy of colonization and spiritual inspiration for maintaining the colonies was done in attempt to extricate the Bible from its religious connotation or even with the purpose of extricating it from the hands of the Rabbis. It was the leader of the Jewish community in mandatory Palestine and Israel’s first Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion who led this secular way. “The eternity and greatness of the Bible are not conditioned by another book, interpretation or Talmudic text that came after it” he declared – referring to the Orthodox tendency to stress the importance of other texts. They were wrong and only in Palestine can they realise it: “Only with the renewal of the homeland and the Hebrew renaissance we can understand fully the real and full light of the Bible” (Ben-Gurion 1962: 12). Thus clear spiritual references in the Bible to the Jewish people to be gatekeepers of the Bible as a religious word of God became a manual book for how to keep the gated Jewish communities in colonized Palestine. It is not an exaggeration to say that David Ben-Gurion turned the Bible into a foundation of his Zionist thought after 1948. Already in the early 1930s, when he was elected as the undisputed leader of the Jewish Community, he had made a concerted and conscious effort to extricate the research and the study of the Bible from the hands of

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religious quarters. But more importantly for him it was to convey the message that Jewish life in exile evolved around the Bible. This point was repeated by one of the leading intellectual lights of Zionism, the poet Haim Nahman Bialik. In a lecture he gave to activists and leaders of MAPAI, the leading Zionist socialist party in one of the veteran, and highly secular, settlements of Nahalal in 1932 he explained how wrong was the Orthodox Jewish assertion that Jews in the exile did not learn the Bible or did not know it well. He claimed it was a fundamental part of Jewish education (Shapira 2012). This rather flimsy and unfounded assertion was connected to another notion in Ben-Gurion’s mind that the Jewish nation was not born in exile but only on the land, and the proof for this was in the Bible (Shapira 1997: 233). Ben-Gurion insisted on the secular teaching of the Bible as a national text to be inserted in a core place in the educational systems, throughout all the stages of learning. He also elevated what one can call the secular and national knowledge of the Bible to a core value and supreme manifestation of what the essence of being an Israeli is all about. For this purpose he initiated the Bible Youth Quiz in 1958 which became an organic part of the day of independence celebrations (Shapira 2012). Labour Zionist historians saw the Bible, as indeed one would think the leaders of the Labour Zionist movement saw it, as linking the East European Jews to the foreign land of Palestine. The land was foreign in its landscape, as were the people inhabiting it and the language they spoke. As a recent book by such an historian put it, as absurd as it may sound, the secularization of the modern Jews that went through Zionism – and not for instance through Marxism or Liberalism – brought the Bible back to the Jewish people, who had distanced themselves from it during the attempt to assimilate in Europe. It became the essential link between the second Aliya, the core group that founded the Jewish state, and the land. Hence, the Bible could be found in the room of every socialist worker who laboured in the name of Zionism (Tabenkin 1972, vol II: 25).

Rediscovering the land of the Bible: the 1967 occupation and its impact The Israeli reasons for occupying the West Bank and the decision to maintain it as part of Israel are a topic for another article and I have discussed it elsewhere. The government documents before the war and during the first year of the occupation are now accessible to the public. They reveal a mixture of strategic reasoning for the occupation but also a biblical justification (Pappe 2013). Quite a few secular ministers in the thirteenth government of Israel regarded the West Bank as the heart of ancient Israel and saw the occupation as redemption of the homeland. In this respect, the Bible became once more an imperative and important text. But because there was strategy involved, the biblical map, at least in theory, was not supposed to dictate the plan of colonization and Judaization. The principle, embodied in the famous Yigal Alon plan and accepted by all the politicians,

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was to settle only where there was no dense Palestinian population. Alas the biblical map charted a different option – the places deemed as the ancient locations from the Bible were at the heart of the Palestinian populated area and this is where the settlers chose to colonize. And that particular map motivated the settlers’ movement, appearing after the 1967 war. It was born in the learning centres of religious nationalism that played a very minimal role in establishing the state and now, after 1967, felt they could play the leading role in redeeming the heart of the ancient homeland. And, indeed, the harbinger of this settlement plan was the forceful entrance into the heart of Khalil, Hebron in the spring of 1968. The movement, Gush Emunim, would use only the biblical map to determine where it settled next. In most cases their settlement was approved in hindsight by the government – either because the politicians were afraid to challenge this movement, or more likely, because quite a few leading figures identified also with this map of colonization and Judaization (Zertal and Eldar 2009). For the settlers, colonizing large parts of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip was repossession in the name of God and the Bible (and some of these texts such as Joshua’s elimination of the Amalekites could have been easily interpreted as even a justification for genocide. But, thank God, no ideological movement in Zionism or later-day Israel, has succumbed to such a view, yet.). But they did relate to the Jewish Haggada, the main tale, of the Passover Seder, where God sends Moses to a land inhabited by others, who are all named, and whose fate is to be disposed for the sake of the “return” of the chosen people to the Abrahamite promised land. The first act of colonization in Hebron was done on the eve of the Passover Seder. So biblical and later-day texts became the corner stone of the interpretation of the Zionist dispossession of Palestine as an act of God. The biblical texts were needed not only to build new settlements but also to expand existing ones – indeed it seems that by now, in 2015, the map has been completed, but for their maintenance in the face of Palestinian resistance and expansion in the face of international condemnation. Not surprisingly, the Christian Zionists in the United States, through their representatives on Capitol Hill, share this biblical license for opposing the American State Department’s constant reference to the settlements as illegal.2 The biblical texts create an immense energy, excitement and zeal. And when this was to a certain extent exhausted in the West Bank and when Ariel Sharon, for tactical reasons, ended the Jewish colonization in the Gaza Strip around 2005, it was directed inside Israel into the seams that connect precariously mixed Arab and Jewish towns and locations. In such mixed towns as Acre, Jaffa, Haifa, Lydd and Ramleh, the Palestinian inhabitants had already succumbed to a spatial policy from above, which strangled their habitat and living space – mainly by surrounding them with exclusive gated and apartheid Jewish communities (Pappe 2011). Recently, this external policy of enclavement was accompanied by the appearance of biblical learning centres of Jews, who come originally from the settlements and 212

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purchase flats and houses in the heart of the Arab ghettos of these mixed towns. They declare very openly that they have come to redeem these lands. The Bible does not stop, so it seems, being employed as a tool against the indigenous people of Palestine.

The “Pulmus”: the debate However, the inherent paradox of secular Jews wishing to implement God’s will in the land in the name of the Bible was not easily solved in twenty-first century Israel. The settler community in the occupied West Bank, like many parts of the religious national movement, underwent a process of Orthodoxation. What I mean is that secularism, and not only anti-Arabism, has now become their enemy; and part of the aversion against secularization is resentment towards the way the Bible has been expropriated by the secular hegemonic cultural elites in Israel (including through the establishment of departments for the study of the Bible in Israeli universities). Thus a Pulmus, (“debate” in Halachic Hebrew) began within the settlement movement and its constituencies inside Israel. At the heart of this lay a new phenomenon: the Hardalim. Mafdal (acronym for the national religious party in Hebrew) and the Haredim are ultra-Orthodox Jews. A Hardal – which also means mustard in Hebrew, is a hybrid between Mafdal and Haredi Jews. These ultra-Orthodox national Jews, if such a hybrid is possible, resent strongly the secularization of the way the Bible is studied and taught in Israel. The example they offer is how to interpret King David’s attitude towards Uriah the husband of the beautiful Bat Sheva whom the king coveted when watching her bathe on the rooftop. He takes her away from Uriah and sends her husband to die in the battlefield (Henkin 2004). The new gatekeepers from the settlements claim that secular Jews may understand it as it is written. They admit that only very few scholars through the ages give any markedly different explanation for this unpleasant episode. However, for Orthodox Jews, the seemingly sinful behaviour remains unexplained and therefore not judged or criticized as the mysterious work of the Lord. The Hardalization of the national religious Jews is also the outcome of the political ascendance of the ultra-Orthodox parties in Israel – allegedly antiZionist, given their aversion for the secular tampering with the divine scheme – but de facto Zionist, because of their racist anti-Arabism and their willingness to settle in huge number in the Judaization programs of successive governments in the north and south of Israel and inside the West Bank (in particular in the greater Jerusalem area) (Pappe 2011). Those close to them in the settler communities began the Pulmus and demanded that, in the learning centres of the national religious Jewish institutions, secular interpretation of the Bible should be abandoned as the Bible’s singularity should be reconsidered. Thus a century after ultraOrthodox Jews rejected Zionism, partly for the misuse and abuse of the Bible, they now demand a monopoly on the interpretation of the Bible in order to return the book to its pre-Zionist context. 213

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The two ideological streams in Israel today that reject this reassertion are the national religious settlers who still wish to use the Bible in the same way the early Zionists employed it for the colonization and Judaization of Palestine, and the secular liberal Jews, who without any clear scholarly logic, but only on the basis of pragmatism and real politic, demand that the same impulse to colonize Palestine before 1948 should not be reignited for the occupied territories of 1967 in order to enable peace with the Palestinians. They also claim that this modern usage of the Bible distances it from the younger, secular generation. As Shapira claims in her new book, the settlers spoiled the encounter with the real land of the Bible, namely, the West Bank after the 1967 war (Shapira 2012). She also claims that liberal Zionists can differentiate between the love of the land of the Bible and the right of the other people living there to have that particular part of the land.

The battle over the representation of the Bible Hitherto in the academic world, the official Zionist historiographical version has been received in the West and treated as unequivocally “legitimate” as a scholarly and sound narrative of the conflict, while the Palestinian one has been suspected of being mere propaganda. This changed in the late 1970s. The severe criticism directed at the orientalist studies in the West, inspired by works of scholars such as Samir Amin (2010), Walid Khalidi (1987), Edward Said (2000), and Sami Zubaida (2009), has balanced the study of the Arab-Israeli conflict. This new trend corresponded with the emergence of a revisionist history in Israel. A handful of Israeli scholars began recognizing the validity of at least some of the main chapters in the Palestinian narrative, most notable among which is the acceptance of Israel’s responsibility for the Palestinian refugee problem (Pappe 2002). However, studies that were associated with the Bible were kept out of this intellectual revolution, and in most cases mainstream academia treated the biblical narrative, which justified the Zionization of Palestine, as an empirical fact. Only very few anti-Zionist scholars, such as Gabi Piterberg have deconstructed successfully this narrative, and there were, of course, several significant works on the topic outside Israeli academia. The Bible in Zionist narrative thus serves two narratives within the mainstream secular Zionist movement and later the state of Israel. The meta-narrative is that since this is the land of the Jewish Bible, there were Jews in it until they were brutally expelled. The second part of it, or the second narrative, is that the land became empty until it was redeemed in the late nineteenth century. Shlomo Sand, in the footsteps of Arthur Koestler, challenged the narrative of Jewish expulsion in the Roman period, and thus the concept of “return” in the late nineteenth century (Sand 2010; Koestler 1976). However his work was a voice in an Israeli and pro-Israeli wilderness. Even more profound analysis on the cultural nature of Israel’s settler colonialism in this respect can be found in Gabi Piterberg’s book, The Returns of Zionism (2010). Sand, Piterberg, Whitelam, Prior and Thompson, are still not mainstream, despite the significant revolution in the production of knowledge about modern Palestine and Israel. 214

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More typical is the cartographic representation of the Zionist meta-narrative that accompanies still quite a few venues where the narrative is relevant: university modules, popular virtual, electronic and media presentations and diplomatic material. The most common example of this is the still very popular The Atlas of the Arab-Israeli Conflict by Martin Gilbert (2010), the renowned historian and biographer of Winston Churchill. It is now in its thirteenth edition and still there is not even the slightest echo of the new challenges mentioned above or any reference to the historiographical changes in this Atlas. The atlas is a reproduction of mainstream Zionist historiography of the conflict, without any reference to revisionist Israeli historical views, not to mention the possibility of giving at least one map from a Palestinian perspective. This is all the more remarkable since the pretension, as stated in the preface, is to try and present fairly “the views of those involved in the conflict”. A few examples will suffice to show in which direction this book is bent. They will prove once more how supposedly innocent artefacts, such as maps, disclose a strong ideological bias. The first map is a good place to start. It shows the Jews of Palestine before the Arab conquest. Fair enough, we may say, as this demonstrates the romantic Zionist claim to Palestine. But one would have expected at least one map that informs us about the Arab’s chronicles in Abbasid, Mamluk, Seljuk, or Ottoman Palestine. But there is none of that. The subsequent map is of the Jews in Palestine in all these Islamic periods, periods in which they constituted less than 1 per cent of the population. The third map is about the first Jewish immigration of 1882. The myth of the “empty land waiting for the landless people” is recreated in these first three maps. The biblical map is not directly displayed here but it is the basis for the story (a Palestinian atlas would begin the story with the arrival of Zionism as the departure point for the conflict). The industry of similar atlases in Israel, the famous Carta series, from the time of the Bible to our times, accentuates this connection even better. At the end of the day, however, it may be pointless now, in 2015, to expect that any deconstruction of the manipulation Zionism and later the state of Israel employed with regards to the Bible would have any significant impact on reality. The reality will change because of aversion to the abuse of human rights and basic civil rights. Whether this abuse is done in the name of the Bible, or of secular texts, from the victim’s point of view, is irrelevant.

Notes 1 Bracha Habas (ed.), The Book of the Second Aliya, from 1947 is the largest published collection of Second Aliya diary entries, letters and articles. 2 “Christian Zionists Support West Bank Settlements”. New York Times, July 6, 2010.

References Almog, S. 1992. Nationalism, Zionism, Anti-Semitism: Essays and Research. Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar. In Hebrew.

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Amin, S. 2010. Global History: A View from the South. London: Bambazuka Press. Anderson, B. 2003. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso Books. Ben-Gurion, D. 1976. Studies in the Bible. Tel-Aviv, Am Oved. ________. 1962. “Exile and the Bible: A Dialogue with Haim Hazzas”. Dialogues on State and Culture 12. In Hebrew. Ben-Gurion, M. Y. (Bardichevsky). 1960. Writings and Articles. Tel-Aviv, Dvir. In Hebrew. Gilbert, M. 2012. The Routledge Atlas of the Arab-Israeli Conflict. 10th ed. Oxford: Routledge. First edition 1974. Guri, H. 2008. “On Nathan Alterman: Poets of Our Times”. Zeman Yarok, 31 July. In Hebrew. Habas, B. (ed.). 1947. The Book of the Second Aliya. Tel-Aviv: Am Oved. In Hebrew. Henkin, H. 2004. “Everyone Who Says for Certain the David Sinned and the Critical Approach”. Hazofeh, 1 April. In Hebrew. Herzl, T. 1946. The Jewish State: An Attempt at a Modern Solution of the Jewish Question. New York: American Zionist Emergency Council. Khalidi, W. 1987. From Heaven to Conquest. Washington, DC: Institute for Palestine Studies. Koestler, A. 1976. The Thirteenth Tribe: The Khazar Empire and its Heritage. New York, NY: Random House. Levy, Y. 1969. The Dispute over Erezt Israel in Ancient Times. Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik. In Hebrew. Lockman, Z. 1996. Comrades and Enemies: Arab and Jewish Workers in Palestine, 1906–1948. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Pappe, I. 2002. “The Post-Zionist Discourse in Israel 1991–2001”. Holy Land Studies 1/1: 3–20. ________. 2011. The Forgotten Palestinians: A History of the Palestinian Minority in Israel. London and New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. ________. 2013. “The False Paradigm of Peace”. Settler Colonial Studies, volume 3, no. 4: 341–351. Piterberg, G. 2010. The Returns of Zionism. London and New York: Verso Books. Prior, M. (ed.). 1998. Western Scholarship and the History of Palestine. London: Melisende. ________. 1998a. “ The Moral Problem of the Land Traditions of the Bible”. In Prior (ed.), Western Scholarship: 41–81. Raz-Krakotzkin, A. 2007. “Jewish Memory between Exile and Memory”. Jewish Quarterly Review: 530–543. Sagive, A. 1989. “The Forefathers of Zionism and Myth of the Nation’s Birth”. Techelt, 5/ Autumn: 1–4. In Hebrew. Said, E. 2000. Orientalism. London: Vintage Books, Sand, S. 2010. The Invention of the Jewish People. London and New York: Verso Press. Shafir, G. 1989. Land, Labor and the Origins of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, 1882–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shapira, A. 1997. New Jews, Old Jews. Tel-Aviv: Am Oved. In Hebrew. ________. 2012. The Bible and the Jewish Identity. Tel-Aviv: Am Oved. In Hebrew. Smith, A. 1986. The Ethnic Origins of Nationalism. London: Wiley. Sternhell, Z. 1997. The Founding Myths of Israel. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

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Tabenkin, Y. 1972. “The Ideological Sources of the Second Aliya”. Essays. Tel-Aviv: Kibbutz Mehuad. In Hebrew. Thompson, T. L. 1998. “Hidden History and the Problems of Ethnicity in Palestine”. In M. Prior, Western Scholarship: 23–39. Whitelam, K. W. 1997. The Invention of Ancient Israel: The Silencing of Palestinian History. London and New York: Routledge. ________. 1998. “Western Scholarship and the Silencing of Palestinian History”. In Michael Prior, Western Scholarship: 9–21. Zertal, I. and A. Eldar. 2009. Lords of the Land: The War of Israel’s Settlements in the Occupied Territories, 1967–2007. New York: Nations Books. Zubaida, S. 2009. Islam, the People and the State: Political Ideas and Movements in the Middle East. London and New York: I.B. Tauris.

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13 ARAB SCHOLARS’ CONTRIBUTION TO BIBLICAL STUDIES1 Ziad Muna

Permit me first to move to the subject of this contribution that is “Arabic contribution to biblical studies”. Indeed, I know well that, if I were very precise, I would stop now and deliver an empty silence for my chapter’s intended topic. What contribution have Arabic scholars made to biblical studies? But if I were to do that, my silence would be a statement out of context: disconnected from the prevailing conditions in the Middle East, where we now try to survive religious zombies and sectarian fanaticism that imposed silence on all decent human beings. Rather than such a silence, I shall tell you how I personally made acquaintance with this scientific branch of scholarship and, if I might claim so much, have come to understand its “secrets and hidden messages” amid the great difficulties one faces in this region whenever one searches for understanding in this rather sensitive area of religion. In fact I have found that biblical studies should be identified as a “snake’s” or “scorpion’s nest”, where any wrong move can be deadly. My first encounter with biblical studies was in the former East Germany in 1985, when a friend of mine handed me an Arabic version of Kamal Salibi’s book, The Bible Came from Arabia (1985), which appeared first in German and English, before it was eventually followed by an Arabic translation. He asked me to read it. I did, but I didn’t understand a word of it. The talk about traditions: Jehovist/Yahwist and Priestly and references to Elohim, YHWH and the rest were all too foreign to me. So I gave up. At that time, Arabs were and are still dealing with Salibi’s thesis from a political angle. I lost contact with the subject until I came back to East Germany to live and write my dissertation after the Israeli Invasion of Lebanon in 1982. I was looking for a subject that was both new and untouched. Then, in 1986, a Lebanese friend gave me a copy of the same book and asked me to read it. This time I could: with far more concentration, while sitting 218

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in the Prussian State Library in Berlin for hours at a time, searching for references to the subject and, at the same time, arranging for a specialized professor to guide me through this scientific labyrinth. It took me two years to understand the core of the subject, which would have been so much more difficult without the kind help of my now late professor, Karl Heinz Bernhardt, who taught Hebrew at the Humboldt University, and gave me two afternoons a week to learn the field. He agreed to supervise my dissertation, entitled: Problems of Identifying some Biblical- Geographical Names in Palestine and their Relationship to SouthWestern Arabia. He told me: you need not learn biblical Hebrew through German. Do it directly, through Arabic. I must say that my presence in Germany and the easy access to all the literature I needed for my work in the different libraries of the city, whether in Hebrew, German, English, French or Arabic, made my studies much easier, technically. I maintained a direct contact with the now late professor Salibi who made comments now and then. When I was looking for literature in the library of the department of theology of the Humboldt University, I found the great book of a great scholar: Professor Keith Whitelam’s The Invention of Ancient Israel, The Silencing of Palestinian History (1996) and decided to translate it into Arabic. It is important that I say this, as a “maximalist” American archaeologist has implied in an article he wrote on the internet, that Keith Whitelam had incited me to publish his book in Arabic translation. Indeed he even suggested that Professor Whitelam had paid me for it. The fact is that my first contact with Dr Whitelam occurred when I left Germany for Syria to establish Cadmus Books in Damascus and Beirut. That was in the year 2000. My other, very important encounter with biblical studies came in regard to Professor Thomas L. Thompson’s writings after he had published his book The Early History of the Israelite People from the Written and Archaeological Sources in 1992. At that time, in response to reviews of the book in The Independent on Sunday and the London Times, a London-based Arab daily, published an article criticizing the war waged by certain theological academic sources against Professor Thompson. However, this was not because the paper supported freedom of speech, but rather because they considered the book as proving that the Old Testament; namely Judaism, was wrong. Do I need to mention that this Londonbased daily is owned by the late crown-prince of Saudi Arabia; hardly an ideal place for any form of free speech or research. Both Whitelam’s and Thompson’s writings led me to the very important and creative articles and books of Professor Philip Davies, to whom I feel deeply indebted. Both Salibi’s books and those of Professor Thompson caused a wave of interest in the Arab Middle East, as this region is both very diverse and directly involved in the struggle against Israel. The interest, it must be emphasized, was either political or religious, but it was never scientific, that is academic. When I published my book, Egypt and the Israelites in South-western Arabia in Arabic (Muna 1994), it attracted plenty of interest and I was invited to deliver a lecture on the subject in both Beirut and Jordan in 1995. However, the public announcement of the lecture, 219

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originally entitled The Bible Came from Arabia, was changed into a more neutral one so as not to provoke the Saudis and conservative Christians and churches in Lebanon and Jordan. To my mind, this reflects and summarizes the sensitivity of the issue in the Arab world, politically and religiously. One was either on the side of what all great scholars, i.e., Salibi, Thompson, Whitelam, Davies wrote, or against them, and for the same political and religious reasons. When I left Germany in 1999 to live and work as a publisher in Syria and Lebanon, several obstacles made it impossible for me to continue my work on such issues. The writings of the Copenhagen School, “the minimalists”, etc., were met either with suspicion or with open arms—indeed, a liberating shot against Israel. For some fundamentalists, whether religious or nationalistic, it was a proof that the Bible was, after all, wrong! Churches in Syria and Lebanon were uneasy, though they never openly interfered, but some of their leaders talked to me privately and asked me why I would lead an unholy war against the beliefs of the people! More, censorship prevented the publication of some titles I wrote while in Germany, or prevented their distribution when I published them in Lebanon. Though I wrote several articles about the subject in academic periodicals, which some Arab universities in Jordan and Kuwait published, they were a non-event because the subject of Biblical Studies in the Arab world was terra incognita. The only scientific response to my writings came from Palestinian scholars and academics living in Palestine. They all had learned Hebrew and were aware of the Old Testament. I also wrote a book about Balqees, the queen of Saba’ (Sheba); the first and still the only comprehensive book on the subject in Arabic. Though some “liked” it, it was prohibited in several countries, including the Yemen. The reason, they told me, was that I had written that there was no archaeological evidence that Balqees had ever existed! How dare I cast doubt on the existence of Balqees! It was an insult to what they considered a national figure. To Islamists, it was questioning the authority of the Quran, though the Quran, in fact, never mentions the queen by name. I believe that Professors Ingrid Hjelm, Keith Whitelam, Thomas L. Thompson, and Niels Peter Lemche have personally faced what it means to deal with this subject in Arab countries, during their visits to Saudi Arabia, Abu Dhabi, Jordan, Syria, and Lebanon. Turning attention to technical obstacles: I tried in vain to look for sources dealing with the subject of biblical studies, even in the libraries of the departments of theology in Lebanese universities, but I found no literature of any value, apart from the usual difficulties which face any non-staff member in using these libraries. Even in the renowned American University of Beirut, I was deeply disappointed when I finally managed to pass through the many gates, doors and hurdles of the library and actually see the titles they have. Very, very disappointing! On the other hand, whenever we published a translation of a book dealing with biblical studies, like those of Thomas L. Thompson’s or Keith Whitelam’s, 220

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one noticed that normal, interested students and scholars of history or geography engaged the subject on the internet in quite a healthy discussion. To my pleasure and deep respect, they even opened blogs which were specifically dedicated to the subject and sometimes emailed me their collections of local oral traditions on the history of the Israelites in the Arabian Peninsula. A Sudanese businessman emailed me some years ago local stories about Israelites in South Western Arabia, which they called MISR, meaning Egypt. What I want to emphasize is that there is a great interest among young Arab intellectuals for the subject. They lack, however, the instruments and tools, which they need for any serious scientific exploration or contribution. They read a lot, to the extent that many internet blogs and reading clubs scan some of our books and download them free of cost as PDF documents. My book, Balqees, was downloaded 75,000 times; a clear reflection of the interest of this new generation of students who are no longer satisfied with the academic conditions in their homelands. When they have no access to the books they want, they resort to piracy. This is most noticeable in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why we in Cadmus Books have moved to digital publication (Kindle, iOS, Android, etc.) and have limited our publication of hard copies to subsidized books. I must also mention that some Arab scholars living in the West have given the subject of biblical studies great attention and some of them have written, in my opinion, very important books on the archaeology and ancient history of Palestine. I would mention Dr Nadia Abu El-Hajj’s important book Facts on the Ground, published by the University of Chicago Press in 2001. I will also publish it in an Arabic version. One should also mention Dr Zainab Bahrani’s book, Women of Babylon (2001), which we have just published in Arabic with the help of the Heinrich Boell Fund in Beirut. I am sure there are other Arab scholars academically interested in the subject that I haven’t heard of, but I should not forget to add to the list the name of Dr Muhammad Maraqten, an epigrapher, now of Heidelberg, who has recently published some five hundred Sabaic inscriptions and, among other things, works on issues related to Palestinian toponymy (e.g. Maraqten 1988). I must mention now that I was really pleased that I managed to gain the support of the late Professor Salibi and my dear friends Dr Thomas L. Thompson and Dr Ingrid Hjelm to enter a written dialogue on the subject in 2002, and they kindly agreed. A great part of it was done and we shall publish it soon in Arabic and English. I think it would be a great chance for scholars and laymen alike to follow both arguments. I must emphasize that I bear the sole responsibility for the delay in publication, due to technical reasons. The events in Syria since 2011, where fathers have come to bury their sons, now since the first half of the nineteenth century, didn’t give me any time to work as I should. But I am pleased to say, having managed to restore the original chronology of the dialogue, it will be out once the Arabic translation is done (Thompson et al. forthcoming), together with Dr Salibi’s latest book, The Historicity of Biblical Israel (1998). 221

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I think I have presented a reasonable argument for the silence of Arab contributions to biblical studies. I hope that I helped you in some way to understand the immense difficulties we face in the Arab region. As you might know, such immense difficulties have not stopped us from continuing our work on translations and publication. Our purpose when we established Cadmus Books is captured by our slogan: We read very important books about us, about our region, and about our past, and we would also like you, dear readers, to be able to read it in Arabic.

Note 1 Though unable to attend the International Conference on Changing Perspectives in Copenhagen, I am grateful for the opportunity to present my paper with all honorable scholars. I hope we can meet in the near future, when the region returns as a centre of peace and intellect.

References Abu El-Hajj, N. 2001. Facts on the Ground: Archaeological Practice and Territorial SelfFashioning in Israeli Society. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Bahrani Z. 2001. Women of Babylon: Gender and Representation in Mesopotamia. London: Routledge. Maraqten, M. 1988. Die semitischen Personennamen in den alt- und reichsaramäi- schen Inschriften aus Vorderasien (Texte und Studien zur Orientalistik 5). Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag. Muna, Z. 1994. Egypt and the Israelites in South-western Arabia. London: Riad El-Rayyed, London. In Arabic. Muna, Z. 1997. Balqis: ‘imr’at al-‘alghaz wa shytanat al-jins. London: Riyad al-Rayyes. In Arabic. Salibi, K. 1985. The Bible Came from Arabia. Beirut: Naufal Group, 1996. Salibi, K. 1998. The Historicity of Biblical Israel. Studies in 1 & 2 Samuel. London: NABU Publications. Thompson, T.L. 1992. The Early History of the Israelite People from the Written and Archaeological Sources. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Thompson, T.L., Salibi, K., Hjelm, I. and Z. Muna. Forthcoming. Israel in West-Arabia? A Dialogue. Damascus and Beirut: Cadmus Press. In English and Arabic. Whitelam, K. 1996. The Invention of Ancient Israel: The Silencing of Palestinian History. New York: Routledge.

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INDEX OF SOURCES

Hebrew Bible Genesis 10:15 124n6 Exodus 3 49 6 49 Leviticus 1–6 120 1–7 120 Deuteronomy 27:4–8 119 Joshua 8:30–35 119 16:3 113 Judges 1:29 113 1 Samuel 16–18 66n6 2 Samuel 21:4 61 1 Kings 9:15–18 113 2 Kings 17 115 116 22–23 42 2 Chronicles 36:23 169 Ezra 1:3 169 4:2 116 7 43 8–10 116

Nehemiah 8 43 9 57n7 13:28 116 Esther 4:2 61 Psalms 96:10 25 97:1 25 99:1 25 Ecclesiastes 12:12 47 Isaiah 55 27 Dead Sea Scrolls 4QJer 66n 4QJosh 66n 4QTestimonia/4Q175 49 11QTemple 49, 50 Other Sources ANET 234–41 113 242–43 113 242–43 113 263–64 114 123n1 283–84 115 284–85 115 Atrahasis 53 Gilgamesh 53 Execration Texts 162 Amarna letters EA (287, 289, 290, 292) 113

223

INDEX OF SOURCES

Ras Shamra Tablets 25 Merneptah Stele 112–14 Mesha Stele 113, 118, 163, 166 l.7a 114 l.14–18 114 Ancient Records of Assyria  and Babylonia I §616 115 Ancient Records of Assyria  and Babylonia II §55, §92, §99, §118 115 Elephantine Papyri 118, 124n Wadi el-Daliyeh Papyri 118, 122, 12n Theodotius Inscription 72 Vedas 8, 54 Yajur Veda 56 Rig Veda 54-5, 56 Sama Veda 56 Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha 1 Maccabees 1: 29–50 131 1: 54 138 2:15–18 136–7 2:23 138 2 Maccabees 2: 23–32 131 2: 24–25 131 2:19–23 130 4: 8–9 34 4: 27–28 135 4:11 139n3 4:21 139n7 4:21–22 134 4:23–26 134 4:39 135 5: 5–27 135 5: 12–14 136 5: 22–26 136 5: 24–26 137 5: 24–26 139n9 5:8 136 5:21 136

6: 21–23 137 6:1–2 116 6:1–2 117 6:2 138 6:7 136 6:12 136 6:18–7 136 6:42 136 6.18–7:42 138 7:12 137 8:10. 139n8 10:1–2 138 10:8 138 10:19–21 139n12 11:34–38 139n3 15:37 139n3 Letter of Aristeas 43 Ben Sira/Sirach 8, 64 Josephus Antiquities of the Jews 9.280 115 10.183 117 10.184–85 115 11.133 117 11.297–347 116 119 12.7–10 123 12.237–64 117 12. 252 138 139n10 12. 252–253 139n11 13.74–79 123 War of the Jews 3.307–315 116 Greek and Roman Authors Homer Odyssey 54 Livy The History of Rome XLV 12 133–4 Early Christian Authors Eusebius 123n Jerome 123n Syncellus 123n

224

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Abu El-Hajj, N. 149, 221 Achenbach, R. 48 Aharoni, Y. 160, 184 Ahituv, S. 98, 100, 103, 108n8; 11; 12; 13; 14 Ahlström, G. 5, 6, 29, 113 Alberz, R. 124n11, 152n4 Albright, W.F. 2, 29, 30, 40, 160 Almog, S. 206 Alt, A. 2, 3, 30, 166, 168 Alterman, N. 177, 210 Amin, S. 214 Anderson, B. 209 Anfinset, N. 151 Ariel, D.T. 81n6 Asher-Greve, J.M. 107n1 Athas, G. 163 Auld, A.G. 81n2 Avalos, H. 152 Avi, G. 71 Avigad, N. 74, 81n2 Avni, G. 196n16 Baden, J. 48 Bahrani, Z. 221 Banning, E.B. 196n12 Barkay, G. 78 Barr, J. 24, 152n1 Barstad, H.M. 40, 43n2 Barton, J. 51 Beaudry, M. 193 Beck, P. 85, 86–8, 90, 91–2, 98, 104, 105, 107n4, 108n6;7;12 Becking, B. 160 Ben-Dov, M. 81n2

Ben-Gurion, D. 206, 210–11 Ben-Gurion, M.Y. 206 Ben-Yehuda, N. 152n5 Bentzen, A. 27–8 Benvenisti, M. 170, 191, 195n2 Berlinerblau, J. 48, 56n2 Bickerman, E. 124n6 Bieberstein, K. 81n2 Binford, L.R. 196n7;8 Biran, A. 163 Birkeland, H. 28 Bleek, F. 35, 39 Blenkinsopp, J. 48, 124n11 Bliss, F. 72 Bloedhorn, H. 81n2 Boer, R. 152 Bolen, T. 161 Bolin, T. 52, 57n7 Borges, J.L. 47–8 Borowski, O. 120–1 Bourdieu, P. 148 Braudel, F. 150 Brettler, M. 52 Briant, P. 115, 122 Bright, J. 149 Bruneau, P. 122 Brutti, M. 139n3 Buccelatti, G. 162 Bucher, G.S. 139n2 Bunimovitz, Sh. 150, 196n9 Burkard, G. 50 Carlson, R.A. 29 Carr, D. 50, 57n8 Carstens, P. 152

225

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Chamboredon, J.-C. 148 Clarke, D. 196n7 Clines, D. 47, 51, 57n9 Cohen, R. 161 Cohen-Amin, R. 161 Collins, J.J. 152n1 Cook, J.A. 65, 66n7 Coote, R.B. 5, 6, 150, 159 Cross Jr., F.M. 2, 118 Crown, A.D. 123 Cryer, F. 1, 61 Dagan, Y. 196n12 Dalley, S. 118 Davidovitch, L. 192 Davies, P.R. 1, 12, 60, 64, 112, 145, 146, 147, 151, 152n1;2;3, 169, 219, 220 Davis, T.W. 144 Day, J. 43n2 De Groot, A. 81 de Saulcy, L. 71 de Vaux, R. 2 de Wette, W.L.M. 7–8, 35–6, 37, 38–9, 40, 41, 43–4n5–15 Deissmann, A. 72 Deist, F. 6 Delcor, M. 117 Dever, W.G. 6, 151, 152n1, 159–60, 161, 196n9 Dexinger, F. 123n3 Dickie, A. 72 Doniger, W. 55, 57n10 Doran, R. 130–1, 139n3 Dozeman, T. 48, 56n3 Dundes, A. 20 Dušek, J. 118, 121, 124n6;9 Egger, R. 117, 123n3, 124n8 Ehrensvärd, M. 8, 61, 62, 66n3 Eldar, A. 212 En Gedi, M. 194 Engnell, I. 7, 18, 27–9 Erisman, A. 51, 56n, 57n6 Eshel, E. 98, 100, 103, 108n8;11;12;13;14 Eshel, I. 75, 81n6 Ewald, H. 39, 40 Father Simons 73 Faust, A. 6, 160

Febvre, L. 148 Finkelstein, I. 7, 77, 113, 150, 159, 160, 162, 165–6, 168, 169 Finley, M.I. 146 Fischbach, M. 195n2 Flannery, K.V. 196n7 Fogelman, Sh. 196n14 Fohrer, G. 3 Forshaw, R. 108n17 Franken, H.J. 75, 81n6 Freedman, D.N. 52, 57n9 Friis, H. 3 Fuchs, A. 115 Fuchs, R. 180 Galow, K. 71 Gesundheit, S. 56 Geva, H. 81n2 Geva, Sh. 183 Gilbert, M. 215 Gilmour, G. 108n17 Glock, A. 149 Glueck, N. 160 Gmirkin, R. 8 Golan, A. 195n2 Goldstein, J.A. 131, 132, 138, 139n2 Goodman, H. 54 Gottwald, N. 2, 6, 30 Grabbe, L.L. 4, 12n1, 146, 151, 168 Greenberg, R. 81, 195n2, 196n12 Grønbech, V. 7, 21–2, 24, 25 Gropp, D.M. 118 Grundtvig, S. 20 Gudme, A.K. de Hemmer 1, 121 Gunkel, H. 20, 24, 49 Guri, H. 210 Habas, B. 215n1 Haldar, A. 29 Halpern, B. 52 Hasselbalch, T.B. 152 Hayes, J. 4, 5, 149 Hengel, M. 132 Henkin, H. 213 Herzl, Th. 207 Hesse, B. 120, 121 Hicks, D. 193 Hirschfeld, Y. 193

226

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Hjelm, I. 1, 4, 12n1, 112, 113, 115–119, 121, 122, 123n2;3;4, 124n6;10, 130, 147, 151, 160, 167, 168, 220, 221 Hobson, R. 53 Hodder, I. 145, 196n7;9 Høgenhaven, J. 1, 19 Holdrege, B. 54, 55 Holmstedt, R. 65, 66n8 Hölscher, G. 24 Homès-Fredericq, D. 80 Hopkins, D.C. 161 Hudson, S. 145 Hurvitz, A. 8, 60, 62, 66n3;5, 66n21 Hvidberg-Hansen, F.O. 60, 65n1 Hygen, J.B. 24 Joüon, P. 66n3 Joyce, J. 53–4 Kadman, N. 195n2, 196n17 Kapelrud, A.S. 19, 29 Kartveit, M. 122 Kasher, A. 122 Keel, O. 107n3 Keinan, A. 196n12 Kempinski, A. 121 Kenyon, K. 9 Kenyon, K.M. 81n6 Khalidi, W. 194, 195n2, 214 Kimmerling, B. 152n5 Kipnis, Y. 188 Kippenberg, H.G. 117 Kitchen, K. 6, 113 Kletter, R. 177, 179, 183, 191, 196n3;4 Kloner, A. 178 Knauf, E.A. 145, 146, 150, 169 Knight, D.A. 20, 26 Knoppers, G. 56n3, 118, 122, 124n11 Kochavi, M. 7, 113, 160–1, 165 Koestler, A. 214 Kohl, P.L. 196n7 Kolska-Horwitz, L. 121 Kramer, C. 196n8 Kratz, R. 40, 41, 44n16, 53, 55 Kuschke, A.S. 160 Laato, A. 19 Larsen, M.T. 144

Lavie, T. 192 Lawson Younger, K. 115 Leith, M.J.W. 118, 122 Leivestad, R. 19 Lemaire, A. 108n8;11 Lemche, N.P. 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 30–1, 60, 64, 143, 145, 147, 150, 152n1, 162, 220 Lemon, J. 108n16 Lernau, H. 121 Lev-Tov, J. 121, 138 Levin, C. 48 Levine, D. 123, 196n19 Levinson, B. 49, 56n3 Levy, Y. 206 Lipschits, O. 115, 118, 124n11, 160, 168 Liverani, M. 113, 143, 145, 147, 150, 152n2;3, 162 Lockman, Z. 209 London, G. 196n8 Long, P. 6 Longman III, T. 6 Lord, A. 49, 50 Lubin, T. 55 Luckenbill, D.D. 115 Ma, J. 132, 139n1;5 Macalister, R.A.S. 73 Magen, I. 116, 117, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124n12, 167, 169 Mandell, S. 52, 57n9 Maraqten, Dr. M. 221 Marfoe, L. 150 Masalha, N. 148, 152 Mazar, B. 3, 74, 78, 81, 144, 146 Mazar, E. 76–7, 81 Mendenhall, G. 2, 30 Meshel, Z. 85–6, 89–90, 98, 99, 100, 104, 108n8;12;13;14 Meshorer, Y. 118 Messel, N. 19 Michelet, S. 19 Miller, J.M. 4, 5, 147, 149, 160 Miller-Naudé, C.L. 64, 65 Miroschedji, R. de 161 Misgav, H. 119, 120, 121, 122, 124n12 Mittmann, S. 160 Moe, M. 20 Montgomery, J.A. 116, 123

227

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Moore, M. Bishop 147 Mor, M. 117 Morgenstern, J. 18 Morris, B. 195n2 Mowinckel, S. 7, 19, 22, 24–6, 28–9 Müller, M. 54 Müller, U. 160 Muna, Z. 219–20, 221 Muraoka, T. 66n3 Mykytiuk, L.J. 151 Naaman, N. 108n8 Na’aman, N. 114, 118, 146, 152n4 Naveh, J. 98, 163 Nicholson, E. 56n3 Niditch, S. 50, 51 Niehr, H. 146 Nielsen, E. 22 Niemann, H.M. 146 Nodet, E. 132, 139n6, 151 Noth, M. 2, 3, 8, 18, 39–40, 41, 42, 43, 49, 56, 149, 166 Nyberg, H. 7, 26–7 Oded, B. 114 Oeming, M. 124n11 Oestigaard, T. 149, 151, 159 Olrik, A. 7, 20–1 O’Malley, J. 53 Oren, E. 160 Orlinsky, H.M. 3 Ornan, T. 90, 98, 107n3;4 Otto, E. 48 Ottosson, M. 144 Özdoğan, M. 192 Pappe, I. 160, 196n17, 211, 212, 213, 214 Parker, M. 72 Parry, A. 49, 50 Passeron, J.-C. 148 Peden, A.J. 108n17 Pedersen, J. 7, 22–4 Person, R. 50 Pfoh, E. 145, 146, 149, 151, 152, 162, 166 Piterberg, G. 214 Prag, K. 75, 81n6 Prior, M. 148, 207, 208, 214 Pritchard, J.B. 112

Provan, I.M. 6, 152n1 Puech, E. 108n8 Pummer, R. 115, 117, 123n3, 124n6 Qedar, S. 118 Ra’ad, B. 149, 162 Rapoport, M. 77, 177, 198 Rappaport, U. 130, 132, 139n14 Raz-Krakotzkin, A. 206–7 Reich, R. 71, 72, 81n11, 181, 189–90 Rezetko, R. 8, 62, 63, 65 Riddle, A.D. 161 Robinson, E. 71 Rogerson, J.W. 38, 43n2 Rosen, S. 180 Roth, Y. 188 Rothenberg, B. 160 Routledge, B. 80 Rudolph, W. 48 Sæbø, M. 19 Said, E.W. 144, 148, 189, 214 Saidel, B.A. 180 Sailhamer, J. 57n9 Salibi, K. 218–19, 220, 221 Sand, S. 123, 149, 152n5, 214 Sanders, S.L. 54 Sass, B. 107n2 Sawah, F. 169 Schäfer, P. 132, 138, 139n13 Schaper, J. 43n2, 143, 145–6 Schiffer, M.B. 196n8 Schmid, K. 48 Schmidt, B.B. 87, 99, 106, 108n9;15;17 Schürer, E. 117 Schwartz, E. 39, 132 Shafir, G. 209 Shai, A. 186, 196n14 Shapira, A. 211, 214 Shatil, 81n11 Shenhav, Y. 189 Shiloh, Y. 74, 81n6 Shukron, E. 81n11 Siegal, E.A. Bar-Asher 65 Silberman, N.A. 144, 183 Ska, J. 52 Skjeggestad, M. 144

228

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Smelik, K.A.D. 114 Smend, R. 39, 44n16 Smith, A. 207 Smith, J.Z. 54 Smith, M. 3 Smoak, J. 98 Soggin, J.A. 4–5, 149 Stackert, J. 55–6 Starzmann, M.T. 148 Steiner, M.L. 9, 75, 80, 81n1;2;6 Stern, E. 114, 115, 118, 165 Sternhell, Z. 209 Stordalen, T. 25 Strawn, B. 108n16 Sulimany, G. 190, 191 Tabenkin, Y. 211 Tadmor, H. 115 Tal, O. 160 Taylor, W.W. 181 Tcherikover, V.A. 117, 124n7 Tebes, J.M. 162, 167, 168 Thompson, T.L. 1, 3, 4, 5–6, 7, 12n2, 29, 49, 52, 56n4, 57n7, 60, 64, 112, 113, 118, 138, 143, 145–7, 149–51, 152n1;2, 159, 160–3, 165–9, 208, 214, 219, 220, 221 Tigay, J. 56, 124n9 Toombs, L.E. 196n9 Tov, E. 66n6 Trigger, B. 196n7 Tsefania, L. 119, 120, 121, 122, 124n12 Tushingham, A.D. 75, 81n6 Uehlinger, C. 107n3 Van der Toorn, K. 118 Van Seters, J. 1, 2–3, 3–4, 48, 52 Vanderhooft, D. 160

Vatke, W. 39 Vincent, Père L.H. 72 Volz, P. 48 Von Rad, G. 18 Wajdenbaum, P. 8, 146 Wapnish, P. 120, 121 Warren, C. 72 Watson, R. 196n7 Watts, J.W. 53 Weber, M. 30 Weill, R. 72 Weinfeld, M. 118 Weippert, M. 2, 3, 123n1 Wellhausen, J. 8, 28, 35, 36, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44n16, 56, 57n11 Westenholz, J.G. 107n1 Whitelam, K.W. 5, 6, 12, 145, 147, 148, 149, 150, 152n1, 159, 160, 207, 214, 219, 220 Whybray, R. 57n9 Williamson, H.G.M. 38, 43n2 Wilson, C. 71 Wyatt, N. 147 Yadin, Y. 81n2 Yehushua, A.B. 196n19 Yeivin, Z. 196n12 Young, I. 8, 62, 63, 65 Zertal, A. 115, 121, 123n2, 159, 160, 165–6, 212 Zerubavel, Y. 152n5 Zevit, Z. 64, 65, 143 Zias, J. 178 Ziffer, I. 107n4, 108n12 Zilberstein, A. 81n11 Zorn, J. 81n3 Zubaida, S. 214

229